Branded Page 5

  He picks up another rock and chucks it at me again. I barely manage to dodge it.

  “What the fuck, Derek?” Dixie yells. “Did you follow me?”

  “What the fuck are you doing here with him?” he yells back at her, not even answering her question. I’m pretty sure he did follow her. Why else would he know where to find her at this hour?

  “I could ask you the same thing, asshole,” she hisses. “You’re a fucking stalker.”

  “I’m just trying to protect my girl. That’s all,” he says.

  She folds her arms around her knees. “I’m not your girl, and I don’t need protection.”

  “Since when?” he hollers.

  “Since I broke up with you!” she screams. “Stop acting like a douchebag and leave us alone.”

  “I thought I told you to stay away from her,” he barks at me, completely ignoring her.

  “She can do whatever she wants,” I say, glancing at her across my shoulder. “She seems to like it up here.”

  “Don’t make me come up there and get you,” he says, giving her the stink eye.

  “Don’t you fucking try,” she says. “I’ll fucking kick you off the ladder myself.”

  I’m surprised by all the hatred she’s carrying. It reminds me of myself.

  Maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to her. At least she knows what it feels like to be held back all the time and not taken seriously.

  Derek snarls, “Dixie. Quit playing around.”

  “Derek … leave.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more serious than this.

  “If you don’t come down here, I’m going to tell your brothers what you’ve been up to.”

  “And you think I care?” she scoffs. “They don’t control me any more than you do. We’re done. Over. Now get lost.”

  She picks up the rock and chucks it right back at him. He tries to dodge, but it hits his shoulder, and he visibly squirms. I laugh in response. The expression on his face reminds me of my papa when I accidentally trashed his motorcycle while trying to ride the thing without a license.

  Complete and utter rage.

  “Dixie!” he screams.

  Instead of responding, she grabs my shoulders, pulls me toward her, and smashes her lips on mine.

  Holy fuck.

  Her kiss is on fire, just like her personality, even though it ends just as quickly as it started. She rips away from my mouth and gives Derek a dirty grin. I know she used me just to get back at him, but hey, I’m not complaining. I’ll accept any kiss I can get from her.

  “You …” Derek growls, glaring at me. “Think you can kiss my girl?”

  “Who, me?” I say, pointing at myself, ridiculing him.

  He snarls, “This is all your fault. You’d better watch your back, kid.” Then he turns around and storms off.

  That sounded like a threat, but I’m not afraid. He can’t hurt me. And as long as Dixie prefers to kiss me over him, I’m calling myself the winner in this situation.

  “Or what?” Dixie calls out to him, but he doesn’t even turn his head. “Thought so. Bye! Hope I never have to see your ugly face again!”

  It takes a while for him to disappear and for the quiet to return to the streets.

  “Wow …” I say. “That was—”

  “Awkward?” she interjects.

  I raise a brow. “I was going to say intense, but that’ll do.”

  She smirks and shakes her head. “Sorry you had to go through that again.”

  “It’s okay. I can take it.” I make a fist and smack my own hand. “If he tries to hurt you, let me know, and I’ll give him a good punch.”

  “Don’t start a fight over me, please,” she says. “I’m not worth it.”

  How can she say that?

  Doesn’t she realize how valuable she is as a person?

  Whoever put these thoughts in her head should get their head checked.

  I grab a strand of her hair and tuck it behind her ear. “You are worth it to me.”

  She purses her lips, trying to stop herself from smiling like crazy, but it’s not working.

  So I lean in closer, and murmur, “Now … where were we?”

  Chapter Seven

  Brandon

  One week later

  Age 18

  “Happy Birthday, son,” my papa says, shoving a package into my hands.

  “What’s this?”

  “Birthday present. What else?” He chuckles. “You didn’t think I’d forget about you, did you?”

  I’m a bit flabbergasted. He didn’t even mention he was going to buy something, let alone celebrate this day with me. My papa has never been one for celebrations. He doesn’t even celebrate his own birthday. People always thought it was weird, but I didn’t know any different. Though when the people at school congratulate you everywhere you go, I always felt like I was missing out a little. Especially when others would discuss the gifts they got.

  Which is why I’m so surprised my papa actually bought something for me this year.

  “Well, open it,” he says, nodding at me.

  I hastily unwrap the present and open the box.

  “I know I’ve let you down a couple of times, so I wanted to do you good,” he says. “Since it’s your eighteenth birthday and all.” He clears his throat as I pull out a thick, ringed pendant with a feather attached at the end. This … I remember this …

  “Ma …” I mumble.

  She always wore it around her neck. Every single day.

  “It was your ma’s wish that it’d be passed along to you when you were eighteen.”

  “Papa…” Tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them away. “You didn’t have to.” I hug him tight. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t think it’s strange?” he asks.

  “No, of course not,” I say as I put it around my neck. “How does it look?”

  I don’t think I’ve seen him smile this brightly in a long time. “Perfect. You remind me so much of your ma.”

  We hug again, barely able to keep it together. Then he pats me on the back, and says, “Well, hope you enjoy the rest of your day. Do you have any plans? I know you kids are always keen to go out drinking.” He puts a finger against my chest. “That’s fine by me, but make sure you’re sober when you drive, okay?”

