Branded Page 11

  Sighing, I continue to work on my latest gadget, which is a homemade sprinkler with a timer on it. It might be of some use to my dad and his secret farmhouse. I’m hoping I can impress him with this. Maybe then he’ll want me there too and not just my brothers.

  It’s almost midnight, and my dad expects me to be home soon, so I’d better hurry.

  However, a soft squeak has me sitting up straight and gazing around. There’s only one small light bulb hanging from the roof illuminating the shed, but it’s enough to see there’s no one here.

  Maybe it was a rat. I should work on building a trap next time. My dad’s been trying to catch them for some time now without any luck. Of course, the suckers avoid the poison flakes lying around the floor too. Pesky little shits.

  Suddenly, something touches my shoulder, and I freak out.

  I shriek, but a hand covers my mouth, blocking my voice.

  Adrenaline fills my veins as panic bubbles to the surface. I try to spin on my chair but can’t because someone’s holding me down firmly. Strong arms with a scent that reminds me of … soot.

  “It’s me. Don’t scream,” he whispers.

  It’s Brandon.

  He leans back, and I immediately stand and turn to face him. “Brandon! Jesus.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t wanna scare you,” he says, a little too loud.

  I close my eyes and let out a sigh. “God, could you have been any more creepy?”

  “I could if I wanted to,” he says, raising one brow, mocking me.

  I narrow my eyes, but my body remains rigid. Tense. It’s as if my brain has already decided for me that I can’t trust him. At least, not after what happened at the bonfire. “What are you doing here?” I whisper, still upset that he jumped on me like that. And even though he says I shouldn’t be scared, my skin still prickles where he touched me.

  “I just wanted to see you, that’s all,” he says with a way too cocky voice.

  “Shh …” I say. “Quiet. We’re close to the farmhouse.”

  He shrugs. “So?”

  “I don’t want my dad to hear us. He’s in there with my brothers.”

  “Ahh …” He takes a step toward me. “You’re afraid he’ll find us here together?”

  “Duh. You shouldn’t be here,” I say, leaning back as if I instinctively know not to let him get close. I don’t know why, but it feels different. Like I’m playing with fire, and I don’t wanna get burned.

  When he tries to caress my cheek, I turn my face slightly. He pauses. “Are you afraid of me?”

  Maybe. I don’t know the answer, but I feel like I should. What he did was wrong. Horrible.

  But I know why he did it.

  After all those years of Derek tormenting Brandon, he was bound to explode. But I never expected it to be this uncontrollable, this explosive. This … dangerous.

  “Should I be?” I ask, licking my lips.

  The half-smile that forms on his face has my heart skipping a beat. Fuck. I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. Not when he’s so volatile and aggressive … and sexy.

  “I can’t answer that for you,” he says after a while. He places his hands on the workbench, trapping me inside. “I don’t want you to be, though.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I whisper, looking down at my feet. Jesus. Why am I such a pussy when it comes to him? I should speak up, for fuck’s sake. Stop being a fucking whimpering virgin who can’t handle a little touchy-feely.

  “Hey.” He tips up my chin with one finger. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

  I nod softly as if he just asked me whether I believe him. I’m not even sure I do. I just know I want to. For my sake and for his.

  “But what happened at the bonfire …” I mutter.

  I don’t know how to begin my sentence or how to end it. Just like I don’t know where we began and where we should end.

  Maybe now.

  Maybe never.

  Shit.

  Why do I feel this way around him?

  Why is it that when a guy loses control, I want him even more?

  Am I that obsessed with bad boys? Jesus, help me.

  “It never should’ve happened,” he says, rubbing his lips together. “But I can’t erase it. And even if I could, I’m not even sure I would.”

  I bite my lip while sucking in a breath. My lungs feel constricted. Did he just admit that he liked hurting Derek?

  Hell, I don’t think I’ll ever hear anyone say that … except him.

  It’s all starting to make sense now.

  That darkness in his eyes that day wasn’t just a coincidence. That was the real him, the one who was always hiding in the shadows. That was the devil inside him, unleashed in full fury.

  And Lord … I couldn’t stop watching the onslaught. The inhumaneness of it all.

  Or maybe I was just stunned because I didn’t feel sorry for Derek. Not for one second.

  Am I just like him?

  But I don’t wanna be a monster.

  “It was wrong,” I say after gathering all my courage.

  “I know,” he says, gazing at me with those deep, dark eyes. “But I’m not here to apologize to him. I’m here for you,” he murmurs, pressing his body against mine. “Because I don’t want this to get between us.”

  “It already did,” I say, forcing myself to put two hands on his chest with the intent to push him away. Instead, feeling his warmth under the thin fabric of his shirt only makes me want to pull him closer.

  “Only if you let him,” Brandon says. “But you deserve better. We deserve better,” he says, leaning in so close I can feel his breath on my skin.

  I shudder with delight when his lips graze mine.

  “Can’t we forget about what happened at the bonfire?” he murmurs.

  “How? You’re a fugitive. Everyone’s looking for you,” I reply, trying not to let him kiss me even though my body desperately wants him to.

  “I don’t care,” he says, and he tries to make a move on me again.

