Branded

by Wild, Clarissa

  I can tell Brandon is having a hard time trusting him, and I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t trust a snake like that either.

  “Why didn’t you just bring her to me?” Josiah asks. “All this could’ve been prevented.”

  “Because I wanted my own revenge,” Brandon says.

  “Revenge? On her? Why?” Josiah asks.

  “The Zippo … She found it at the Burrell farm after the fire,” he answers, frowning.

  “So?” His uncle raises his shoulders.

  “That Zippo was at my papa’s shop when he was murdered. She led her brothers to my papa,” Brandon says.

  “That’s not true, I already told you,” I say.

  Josiah suddenly bursts out into laughter. Brandon and I look at each other, confused as to what’s going on.

  “You honestly believe the Burrells did it?”

  Brandon’s eyes widen.

  “Boy, you’re so fucking dense you can’t even see what’s going on in front of your own eyes,” his uncle says, snorting. Then the look in his eyes changes so much he looks like the devil himself.

  “You’re all a bunch of idiots. All the fucking Burrells, and now you too. Damn, I expected so much more from you, Brandon.” He shakes his head. “Such a fucking shame.”

  “Tell me what the fuck is going on,” Brandon exclaims.

  “Your papa owed me a lot of money, Brandon,” he explains, tapping his gun against his forehead.

  “Bullshit. My papa paid you back. I was there myself,” Brandon retorts.

  “That was for the shop. But your papa had to go and snoop around my business. He found out I was selling drugs to my clients, and I could no longer trust him.”

  Brandon’s entire body begins to shake.

  “I should’ve known something was up when he packed up everything and moved out of the reserve with you and your mom,” he says. “Took me some time to figure it out. Anyway, I didn’t want him to suffer, but anyone who tries to meddle in my business is a threat. Especially when they’re planning on ratting me out to the police.” He taps his foot on the floor. “I don’t like people who threaten my money, boy, and I don’t like it when people betray me.”

  Josiah looks up at us from underneath his hooded lashes, the darkness in his eyes bringing ripples of fear to my stomach. I want to hurl.

  “Do you understand now?” he adds, his tone toe-curling deep. “I was the one who had him killed.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Brandon

  A rage like never before overcomes me, boiling up underneath my skin until I scream.

  “You … you fucking killed my papa?”

  “Well, technically, I didn’t,” my uncle says, shrugging. “I hired some men to do it for me. I don’t like the excess violence. Especially not against a family member.”

  My papa… murdered by his own brother?

  Because he saw their drug scheme and wanted to do the right thing?

  “Tell me you’re lying,” I hiss, trying to see through the rage, but it’s already getting black in front of my eyes.

  “About what? His death?” He shakes his head. “It’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “That’s not possible.” My lips tremble from anger. “The Zippo—”

  “I got my men to steal something from the Burrell property so they could plant it there and blame the Burrells,” he says. “But they didn’t know that Zippo belonged to you and neither did I, or I would’ve told them not to touch it.”

  “You’re lying!” I hiss.

  “I’m not,” he replies. “I think it’s time you knew the truth.”

  “You asked me who killed Papa. You even helped me get revenge on Ben and Danny! Why would you even want them killed if they didn’t do it?”

  He snorts. “I paid for them to grow that batch of drugs, and they burned it down, so they needed to be punished for letting my money go down the drain. An eye for an eye.”

  “What?” Dixie yells.

  “It was my fault that farmhouse burned down,” I say through gritted teeth.

  I can’t believe that was his reason for killing the Burrell twins.

  “You?” My uncle raises his brows. “Interesting. Not that it matters. What’s done is done. It’s in the past. As long as my business isn’t threatened, everything’s fine.”

  It was all for his business.

  No wonder my papa wanted nothing to do with the reserve. My uncle ran the fucking place. And my papa always hated the Burrells too. He must’ve known what they were doing in that farmhouse, and that my uncle was selling their stash to all his clients and probably more people too.

  And I never believed him.

  Shame infiltrates my lungs, constricting my throat. If only I’d believed him then. Maybe I could’ve done something to keep him from dying.

  Fuck!

  If this is all true, my uncle is fucking worse than scum.

  “Tell me you didn’t fucking have your own fucking brother killed,” I say, pacing around with my gun aimed at him.

  All he does is smile as if he’s a goddamn devil.

  “You took me under your wing,” I growl, still not wanting to believe he killed my papa. “I called you, and you came to me as if you didn’t know what had happened to my papa.”

  “It’s called lying, and I did it to protect you,” my uncle says.

  “Protect me?” I bark, completely out of my mind with hatred. “You made me believe I was responsible for my own papa’s death! And then I find out you murdered him?!”

  In a fit of blind rage, I grunt and shoot him in the shoulder.

  He buckles and grabs his arm. Then he aims and shoots back. I duck away but not in time, and the bullet lodges itself into my knee. I ignore the pain and focus on my aim, shooting at his feet. He jumps toward Dixie and grabs her, holding her up like a shield.

  “You son of a bitch!”

  “Now, now, Brandon.” He picks her up from the floor and holds her close, pushing the gun against her temple. “That’s no way to talk to your uncle.”