  “Papa, of course.” I tsk. “You know me.”

  “Exactly,” he says, making me laugh. “So don’t overdo it.”

  He thinks I’m gonna party hard, but I’m not that kinda guy. I prefer to hang out with a few friends—more specifically, Dixie and Hanson—and that’s it. I don’t want or need to invite all my classmates for my birthday to feel special.

  As he turns around, he stops, and adds, “Oh, and remember, don’t go hanging out with any of the Burrells.”

  I frown. “What? Why not?”

  “Just don’t.”

  I guess he still hasn’t seen me with Dixie. Then again, I haven’t taken her home either. Our families don’t exactly get along, and I don’t wanna make things difficult. I’d much rather keep the peace … and her. But if my papa is going to be difficult about this, I have to clear things up right now by putting it out in the open.

  “I can’t do that, sorry,” I say, scratching the back of my head.

  He turns around. It’s his turn to frown now. “There are plenty of other kids you can hang out with. You have friends, don’t you? What about that Hanson guy?”

  “Papa, Dixie Burrell …” I mumble. “She’s my girlfriend.”

  His eyes widen. “What?”

  I rub my lips and sigh. “I was going to tell you eventually.”

  “When? Next year?” He raises his voice.

  “No, but … soon.”

  He looks like I told him I am moving out. “No.”

  I grimace. “What do you mean no?”

  He shakes his head. “No, it’s not happening.”

  He thinks he has a say in this? It’s my life, and I can do what I want. I fold my arms, trying to maintai
n my cool. “It’s not up to you.”

  “You’re my son.” He chucks the box he gave me aside. “Goddammit.”

  Fuck, he never swears like that. “Papa…”

  “No,” he says, pointing his finger at me. “Don’t do this, Brandon. I told you not to hang out with those Burrells, and now you’re dating one behind my back? You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “No, I don’t know what I’m doing,” I say with a sarcastic tone. “Explain it to me, please, by all means.” I know I sound pissed, but that’s because I am. He has no right to decide for me. Besides, he doesn’t even know her. “Dixie is a nice girl. She doesn’t deserve all this hate.”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know that family,” he responds.

  “Oh, and you do?” I raise a brow.

  He’s silent for a few seconds. “Don’t even try,” he says through gritted teeth after a few seconds.

  He always shuts me out. As if I can’t tell he’s hiding something. “Why are you so upset with me for finally finding a girl? Finally having someone in my life I can trust and who’s there for me?”

  “I’m here for you.” He marches toward me. “You can trust me, and I’m telling you that girl is not good for you.”

  What the fuck? Why would he even say that? “You don’t know her like I do.”

  He raises a hand. “I don’t need to, and I don’t want to.”

  I ball my fist. “How can you say that?”

  “I’m done with this conversation, Brandon. I told you it’s not happening, end of discussion.”

  “What?” I say through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

  “Brandon. Quit this nonsense right now.” He doesn’t even look at me as he judges me. Us. My girl.

  Fuck no. I’m not letting her slip through my fingers because of some judgmental crap between my papa and the Burrells. Their issues aren’t my problem.

  Fuck him. “No,” I bark, turning around and walking off.

  My papa stomps after me, placing his hand on the door. “I gave you everything. Don’t you dare walk out on me, boy.”

  “Everything? Is this what you call everything? Moving towns just because you feel like it? Ruining my childhood? You’ve given me nothing but pain.”

  “I did it for you,” he says, his voice seething with just as much pain as I feel inside my chest right now. “You don’t understand this now, but one day you will. I promise.”

  “No. I’m done. I’m leaving,” I say, opening the door and pushing him aside.

  “Brandon, you’re making a mistake.”

  “Yeah, well you were too. I’m fucking eighteen years old, Papa. I don’t need you to tell me what’s good for me. I know what I want. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  I mash my lips together and bite the inside of my cheeks, waiting for him to respond.

  But the words never come.

  He never says he’s sorry. Never says it’s okay. Never wants me to be happy my own way.

  So I rip the pendant from my neck and shove it back into his hands. “I don’t want this. And I don’t want you.”

  Before he can say another word, I turn around and walk out of the shop, slamming the door shut behind me.

  My face stings with the tears I refuse to shed. And fuck me, do they burn.

  Chapter Eight

  Brandon

  Present

  Age 30

  My cigarette burns away fast as I stare at it. The scorching bud reminds me of the traffic lights around every corner in this city. Las Vegas, the city of lights.

  The only light I care about right now is the one around my wrist that says what time it is. Only two more hours until my shift is over. Good. This day’s been boring as fuck.

  I take a final drag and chuck the cigarette on the asphalt, stomping it out before I go back inside. The noise from the hotel lobby hits me like a train rushing by. People bustling, suitcases rolling along, chitchat everywhere. It drives me nuts. I prefer peace and quiet. Not that there’s any of that here in Vegas. But I’m here with a reason and that reason is a well-paying job for a guy like me, so I can’t complain.

