Page 6 of Brutal King

“It’s not up for discussion.”

“I’m twenty-one years old, Luca. You cannot tell me?—”

“I pay for your tuition which means I can decide where you go.”

“I’ll get a student loan and a job. Which I want anyway,” I declare, all of the softness toward my pigheaded brother gone.

“Doing what exactly?” The question is dripping with skepticism of my capabilities, and it grinds on my nerve endings.

“I’ll make coffee, clean toilets, or maybe I’ll pull a page from your book and sell drugs.”

“The hell you will!”

“You don’t think I can? I’m getting an education in political science and government for crying out loud. Not only can I sell illegal shit, but I can probably do it better than you.”

There’s a loud exasperated sigh. “Sofia.” Teeth grinding. “I have no doubt of your abilities. But the last thing I want is for you to go into this business. You’re better than that. I just want you safe.” And there it is again, that pained tone that makes my heart squeeze. Then he ruins it by saying, “So don’t give me ahard time. You’re going to Stanford even if I have to drag you there myself.”

My grip around my phone tightens. For the briefest of moments, I wish it was Luca’s neck. I wish I could hurt him.

“Yes, brother dearest,” I mock. “Brother knows best.”

“I do,” he says, completely missing the movie references. “You’ll like it. You’ve always wanted to see the world. This is the start to that.”

“You’ll actually let me?” I ask, adding my own skepticism to the question.

“When I kill the Ferryman, we’ll talk.”

“Yeah right.” He’ll never give me freedom. If it’s not a ferryman, it will be a slayer or some other killer.

“Sofe—”

“Whatever.” Now it’s me that cuts him off as I hang up.

A text message comes in two seconds later.

Luca: Victor will be waiting at the door at seven in the morning. Be ready

.

Something wicked suddenly possesses me, and I grin.

I look up to the ceiling and press my hands together, my phone between them, and say in a singsong voice, “Oh Ferryman, oh Ferryman, come to me. Come save me from this awful man, come take me home with thee.”

My smile fades and I’m filled with horror as I realize what I’ve just said. If the Ferryman were to come for me, there’s only one place he’d take me. To Hell.

“I didn’t mean it,” I whisper.

But there are some things you can’t take back.

2

SOFIA

I’m downstairs at six fifty in the morning, my three bags of clothes haphazardly packed, since I only just did it half an hour ago. My camera, of course, has been carefully stored in its case, along with film and the three bottles of chemicals I was able to sneak out of the lab.

I don’t know much about Stanford. It was never on my radar. Until last night, I’d never looked into what they offered. Luckily, they do have a photography program. Unfortunately, I am not going to be in it according to the curriculum information Luca sent me.

It pisses me off how easily he was able to get this done. When the hell did he have time to submit the request? Did he even send my transcripts? Were there letters of recommendation? Does Stanford even want me there or did Luca pay some exorbitant fee?

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