Page 35 of Brutal Prince

Briar

Ipull up to Briar Mansion, Marcus following close behind in his big-ass SUV. We had football practice until five in preparation for a game happening this weekend — the last before we hit finals. I’m physically drained, but mentally my brain feels like it’s fizzing.

Sports always had a way to get me hyped up, especially football. No one cares how aggressive you get out there, long as you don’t cross the line. Surprisingly, it’s easier for me to do that on the field than in real life.

I guess that’s mainly due to Coach Carter. Because fuck knows, that man’s dressed me down until I was shaking with fury.

In real life, it’s so much easier to get away with shit.

No witnesses? No crime.

Marcus jogs up to me, and then falls in line, his backpack over one shoulder, and two six-packs dangling from the fingertips of his other hand.

He’s tall and thin and runs like a fucking Olympic athlete, but he doesn’t have the muscle to take down the bigger guys. We make a good team and coach knows it.

Marcus ruffles his short, dark hair and gives me a sheepish grin. “Gonna fucking feel this tomorrow,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and wincing.

“You say that now, but wait till the only action you get is walking the stairs at Prep.” Marcus loves letting off steam as much as I do, and I saw him on the field today — he was giving as good as he got.

I’m glad he has a healthy outlet for the shit he gets dealt on such a regular basis. My dad’s never here, but that’s a shit-ton better than if he was…and he was roughing me up every other night.

“So you decided if you’re going to MU yet, or what?” I ask as I key in the security code on the mansion’s front door keypad. I could have set up this place to work from my phone or smartwatch by now, but Dad’s super old fashioned when it comes to this shit. I mean, we’ve got cameras and stuff inside, but they don’t even get backed up to the fucking cloud.

Nope. DVD’s all the way.

If Marcus’s dad weren’t such a fucking douche bag, I’d have asked Marcus a long time ago to get us a quote for a new security system.

When Marcus doesn’t answer, I shove the mansion’s massive front door open and block the entrance. “You okay, man?”

Marcus is staring at the ground, his mouth in an unhappy line. “Yeah, it’s just…” He sighs, ruffles his hair again, and makes a face at me. “The old man seems to think I’m obligated to work at his company when I’m done with school.”

“What? Fuck.” I step aside, and Marcus trudges reluctantly inside. “But you told him you wanna be an attorney, right?”

“Man, he doesn’t fucking listen.” Marcus heads straight for the kitchen. I follow him inside, watching as he sets our beers inside the double refrigerator.

Natalie designed this space. A few of the rooms, too. She was a fully qualified architect, and actually fucking good at it. But she seemed to think this house would be brimming with kids. Everything feels two sizes too big — the massive kitchen with its long island, the dining room table that seats twenty guests, the excess of guest bedrooms.

“Dude, you gotta level with him,” I say, taking the can he hands me and cracking it open. “You can’t go do something you don’t—”

“I don’t have a choice.” He turns, staring out the window. “He’s holding my trust fund hostage.”

My eyebrows lift to my hairline. I’m speechless. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but I thought at least in adulthood, Marcus’s dad would cut him a fucking break.

“Wow…that’s…”

“Cold,” Marcus mutters. He swings back to me, lifts his can, and takes several long swallows. “Here’s to the fuck-ups that call themselves dads.”

I shake my head, but touch my can to his when he lowers it before taking a sip.

“Hey…that Indi chick look familiar to you?” Marcus asks quietly. My eyes snap to him, my heart suddenly beating harder than before.

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying for casual. Fuck knows if I fool him — Marcus is staring off into the distance again.

“I dunno…maybe she’s just got one of those faces, but could of sworn I’ve met her before.”

Thank fuck. I thought he was referring to the fact that Indi definitely seemed to know me.

“I think she’s family of the Davis’s,” I say, coming around the island and leaning against it beside him. I’ve got about half an inch on him, but that’s never seemed to bug him. “Could be she resembles one of them enough.”

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