Page 188 of Brutal Prince

He already knows my name. He already knows I’ll be missed — even if it’s just by Briar and my gran.

“So polite,” he murmurs, running a knuckle down the center of my nose. “How could I possibly say no?”

He moves away, his shoes crunching over whatever debris is scattered on the ground.

I tip my head to the side and rub my shoulder against my blindfold. It shifts a quarter of an inch, then another, then—

Something strikes my belly hard enough to make me bend over and retch at the impact. While I’m still gasping, saliva threading the space between my mouth and my thighs, Marcus grabs my hair in a fist and wrenches back my head.

Water splashes over my face, and I splutter when a few stray drops go down my windpipe instead of my larynx.

“Had enough?” Marcus snarls. “Or would you like some more?”

Another deluge pours over my mouth. I open my lips and gather as much as I can before closing my mouth and swallowing. It burns, and I get some up and down my nose, but it’s worth it.

Marcus releases my hair. My head bobs forward before I can stiffen my neck. I cough as quietly as I can, shivering when a breeze cools my now soaked hoody.

Marcus laughs. “You caught me off guard, you know that?”

He pauses, like he’s waiting for something, so I shrug a little as I tamper down a last cough.

“First time I saw you,” he says. His voice pans left and right as if he’s pacing in front of me. I’m itching to see something — any-fucking-thing — but I don’t want to suffer another round of punishment for trying to look.

“Scared the living bejesus out of me, I’ll be honest.” Another laugh, this one a higher octave than the one before. Goosebumps break out on my skin at the manic tone in his voice when he continues.

Just keep him talking, Indi. The more distracted he is, the better chance you have at catching him unaware.

And do what, exactly?

Fuck it, one step at a time.

Step one? Getting loose.

“Why?” I ask, and I’m shocked at how steady my voice is. Deep, rough, but steady.

Guess all that crying helped. I haven’t got a shred of terror left in me anymore. I cried it all out. All that’s driving me right now is primal instincts. Survival of the fittest style of thing.

Or, in this case, the sanest.

“Weird how that works, isn’t it?” Marcus says. “Kids looking like their parents?”

My skin starts to crawl, but I ignore the sensation in favor of focusing on something productive. Like trying to work out the fucking knots Marcus has used to tie me up. They feel complicated as fuck. Overly so.

Arrogant, psychotic prick. Couldn’t just have done rabbit ears, could you? Bet you were the despised know-it-all of your fucking Boy Scout club.

“Dad says I look like her. My mother,” he adds, as if I’m rocking a single-digit IQ. “But Briar doesn’t. Guess he takes after his father then.”

Oh my God. He’s gone off the edge, hasn’t he? How the hell am I supposed to outsmart a lunatic? It’s like trying to fit a square peg in a triangular hole. The math just doesn’t work out.

“I wouldn’t know, of course,” Marcus goes on, his voice panning to the left again. “Barely remember her. You know I was six when she fucked off? Back then, we were still living in downtown Lavish, close to the train tracks.” He laughs. “Not anymore! Got my dad to thank for that. Picked us up by our fucking bootstraps, he did, after she dumped us.”

Mommy issues? I’m not even remotely surprised. By the fact that he has them, and that she abandoned him and his father, especially if psychosis runs in the family. And I can’t even blame her — I’d also get the fuck out of Dodge.

I find a bit of give by my wrists, and wriggle for all I’m worth while Marcus goes on talking with his voice aimed away from me.

“But then I saw a photo in Briar’s house, and I kinda had to believe pa.”

I don’t even bother trying to understand. He’s still facing away from me, and I’ve managed to undo a loop in this intricate knot.

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