Branded

by Wild, Clarissa

  And once I do, I’ll go after his uncle because we have unfinished business, and I’m not letting it go.

  One glance at Brandon’s hand is all it takes to make him tighten his grip on his gun. He keeps it on the left side of the steering wheel so I can’t snatch it away from him without crashing the car.

  He’s smart like that. But I know I can be just as smart, if not smarter. I just gotta think of a solution to this trouble I’m in. Obviously, throwing my body and my looks into the fight didn’t work as intended. He used me for his own pleasure, and it got me nowhere. So I gotta change my strategy a bit. Maybe push his buttons a different way …

  After all, a man’s got more than only his dick to manipulate.

  There’s a heart too, somewhere, shriveled up in that muscular chest of his. If he still has one, that is. But how do I find a way inside when he hates me the way he does? I gotta think about this.

  I gaze out the window and sigh while the car begins to slow down as we near a diner.

  I frown and look his way. “What are you doing?”

  His uncle’s men could still be on our heels.

  “Gee, I don’t know. What does it look like I’m doing?” he says with a coy face.

  “No, no,” I say. “We can’t stop. What if we’re still being followed?” I try grabbing the wheel, but he slaps my hand away.

  “Hands off. I’m the one driving,” he says. “We haven’t been followed for ages. It’s safe to take a fucking break.”

  “Maybe they’re there,” I say, leaning back when he huffs. “How do you even know you’re safe? You don’t.”

  “I don’t care.” He rolls his eyes. “We’re stopping, sugar, whether you like it or not.”

  I purse my lips in annoyance. “Don’t call me that.”

  I’m not fucking sweet, and he knows it.

  With a smile that would make all the girls fawn, he looks my way, and says, “What’s that, pumpkin?”

  I cringe. “Pumpkin?”

  Anything but that. Anything. I’d settle for bitch at this point as long as he doesn’t call me pumpkin. What is this, the fifties? God, this makes me wanna ram my head into the dashboard.

  “Pie?” He nods his head, and I don’t get where he’s going at all.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask with a raised voice.

  A dark, delish laugh rolls off his tongue, one that makes me want to punch him in the throat.

  “Nothing right now, cupcake,” he muses, grabbing my cheeks to squeeze them.

  I swat him away, but my skin still prickles where he touched me. Goddammit, I don’t wanna feel this way around him. Anyone but him.

  Goddamn him and his annoying nicknames.

  “Maybe later, when I feel like roughing you up again …” He winks, and it’s one of those that instantly makes your heart flutter. Fuck.

  “But for now, I think you could use some of that.” With that devilish smile, he directs my attention toward a billboard hanging high above the diner that says “Darla’s Delicious Pumpkin Pie!” and my mouth begins to water.

  So that’s what he meant.

  I stare at it for a second before realizing he’s still watching me instead of the billboard, probably trying to gauge my reaction.

  “Hungry?” he asks, lifting a brow.

  I clear my throat, and say, “No, we don’t have time for that—”

  He takes an instant left turn, and if it wasn’t for this seat belt, I would have flown out of my seat. With screeching tires, we come to a stop on the parking lot. My hair is a mess and so is my heart rate. On his face is an even bigger grin.

  “I’ll decide what we have time for,” he says with a smug face as he takes the keys from the ignition. “Time for food.”

  He grabs the pants and puts them on. My eyes barely close on time before he pulls off the towel and buttons up. Before I know it, he’s already tucked the gun back into his pocket. There goes my chance at stealing it. Again.

  I sigh, as he fishes in his pockets and takes out his Zippo only to tuck it back in again. I guess he wanted to confirm it was still there. He’s lucky I brought his damn pants.

  He opens the door in a hurry.

  “What about your uncle?” I ask as he gets out of the car. I jump out too, slam the door behind me, and follow him. “Aren’t you worried he’s going to find us?”

  “Nope,” he says, casually strolling across the parking lot.

  It’s as if he doesn’t even realize he doesn’t have a shirt on.

