Branded

by Wild, Clarissa

  First, I let him fuck me like some animal, and my body betrays me by actually enjoying it. And then when the truth finally comes out, I’m still being held captive.

  It’s as if the world hates me or something.

  No, just Brandon Locklear right now.

  Why can’t he just face the goddamn truth and let me go like he’s supposed to? I didn’t do anything wrong, and he knows it. How long is he gonna leave me here? Until I die?

  Fuck no. I’m not letting that happen.

  Besides, I have a responsibility to my dad. I went to that casino hotel for a reason. My mission failed, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try again. I just have to recoup and revise my plan. This time without bumping into fucking Brandon Locklear.

  I assume his uncle won’t let him back in either, considering how he saved my ass. His uncle must be pissed off at him. I can imagine it’s a tough spot to be in, torn between family and … past love.

  Sighing, I stare at my own two feet, wondering if I could’ve said something else to keep him from walking off. Part of me wanted him to leave me the fuck alone, but not when it comes at the expense of my freedom. Another part of me desperately wants him to stay.

  I don’t know why I want him to … I just want him at my feet, groveling, pleading for my forgiveness. I don’t think I’d ever give it to him, but it’s sure nice to see him hurt for once.

  Honestly, I don’t understand why I care so much, but I do. Apparently, his harsh ass has wriggled its way back into my stone-cold heart and lit it on fire again.

  My mind is still trying to deny it, telling me that isn’t true and I must hate him for what he did to my family. But my body can’t stop responding to his. Even now when I think about the way he touched me, I still get goose bumps.

  Damn him and his incessant sneaky ways.

  Staring at the fire ahead, I think about my options … and of all the ways Brandon has managed to make me squirm.

  Fuck.

  Remember, Dixie, he killed your fucking brothers.

  He never apologized.

  Never showed remorse.

  None of which will bring them back.

  I shake my head and try not to think about my growing feelings for him because they’ll only get in the way. Besides, feelings are for weak pussies as my dad would say. He’s still waiting for a call from me that never came. He’s gonna be pissed as fuck. Can’t wait to deal with that.

  I grind my teeth and tell myself to woman the fuck up. No point in sulking about the past.

  I start by rubbing my wrists up against a sharp point on the car bumper, hoping it’ll slice through the fabric. It’ll probably take a while, but I have the time and patience. Besides, I don’t think Brandon will be back anytime soon. He seemed pretty unsure of himself … and me for that matter.

  Which is why I’m gonna be my own savior.

  Fuck men. I don’t need them. I don’t need anyone.

  After what feels like a couple of hours, I finally manage to break free of the tie around my wrists. With a grin on my face, I rub my wrists and get up. I stretch myself on my wobbly feet and snatch a few things from the car, like the bottle of water and a phone, which I can use as a GPS.

  Then I start walking and don’t look back even though Brandon’s probably gonna come back soon. Too bad for him, I’ll be long gone by then.

  * * *

  Brandon

  For hours, I think about my papa and how his death was shrouded in mystery. There’s only one connection … me. The Zippo that’s still in my pocket to this very day.

  If I hadn’t taken it off the shelf, no one would’ve found it and known it came from the shop. My papa would still be alive today, and none of this would’ve happened.

  I clear my throat and stare out into the distance. Dixie’s words about how her brothers didn’t have anything to do with my papa’s death resonate in my ears. Is that even possible?

  The thought of being wrong kills me because if she’s right … I’m the only one who’s guilty of an unspeakable crime.

  But there’s no way to find out if she’s speaking the truth. No one who I trust can vouch for her. Her dad is a sack of shit, and I’m pretty sure he would do anything to save his own ass. Hell, I’m not sure he cares whether she lives or dies. I don’t remember him caring about anything except the drugs.

  Which is why I’m so surprised she still cares enough to actually work in that horrible family business of theirs. She should know better than to involve herself in criminal matters.

