Branded Read online

  I immediately get up, but it’s already too late. By the time I get there, both are yelling and pushing each other.

  “Motherfucker! What are you doing here hanging out with my girl?” Derek barks.

  “If you hadn’t noticed, she ain’t your girl anymore,” Brandon retorts.

  Derek looks like he’s shooting thunderbolts from his eyes. “Because your little Indian ass had to throw yourself at her!”

  He throws his plastic cup full of beer in Brandon’s face.

  Brandon stays put, silent for a few seconds, while he wipes the beer off his face.

  “Don’t … call me that,” Brandon hisses.

  Everyone’s staring at them. Even me. I don’t know what to do or how to resolve this mess I created.

  “What? Indian?” Derek shoves him hard. “Redskin? Fucking unwanted piece of shit that your ma left behind? Your papa must be so disappointed.”

  “Take. That. Back,” Brandon growls.

  I’ve never seen him this angry over someone mentioning his ma and pa.

  “Fuck no, you deserve it,” Derek says, and he spits on Brandon’s face.

  Brandon suddenly shoves Derek so hard, he ends up on the ground, covered in dirt.

  I cover my mouth in shock as Derek rushes Brandon and bulldozes him over. The two of them fight on the ground. Fists are flying everywhere. They’re already covered in scrapes and blood, but neither of them stops.

  “Derek! Brandon! NO!” I yell from the sidelines, but they don’t listen.

  Completely focused on each other, they don’t even see me anymore. No one intervenes. Everyone just looks on as though they’re entertainment.

  I try to grab Derek’s arm.

  “Fuck off!” He pushes me away so hard I fall to the ground too.

  “Ow!” I stammer.

  Now Brandon turns toward me, momentarily shaken by my cry for pain. “Dixie!”

  But then he immediately turns his attention to Derek again. His face has darkened, his hatred back in full force. “Motherfucker! YOU HURT HER!” Brandon screams. After throwing multiple punches, he gets off the ground and drags Derek toward the fire.

  “Brandon, stop!” I yell.

  But it’s too late.

  Consumed by rage and completely out of it, his adrenaline has caused him to have an inhumane amount of strength. Just because of the comments Derek made about his heritage. Or maybe because Derek hurt me. And it looks as though his sole aim now is payback.

  “No!” I cry out as Brandon hauls Derek so close, his hand touches the flames.

  “Fucker, stop! Stop!” Derek howls. “FUCK!”

  But Brandon doesn’t listen.

  Not even as the people around us jump up and run toward them.

  They have to physically drag Brandon away from Derek.

  Shrieking is all that’s audible … after Derek’s burned hand is no longer licked by the flames.

  It’s the first time I have ever seen the pitch-black darkness within Brandon’s eyes.

  And I don’t think it’s going to be the last.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dixie

  Present

  I shiver at the thought of ever being with him. Or kissing him. Never again.

  I used to think he was sweet. Fuck that. Life isn’t sweet, and neither is he.

  “What are you thinking about, oh dark one?” I jest, trying to catch his attention.

  “Nothing,” he barks back, still pacing around.

  “Still wondering what you’re going to do with me?” I say. “Oh blackened soul?”

  He stops in his tracks and narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what,” I tease. “Mr. Indian?”

  He hates that word.

  No, hate isn’t strong enough to describe the emotions in his eyes right now. I can almost see the wheels spinning in his head. The searing burn of his glare is enough to make me wanna look away, but I don’t. I want him to react, so I can lure him into my trap.

  “Don’t you fucking—” He stops himself from saying anything else by grinding his teeth instead.

  “What? I’m just asking a question … redskin.”

  He stomps toward me, grasps me by the throat, and growls, “Don’t you ever fucking use those words again.”

  A slow smile creeps onto my lips when I see the rage on his face. “That’s it, right?”

  That’s his weakness. Or at least, one of them. The other is his dad.

  “That’s what they called you and your dad, isn’t it?”

  “Shut up,” he hisses.

  I won’t stop trying to reel him in. It’s the only way to get close enough to grab his gun.

  “You hate it when you’re confronted with your own skin,” I muse, narrowing my eyes at him. “Well, guess what? You deserve it after ruining my life.”

  “I didn’t do shit,” he hisses right up in my face.

  He’s so close now I can feel his breath on my skin, but I don’t let it distract me.

  We both know he’s far from innocent.

  He crushed my soul, destroyed me, and left me in pieces to deal with it alone.

  That’s his sin to carry.

  A sin I’ll never forgive him for.

  * * *

  Brandon

  Past

  November 9th

  You don’t really know your uncle until you’re cooped up in a van with three other men you don’t even recognize. He called them and then picked them up somewhere far outta town. Now we’re on the way back to Springhaven.

  I don’t know who they are or what we’re gonna do.

  I knew my uncle was rich, but it still amazes me. After all this time, I still feel as though I don’t know him that well.

  My uncle is an enigma. Someone powerful … someone I don’t know if I can trust.

  But right now, I have no other choice. Family sticks together, no matter what.

  I clutch the pendant my papa once gave me and hold it close to my heart.