  “You’re not my fucking family anymore!” I bark. “You don’t get to call yourself my uncle!”

  I feel sick for ever having called him my family.

  “That’s not how this shit works, and you know it,” he replies. “Man the fuck up, Brandon. You hated your papa. You told me yourself.”

  “You didn’t have to fucking have him killed!”

  “I did you a favor so you could finally get out there into the real world, and this is how you thank me?”

  “A favor?!” I growl, my voice breaking from despair.

  It’s so damn hard not to shoot him right now, but I don’t wanna hurt Dixie. She’s not the one who’s at fault here.

  “Wanna kill me? Go ahead and try,” he says, pushing the gun farther into her skin.

  Another tear runs down her cheek because she can’t stop looking at her dad. His death is all my fault. I won’t have hers on my hands too.

  “Give up, Brandon,” my uncle says.

  I swallow back my pride, and say, “If you promise she’ll live.”

  “I can’t do that, Brandon. You know that. She’s the only reason I came here,” he says. “But I’m willing to let you live. I might even forgive you for your transgression if you work hard enough.”

  I wanna shoot his goddamn jaw off. That’s how much I despise hearing him talk. But I gotta push through. I can see it in her eyes … Dixie’s about to act. I have to give her a chance to escape. Anything to make sure she stays alive, even if I have to lay down my life for it to happen. It’s the least I could do after all the suffering I put her through.

  “Fine. You win,” I say through gritted teeth, and I put my gun up high in the air.

  “On the floor,” my uncle says. “And kick it to me.”

  I slowly place it on the floor. As my uncle focuses his attention on the gun I slide toward him, Dixie swings her head against his nose so hard he buckles, bleeding from the face. She instantly leaps toward the
gun. Both of them shoot at each other. He hits the floor right beside her head. She hits him in the shins.

  He topples over, sinking to the floor, his gun still in his hand.

  However, her next shot blows off half his hand.

  He screams out loud in agony, looking at the gaping, bloody wound in his hand.

  Her aim is what saved us both, and I can’t help but smile at her wit and persistence.

  “You deserve all the pain and more, motherfucker,” she hisses, kicking away his gun so far he could never reach it.

  She steps backward, coming to my side of the shed. She lowers herself to my level and then hands me my gun. Our eyes connect, and I feel like with only one look, we’ve told each other a thousand words we could never say.

  And without thinking, without even looking, I shoot my uncle straight in the heart.

  “He was your uncle,” she murmurs, looking at his body slumped to the floor.

  “He never was. Not when he killed his own brother without mercy. He never was family. All it was, was a damn lie.” I bite my lip and shake my head, disappointed at myself for believing him all this time.

  “That must’ve been hard for you, though,” she says.

  I look up at her while she kneels beside me. Even after everything she went through, she’s still thinking about me? I can’t believe how foolish she is … or how jealous I am of that superhuman trait.

  I reach for her face and cradle it, and she leans into my hand. She’s so damn considerate, I can’t think straight. The urge to kiss her almost becomes too strong to ignore, but I stop myself just in time. It wouldn’t be right.

  Her dad just died.

  And from the look on her face, I can tell it hits her hard.

  Not as hard as the death of her brothers but still hard enough to make her teary-eyed.

  I reach out for her and pull her into my embrace.

  Not because I need her, but because she needs me right now. She needs someone to hold while she bawls her eyes out. And for a while, we just sit there, soaking up the pain in the truth we’ve just been given.

  After searching for it all this time, I never thought it would hurt this much.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Brandon

  When the dust has settled, Dixie called an ambulance for me. I didn’t want to go with them at first, but she assured me they wouldn’t take me into custody and hand me over to the police. After a few days, I found out she told the police that my uncle was responsible for everything. That he killed her dad and her brothers and my papa.

  With him, the circle of death ended.

  But I never ceased feeling guilty.

  We haven’t spoken since that day in the shed. She hasn’t come to visit me in the hospital, and I don’t blame her. Who would visit the man who haunted you for half your life? Who destroyed your family and your love for life? How do you come back from that?

  You don’t.

  I swallow away some pills the nurses gave me and stare out the window. My leg is almost healed, but the pain in my heart doesn’t easily mend. I’m conflicted, and I don’t know how to tear away all that hatred I once felt for a single girl and turn it into something productive. Something I can live with.

  She deserves so much better than what I gave her all this time. How do I make that right? Should I even go to visit her if she doesn’t come to me first? Is it worth it after all the pain we both endured at the hands of my uncle?

  I don’t feel like I have the right. Not after everything I did to her.

  Someone knocks on my door, and I turn my head to see who it is.

  “Hey.” It’s Matteo with a pizza box in his hand. “Can I come in?”

  “If you leave your gun at the door, sure.”

  He laughs and raises both hands. “Didn’t bring any. Look.” He pulls out his pockets, and then shows me his buckle, which are all empty. “I come in peace.”

  “Good. I don’t think the hospital staff would take it so well seeing an actual gun at the door.”

  He laughs again and holds up the pizza box as if it’s some kind of trophy. “Thought you might enjoy some actual good food for once.”

