Brutal Prince (Brutal Birthright)

“Well, call me if you ever need me again,” he says, giving me a little salute.

“I hope I won’t need you,” I laugh. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he chuckles.

He raises his hand to signal for the waitress.

“I already paid for the meals,” I tell him.

“Oh, thanks! You didn’t have to.”

“It was the least I could do.”

“Alright, I’m off then.”

He gives me a wave and leaves through the restaurant. I cut straight through the patio, then cross the street, because that’s the quickest route to the lot where I left the Jeep.

I feel like my feet are barely touching the sidewalk.

This is so fucking fantastic, it’s got to be some kind of sign. A bona fide miracle.

It’s a gorgeous day, too. Sun beaming down, the tiniest breeze blowing in off the lake, the clouds so puffy and uniform that they look like a child’s painting.

I’m so excited to see Cal. I felt bad not going to see his new office, but this couldn’t wait. I couldn’t chance something else going wrong. He won’t be mad about it when he sees what I’ve got.

Nessa’s Jeep looks brilliantly white in the sunshine. I washed it and filled it up with gas on the way over, as a thank-you to Nessa for letting me borrow it so many times. I even vacuumed the seats and threw away all her empty water bottles.

Still, the Jeep is outshone by the car parked next to it. A very familiar car.

I stop mid-stride, frowning.

I don’t see anyone around. Probably the best thing to do is get in the Jeep and drive away as quickly as possible.

As soon as my fingers touch the door handle, I feel something hard and sharp poke between my ribs.

“Hey baby girl,” a deep voice whispers in my ear.

I stand perfectly still, running through my options in my mind.

Fight. Run. Scream. Try to dial my phone.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, just don’t,” he growls. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible.

“You’ll be getting in my car.”

“Alright.”

“In the trunk.”

Fuck.

I’m cooperating because it seems like the best option right now—the one most likely to keep him calm.

But I’ve got to do something.

He presses the button on his key fob, popping open the trunk.