  My brain finally catches up with what’s happening and puts a stop to it. I push him away as I say, “We can’t. It’s not right.”

  “Why not?” he asks, grabbing my hands. “I need you, Dixie.”

  The desperation in his voice is like torture to me, but I must stand my ground.

  “I … I can’t … My dad would kill me.”

  “Screw your dad,” he says through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t say that,” I say, tearing my hands away from his. “I love my family. You know that.”

  “All they do is judge you for the things you do, the things you want the most,” he replies.

  “So? Every family does that. Your dad judges us too.”

  He scoffs. “I only care about you, Dixie. We don’t need them.” He tips up my chin. “Let’s run away together.”

  I make a face. I can’t believe he’s suggesting this. “Where? How?”

  “Anywhere. Where’d you like to go?”

  I shake my head, laughing. “We’re kids, Brandon.”

  “Young adults. And very mature for our age, too,” he says with a killer smile. “So what do you say, Dixie? Wanna come? My car’s parked out front. We could go anywhere you want. Any place, just say the word.”

  Traveling the world has been a dream of mine, so I’m tempted to say yes. So fucking tempted, but …

  “Your family will be fine without you,” he adds as if that will make it easier to say yes.

  It doesn’t even though he’s right. They would be fine without me. But I don’t want to leave them behind. I love them. Despite the fact we have our differences and don’t always see eye to eye, they’re still my family. I can’t abandon them.

  I lick my lips, trying to come to terms with what I have to do.

  “I can’t.” I shake my head. “I just can’t. Period.”

  “But …” His face slowly turns darker and darker.

  He and I both know what’s coming. It’s been hanging in the air for a
long time.

  Even though we like each other a lot, we aren’t right for each other.

  We’re two people from two different worlds. Worlds that just don’t match, despite us trying so hard to fit them together. No amount of need or wantonness can make up for that.

  We simply weren’t meant for each other.

  “I can’t go with you, Brandon,” I say, swallowing away the lump in my throat. “But I won’t stop you either.”

  I don’t wanna be the one to hold him back. Even though what he did was bad, criminal even, I don’t have it in my heart to rat him out. That’s not who I am or who I wanna be. His sin is his to carry. Still, the tears well up in my eyes.

  “Wherever you’re going, I hope you’re happy there.”

  “Don’t say that,” he says, biting his lip and shaking his head.

  “You know I want the best for you,” I say as an icy draft flutters through the shed, making goose bumps scatter on my skin. Or maybe it’s the chilliness of this conversation.

  “But you aren’t happy here,” he says, still trying to grasp at straws.

  It’s too late. He’s already made his decision. And I just made mine.

  “You know I’m right,” he says, frowning.

  “I don’t care,” I say, willing the tears away. “I can’t just abandon them.”

  “Why not?”

  Just thinking about it makes me shudder. My dad … He’d literally kill me if he found me trying to run off. I’m pretty sure of it.

  “You don’t know my dad like I do.”

  “I’m not scared of him,” he says, straightening his back and trying to look tough.

  But there’s no bonfire here, and no amount of fire would ever fend off my dad. Brandon’s no match for him.

  “No, but I am …” I say, gazing down at my feet.

  “Why?” He grabs my face again, tilting it up. “Has he hurt you?” He balls his fist, teeth clenched together, the look on his face reminding me of Rocky before he pounded the shit out of his opponent. “Tell me the truth.”

  I suck on my bottom lip and shake my head.

  I can’t ever let them fight. Ever. Even if I have to lie.

  My dad would probably kill Brandon if he had the chance.

  “No,” I say.

  He puts his hands around my waist again. “Come with me. I’ll protect you.”

  I push him away again. “Stop. Don’t you get it? I can’t. My dad would kill me if he found me here with—”

  I can’t finish my sentence.

  Not without breaking his heart in the process.

  But when our eyes meet, I know it’s already too late.

  I see the poison seeping into his eyes.

  I injected it straight into his veins.

  Fuck.

  “With what?” he hisses.

  Is he really going to make me say it out loud? Is that how he wants this to end? Would this make it easier for him to leave? To hate me?

  “Say it. Say the word, goddammit!” he yells, grabbing my arms.

  Maybe it’s for the best.

  “Redskin.”

  His nostrils flare as he practically sucks up the word while licking on his bottom lip. The pain oozes from his dark eyes until nothing but suffering is left … all those years and all those people judging him for who he is and how he was born have left their mark.

  And now I stomped on the tiny bit of hope he had left.

  Crushed it with my very words.

  Just like his soul.

  “Don’t make me hate you, Dixie.”

  I don’t reply. There’s nothing to say. Taking it back would mean lying, and he deserves better than that.

  We both deserve better. We deserve to live.

  My dad would kill us both if he found us here, making out in his shed … forging plans to escape this life.

  And I don’t want Brandon to die. I like him too much to allow that to happen. I’d never forgive myself.

  If he hates me for it, then so be it.

  “You’ll regret this,” he barks, turning away from me.

  I already do. But there’s no point in trying to undo what I’ve done. There’s no way to turn back time, or take it back, or suck back the words and pretend they don’t exist.

