Page 7 of Brutal King

In the end, I decide it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s better that I leave New York. With three thousand miles between us, my desire to throttle my own brother might eventually subside. Who knows, maybe he’s right and I’ll like it there.

After going through the stages of grief—denial that this is happening, anger that I have no control, bargaining with theDevil to help me escape, and sad when he didn’t show up— I finally accepted my fate.

Not that I had a choice since Luca had three of his men roaming the campus, waiting for me to bolt. I considered it, but changed my mind when I recognized them, if only to save face.

Last night I told Jenn what happened and consoled her when she cried for an hour. Then she helped me sneak into the lab to collect the chemicals should I not have access to them for a while.

We talked for hours about everything we wished for ourselves. We swore to keep in touch always.

God, I’m going to miss her almost as much as the dark room.

I glance upward, at the building I’ve called home for almost three years. I’ll miss this too.

“Morning.” The male voice has me turning back, only to watch a man already jogging away wearing a very familiar gray hoodie.

“Hey!” I yell. “Wait up.” But before I can chase after him, Victor pulls up in the Cadillac.

My lips draw into a hard line. I glance between my driver and the guy I’m sure is the same one that saved me from a fall yesterday. Why can’t he save me from this too?

“Hi, Victor,” I say when he steps out of the car.

“Miss Sofia. Are you ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes.”

“I do?” I ask, somewhat taken aback.

“You can sit up front with me, or in the back. You’re choice.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re a real hoot, you know that?”

“Just doing my job, miss Sofia.”

“I choose the back.”

“As you wish.” He opens the door for me and I climb into the car.

While Victor loads my luggage, I send a message to Jenn.

Me: Miss you already.

Jenn: Miss you more.

Luca: Have a safe trip.

I begin to type, telling him where he can shove his “good trip.” But I delete it before hittingsend. Then I type a different message telling him I will miss him. I delete that too.

That’s the thing about Luca. I love him dearly and want to shove him off a cliff at the same time.

In the end, I opt for typing a couple of random letters without sending, that way he can see the dots and wonder what the hell I was going to send. Psychological torture is the best kind.

“Where’s everyone else,” I ask Victor when he gets into the car. “I assumed there would be a caravan.”

“The boss didn’t want to draw attention. But we will have checkpoints along the way.”

“How long will this take?”

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