  As a security guard, I’m tasked with keeping the guests and staff safe, and that includes mundane tasks such as watching the monitors in the staff room. But my favorite part is kicking out the misbehaving assholes. A hotel casino is a busy place with slot machines and poker tables at every turn. People can’t control themselves when it comes to money, so that’s where I come in. One stern look is usually all that’s needed to get troublemakers to leave, and if not, my co-workers and I round them up and throw them out.

  Sometimes we have to call the police, but it usually doesn’t come to that. Violence is the last resort. Don’t wanna scare away the customers.

  That’s what my uncle would say anyway, and he runs the place. Built it from the ground up.

  I don’t always agree with him, but he’s a hardworking man, and I can get behind that. My papa raised me the same way, so I guess it runs in the family.

  After a quick check on the floor to make sure everything’s running smoothly, I go into the office and tap Mateo’s shoulder. “Your turn.”

  He spins his chair around and looks up at me. “That was quick.”

  “Yeah, just had a smoke. That’s it,” I reply, tightening the hair band around my braid. I grew out my black hair over the years. It’s a way to honor my ancestors. And my papa. He always wore his braids just like this. It’s a small gesture to remember where I came from.

  “Dude …” Mateo snorts, shaking his head. “What about lunch?”

  I shrug. “Not hungry.”

  He makes a face and gets up. “Suit yourself.” Then he takes a box out of his bag and opens it up right in front of me, eating half the sandwich while walking out with a stupid grin on his face.

  Fucker. Trying to get me to feel hungry. Well, it ain’t working. I’m not the type to eat three times a day anyway. Breakfast … sometimes … but I almost never have lunch. Usually, I just shove my face full of burgers after my shift ends. That’s it. It’s not healthy, but it’s cheap, and a man’s gotta eat.

  My boss may be my family, but he ain’t paying me to get rich. I need to work for my food. Besides, it’s not like cooking is so much fun when you’re eating by yourself. I’d rather spend that time going for a ride in my truck, enjoying the fresh air like I do every day after I get off work, and filling my stomach to the brim.

  Sighing, I plop down on the chair and watch the monitors. The people in the casino probably don’t even know I’m watching, and if someone told them, they probably wouldn’t believe it. Ignorance is bliss.

  I’d rather not know someone was watching my ass 24/7 either. But that’s my job, and it’s what I do best.

  I go through the live video footage, trying to find something interesting while looking at my phone at the same time. There’s not usually anything noteworthy happening, so scrolling through a news app entertains me otherwise.

  However, the moment I look up at the monitor again, something catches my eye. A woman dressed in all black with long platinum blond hair and wearing sunglasses walks along the hallway on the twentieth floor. She glances around hastily, then goes into room number 2042 using one of the key cards.

  I frown when she comes back out again three seconds later.

  As I lean in to get a better look, that’s when I notice the holster underneath her leather jacket.

  Oh, fuck no.

  I pick up the phone and dial the number I always call when shit’s about to hit the fan. I keep an eye on her as she walks through the corridor again. Suddenly, she looks straight up at the camera, sticks up her middle finger … and sprays it with paint.

  Fuck me. We’ve got trouble.

  * * *

  Dixie

  Present

  Age 29

  I put on the platinum blond wig and dress myself in black, then gaze in the mirror. No one will know it’s me. Perfect.

>   I have a job to do today. One so important that it could get me killed.

  I’m well aware of the risks involved with doing what I’m about to do, but sometimes shit just needs to get done.

  In this case, it’s planting a bomb in the middle of the Locklear Casino Hotel in Las Vegas.

  I’m not a terrorist. Far from it, in fact. I don’t want to kill anyone … I just want to ruin one man’s life. Josiah Locklear, owner of the hotel, and the one who singlehandedly ruined my family’s income with one snap of his fingers.

  If we confronted him head on, he’d just deny it and claim he’s innocent.

  Not on my watch.

  We’re done negotiating with that prick. Thanks to him, we’ve lost everything we’ve worked so damn hard for. Now it’s his turn to lose everything he cares about.

  My dad used his last remaining cash to buy me the shit that will make this work. All I needed to do was watch tutorials on the internet to learn how to make bombs. That’s one of the perks of being handy with technical stuff and loving that shit since you were a kid. My dad didn’t like it back then, but it’s definitely come in handy now.

  I grab the bags and take out my gun, tucking it into my holster. Then I tuck a pocket knife into my boot and shove the bags back into the corner of the hotel room. You never know when you'll need one. I don’t expect Locklear to go down easily. Once I’m spotted by his security, they’ll be on the hunt for me, and I need to be prepared.

  So I make sure I’m fully stocked before I set the timer on the bomb.

  I take out the spray paint and go out into the hallway to spray the cameras. I’m not doing it to hide my crimes. Fuck no. I want their attention. I want them to come and see … so they can witness their own end.

  As I hold up my canister, I give the camera the middle finger before spraying the paint on the lens. Then I chuck the canister aside and quickly rush into the other hallway.

  Noting an exit sign up ahead, I enter the stairwell and walk down the stairs until I see a red box on the wall. I open it and pull the lever.

  The fire alarm goes off.