  And fuck me, I can’t even keep my eyes from trailing all over his body as I walk beside him, wondering how the fuck this man got so ripped. And what the fuck he thinks he’s doing walking in there half-naked.

  But he doesn’t even seem to care as he opens the door and holds it, saying, “Ladies first.”

  The fake smile that follows pushes all my buttons and makes me want to slam the door in his face.

  But that wouldn’t be ladylike, and right now, I am lady as fuck just to avoid getting caught. Because if any of these diner people call the cops on us, we’re screwed.

  I do give him a “this is a bad idea and you know it” side-eye, which makes him raise his brow in a way that says “I don’t care, and you know it.”

  Goddammit. I hate when he does that.

  With a pang in my stomach, I enter the diner anyway. Brandon hooks his arm through mine and tugs me along. I’m surprised by his sudden hands-on approach.

  His mouth is close to my ear, and I can feel him breathe on my skin. “Just act natural,” he whispers.

  “Natural?” I say as goose bumps scatter on my skin.

  “Like a couple.”

  Wait, what? A couple? I have to pretend to be his girlfriend?

  “Otherwise, they’ll get suspicious,” he adds, a breathy smile following, making my pussy clench.

  Fuck. Why does my body react to him the way it does? I hate it. I hate it so damn much that I have to physically stop myself from jerking free from his grasp just to pretend not to care.

  Instead, I let him guide us to a booth while everyone’s staring at us. Or rather … him and his tan, lickable abs.

  Did I just think that? Yes … but I’m not the only one, judging by the way the waitress with the rock-n-roll 80s hairdo who’s licking her lips like the last time she got nookie was when she got her hair fixed. I’m practically shooting venom from my eyes like a viper when we pass her.

  “Sit,” Brandon says as he pushes me down onto the red cushion.

  I don’t have a say in the matter, apparently.

  Not that I mind … because the moment my nose caught a whiff of that delish pie that just came by in another waitress’s hands, my brain immediately forgot what it wanted except for one thing.

  Food. Now.

  “Well … uh … hello there,” a waitress says with a deep voice. It’s the woman with the 80s hairdo. She’s looking Brandon up and down with no shame. “What can I do for ya? We don’t sell shirts here,” she jokes, laughing, then coughing heavily. Her clothes brush against my arm as she completely ignores me. They smell of cigarette smoke and bacon. What a combination.

  “Sorry, I ran into a bit of trouble and didn’t have time to put a shirt on this morning.”

  “Oh, do tell,” she says, leaning on the table right in front of me, blocking my view.

  It’s as if she doesn’t even care that I’m here.

  “Ah, it’s nothing.” Brandon raises his hand. “We’ve been driving for so long, and this diner’s got a delicious menu.”

  She laughs with that rancid deepness again that sounds more like the gurgling of a dead fish, and it makes me wanna gag. “You got that right.” She stands up again and takes out her pen and notebook. “So what’ll it be?”

  “Two pumpkin pies,” Brandon says, and he fishes in his pocket and takes out a few bills. “And two coffees, please.”

  “Of course,” she says with a smile as she pens it down quickly. “Anything for you, sweetie.” She winks at him an
d turns around with a sassy sway in her hips, trying to capture his attention. I roll my eyes as she walks off. Thank fuck.

  I sigh out loud. “Jesus, Brandon.”

  “What?” He shrugs, but he’s clearly amused by her obvious crush on him.

  I tilt my head. “Really? She’s twice your age.”

  “So?” He tucks his money back into his pocket. “Some women know what they want and aren’t afraid to go after it.”

  That was an obvious dig, and it’s got me clenching my fists so hard that my nails leave marks in my skin.

  “Some women don’t know what’s good for them,” I say. “And you’re just using everyone to your advantage.”

  “Hmm … that’s rich, coming from you,” he says.

  Before I can respond, the lady comes back with forks and knives and sets everything down while we stare at each other in silence.

  I wish I could stick the knife in his hands. Maybe I should, but I guess that would bring a lot of unwanted attention.