  Then again, it’s just like her to go against the grain. She’s like me, a rebel at heart.

  I push out the last smoke on the rocks and throw away the empty packet.

  I have to go back because I’m pretty sure the sun’s about to rise, and I still wanted to catch some sleep. That, and I really need to see Dixie to be able to make up my mind. She probably doesn’t wanna talk, but at least I can look her in the eyes. Maybe it’ll help. I’m willing to try. Anything to make this fucking confusion go away.

  I don’t do well with uncertainty. But fuck me, I gotta try something.

  So with apprehension, I get up and walk back down the hill, backtracking to the car where I left her.

  Where she no longer is.

  What the fuck?

  I rush to the bumper and check the ground, picking up the tie that I used on her wrists. It’s cut through.

  Shit.

  She’s escaped.

  I quickly scan the car to find Matteo’s phone and a bottle of water missing. I check the hidden compartment underneath the driver’s seat and find the second phone. Guess Matteo finally listened to me when I told him to get a backup phone in case he needed to throw his old one out due to tapping.

  It’s fully charged and ready to go. Lucky, because I have no fucking clue where Dixie went. Though she couldn’t have gotten far on foot, you never know with a girl as devious and cunning as her.

  I should’ve known she’d do this. Of course, she wouldn’t let herself be tied down. Why did I think I’d have some time to myself?

  In my rage, I kick the bumper, and scream, “Fuck!”

  I chuck the tie to the ground too and stomp on it a couple of times to let my frustration out.

  Then I blow out a few breaths and let it sink in.

  I fucking lost her, dammit. I didn’t think it’d hit me that hard, but it does. It’s my worst nightmare come true. The girl I’ve wanted to keep in my clutches so desperately has escaped into the wild, and I have no clue how to find her.

  There’s only one thing I can think of, and that’s enlisting the help of an old friend.

  So I immediately phone his number.

  “Hello?”

  “Chase, it’s Brandon. I need your help.”

  “Buddy!” he says, a little too happy. “Thought I’d never hear from you again.”

  “Stop bullshitting me. We met weeks ago.”

  “Oh, right,” he says, laughing. “I forgot. It feels like ages ago.”

  He’s only saying that because he wants to go on a killing spree again, but I’m not interested right now.

  “I’m not calling because of a hit.”

  “No?” He sounds surprised. “What do you need my help for then?”

  “I had a girl,” I say, “but she escaped.”

  He snorts. “Brandon … really?”

  “I know, don’t say it.” I sigh. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

  “But you told me the same thing.”

  I know what I told him. That he shouldn’t be so focused on a single girl … a girl he caught like she was some goddamn prize he won. A girl he kept as a prisoner.

  God, I’m turning into such a hypocrite.

  I rub my face, and say, “Just help a bro out.”

  “You’re asking the wrong person, Brandon,” he says. “You know what I did.”

  “That’s exactly why I’m asking,” I say. “Listen. You and I go way back. I know how good you are at tracking people down.”


  “Me? I thought that was your forte.”

  “No, I find the targets. You track them down, remember?” I hiss. “The point is … she’s my target.”

  “And you want me to find her?” he asks. “Some random girl I’ve never met and don’t know?”

  “She’s not some random girl,” I snap. “She’s—”

  “Special. I get it,” he interjects.

  No, he doesn’t. But there’s no point in explaining because I’d have to tell him the entire history of my life, which I’m a hundred percent sure he’s not interested in. Nor am I in telling it.

  “Okay, where are you?” he asks.

  I look around a bit. “Nevada desert, probably.”

  “Probably?” he asks.

  “I don’t exactly have a map in my pocket, now do I?”

  “How the fuck did you get there? And why?” he asks, laughing. “What the fuck, Brandon?”

  “A car, how else? Look, it doesn’t matter. The point is, I’m trying to find this girl who escaped me.”

  “How? On foot? Or did she take the car?” he asks. “Because that complicates things.”

  “No, I had the keys in my pocket, thankfully.”