  I feel on edge. Unhinged. As if my life is happening on the big screen and I’m watching it from a seat in the theater. Minus the popcorn, but with all the salt in the world.

  The men beside me occasionally glare at me, and I glare back equally hard. I wonder how my uncle knows them, and why they’re coming along. Do they work for him?

  And what the fuck are they planning to do?

  One of the men starts playing with a knife, twirling it swiftly in his hands as if he’s got nothing better to do. The one beside me doesn’t even seem fazed as he casually drinks from his water bottle.

  Who are these guys?

  There’s only one thing all of us have in common, and that’s the long black hair.

  Native Americans.

  Did my uncle drum them up from the reserve?

  Before I can ask my uncle any of these questions, he says, “We’re here.”

  The men immediately grab gloves and ski masks and put them on. My stomach churns.

  The doors of the van open, and I’m pulled out by my uncle. We’re right in front of the Burrell’s gate.

  The sky is pitch black with nothing but the stars illuminating our way. One of the men brought bolt cutters and breaks open the gate. My uncle pulls me aside and hands me a pair of gloves. “Put these on, boy. You don’t wanna leave any trace, remember?”

  I’m surprised he thought of this. He’s thought of everything. It’s almost as if he’s done this before. Or maybe he just knows how shit like this goes. He always seems prepared for the world to go down. Tonight is no different.

  My uncle ushers us onto the property, but he remains at the gate. He hisses, “Go! I’ll stay here and make sure the van is ready.”

  For what, I wonder.

  A quick getaway? Maybe … or maybe he chickened out.

  Whatever. I’m not gonna sit and wait for the others to do the job. I need to know why the twins did what they did. And they should pay with a rough beating at least.

  I’m pretty sure my uncle
hired these three men to take care of that so he doesn’t have to do the dirty work himself. He’s just letting me tag along with them for the ride.

  The men go ahead, and I follow them, sneaking onto the property. One of them turns on a flashlight and peers through the windows, looking for movement. There are no lights on inside, and no one appears to be awake. Good.

  One of the men pulls out a small tool and pries the door open in no time. We go inside and up the stairs. Mr. Burrell is snoring loud, so we head in the opposite direction. On the doors are nameplates and one of them reads Dixie. My throat instantly feels dry.

  I try to ignore the uneasiness bubbling to the surface and focus on the task at hand.

  When we’ve found the door that says Ben & Danny, we come to a stop. One of the men gently pushes open the door, and we all go inside quietly. The two boys lie on their beds, snoring loudly.

  Just seeing them sleep like babies makes my blood boil. They should be crying in a pool of their own blood. I can’t wait to beat their asses.

  I won’t be gentle, but I won’t be cruel either. I’m not like them.

  With clenched fists, I march toward Danny and stand in front of his bed, waiting for him to open his eyes and see what he’s done when he stares back at me. I want him to see the pain, the suffering, the humiliation. I want him to experience the same.

  I almost contemplate hurting his dad instead.

  But one of the men steps forward and grabs my shoulder, pulling me away from the bed.

  He pulls out a knife … that same knife he was twirling in the van … and rams it straight into Danny’s heart.

  My eyes widen, and I fall back onto the floor. “What the f—”

  “Shut it,” one of the other men hisses at me, placing his finger on his lips.

  Danny releases a muffled growl, the sound of a person in need. The sound of a person who’s dying.

  The man with the knife keeps jabbing him, over and over again. Blood spills everywhere, staining the bed.

  It drips down onto the floor and makes me crawl away.

  I bump straight into Ben’s bed.

  One of the men immediately lifts me to my feet and pushes a knife into my hand. Our eyes meet. His are empty, void of any emotions while mine probably drown in them.

  Still, he nudges me toward Ben.

  I hold the knife in front of me as though it’s a weapon, a sword to slay my enemies.

  But this is no game, and I’m no fucking prince on a horse saving the damsel in distress.

  I’m hurt. Wounded. Scarred for life.

  They deserve this.

  At least, that’s the mantra I repeat in my head, but I can’t bring myself to actually hurt him.

  What am I doing?

  I wanted them to pay.

  Desperately.

  But the longer I stay here, hovering over his body, wishing he was dead … the more I’m beginning to shake. Violently.

  I turn my head toward the door, and a moment of panic rushes over me.

  That’s when I spot them … the terrified, tear-stained eyes watching us from the hallway through the gap in the open door.

  Dixie.

  * * *

  Dixie

  My throat clamps, and my lungs squeeze together. I’m horrified. Struck with blinding fear and shock as four men move like shadows through my brothers’ room.

  A split second is all it takes for me to notice the blood on Danny’s bed.

  And the guy standing in front of Ben’s bed, ready to do the same to him … Brandon.

  Our eyes meet, and I know he sees the hatred.

  I scream. Louder than I ever have.

  One of the other men quickly intervenes, and before I know it, he’s slashed Ben’s throat.

  My survival instinct kicks in. I run as fast as I can to my parents’ room. My dad’s already sitting straight up in his bed the moment I burst through the door, and scream, “Danny! Ben! They’re dead!”

