Page 187 of Brutal Prince

A cop starts walking toward me — casual like, a spring in his step — when my cellphone vibrates with a new message.

I almost don’t look at it. It’s not like it could be good news. Either Dylan and Zak finally decided to speak to me again — although their intel would be fucking useless to me now — or someone’s just informed me that I qualify for a credit card.

But I have no idea what to say to the cop approaching me, so I buy myself some time by checking my phone.

The phone case creaks between my fingers when I see the name on the screen.

It had never even occurred to me to call Marcus. To just ask him where he was. I guess, deep down inside, I knew he’d never have told me.

How fucking wrong I am.

We’re having so much fun without you, but it would be better if you joined. Bring the money. Don’t tell the cops. I see anything I don’t like, I’ll kill them both.

The address below makes my heart skip a fucking beat.

12 Northenden Drive, Lakeview.

I pivot on my heel, ignoring the cop’s quizzical, “Hey, are you Prince?”

He could have drawn a gun and shot me right then and I wouldn’t have noticed until my head hit the fucking tarmac.

The instant I touch on the address, it opens the map application on my phone.

Five hours, thirty minutes.

I stop in my tracks, and then speed up again. The final yard to my car is a full out sprint.

Five fucking hours?

I’m gritting my teeth so hard, the enamel creaks inside my mouth.

* * *

Indi

A slapto my cheek hard enough to whip my head to the side rouses me. I cough, splutter, and fight my bonds to escape.

“Relax, princess.”

I freeze, my breath getting trapped somewhere deep in my throat. I lick my lips, and then do it again when I realize the gag isn’t in my mouth anymore.

But I still can’t see. And this time, it’s not because of a pillowcase. There’s something over my eyes, something bound tight around my head.

Why, it’s a satin blindfold, Indi. Now all you need are some rose petals and champagne.

I laugh before I can stop myself.

Fingers grip my jaw, shaking my head. “What’s so funny?”

Marcus almost sounds cheerful. I shift, and realize there’s no weight in my lap anymore.

“Where is she?” I croak, and then cough when the words scrape through a dry, rusted throat.

“Who, Addy?” Marcus says, and playfully taps my cheek with his fingertips. “Oh, she was being a drag.”

I swallow hard, desperately attempting not to let the full force of his statement sweep me away into madness. “Can I please have some water?”

Because isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Remind your captor that you’re human, after all.

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