Page 36 of Brutal Prince

When Marcus doesn’t say anything, I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s gone all stiff, face leeched of color. “What…What’s wrong?” I say through a chuckle.

“Nothing,” Marcus says hurriedly, pushing away from the island. He grins at me, and I wonder if I was imagining things. The light in this place can be a little too white sometimes. “Thinking of something else.”

Fuck. What is it going to take to get his mind off his prick of a dad?

“Tell you what,” I say, lifting my beer can and pointing at him with a finger. “Let’s plan phase two.”

Marcus’s smile widens into something approaching manic. “Did you see the video today?”

I shake my head, gulping down more of my beer and Marcus rummages in his sweats for his phone. He beckons me with a finger, turning and resting his elbows on the marble counter of the island as a video starts playing on his phone’s massive touchscreen.

The shot jiggles a little, and then steadies.

“What the fuck are those—”

“Lenses, dude. Or filters, or some shit, I dunno. Dylan’s girl is fucking obsessed with the shit.”

I crane closer, a slow smile spreading on my lips.

Cindy must have been quite close to get such a good shot of Indi on her knees. But whatever she did to the video, it introduced a pair of dog ears and a shiny nose to both me and Indi’s faces.

It honestly looks like she’s begging, and I’m standing over her smirking like a fucking king.

I bark out a laugh, and then snatch the phone from Marcus’s hands, replaying the video.

“Fucking genius,” I murmur.

“I’ll send it to you,” Marcus says, retrieving his phone when the video’s done playing.

“Yeah, you do that.” I’m still laughing as I make for the stairs. “Throw your shit in one of the rooms and let’s bang out a few games of pool.”

Marcus grabs his backpack and follows me up the stairs, detouring to his favorite guest bedroom — the one two doors down from my father’s den. Apparently, he has a thing for balcony’s, and that’s the only guest room that has one. It doesn’t have much of a view, but beggars can’t be choosers.

While I’m changing into clean clothes, my phone vibrates on my bed. I go over to it, tugging a shirt over my head as the video comes through. I watch it again, but this time I don’t smile.

This time, I’m trying to see past the ridiculous cutesy fucking dog ears and shit Cindy pasted on Indi.

I want to see her eyes. Those fierce fucking eyes of hers.

Yup, there it is.

She fucking hates me.

“You coming, bro?”

My eyes snap up, and I toss my phone back on my bed. “Sure,” I say gruffly, charging out of my room.

What the fuck’s wrong with me? I should be elated that she hates me; it means my plan’s fucking working.

Instead, I feel hollow inside. I chug the last of my beer before we hit the entertainment center on the ground floor, and immediately head for the bar.

“Shot?” I yell over my shoulder as I slide around the bar and grab a bottle of rum.

“Make it a double,” Marcus says, taking a pool cue from the rack and weighing it in his hand. “Else you’ll never fucking win.”

I bark out a laugh, pour us a double rum and coke, and then add a shot of tequila on the side. I bring him the small shooter glass, and clink it.

“To fucking shit up,” I say.

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