Page 351 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“Had enough?” Marcus snarls. “Or would you like some more?”

Another deluge pours over my mouth. I open my lips and gather as much as I can before closing my mouth and swallowing. It burns, and I get some upanddown my nose, but it’s worth it.

Marcus releases my hair. My head bobs forward before I can stiffen my neck. I cough as quietly as I can, shivering when a breeze cools my now soaked hoody.

Marcus laughs. “You caught me off guard, you know that?”

He pauses, like he’s waiting for something, so I shrug a little as I tamper down a last cough.

“First time I saw you,” he says. His voice pans left and right as if he’s pacing in front of me. I’m itching to see something—any-fucking-thing—but I don’t want to suffer another round of punishment for trying to look.

“Scared the living bejesus out of me, I’ll be honest.” Another laugh, this one a higher octave than the one before. Goosebumps break out on my skin at the manic tone in his voice when he continues.

Just keep him talking, Indi. The more distracted he is, the better chance you have at catching him unaware.

And do what, exactly?

Fuck it, one step at a time.

Step one? Getting loose.

“Why?” I ask, and I’m shocked at how steady my voice is. Deep, rough, but steady.

Guess all that crying helped. I haven’t got a shred of terror left in me anymore. I cried it all out. All that’s driving me right now is primal instincts. Survival of the fittest style of thing.

Or, in this case, the sanest.

“Weird how that works, isn’t it?” Marcus says. “Kids looking like their parents?”

My skin starts to crawl, but I ignore the sensation in favor of focusing on something productive. Like trying to work out the fucking knots Marcus has used to tie me up. They feel complicated as fuck. Overly so.

Arrogant, psychotic prick. Couldn’t just have done rabbit ears, could you? Bet you were the despised know-it-all of your fucking Boy Scout club.

“Dad says I look like her. My mother,” he adds, as if I’m rocking a single-digit IQ. “But Briar doesn’t. Guess he takes after his father then.”

Oh my God. He’s gone off the edge, hasn’t he? How the hell am I supposed to outsmart a lunatic? It’s like trying to fit a square peg in a triangular hole. The math just doesn’t work out.

“I wouldn’t know, of course,” Marcus goes on, his voice panning to the left again. “Barely remember her. You know I was six when she fucked off? Back then, we were still living in downtown Lavish, close to the train tracks.” He laughs. “Not anymore! Got my dad to thank for that. Picked us up by our fucking bootstraps, he did, after she dumped us.”

Mommy issues? I’m not even remotely surprised. By the fact that he has them,andthat she abandoned him and his father, especially if psychosis runs in the family. And I can’t even blame her—I’d also get the fuck out of Dodge.

I find a bit of give by my wrists, and wriggle for all I’m worth, while Marcus goes on talking with his voice aimed away from me.

“But then I saw a photo in Briar’s house, and I kinda had to believe pa.”

I don’t even bother trying to understand. He’s still facing away from me, and I’ve managed to undo a loop in this intricate knot.

“I can really see myself in her,” Marcus goes on.

Another loop. There’s finally enough give for me to wriggle my hands out of the ropes. I let out a soft sigh, massaging my wrists as discretely as possible behind my back so Marcus won’t notice. My fingertips tingle furiously as blood rushes back into them, and I’m rewarded with a flush of bravery that makes me sit up straight in my seat.

“Just like I can see her in you.” The angle of his voice changes, and I freeze, willing my heart to slow its furious pounding.

Now he thinks we’re related? I can’t even.

But I shrug, and drop my chin to my chest in some approximation of meekness, hoping he’ll buy it and carry on pacing.

“Who?” I manage, twisting my hands and getting ready to launch myself at him with clawed fingers.

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