Branded

by Scarlett Finn

  “When you were fourteen,” he said.

  And her eyes bounced to his because she was so shocked that he knew. “How do you know that?”

  “Because you said he’d been looking out for you since you were fourteen. You said to Gio today that Tag had been butting into your life for fifteen years, the math makes sense.”

  Amazed that he remembered these details, that he’d been listening and paying close attention, she was impressed that he’d retained the information. Nya sat back in her seat, so her hands slid away from his though they remained on the tabletop.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “What happened?”

  The story was so engrained in her identity, such a part of her and what made her who she was that she thought about it all the time. But at the same time, she hadn’t said the words that told the story for years.

  She avoided telling it, which was maybe why she was so private. If she’d been more open with people, more willing to tell the truth, and willing to offer information then maybe she would tell this story all the time and it would be easier to get out.

  “Tag’s a few years older than me,” she said. “Him and his brother were friends, good friends, with my brother.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  Archer didn’t push her, he wasn’t probing; he was calm, cool, measured. She could tell he was assessing her, not only the veracity of what she said, but her mood and how the tale affected her. She’d guess that he wanted to figure out what impact these people and events had on who she was and if they affected how she reacted to situations now.

  Maybe it was training, part of who he was, so he couldn’t help himself. Maybe he wanted to use what she said to manipulate her and figuring her out every step of the way was the easiest way to do that.

  Or maybe, just maybe, he did genuinely care. It could be that he really wanted to know who she was, what made her tick and how she’d come to be the person she was today.

  “I don’t have a brother,” she said. Reminded of another story that was difficult to tell, her eyes drifted down to the flatware because she couldn’t look at him. Nya couldn’t trust herself to process the onslaught of emotional reminders she got when she thought about her brother. “He’s… no longer with us.”

  “Dead?” he asked. “When you were fourteen?”

  “No, what happened with him… it didn’t happen on the same night Tag saved me. They’re two separate stories.” Making herself smile in the belief it might alleviate some of the tension, Nya sat up straight to rest her elbows on the table, accentuating her cleavage as a sort of playful interlude meant to distract Archer from the serious conversation. “One dramatic story a night. Take your pick. Do you want to know what happened to Ryan or do you want to know how Tag and I got close?”

  “One story?” he said, mirroring her position with his elbows on the table. Leaning over, he wrapped both hands around the fist of her two joined hands. “That’s not usually how I work. Usually I’m told everything I want to know. But since you were kind enough to suck my cock today, I’ll make an exception for you. Let’s go with Tag.”

  “Thank you, Fella,” she said, bowing over the table to kiss his hands that were still wrapping hers. “Tag it is.” She’d expected him to make that choice. “I was fourteen. Tag was at my house with his brother and mine. They were partying in the garage; I wasn’t a part of it. It was just them, and my dad wasn’t home, he never was. If he did ever stumble home it was just to pass out drunk.

  “Ryan was gone, out of it I mean, he was drunk and high. I don’t know what drugs they were taking, the music was loud, and… I was in the house by myself. I’d learned long before to leave them alone. I never went out there. The garage was Ryan’s jurisdiction, he had his stuff out there and I knew what the drugs, the music, the shouting, I knew what it all meant. I went into the kitchen, I can’t remember why, maybe for a drink or to answer the phone, or maybe I just left something down there. I can’t remember. But it was late. Very late.

  The first part of the story was easier to tell. Setting the scene rolled off her tongue. But as soon as her memory caught up with her monologue, it slowed down to replay each second. “I remember turning around and he was there, just standing there in the middle of the kitchen.”

  “Tag?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “His brother. He started making these comments. His eyes were all crazy and his breath smelled of liquor. I remember he grabbed me and I tried to get away, I was screaming, but nobody came. He hit me, hard, I landed on the floor and couldn’t see straight, but I couldn’t move, I was… I knew what he was going to do and I was terrified, crying, begging him… and that was when Tag came in. Tag was the eldest—nineteen—he had his own shithole studio apartment that he shared with two other guys.” Her thoughts drifted deeper into the memory, it was hard not to be affected by the terror even this far away from it. “Anyway, Tag came in, pulled his brother off, beat him half to death… They had this massive brawl through the whole house, they smashed it all up, the kitchen, the living room, they ended up on the porch, out in the yard… I remember running to get Ryan, but he was just lying on the couch in the garage, staring at the ceiling, slurring, and blubbing, he wasn’t even with it enough to open his eyes more than a millimeter.

