Branded

by Scarlett Finn

  “Jamie?” Tag said. “The waitress never made it, she’s dead. I don’t give a fuck about her. I give a fuck about what happened to you. The bouncers were dead, the cops show up, there’s blood everywhere, and you’re gone.”

  Jamie. Dead. No. Nya couldn’t think about explaining herself with the shock of that news rattling in her chest. Tag had never been tactful and cared about few things. He and Jamie had never met, so he had no reason to care about her, but Nya cared.

  Tears weighed on her lashes and she croaked before she spoke. “I’ll… I’ll tell you everything, Taggy. Soon, I’ll come to you soon, I have to go.”

  Slamming down the phone, Nya buried her face in both hands, trying to conceal her tears. She cursed this place, cursed the loss and blamed the world, and its spite. Jamie was young, she’d done nothing wrong. It wasn’t right that she was snatched from her life by that evil.

  Whirling around, she wanted to punch and kick and spit, but when she lifted her eyes to Archer’s she couldn’t make herself hate while she was this numb. “What happened to the kid?” he asked.

  That was his first question. Not about his money. Not about Tag’s address. Jamie. His first question was about Jamie. There was a heart in this man. One he kept well-hidden and rarely used, but it was in there.

  Releasing all her breath in a sob, she sank against his chest and allowed every iota of pain to bleed from her eyes in a torrent of tears. Nya wasn’t a crier, she prided herself on keeping her shit together, especially in front of people.

  When his arms closed around her, she should’ve been reminded of who he was and backed off. She didn’t. Tears of exhaustion, stress and grief came out in a perpetual conveyer belt that she wasn’t capable of slowing.

  “I guess she didn’t make it,” he muttered.

  Standing in this parking lot, she forgot that she was still technically his captive. In the fresh air of this crisp night, she felt free. Nya had something Jamie had been denied—life—and it put her troubles into perspective.

  “They killed her,” she said. Acknowledging it aloud stoked familiar anger and her tears began to dry. “Your hideous, disgusting, depraved friends murdered an innocent woman.”

  “They weren’t my friends. Jonno’s the only one of them I know,” he admitted. “Rape is fucked up. There’s never a need for it. It disgusts me… I found out just how much tonight.”

  Which would be why he couldn’t let Bryant and his buddies violate her body. Nya couldn’t think about herself, or about what she’d been through. Focusing on Jamie, she became fixated on the injustice of her employee’s death.

  “I’m going to make them pay,” she said, grasping for purpose. Feeling helpless infuriated her. Having a goal gave her direction. No one else would avenge Jamie, she had no boyfriend, few friends, and none of them knew the true, detailed horror of what Jamie had endured like Nya did. “I won’t let the bastards get away with it. Those sick fucks don’t deserve to jeer and pat each other on the back. They were proud. They enjoyed her agony. I can’t let it happen. I’ll find a way, I’ll make them pay, I’ll—”

  “Calm it, Squirm,” Archer said, opening a hand on the back of her head to gather her hair in a fist that he kept against the back of her skull as he eased her chin up to look down at her. “You don’t go after guys like that, not a woman like you.”

  “Why not?” she demanded. “Someone has to show them, has to—”

  “It’s revenge is what it is,” he said. “And if you go into a situation full of rage like that, you’ll never be thinking straight. They’ll do to you what they did to her.”

  He could be right. Her anger turned itself inward, she hated that she was feeble, pathetic, unable to act on what was right because she wasn’t physically strong enough. “You didn’t see it, Archer. What they did to her…” The pictures that had played in her mind every night came back to her now in a rush. She hadn’t slept much while locked up in Archer’s bathroom, but she wasn’t sure she’d have found slumber in a five star penthouse suite, because what she’d seen those men do to Jamie in Sizzle was too horrific to forget. “It’s like a movie playing on repeat and I—”

  “I’ll help you.”

  Her thoughts jarred to a halt and the mental image of Jamie paused then faded as she tried to figure out what Archer was saying. “Wh…? What?”

