Branded Page 10

  “Josiah’s men are looking everywhere for us, and you just shot a fucking gun. Do you want them to find you?”

  She sucks in a breath through her nose, her nostrils flaring. “No.”

  “Then behave,” I say, still holding her wrists.

  She’s fighting me but with less force than before. Still, I can’t trust her not to pull shit like that again. I have to restrain her somehow.

  I look around and decide there’s only one option.

  I crawl off and lift her from the bed with one hand, holding her wrists together with the other.

  “What are you doing?” she asks with a condescending voice.

  “Tying you up so you don’t do anything stupid,” I reply, and before she can say another word, I’ve already unbuckled my belt and tied it around her wrists with a thick knot.

  “Ow!” She makes a face as I tighten it and shove her down onto the bed. “Jesus, Brandon.”

  She deserves the pain. On every … single … inch of her body.

  And fuck me, seeing her tied up like that really tickles my senses and makes me think of other things that I could be doing to her … real wicked, dirty things.

  “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” she murmurs with seductive eyes. “Touching me … feeling me … like we did a long time ago.” She arches her body toward me, pushing her tits against my chest, making me painfully aware of how hard her nipples are … and how many fantasies I used to have about sucking them.

  But we’re not young anymore, and everything I once thought I knew about her was a lie.

  “Go on then … Do it,” she taunts, licking her lips. “One last kiss goodbye before you kill me.”

  I’m tempted. Almost.

  Her lips look so tantalizing. And that fuck-me smile undoes me every time I see it. Sweet and sinful, just as I remember.

  No. I must restrain myself.

  We happened once, but it won’t ever happen again.

  Too much heinous evil has taken place. And we’ll both have to pay for our crimes one day.

  Today is hers.

  So I wrap my fingers around her throat and slowly squeeze, harder and harder …

  Watching her squirm is the best thing in the world.

  It gets my dick so hard I only stop once her eyes roll into the back of her head.

  When I release, she coughs and wheezes, trying to catch her breath.

  “Fuck,” she mumbles after a while.

  I back off and stare at my own hands … then down at my boner that just won’t go away. I don’t even want it to. I’m a twisted motherfucker, and I know it.

  This is what I live for.

  What I’ll die for.

  Pain.

  Suffering.

  I’ve made it my hallmark. My only salvation in this cruel world.

  “You … liked that, didn’t you?” she huffs, still coughing.

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I don’t know why, but I just needed to snuff out the light in her eyes. Just for one second, that’s all.

  And it felt fucking powerful as hell.

  “You sick, twisted son of a bitch,” she says, shaking her head but laughing at the same time. Her smile vanishes almost immediately as if she swallows it like a bitter pill.

  “Are you gonna kill me like my brothers?” she hisses. “You’re a pig, and you know it.”

  I won’t deny it. I know I deserve her rage just as much as she deserves mine.

  She spits on the floor in front of me, but I’ve already stepped away far enough so I won’t do more damage.

  Because I know damn well what I did was unforgivable.

  It was a culmination of events she set in motion.

  We’re both at fault, but she won’t ever admit that. Ever.

  I turn around and face the mirror again, so I can force myself to look at my own face.

  The face of a fucking murderer.

  “Don’t you ever think I’ll forgive you Brandon …” she yells. “Because of you, my fucking brothers are dead!”

  It’s true.

  I’m a cold-blooded killer who committed a horrible crime and then ran like a coward with his tail tucked between his legs.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brandon

  Past

  November 9th

  My mind is still spinning, my body reeling with adrenaline while I’m ushered into the van, and it immediately races off. We’re already miles away from the farm before it finally sinks in what we did. What I took part in.

  We killed Dixie’s brothers.

  I vaguely hear my uncle’s voice. “Brandon?”

  “I think I’m gonna be sick,” I say.

  He quickly fishes a plastic bag from a pocket behind the seat and hands it to me, and I puke.

  “Always keep these handy for moments like this,” Uncle Josiah says, chuckling a little.

  It’s good there’s no mirror in here because I’m sure I would scare myself into a heart attack if I saw my face right now.

  My uncle pats my shoulder. “Thatta boy.” He takes the bag away, ties a knot into it, and chucks it out the window. “Better out than in, I always say.”

  I frown, gazing at him. “How are you laughing right now?”

  “What else am I supposed to do?” His brow lifts. “We don’t cry, remember?”

  “We killed two fucking boys!”

  “An eye for an eye.” He shrugs.

  “We weren’t supposed to kill them! We were only supposed to rough them up,” I say in full panic.

  “Calm down, Brandon,” my uncle says. “You don’t wanna make a mistake now.”

  Why does that sound like a threat?

  I ball my fists. “You put them up to it, didn’t you?” I hiss.

  His face is completely serious now. “So what if I did? They deserved it. Every second of pain.”

  “They were stupid, young guys just like me.” I punch my own leg because I don’t have anything else to punch. I’d be stupid to hurt anyone in this car right now. I’m in the minority, and dying is the last on my list of things to do today.