  “Thanks, dude,” I say as he puts it down on my bedside table. When he opens it and tries to offer me a piece, I say, “No, thanks. Not hungry yet.”

  “Bummer. Mind if I take one?” He shrugs.

  “Be my guest.” I wave it off, and he eagerly takes a bite out of the pepperoni pizza. It does smell nice, but I just ate, unfortunately. “Save me some for later, though.”

  “Of course,” he says. “I just thought I’d bring it … ya know, as a sort of peace offering.” He gives me an awkward smile as he sits down on the seat beside my bed.

  “Thanks,” I say. “You didn’t have to.”

  “Yeah, bro. I did.” He clears his throat. “Look, man … I wanna apologize for shooting at you and all that idiotic stuff.”

  “I get it,” I say.

  “No, I’m serious, bro. I know what I did was wrong, and I wanna own up to that.”

  “You did what my uncle told you to do,” I reply.

  “I know,” he says, frowning, “but that doesn’t make it right.”

  “It’s fine. I’m over it,” I say, waving it away. “Besides, I shot you too, remember?”

  “How could I not,” he says, laughing a little as he shows me his patched-up thigh. “Probably gonna be a scar.” He lifts his pants up high and temporarily rips off the Band-Aid to show me the wound.

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” I say. It looks nasty, and I’m glad when he covers it up again.

  “Gah, don’t worry about it,” he says. “I deserved it. I should’ve done the right thing and stood up to your uncle.” He shakes his head. “Still can’t believe he actually got all those innocent people killed. And to think I wanted to work for that asshole.” He blinks a couple of times and looks at me. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” I reply. “He is … or was an asshole.” I take in a breath. “Even though he was my uncle, I’m fucking glad he’s gone.”

  Matteo nods a couple of times, and it’s quiet for a few seconds.

  “I just gotta find a new job, I guess,” Matteo says, snorting a little. “The hotel’s busted, and all your uncle’s properties were confiscated by the police, so I’m out of a job.”

  “You’ll find one soon enough.” I pat him on the shoulder. “You’re a great bodyguard, and you have perfect aim. I don’t think anyone will think twice about hiring you.”

  He seems to perk up a little. “You think?”

  “I know so.” I wink. “They’d be dumb shits to let you walk.”

  He smirks, and I can tell he’s proud of himself. Glad I could at least make one person a little bit happier.

  “So what are you gonna do then?” he asks me.

  I suck in a breath. “I don’t know really.” I think about it for a few seconds. “Maybe I’ll go visit some of my old friends. See if they still have a job for me.”

  “Some old friends?” Matteo rubs his chin. “Now you have me intrigued.”

  “It’s nothing you’d like, trust me,” I say, shrugging. “Just a boring desk job.”

  That’s a lie, but I don’t want him involved. Not when that friend is Chase Marion, a homicidal maniac. But he’s filthy rich, and he knows right from wrong. We’ve helped each other out on multiple occasions. Or rather … I’ve helped him out a lot. I don’t doubt he’d offer me a job if I told him I needed one, but I don’t want Matteo to get on that side of the tracks.

  He’s not like us. He doesn’t have that burning ache inside him … that vicious need to kill.

  I do, and Chase knows it all too well.

  We’re both monsters hiding in plain sight.

  But we gravitate toward each other because no one else in society will accept us. We don’t belong anywhere or with anyone. So where else am I supposed to go?

  Dixie?

  No. She’d probably never accept me back. Not after all th
e suffering I put her through.

  Still, I can’t help wonder how she’s doing. If she’s taking care of herself. If she’s finding her way back in her old life. If that’s even possible anymore.

  I swallow away the lump in my throat.

  Maybe I should go visit her and see how she’s doing.

  It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?

  * * *

  Dixie

  A week later

  It almost never rains, but today the sky broke open. Ironic, considering today’s the day I bury my father. I can’t cry, so the clouds will force the water to roll down my face anyway. How poetic.

  I stare at the dug up soil in front of me and watch the men lower his casket into the ground. I don’t feel anything except bitterness when I look at the wood under which his body rests.

  Did he ever really love me?

  All my life, I only wanted him to be proud of me. I was his only little girl. The one who always tried her hardest but never seemed to succeed in his eyes. I pushed myself past every limit for his love, and it got me nothing in return except a dead dad.

  A dad who didn’t care for his daughter.

  He cared so little that he just … died.

  With a darkened face, I stare at the casket as the men leave me alone. There’s no one else here grieving for him, and I’m not even sure I am.

  All I feel is the loneliness slithering through my veins, eating me up from the inside.

  I have no one left.

  Murdered brothers.

  A mom who died of a heart attack a few days after.

  And a dad who couldn’t be bothered to care about his own life enough to keep his daughter from becoming the only member of the Burrell family left standing.

  Fuck.

  “I fucking hate this family. I fucking hate you all,” I mutter under my breath.

  It feels good to let it all out. Like a forbidden sin spoken out loud, finally released, but in a place no one will hear them. No one except me.

  I will remember.

  My family was all I had, and I thought it was important because my dad always said it was … and where did he end up? Under the ground. Just like my brothers and just like my mother.