  Blinking into the face of a man who a few hours ago she wanted to spit at, Nya watched her own determination bleed into his eyes. “Tonight… at Bryant’s…” he said. “What I saw those guys do to you… I don’t kill in front of witnesses, I never have. It’s the dumbest thing anyone could do….”

  His lips grew narrow when he clenched his jaw and that anger he’d battered the steering wheel with came back. “But?” she asked, sensing there was more.

  “You didn’t scream like that when I burned you.” After skimming a hand up and down her arm, he locked his fist around the cuff on her wrist, but he wasn’t squeezing, this was consoling. “What I heard tonight wasn’t pain, it was terror. You were fucking terrified. I wanted to gut every guy there, me included… I should never have put you in there, I… I thought I could do it… It made sense…”

  Because he needed his money. Now that she was seeing beyond the brute, she thought about her encounters with Archer. The first time she’d seen him in Sizzle, he’d been intimidating, aloof, and domineering with his size and attitude. Given that, she’d have run away from him fast if she could.

  Except he’d actually done her a favor that night. Whether it was deliberate or not, taking her away from Sizzle when he did, actually saved her from Jonno and his buddies. Yes, sticking her in a trunk then locking her in his bathroom were both extremes that she wouldn’t forget in a hurry, but she’d lived through worse.

  “Why did you burn me?” she asked because it was the worst thing he’d done to her yet.

  “Better than cutting off a finger or scarring that beautiful face,” he said and his hand left her wrist to rest on her cheek.

  Tilting her face into his palm, she appreciated him being here and offering her a human connection when she needed it. Learning of Jamie’s fate had hit her hard. The trauma of what she’d witnessed was worse than anything Archer had put her through and that was where all of her fury was focused.

  He’d wanted to scare her into giving up Tag’s location and that was why he’d burned her. If losing fingers or facial disfigurement were the other options, she was glad he’d chosen the branding.

  “You’ll help me?” she asked, trusting that he’d had a fright of his own tonight, which had made him rethink what he was capable of doing to her.

  Hearing her scream in fear had been more difficult for him than seeing those men touch her, or maybe it was a combination of the two that made him pull her out. Whatever it was, he’d changed his mind. He could’ve abandoned her in the room with Bryant and waited in the car with the radio on loud and still come away with his money. But he hadn’t. He’d rescued her and she doubted he’d put himself or any woman in that situation again.

  “You get me my money, don’t screw me over with Taggert, and I’ll make sure you get your payback.”

  A trade. Yes, she could go for that. A man like Archer who could torture and slice through flesh would be a formidable weapon to have on her side. All he was asking for in return was what was rightfully his and a guarantee that she wouldn’t let Tag kill him for what he’d done to her. That he was willing to be so fair and reasonable made her wonder if he wasn’t as invincible as he made out.

  Before she would shake on it, she had a caveat of her own. “You won’t hurt, Tag, will you? This isn’t some ploy to—”

  “I won’t hurt him,” he said and cupped her chin. “As long as I get my money.”

  This money was important enough for him to kidnap her and for him to risk his life by confronting Tag, making her curious. “Why do you need this money so bad?”

  If he was anything like her, and they did seem to come from the same social level, t
wenty grand was a helluva lot of money. But when you’d lived your life with nothing, it was no hardship to live without money or material things. The adage of not missing what you’d never had applied to the dregs of society.

  Taking a step back, he gave her room to breathe while she awaited his response, which he took his time about giving. “I have a sister, she’s sick.”

  Medical bills could ruin a person. Folk like them didn’t have medical insurance. “What’s wrong with her?” she asked, not that she’d be able to do anything to help.

  He snagged the loop on her wrist strap to lead her back to the car. “None of your business,” he said, shoving her down into the seat.