  Still, I can’t shake this feeling that I should’ve done something to stop them. The pain should’ve stopped with me.

  But it’s too late now. I can’t take back what’s done. I can’t undo the suffering I’ve caused the Burrells. And most of all … Dixie.

  Fuck.

  I swallow away the sourness lingering on my tongue. “Now I’m a murderer …”

  And Dixie will hate me forever.

  She saw me.

  She fucking saw my face the moment I was about to kill Ben.

  They’re dead because of me, and she knows it as well as I do.

  Is she with them now, grieving beside their dead bodies?

  Does she hate me for what I’ve become?

  “You did what you had to do,” my uncle says with a stern voice, pulling me from my thoughts. “Anyone would’ve done the same.”

  “I’m only eighteen. I was supposed to make something of my life. Now I’m gonna go to jail as a teen,” I reply, sweat dripping down my back.

  “Who said you’ll go to jail?” he says. “I’m not letting anyone get their hands on my nephew.” He rubs my head, messing my hair. “You did good.”

  I swat him away. “Stop! Don’t do that.”

  “What?” He shrugs as if he doesn’t even know what I’m talking about.

  “Don’t talk about it as if it’s the most normal thing in the world,” I say. “It’s not.”

  “Doesn’t matter if it is or isn’t. They committed a horrible crime, and you know it, so you took revenge. The end. Case closed.” He holds out his hand. “Can I have my knife back now?”

  I stare him down for a few seconds before searching in my pockets. It takes me a while to actually hand it back to him. It’s not without regrets, but what other choice do I have?

  I’m in a van with a bunch of killers, and the only thing sitting between me and them is my uncle. I need to stay on his go
od side.

  “What am I supposed to do now, huh?” I say, still upset that he thinks so lightly of all this. “I can’t go back to that town. I can’t go back to the shop. I can’t go anywhere.”

  My uncle nods a few times. “I understand. I’ve lost something important to me too, Brandon,” he says, gazing up from underneath his lashes. The look on his face is dead serious.

  I take a deep breath, my nostrils flaring. “At least you still have the rest of the people at the reserve …”

  “I don’t live there anymore, Brandon,” he says, cocking his head.

  I narrow my eyes. “You don’t?”

  “I prefer the casino hotel,” he says, shrugging. “I never was a man for the countryside. Sue me.”

  I sigh and shake my head. “Well, lucky you.”

  “You can come too,” he says, catching my attention again. “If you want to, of course. No pressure.”

  Is he inviting me to come live with him?

  “I don’t know,” I say, still trying to think of a better option, but I’ve got none.

  There’s no place for me anymore.

  Not in that town. Not in my papa’s shop. Not at school. Not that motel. And definitely nowhere near the Burrells.

  That ship has sailed. I’m closing that chapter for good.

  Dixie Burrell must see me as the enemy now. Probably better if she does.

  I don’t fucking deserve anyone’s love right now.

  “I’ll get you a job at the casino. Give you a place to stay,” uncle says, winking. “C’mon, it’ll be good.”

  “What about school?” I ask, still trying to salvage something of my life.

  “School?” He laughs, folding his arms. “You’re a man now, Brandon. Time to act like one.”

  No one has ever called me a man.

  Yet I like it. It sounds like it belongs with my name.

  Brandon Locklear.

  A not so innocent boy … because boys don’t kill people.

  Men do.

  * * *

  Present

  That night I was forced to become a man still haunts me to this very day.

  I’m not innocent, and I won’t pretend to be. Both of us deserve the unaltered, naked truth. But can we face it? Can I look myself in the eyes without the guilt staring right back at me?

  I can’t.

  The man in the mirror shows me the monster I truly am.

  I glare at my hands as she spits more words at me. “Why? Tell me why?”

  Her voice sounds wounded, laced with visceral pain that cuts me like a sharp knife.

  “I can’t,” I mutter.

  I know what I did was wrong. Completely and utterly vile.

  But it had to be done.

  I make a fist with my hands. “They deserved what was coming for them.” And I turn to face her. “And so do you.”

  “What? Why? I didn’t do shit!” she yells, her eyes watery from the mere mention of her brothers. But I know she feels it too … the shame eating us up from the inside out.

  “You know exactly why,” I reply through gritted teeth. “Don’t fucking ask me again.”

  When she parts her lips, I show her the metallic Zippo I kept all these years. It’s still stained with blood.

  “This. Remember this?” I hiss.

  Her pupils dilate, and she instantly slams her lips together, swallowing. That’s it. That’s the look. The one that’s haunted me all these years.

  Blame.

  That’s what this is all about.

  But we didn’t come here for that. Our meeting was a chance encounter, and I refuse to let it devolve into a who-did-what. She bombed my uncle’s hotel, and she should pay for it. End of.

  I just haven’t figured out when, where … and how.

  I tuck the Zippo back into my pocket and shake my head. “I’m going out.”

  “To do what?” she asks as I march toward the door.

  “None of your business,” I reply, still angry over the fact she made me confront my own sins. “Now stay here. If you even attempt to escape, I will find you, and I promise you … I won’t be merciful.”