  But the moment that woman opens her mouth again, I forget everything I’m thinking. “Here’s your coffee. Enjoy. The pies will be right up,” she says with a giggle. When she turns around again, she gives him another wink and a dirty lick of the lips before walking off.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight.

  “Fuck. Me,” I say, grunting.

  “When?” Brandon jests.

  “Oh, shut up.” I chuck my napkin at him. “You are not funny.”

  “Never claimed to be,” he says, casually stirring his coffee.

  I cock my head. “Do you get off on it or something?”

  “Sometimes,” he says, taking a sip. “But mostly, I think of killing you. Now that really gets me going.”

  “Ha. Ha,” I say. “Jesus, if I had your gun right now, I’d rather kill myself than spend one more second here watching you flirt with that … woman.”

  “Aw, that hurts,” he says arrogantly. “But the fact that you’re jealous totally makes up for it.”

  “Jealous?” I snort out loud. “Really? You think I’m jealous of her?”

  “You just want me for yourself. Admit it.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more condescending laugh come from my mouth, but it had to be done.

  “I don’t think so, dude,” I say, throwing so much sugar into my coffee it’s probably gonna hurt my teeth.

  “You care too much,” he adds.

  “Because I’m sitting here with a shirtless murderer in a diner as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Of course, I care,” I reply.

  “Shhh …” he says, and he reaches for his pocket. The one with the gun. “Don’t make a scene.”

  Right. Because I’m still under his watchful eye and still being held captive whether I like it or not. I almost forgot.

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever. You just want to show off,” I say.

  “No, I’m just hungry and so are you,” he says, right as Miss Puckered Cigarette Mouth comes back with the pies.

  “There you go, honey!” she says, still only looking at him.

  “Thanks,” he says as we both grab our forks.

  “Hope you enjoy,” she says, hovering as if she’s waiting for a compliment or something. It makes me want to stab her eyes out with this fork I’m holding in my hand.

  “I’m sure we will,” he says, casually hinting for her to fuck off.

  Good. I want her gone. I don’t like it when people actually like him. As if he’s a likeable human being with likeable abs and a likeable smile. He’s anything but likeable, but they don’t know that. They only see the charm and the fake mask he puts on. They don’t know all the evil he’s done. They don’t know how badly he’s been on my nerves ever since we’ve been stuck together.

  And it’s only gonna get worse from now. I’m sure of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Dixie

  “Eat your pie, Dixie,” Brandon says, munching away at his.

  Frowning, I stare at the plate in front of me. I am hungry, but I don’t wanna admit that in front of him. I don’t want anything that was paid for by him.

  Then again, it was kinda sweet.

  I shake my head.

  I gotta stop thinking about him that way. He’s not fucking sweet, and he’ll never be. Not even when he thinks about me being hungry.

  Brandon stops eating for a second. “Well?” His brow rises. “I know you’re hungry.”

  Why does that sound like a threat when he says it? It’s almost as if he’s pointing a gun at me.

  “Not when I’m under fire,” I reply.

  “You’re not.” He tsks. “I won’t shoot you while you’re eating. Relax.”

  Gee, that really makes things easier. Not.

  “I’m not stopping again for a long time, Dixie, so you better eat while you can.”

  Now that definitely is a threat. I’m tempted to chuck the plate at his face and make a run for it, but that wouldn’t do me any good. I’d get nowhere out here since he’s the one with the car keys. And I’m sure he wouldn’t give a shit if I made a scene because that’s just the person he is. Obsessed with me to the bone.

  God, he was right. Us meeting was the biggest mistake of both our lives.

  “I’m not saying it again, Dixie,” he warns. “Eat.”

  Reluctantly, I scoop up a bit of pie with my fork and stuff it in my mouth, smiling like an idiot afterward. “Happy now?”

  He keeps looking at me with those sultry eyes that are undecidedly sly. As if he’s unsure whether to reply or keep his mouth shut.

  However, the piece of pie immediately makes me forget about his rambling and assholery. It tastes so damn good that it feels as if it lights my body on fire. Like I’m in fucking pie nirvana.