  That was an abrupt end to what had been the first moment of bonding they’d shared. But she could understand him putting up barriers when talking about family. If he cared about his sister, loved her, then he wouldn’t want to share her business. Talking about his sibling’s illness could upset him, and men like him didn’t get upset in front of unfamiliar women in deserted parking lots.

  The journey back to his apartment was quick, but that was a testament to his speed rather than the distance between the store and his street.

  Traipsing up the stairs, he kept the loop of her cuff tight inside his knuckle to pull her along. It was nice that he let her use her legs for the short ascent between the car and his apartment rather than carrying her again, but she wasn’t sure what would happen next when they got back inside and he locked the door.

  With his finger still hooked in her cuff, she waited, then followed him when he tugged. Nya was in the rear hall before she figured out what he was going to do.

  “No!” she hollered and tried to pull back by dropping her weight. But he was prepared. Ducking, he circled his arm around her waist to pick her up under his arm.

  While he carried her into the bathroom, she punched at his shoulder, but that didn’t stop him from chaining her to the pipe. In a patronizing show, he ruffled her hair and she snapped out to try to bite, but he was already out the door, leaving her alone as his prisoner once again.

  “Archer!”

  She’d been calling out since he put her in there. Nya wasn’t afraid of him, not like she had been. Having connected with him in the parking lot, she saw him as something other than a man to be feared.

  When she’d started calling for him, she’d been angry. Now she called out in a sing-song voice, the point being to annoy him into acknowledging her. He’d told her not to scream, that his neighbors wouldn’t come to her aid, but it wasn’t his neighbors attention that she wanted, it was his.

  If they were going to make a deal to help each other out, he’d have to learn to treat her like an equal, not a captive, and she’d have to get out of there to teach him that.

  “Archer!” she shouted again. “Arch—”

  The door flew open, bouncing off the closet door and springing back only to be stopped by him moving into the doorway. She smiled. Proud that she’d achieved her goal.

  Knowing the layout of the apartment and its size meant it was guaranteed he’d hear her, and here was the proof. Nya had known all she had to do was outlast his patience.

  “Will you shut the fuck up,” he said. “If I wanted to hear you screaming my name, I’d fuck you senseless.”

  She couldn’t be discouraged because this was progress. Hooking her fingers onto the rim of the basin, she hauled herself onto her knees. “Maybe you can hold that thought ‘til after.”

  He frowned. “After what?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  And that was how she got onto the couch.

  The TV was wall-mounted beside the window. The couch faced that with its back to the central kitchen table where he’d burned her. The open-plan kitchen was on the other side of the table.

  Blackout blinds covered the window, but enough light shone from the floor lamp in the corner to let her examine the space, though a coffee table was the only other furniture in the room. Like the bedroom, the living space was meticulously clean. Archer seemed to like minimalist living. There were no knick-knacks or pictures on the walls.

  The TV was on, but muted on some sports event. She wasn’t watching it because her head was beginning to swim, and she recognized the signs of what was about to happen from previous experience. That was why she’d elected to lie flat on her back on the couch. Fainting spells weren’t as frequent now as they used to be before she got her anemia diagnosed.

  Opening her hands at her side, she had enough space on each side of her that she could fit another of herself on here if she had to. Her head and feet didn’t touch the arms of this massive piece of furniture.

  “Vegetarian,” he muttered from the kitchen. “Who the fuck is a vegetarian?”

  When she’d come out of the bathroom he’d put her on the couch and before he even got as far as the kitchen, she’d told him she didn’t eat meat. “Me,” she said. “I don’t like red meat; it’s not a political choice. I eat eggs, wear leather shoes and even tickle the beaver once in a while.”

  He said nothing to her quip and she wasn’t going to sit up to seek a reaction. A fridge opened, a couple of cupboards slammed then he huffed. “Soup,” he said.

  “That’ll do,” she said.

  Noise and movement in the kitchen ended with the microwave starting up. A second later, he appeared at the back of the couch, not to look at her, but to get closer to the game on TV. Seeing him doing ordinary things like an ordinary man helped her to relate to him. It was seeming more like he was simply a desperate man doing desperate things and not a man who was inherently evil.