  “So on foot then. She couldn’t have gotten far.”

  “I know, but I have no fucking clue which way she went. The place is huge, bro. Huge.”

  “Yeah, it’s a fucking desert, Brandon.”

  “No shit,” I reply a little louder. He’s getting on my nerves right now.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. Use your magic fucking computer thing to track her down.”

  “Did she have a tracking device on her?”

  “Not that I know of,” I say, staring at the remnants of what used to be a fire. All that’s left now are twigs turned to charcoal and blackened soil. A bit like my soul when I found out she was gone.

  “Well, then I can’t help you,” he says.

  “Oh, c’mon!” I yell as if it’ll cross the distance or some shit.

  “I’m not a fucking magician, Brandon. You know that,” he says. “Shouldn’t have let her run if you wanted to keep her that badly.”

  “Dude, you don’t know her. She’s an expert at escaping.”

  He chuckles. “Sounds like you got yourself into a fine mess.”

  “That I’m trying to get out of, yeah,” I respond.

  “By calling me? As much as I’d like to, because you’ve done so much for me in the past, I can’t help you, Brandon.”

  I sigh out loud, running my fingers through my hair. “Fuck …”

  “You’re a good tracker. Can’t you like … find her on your own?” he asks.

  “How?” I ask, frowning. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “I don’t know. You’re a Native, right? You have skills.”

  “Skills? Really, dude?”

  “They listen to shit, don’t they?”

  “You’d better not be suggesting I put my face in the dirt and my ears against rocks. I swear to God, Chase.”

  “What? I don’t know what it is that you do that makes you so good at your shit, sorry,” he says. “The point is … you gotta figure this one out by yourself. I’m sorry.”

  I close my eyes and sigh again, then put the phone away.

  Fuck, why is he so useless when it matters the most?

  I always help him out, but when it comes to helping me out, he flakes out. Typical.

  Dude’s only approachable when it comes to killing people, but when I need him for important stuff, it’s futile to even ask him. Especially since that girl came into his life, he’s just been so absent. Like he cares more about her than he wants to be my friend.

  I grunt and bang my head against the car door. Not that I’m not in the same situation.

  Of course not. I’d never fucking admit a girl takes up so much of my mind that I can’t fucking breathe when she isn’t in my hands where she belongs. No fucking way.

  As I peer through the window of the car, I realize she took Matteo’s phone. I clearly remember him telling me he had a tracker installed in case it got stolen.

  I smirk.

  I guess luck’s on my side now. Time to find my little cupcake.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Dixie

  With a pounding heart, I push the doorbell and wait.

  “Who is it? If you’re here to sell me shit, I’m not interested!”

  When he opens the door, I say, “Hi, Dad!” with the biggest smile I can muster.

  His face only turns more sour once he realizes it’s me. “Dixie? What are you doing here?”

  “Ah …” I make a face. I haven’t exactly thought about how I’m gonna tell him the news yet about the failed attack on the hotel. And fuck, I don’t even wanna mention Brandon at this point. I know my dad is pissed. I can see the fire burning in his eyes.

  “Aren’t you supposed to blow up that goddamn hotel?” he asks, rubbing his scruffy, unkempt beard.

  “I was …”

  “But you failed.”

  Rain pours down on my face. Every drop feels hard but not as hard as his words.

  “I did my best,” I say, swallowing away the lump in my throat. “I’m not done yet.”

  “You’d better not be,” he says, grabbing his coat. “You’re a disgrace.”

  I cringe when I hear those words. I honestly tried. I wanted it to succeed, but then damn Brandon had to go and butt in. Plus, I didn’t use enough explosives to blow up the whole building. I should’ve brought more.

  “Jesus Christ, Dixie. Why the fuck did I put you in all those martial arts classes? Did you even learn anything?”

  “Yes!” I say, licking my lips. “I used all the techniques on a security guard at the hotel.”