  “Oh, and what are you going to do then?” she says with a courageous voice. “Finally kill me?”

  I sigh. Always the sassy girl ready to put up a fight.

  But you don’t wanna mess with me. I’m the guy who knocks people out with one punch and then lights them on fire just for the fun of it.

  Criminals, mostly. Never the innocent.

  But she’s far from innocent …

  Does she really wanna tempt me to become that twisted? To punish her like I punish those who betray their own morals?

  Maybe … maybe she is yearning for me to end her quiet suffering, for me to bring her the justice she deserves. After all, I’m not the only one who did something unforgivable.

  “Don’t make me hurt you, Dixie,” I say without looking at her.

  “As if you could hurt me any more than you already have.”

  Her words wound me in a way I didn’t think was possible anymore.

  But I have to remain calm, have to fight this growing urge to jump her and do whatever I want with her. Because fuck me, if she keeps on talking, I will have to silence her, and I’ll use any means necessary, including my dick.

  Instead, I open the door and step outside.

  “Bye, Brandon. I’ll wait right here until you come back so we can continue where we left off,” she mumbles, quietly chuckling to herself.

  She thinks she has me in a corner with the upper hand.

  I’m not the one tied up and kept under lock and key by a man who can’t wait to use her for his every whim.

  Without saying another word, I close the door behind me and hear her roar.

  A filthy smile forms on my lips at the thought of what I could do to punish her … to ease the pain of my own suffering too.

  But she’ll know soon enough just how vicious I can get and just how much we both deserve each other.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dixie

  I don’t know where he’s gone or what he’s going to do, but I’m not going to sit around and wait for him to return either.

  I may have said that I was gonna wait, but girls lie all the time to get out of nasty situations like these. Especially when they involve bad boys who can’t control their tempers. And fuck me, does he have a bad temper.

  He’s grown up and not just emotionally either. That body of his was hard as fuck when he lay on top of me. I could feel it, the tension in his muscles, the sheer force with which he threw me onto the bed.

  I’m no match for his strength … or his dark, seductive eyes.

  When he looked at me, I almost lost the will to fight back. They were that entrancing.

  But I must focus and stay vigilant. He’s the bad guy. The one who got away with murder. I can’t ever forgive him, nor can I let him get close.

  I get up from the bed and jerk on the door handles. Of course, he locked them. The windows are next, but those too are locked tight. Only a couple of small air vents at the top are open, but they’re only big enough for a couple of fingers to pass through and nothing else.

  Mulling it over, I search for more options. There’s gotta be some way to escape.

  This damn belt buckle around my wrists isn’t making it any easier either. And it smells like him too, reminding me he has me right where he wants me.

  And there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s no knife, no paper cutter, nothing in the drawers to help me free myself.

  Goddammit.

  It wouldn’t surprise me if he knew. Of course I’d try to escape, and he prepared for it, knowing full well I’d go looking … and find nothing.

  Grumbling, I sit down on the bed again. I should’ve fucking used more explosives. At least then we would’ve both been blown to smithereens. Now we’re stuck in this god-awful motel. Why not just kill me and get it over with?

  He hates me just as much as I hate him even though I don
’t understand why. I didn’t do anything to him except for break up with him. Is that why he murdered my brothers? I killed him with heartbreak, so he kills my family instead?

  No, there must be some other reason, but I can’t figure out what, and he won’t tell me.

  Ever since my brothers died, I’ve been obsessed with finding Brandon, with knowing the reason behind their murders. And now that he’s here, I feel as though the answer is at my fingertips. All I need to do is grasp it, but how?

  How do I make him talk?

  Maybe using my body against him isn’t such a bad idea after all …

  I mean, his eyes were looking all over the place, scanning my body, almost as if he was hungry for a taste. And I admit, it did excite me a little bit, but I won’t ever say that to him. It’d be a sin, considering the things he did to me.

  Still, I can’t help but think about what would’ve happened to us …

  And if we ever had a chance to begin with.

  * * *

  Past

  November 6th

  I haven’t seen Brandon since the night at the bonfire. Since he burned Derek’s hand and ran off.

  He hasn’t shown himself at school nor at his dad’s shop. I went to Mr. Locklear and asked where he was, but he was hoping I knew. He kept asking what happened to him as if he could sense that I was there when Brandon ran.

  I left without telling him the truth.

  I don’t feel like it’s my place. Brandon should do this on his own terms, his own way.

  If he ever comes back.

  God, I hope he’s okay.

  I take a sip of my Coke and lean back on my stool. I’m done with all my chores at the farm for today, so I’m busy in the workshop to take my mind off things. Or rather … the situation between Derek and Brandon.

  They were fighting over me.

  Me.

  As if I’m some sort of prize.

  Fuck.

  It’s like one of those cheesy romance novels with two bad boys fighting over the one stupid girl. Fuck, how stupid am I to be the one in the middle.

  Maybe I should just stay a virgin.

  I snort to myself. Yeah, like that’s the answer to everything.

  But at least I’ll be rid of the boys then. They’ll be my undoing, I just know it.