  Needing to head off the feeling of weakness before it became debilitating, Nya wished that she had her pills and tried not to give in to the temptation of sleep.

  “I had my purse in Sizzle,” she murmured. “Do you have it?”

  She could’ve lost it in the street; her memory of the night she was brought here had been blurred by the flood of adrenaline coursing through her at the time.

  “It was in my trunk,” he said, fixated on the game.

  Thank goodness for that, without it she’d be screwed. “Can I have it?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  Irritation trumped her patience to be polite. It might be understandable that he wouldn’t give her back her personal belongings when they were captor and captee, but they’d have to come to some sort of truce if they’d meant what they said in the parking lot.

  “There’s no weapon in it,” she said, though it held almost everything else a woman could possibly need.

  “It weighs a ton, what the hell is in it?” he asked.

  A burst of surprised energy made her eyes open to find that his concentration was still set on the TV like it was no big deal that he hadn’t gone through her purse. But for a woman who valued privacy so much, it had quite an impact on her to learn that he’d respected it. Archer wanted Tag; he didn’t want her, so he hadn’t violated her privacy.

  “Everything I need to split in a hurry,” she said.

  “Get yourself into a lot of trouble?”

  “I tend to… get involved.”

  Friends, boyfriends, employers, colleagues, it didn’t help that most of the people she knew were criminals or poor souls who had addiction issues. Nya was from the street and those who crossed her path were too. They fought hard, they fought dirty, and they never gave up. Battling through each day hardened them, but taught them to accept and deal with anything.

  In the past, Tag had told her that she couldn’t leave well enough alone, that she thought she was made of steel and could fix anything… she hadn’t been able to fix Jamie.

  The microwave beeped, signaling that it was done, and Archer disappeared from behind the couch. A minute later he came back and put a bowl on the table. “That shit’s hot, you get any on me and you’ll be back in the bathroom.”

  The idea of injuring him had its appeal. Except, the way she figured it, they’d come to an understanding, so they were partners now.
Although it was possible he thought she was manipulating him to gain her freedom, and didn’t realize how she valued his offer to take down Jamie’s murderers.

  “I really do need my purse,” she said, twisting to slither off the couch onto the floor.

  He sat on the couch beside where she was on the hardwood floor. “No chance, Squirm. Girls like you carry Tasers or some shit—”

  Curling toward him, she put a hand on his knee. “I need my pills, Archer.”

  His scowl grew curious. “Pills?”

  Just to prove that she had nothing to hide and that she was willing to trust him, she said, “You can get them, they’re in a bottle in the pouch at the back.”

  Getting up again, he went to the kitchen. A cupboard opened and she heard him raking in her purse, then he came back reading the bottle. “Your last name is Yorke?” he asked, tossing her the bottle.

  Tipping the medication into her hand, she swallowed it down without water and sagged against the front of the couch, her head falling onto the seat. “Thank you.”

  “Why do you take iron?” he asked.

  “I get anemic. My blood pressure drops and sometimes I faint… I guess that’s why I’ve been fading out.”

  “Eat,” he said, touching the edge of her bowl.

  Crossing her legs, she leaned over the bowl to scoop the smooth liquid onto her tongue. “I thought it might have been whatever you injected me with that made me feel wobbly,” she said.

  “It wasn’t.”

  Access to food gave her a singular focus, it took another six spoonfuls before she asked, “How’d you know? What was in that needle?”

  “Antibiotics, to stop infection of your wound.”

  What? No way. The whole time she’d been worried he was trying to poison her, it turned out he was treating her. The spoon clattered when it hit the bowl. “But you… you let me believe it was going to hurt me.”

  Nya was in shock, but Archer was fixated on the television. “You made an assumption, Squirm,” he said, rising half out of his chair only to flop back when his team didn’t score. Exhaling frustration, he addressed her. “Thought you might have been allergic when you passed out so fast.”