Page 61 of Brutal Prince

He shrugs, and turns to me, holding out the smoke. “We got finals and shit coming up, bro.”

I let out a snort. Marcus has never cared about finals, so why the fuck is he using them as an excuse? I drag hard at the cigarette. The filter’s grown hot and damp how we’ve fucking raped it between the two of us, and I grimace as I flick what’s left out the window.

“Finals? Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on? You got the hots for her? You too chicken shit to admit it or something?”

“Course not.” Marcus crosses his arms over his chest, staring out the passenger window. “You’re the one who’s fucking obsessed with her. And you know what happens when you get obsessed.”

Despite how quiet his voice is, it feels like he shouts the accusation at me. We’re about ten minutes from my house — more like five if I keep going at this speed — but I can’t deal with his snide remarks anymore.

I slam on the brakes. Marcus grabs the dash, glaring at me as the car skids to the right before coming to a halt. “The fuck, man!”

“I’ll see you at home,” I mumble, staring at the distant line of trees while my jaw bunches to the point of aching.

“Briar, come on, I was just—”

“Get out.”

He releases a heavy sigh, grabs his bag from the backseat, and climbs out. When he slams closed the door, my Mustang rocks on its shocks for a few seconds before settling.

Marcus doesn’t look back, but I watch him until he turns off the road and into a side path that leads straight to Briar mansion.

Then I sit in my car and wonder why the fuck I just threw out my best friend.

* * *

I’ve been walkingthrough Briar woods for what feels like most of the day but what couldn’t be more than two or three hours. After throwing Marcus out of the car, I did a u-turn and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the closest liquor store. The cashier’s been selling me booze for the past three years — he knows I tip really well. The bottle’s half done; closer to half-empty than half full. I could have grabbed a bottle from home, but Marcus might still be there. I guess, despite what an asshole I was to him, he’d still prefer to stay with me than head back home and see his dad.

Fall’s almost done with Lavish; the nights creep in sooner every day. It’s already twilight by the time I surface from my ocean of dark, dismal thoughts.

But I don’t escape with clarity, or logic.

After hours of silent fuming, my brain’s fizzing with anger, frustration, terror. The cocktail turns me into a speechless, knuckle-dragging Neanderthal with only one thing on my mind.

Indi fucking Virgo.

Twilight teases shadows out from under the trees. Under that darkness, the bramble’s thorns grow longer and sharper than before.

Wicked.

That’s what this place is.

That’s what I am.

Wicked as a bramble thorn, and just as merciless.

I can’t blame Marcus for taking advantage of the situation earlier today. I’d told the crew what I wanted, and they made it fucking happen.

That’s how this shit worked.

But I couldn’t stand seeing those sloppy lips all over my girl.

Yes, mine.

From the moment I saw her in the woods, she became my property. My toy.

My prize.

I stumble through the last of the tangled woods and hastily step back into the shadows, clutching the whiskey bottle to my chest like a sleepy kid with a teddy bear.

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