  He needed to hear this in order to move on.

  In order to let me go.

  He paces in the shed with his hands in his hair, murmuring some inaudible words. Then he stops and glares at me.

  “Fuck you, you know?” he fumes. “Fuck. You.”

  The second time around, he actually means it.

  Tears sting my eyes, but I push them away into the abyss of my soul.

  “Fuck you, I’m outta here,” he says, shaking his head.

  Without looking at me, he storms out of the shed, slamming the door shut behind him.

  I sink down onto the stool and bury my face in my hands, wishing all the wishes of a teenage girl that never came to fruition.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brandon

  Present

  There’s an aching need in me that needs to be fulfilled. A thirst dying to be quenched.

  A hunger for death.

  I haven’t always felt this way, but ever since that night at the Burrell farm, I can’t stop thinking about it. Death. Killing. Murder.

  It’s on my mind plenty during the day, and the more I stopped listening, the worse the voices became. So I caved in and started looking for victims to punish. Little by little, step by step … I became more and more vicious. When I look in the mirror now, I don’t even recognize myself anymore. That’s how much I’ve changed over the years.

  Dixie Burrell … finding her at the hotel and taking her with me only brought out the monster in me.

  She antagonizes me. Pushes me. Gets underneath my skin and makes my blood boil.

  And it makes me wanna kill someone … literally.

  I want someone to feel the pain I do, to experience the suffering, and then end it all. Snuff them out with fire.

  So I’m gonna put my thoughts at ease and do just that. Calm my mind a bit, just as it always does when I pick a criminal to punish.

  It’s not bad when it’s someone who deserves it. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  I know it’s hypocritical, considering the crimes I’ve committed, but I’m not the only one who deserves to go out with a bang. I won’t hide in the shadows … I’ll welcome death with open arms. But as long as I live, I’ll continue using fire to my advantage and pleasure.

  Which is exactly what I’m going to do with this man right here. The man sitting right in front of me on this abandoned road. The dirt clings to his neat suit, but it doesn’t hide the filth underneath.

  I found him via a friend of mine who works at the police station. We have this unwritten rule that as long as I don’t leave any trace, I get the names on a certain bad-guys-who-got-away-with-shit list. Suffice to say, I locate them, hunt them down, take them somewhere remote, and do whatever I want.

  The guy in front of me is one of those who used the justice system to his advantage and got away with hurting a child.

  Not on my watch. I’ll play the role of judge, and I won’t be gentle.

  “Please, don’t,” the man begs on his knees. His oil-soaked body is shaking vigorously. “I’ll do anything. Please.”

  “Shoulda thought of that before you hurt that little boy. Didn’t you hear him beg for mercy when you whipped his ass until he died?” I say, cocking my head as I play with my Zippo. On and off. The light captures his attention like a moth to a flame. They all get burned in the end.

  I bend over and flick open my Zippo.

  His screams fill the air, lighting my soul on fire.

  This is why I do it. Dishing out pain soothes my own.

  Maybe it’s evil, and maybe it’s monstrous, but at least I only target the scum of the earth. Those who deserve to die anyway. I’m only making it painful, just like they deserve.

  Fire will always have a
special place in my heart, its passionate flame reminding me of my own unending and all-consuming rage.

  But this … this makes it a little more tolerable. Seeing the light snuff out in his eyes is like snorting coke straight up the nose. Addictive as fuck and so fucking energizing.

  And when the fire reaches the sky, I turn around and walk away, leaving his corpse to rot in the blazing sun. Just like he deserves.

  Just like I deserve.

  One day.

  * * *

  Dixie

  When he comes back, I scramble back to the bed. It’s been just under an hour. I have no clue what he’s been up to, but it can’t be good. A strange odor follows him as he steps inside with his muddy boots. Something that smells like … soot and fire.

  Did he do it again?

  Burn something … or someone?

  I swallow away the lump in my throat as he passes me without saying a word and goes straight into the bathroom.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to capture his attention, but he ignores me and turns on the water faucet instead. “Where were you?” I ask. “Did anyone follow you?”

  I hope he was careful going in and out of the parking lot. For all we know, his uncle’s men are on the watch. He said so himself.

  Of course, he doesn’t answer me, so I shift the topic. “Can you at least untie me?” I ask.

  “No,” he says with a slightly mocking voice.

  I bite my tongue instead of swearing him up and down. If he’s not gonna kill me, fine, but he can’t keep me cooped up in here either.

  I crawl off the bed and follow him into the bathroom. “What were you doing out there?”

  “Like I said,” he says, drying his hands after washing them thoroughly, “it’s none of your business.”

  “Why do you smell like a fuel fire?” I say, narrowing my eyes when his widen. I knew it. He did something. The question is … what? “You burned someone again, didn’t you?”

  He averts his gaze and turns on the shower instead.

  “Didn’t you?” I repeat, this time with a harsher tone.

  “Why are you so interested?” he says.

  “Because.” I shrug. I don’t even know. I just feel as though it might explain shit about him. Why he’s so fucked up to begin with. He was always obsessed with fire. Ever since we were young. I don’t remember him any other way. And it seems it’s only gotten worse over the years.