  “What?!” my dad growls, jumping out of bed.

  Mom just screams.

  I shut the door behind me, locking it. My whole body is shaking. “There are men inside our house!”

  Still in his underwear, my dad reaches into his closet and takes out his shotgun. He marches toward me and shoves me aside. He slams open the door and bolts through the hallway to their bedroom. Mom sits on the bed, crying her eyes out, unable to move. After quickly ripping a big hunting knife off the wall, I follow my dad.

  But when we enter the twin’s room, the men are long gone.

  The window is open, the curtains floating in the wind.

  My dad rushes toward it and peers outside, then he points his shotgun at the ground.

  BANG!

  BANG, BANG!

  The shots echo into the night, the sound deafening.

  Everything seems to be going in slow motion. As if I’m not really here.

  My body feels like it isn’t mine as I tread through the boys’ room. My mind can’t make sense of the scene in front of me.

  I don’t know how many times Dad shoots at them, but the longer he goes on, the more he growls. “You’ll pay for this, motherfucking redskins!” he yells out the window.

  “Tend to your brothers,” my dad barks at me while he marches out, probably to chase those men in the ski masks. And Brandon. Fuck.

  But it’s already too late. I hear the tires screeching. By the time he reaches them, they’ll be long gone.

  I drop the knife on a dresser beside the door and run toward Danny. Stab wounds cover his whole body. Blood seeps from the holes.

  “Danny? Danny!” I shake him, but it’s no use.

  He doesn’t respond. Not to my cries for help. Not to me pushing him or trying to perform CPR.

  The life has already left his eyes.

  I turn my head, hoping at least Ben is still alive.

  I crawl across the blood-stained floor, soaking my own nightgown. My hands tremble as I try to hold his throat together. The penetrative stare he gives me makes my heart stop.

  He’s terrified. I can see it. But nothing I can say or do will change what’s about to happen.

  He’s trying to talk, but all that comes out are gurgles … and blood.

  “Don’t talk,” I say, shaking my head.

  I grab his blanket and rip off a piece, trying to apply pressure, but I don’t know what I’m doing, and the blood keeps pouring out.

  I know he’s about to die, but I can’t let it happen.

  They’re my fucking brothers.

  “Hold on,” I say. “Please, hold on. Stay with me,” I beg, but his eyes are already closing. Softly. Like the wind coming in through the window is tipping him over the edge, pulling him toward the darkness. Toward death.

  Mom enters at this moment, and she immediately sinks to the floor in front of them. “My babies!” she keeps on yelling over and over while hugging Danny and then moving to Ben.

  His gurgling continues for a few minutes, then stops.

  Everything stops.

  Even me and my mom.

  With tears running down my cheeks, I sink to the floor. A wave of sorrow washes over me and takes me away, pulling me into the abyss.

  My brothers are dead.

  Gone.

  Just like that, I became a single child.

  Just like that, I lose the brothers I’ve lived with for seventeen years.

  All the memories we were supposed to build together in the future, gone. Erased from the planet.

  Just like them.

  Just as the love I once felt for Brandon Locklear.

  He killed my fucking family.

  I’ll never forgive him for this.

  Never.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brandon

  Present

  “I saw you,” she says with a stone-cold face. “I know you helped those monsters kill my brothers. You’re just as guilty.”

  The gravity of her words weighs me down as if I’m being thrown in the deep end with a concrete
block attached to my ankle. She’s the one who cast me in. The one who brought me ruin. The one who caused us to destroy ourselves.

  It’s not all my fault. It’s not only my sin that brought us here. She’s as much to blame as I am, and I refuse to take the fall for that.

  “You don’t know anything,” I say, turning around to face the mirror. I can’t look at her right now. Not without wanting to wrap my hands around her throat and be done with it.

  I have to control myself. If I kill her now, it’ll all be for nothing.

  I plucked her away from the hotel for a reason. I just have to remember what it was. Because, fuck me, if she isn’t making it difficult for me right now.

  “You murdered them,” she says, her words hitting me hard. “I remember everything.”

  “Stop,” I say, trying to block out the voices in my head accusing me of being the devil.

  “Just because you don’t wanna hear it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” she hisses. “Just because you don’t want it to be true doesn’t make it untrue, Brandon.”

  I spin on my heels, and yell, “I said shut up!”

  She leans back on the bed, one hand on her chest, her eyes huge. Like a scared little fawn.

  After all this time, she’s still scared of me.

  Of course, she is.

  I’m a monster.

  I take a deep breath, and say, “What’s done is done. I can’t change the past.”

  “No, you can’t,” she replies, her lip twitching. “But you can sure as hell can pay for it.”

  Suddenly, she lunges forward and grabs my gun from my holster.

  She almost shoots me in the chest, but I dodge just in time.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, and I jump on top of her, shoving both her arms down on the bed and knocking the gun from her hands.

  “Get the fuck off me!” she snaps, writhing underneath me.

  “Fuck you, Dixie, fuck you,” I yell in her face. “Are you insane? Are you trying to get us killed?”

  “No, just you.” She tries to get up, but I keep pushing her down. I don’t intend to get off her anytime soon.