  “Good, huh?” he muses, taking another bite.

  I won’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him. Unfortunately, it’s probably written all over my face. I can tell from the stupid smirk he gives me. Goddammit.

  I can’t even concentrate on eating my pie because half of the diner’s guests are still glaring at the shirtless man sitting across from me, whose perfectly chiseled body attracts plenty of attention. I glare back at them in an attempt to stop them from looking at us.

  Brandon laughs. “Ignore them.”

  “I can’t. I feel watched.”

  “They’re not looking at you,” he says smugly.

  “I really wanna kill you right now,” I reply, which brings an unwanted smile to his face.

  “Like you could,” he responds.

  I secretly shoot daggers with my eyes. I contemplate throwing my fork at him, but that probably wouldn’t do much damage. Instead, I pick up a piece of pie and chuck it at him. It lands right on his chest. His nipple, to be exact. And for some reason, the image of licking it off flashes through my head. I instantly will it away.

  “Asshole,” I say.

  “Dixie …” He wipes the pie off his chest with just one finger and licks it up himself, sucking on his finger as if he’s trying to make me jealous or something. “You’re wasting good food.”

  “I don’t care,” I say, and I scoot it toward him. “I’ve had enough.”

  “That’s a lie, and you and I both know it,” he says, and he tries to scoot it back. “Now eat your goddamn pie like a good girl.”

  Sighing, I take another bite. That’s when Brandon lifts his head and glares at the entrance.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Shit.”

  He immediately gets up and pulls me up by my arm, dragging me out of the booth and away from my pie. “Hey, I wasn’t done yet!”

  “Too late,” he says, pulling me to the bathroom.

  “What are you doing?” I scoff, jerking free.

  When I turn around, I come face to face with the man in the doorway. Matteo.

  “Fuck,” I murmur.

  He’s actually wearing a fucking splint, but he’s walking all right. We’re lucky he hasn’t seen us … ye
t. But Brandon sure did because he’s already gone.

  How the fuck are we gonna get out of here without starting a gunfight?

  I immediately turn around again and tail Brandon, who rushes into the bathroom behind a man in a suit. The door shuts behind me, and Brandon pulls his gun from his pocket and shoves it into the man’s chest.

  The man looks bewildered. “Wha—”

  “Shh …” Brandon interrupts. “Just do what I ask, and no one needs to get hurt.”

  The man nods, shaking in distress. “Please don’t shoot me. I’ll do anything, but please don’t shoot.”

  “Give me your coat. And your hat,” Brandon says, looking the guy up and down. The man takes everything off and hands it to Brandon. “On second thought, give me your shirt too.”

  The man frowns. “But then I don’t have—”

  Brandon shoves his gun farther into the man’s chest. “Just do it!”

  The guy seems petrified. “Okay, okay.” He hastily takes off his shirt and tie and pushes it into Brandon’s hands. “Just take it. Please. Let me leave.”

  “Not yet,” Brandon says. “I don’t want anyone alerting the staff.” He gazes my way, and says, “Keep him here.”

  I block the door and cock my head at the guy. “Stay there.” I put my hands against my side to look threatening. I don’t have a weapon, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  Brandon puts the man’s shirt and tie on and his coat too, effectively hiding himself behind someone else’s outfit. He even hides his hair under the man’s hat, which makes him near unrecognizable.

  “Shoes too,” Brandon says.

  “What?” the man mumbles.

  “You heard me,” Brandon says, taking off his own shoes. “Same size. Switch with me.”

  The guy does what he asks while sweating profusely. “Are we done yet?”

  Brandon completely ignores him and throws me his hairband. “Here. Put this in.”

  I do what he asks, tying it until there’s a small pigtail.

  He snatches the man’s bag from his hand and opens it up, tearing it inside out until he finds what he’s looking for. He throws the sunglasses over to me. “Put these on.”

  When we’re done, Brandon tucks his gun back into his pocket and tells the man, “Leave. Don’t make a sound or I’ll shoot. Understand?”