Page 174 of Brutal Prince

Indi

Iwake with a throbbing headache, a stiff, cotton-dry mouth, and utter darkness. There’s a hand on my upper arm, and it squeezes me tight enough to pinch. But when I cry out in pain, the sound is stifled.

Because I’m gagged.

Icy snakes of fear worm through my bones as I’m hauled up and out of a car.

Marcus’s SUV. I remember a little now, although much of it’s still groggy. He led me out of my gran’s house to his car. Fuck knows how he got past the gates, but that doesn’t matter now, does it? He shoved me in the back, and was beside me an instant later. Like lovers getting ready for a quickie in the back seat.

I tried fighting him.

Don’t let them take you away.

Never change locations.

Rather die than let that happen.

Which is all sterling advice…if you have a fucking choice.

I didn’t.

Marcus the goddamn football player is twice my size. I didn’t stand a chance at resisting him. After the first kick, he had his ropes out and lashed around my ankles. And the first time I tried to scream, he gagged me. Once my hands were bound, there was literally nothing more I could do.

But he wasn’t satisfied. He brought out a syringe, and jabbed it into the side of my neck. Whatever was in it took effect in seconds. I don’t remember anything else — not how long I’ve been out, or if he did anything to me while I was unconscious. A mental scan of my body only tells me that my ankles and wrists are aching, and that I really need to pee.

My legs sag under me, and Marcus leaves bruises in my flesh as he props me up beside him and starts walking. The hood over my head is a new addition. When did he put it on? How long ago was that?

More importantly, where the fuck are we?

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