Page 350 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

How fucking wrong I am.

We’re having so much fun without you, but it would be better if you joined. Bring the money. Don’t tell the cops. I see anything I don’t like, I’ll kill them both.

The address below makes my heart skip a fucking beat.

12 Northenden Drive, Lakeview.

I pivot on my heel, ignoring the cop’s quizzical, “Hey, are you Prince?”

He could have drawn a gun and shot me right then and I wouldn’t have noticed until my head hit the fucking tarmac.

The instant I touch on the address, it opens the map application on my phone.

Five hours, thirty minutes.

I stop in my tracks, and then speed up again. The final yard to my car is a full out sprint.

Fivefuckinghours?

I’m gritting my teeth so hard, the enamel creaks inside my mouth.

Indi

A slap to my cheek hard enough to whip my head to the side rouses me. I cough, splutter, and fight my bonds to escape.

“Relax, princess.”

I freeze, my breath getting trapped somewhere deep in my throat. I lick my lips, and then do it again when I realize the gag isn’t in my mouth anymore.

But I still can’t see. And this time, it’s not because of a pillowcase. There’s something over my eyes, something bound tight around my head.

Why, it’s a satin blindfold, Indi. Now all you need are some rose petals and champagne.

I laugh before I can stop myself.

Fingers grip my jaw, shaking my head. “What’s so funny?”

Marcus almost sounds cheerful. I shift, and realize there’s no weight in my lap anymore.

“Where is she?” I croak, and then cough when the words scrape through a dry, rusted throat.

“Who, Addy?” Marcus says, and playfully taps my cheek with his fingertips. “Oh, she was being a drag.”

I swallow hard, desperately attempting not to let the full force of his statement sweep me away into madness. “Can I please have some water?”

Because isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Remind your captor that you’re human, after all.

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.

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