Page 42 of Brutal Prince

It’s gold.

I’m so very, very confused.

“Now you gonna let me in, or what?” Addy asks. When I look at her, she rolls her eyes. “It’s edible gold,” she mutters, before stalking around the front of the car.

I lean across and open the other door. Addy gets in with a sigh, smelling of weed and perfume, and immediately lights up the joint.

“Edible gold?” I ask, when she hands the joint over to me.

“Looks gorgeous. Tastes like shit.” She glances across at me, and smiles as she blows out a plume of smoke.

Yeah, the paper tastes like shit, but the weed inside? Oh my fucking god.

“What is this?” I ask in a tight voice, keeping as much of that dank deliciousness inside my lungs as possible.

“Happiness,” she says flippantly.

“I mean, what strain?”

She shrugs. “The guy I get this from don’t grow strains. They just give you weed that will make you feel a certain way.” She smiles around the gold joint, and then points to it with a long nail. “Happiness.”

For a second — a brief, intangible moment — I wonder what it would be like to be her. I mean, I wasn’t always a slob — I used to wear makeup and brush my hair and wear pretty underwear and get dressed up to go out. But that all seems so fucking pointless these days.

“Jesus, smoke more,” Addy says, widening her eyes at me. “I swear you’re oozing sad emojis from every pore.”

I laugh, and then I cough. My dark thoughts disappear in a haze of artificial happiness.

* * *

Briar

“Dude,we’re gonna be late. Briar. Briar!”

I groan, shoving the hand off my shoulder. When I open my eyes, it’s no more than a slit. “Fuck,” I groan up at Marcus.

“Yeah, today’s gonna be fun,” he says, squinting at me. “Want some coffee?”

“Please.”

He’s already dressed, but judging from how I feel, he’s probably as hungover as I am. He leaves my room and I drag myself out of bed, scratching an itch on my side as I gaze around at the evidence of last night’s rum intoxication. Sometime during the night, I stripped to my boxers. My clothes are scattered all over the floor, and the vase our maid normally keeps filled with fresh flowers on my nightstand is laying on the carpet, blooms already wilting.

Damn. Pity I missed all the fun.

After a shower and Marcus’s cup of coffee, I can at least stand the thought of leaving my shelter.

“Driving with me?” I ask.

“Fuck yes.” Marcus detours to his SUV and grabs out his sunglasses before going to my Mustang’s passenger side. “I’m even considering skipping.”

“Nah, come on,” I say, opening my door and sliding in. “We got a newbie to torture, remember? Don’t want her thinking we’re backing off, do we?”

“Forgot about her,” Marcus says. He puffs at his vape as soon as I put my car into gear, and doesn’t let up until we reach Lavish Prep.

By then the coffee’s kicked in, and if I keep my sunglasses on it doesn’t feel like the sun’s trying to scoop out my eyeballs with a spoon.

We’re late, so the steps are empty.

“They’d have locked already,” Marcus murmurs.

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