  “And still you failed,” he says, spitting in the spittoon standing in the hallway.

  His words cut me like a knife. I wish they didn’t, and I try not to let him get to me, but he’s my dad. “I’m gonna try better,” I say.

  “Good. I don’t wanna see you back here until that whole goddamn hotel is buried in the ground,” he snarls, putting on his coat. “That son of a bitch deserves to die.”

  “I know. I wanted him to. I just … miscalculated on the amount. That’s all.”

  “That’s all?” he says, pushing his index finger against my chest so hard I’m forced to take a step back. “That shit is all over the news. Now everyone’s looking for us.”

  “No one knows it was me!” I say as he puts on his hat too.

  “I fucking hope you didn’t leave any evidence, Dixie,” he hisses. “When I told you to do this job, I expected you to do it without gettin’ noticed. Clean and crisp.”

  “I know, Dad,” I say. “I’m gonna do better, I promise.”

  I wish I could tell him what happened at the hotel. That I fought as hard as I could, that I got taken away, that I met the one man he’d shoot on sight. Okay, second man he’d shoot on sight.

  But he’s never been interested in what I have to say, and today’s not gonna be any different.

  His tongue runs along his dry, cracked lips. “I don’t care what you do as long as you get the fucking job done. Josiah ruined our business. Our family. Or whatever’s left of it,” he grumbles, looking away. It’s that same expression whenever he thinks of my brothers. He misses them so much. I don’t think I can ever fill that void.

  “I know, Dad. I hate him too,” I say, licking my lips to try to stay strong, but I’m on the verge of tears.

  He marches past me, slogging through the mud as if he’s got something to do. “Dad?”

  “I don’t care what you do, just get it done. Understand?” he says.

  I nod. “I’ll need to use the shed. And some tools.”

  He waves it off like it’s no biggie, but he just doesn’t care. “I’m off to town. You’d better be gone when I get back,” he growls, and he slams his door and drives off, leaving me to fend for myself. Just as he always does.
>
  Fuck. Sometimes I really wish he wasn’t my dad. But he’s all I have left.

  On my way to the shed, I stop by the new farmhouse and gaze inside. My dad’s stash is gone, but he’s already started growing new ones. I can’t believe how fast he’s changed his mind. One minute, he swears he’s done right after Josiah stole the entire batch, and then the next, he wants to continue where he left off. It’s as if he just doesn’t learn. Like he wants to punish himself.

  But it’s cruel and not to mention dangerous. If the cops stop by and check out the farmhouse, we’re screwed.

  I wish he’d just quit. But I guess that’s my dad. He doesn’t ever give up. Not even when faced with the impossible.

  How will we survive this? We don’t have the cash to buy more plants. We barely have enough to survive a few more weeks. What is he going to do? There’s no way he can grow these plants in time, let alone sell them to someone other than Josiah. We’ve got no other connections. This is it.

  It’s done.

  He just doesn’t wanna believe it. Typical.

  Sighing, I turn around and go back to the shed I use as a workshop. If we can’t get the money from the sale back, at least I can try to burn Josiah’s business to the ground a second time. I can ask some of my contacts to hook me up with some more explosives. It’ll probably cost me an arm and a leg … or maybe my pussy …but at least then I can have my revenge. And maybe I can make my dad proud.

  I take a deep breath and fetch my tools, then sit down behind my trusted workbench. Last time I was here, I was still crafting the bomb I used to blow up a quarter of the building. It wasn’t a complete success, but it wasn’t a failure either, so I’m gonna make the same bomb.

  This time, I won’t make the same mistakes.

  I’ll make it bigger, stronger.

  I’ll be more careful, more incognito.

  And most importantly, I won’t run in to Brandon fucking Locklear.

  I turn on the light and start working. I don’t have much time, and the clock won’t fucking wait until I’m done, so I’d better get moving.

  However, the moment I lift my wrench, a shadow in the corner makes me drop it.

  I scream.

  Something covers my mouth.