  “My nightdress was torn and I was crying and… Tag took me out of there… that night he took me away from that place and I never went back. I was so scared of my father, I knew… I knew when he saw the mess of the house, all the broken stuff, I knew he would go insane and you could never tell who he was going to focus on, who he was going to blame and beat.”

  His expression didn’t betray much. “You lived with Tag from when you were fourteen?”

  “Yes, well, kind of,” she said, shaking her head. “He let me stay with him for a few months, but the other guys didn’t get it, they complained. I bounced around with friends. I avoided my brother and Tag’s, and my father too. It was less than a year later my dad died. He drove himself into a tree when he was blind drunk; he deserved exactly what he got. After that, I fell into the care of my brother. We lived in a shitty trailer most of the time. But he was no better than my dad; he became exactly the same man. He didn’t even notice when I wasn’t there. I stayed with friends; sometimes their parents took pity on me and kept me a few months. And then, I went to stay with boyfriends. As soon as I was old enough and I could scrape together the cash, I got my own place. But Tag…”

  The memory of that night still managed to traumatize her until she would shake. But there was also something heartwarming about remembering how Tag had cared for her. How he calmed her and soothed her. How he fed her and made her laugh. “After that,” she said, “he always kept tabs on me, always knew where I was. He gave me money if I needed it, a place to stay, somewhere to work. He’s always been in my life. Even when other people walked away, any time I was hurt, I could always call him. Any time I was in trouble, I would go to him. He’s kind of a surrogate big brother and yet, he was nothing like my big brother at all.”

  Hazarding a glance at Archer, she read darkness in his eyes and the crease between his brows furrowed deep. The server came over to put their food on the table, which broke the intensity of their stare.

  She supposed breaking the tension was a good thing, it made her nervous. “So that’s my story,” she said.

  Twirling pasta around his fork, he lifted it from the plate. “Helps me make sense of things. I guess Tag has some good qualities after all.”

  Telling the story might have the unexpected side-effect of resolving the conflict between the men. Maybe if Archer cared about her, he would give Tag a break. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad you feel that way. He’s not such a bad guy.” The night had been filled with too much melancholy. Hoping to move things on and to shake the discomfort from her bones, she smiled. “Now, tell me how you found out this place existed.”

  The rest of the meal was pleasant. He could make her laugh and
she hadn’t expected he’d be capable of that after the story she’d told tonight. Archer pointed out people at the bar, giving her an insight into what he did by sharing his observations. Some of the patrons he knew, some he didn’t. But something about each one intrigued him enough to monitor them.

  He told her what he liked about what he did and what he didn’t. Nya told him more about how she’d ended up in Sizzle working under Tag and with Jamie. It was obvious that Archer was comfortable in this restaurant. He ordered dessert, ordered more drinks, and was happy to sit drinking and talking, sharing stories with her. It didn’t seem that he was in any hurry to leave or to run away from her, despite her revelations.

  Archer paid the bill then took her hand as they walked out of the restaurant and down the block to where his car was parked. But when he unlocked the door, she stepped back and dropped his hand.

  “I’m only a couple of blocks from here,” she said. “I can walk to my place. I had a really good night.”

  Turning his back to the car, he frowned at her. “I can take you home,” he said. “The car’s right here anyway. I’m not going to leave you in the middle of the street.”

  It was sweet that he was worried, though his scowl sort of offset the sentiment. “I’ll be fine,” she said.

  But he was already shaking his head. “I don’t leave my dates on shady street corners. I walk you to your door, put you inside, and if you choose to go out again after, that’s your decision. But we’ll stand on this street all night before I’ll let you take one step by yourself without me beside you.”

  Protective instinct, she wondered, or was he a chancer who was hoping for a happy ending? “We did this backwards,” she said, walking into his arms, forcing him to hold her by the way she tucked her body in close to his. “Sex and then dinner, that’s the wrong way around, isn’t it?”

  “I’m happy for a replay,” he said. “At your place or mine.”

  “I’m sure you are. But I… I just don’t know if that’s a good idea. We’re rushing into this because we shared an intense experience and the sex was amazing and… I’m just worried if we keep going at this speed, we’ll burn out too fast.”

  “Hey,” he said, resting a hand on the back of her head and closing his fist to gather her hair to pull her head back so she’d look at him. “If you want to go home alone tonight, you go home alone. I won’t give you many free passes, but I’ll give you this one, this night. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ll be walking you to your door and listening to you lock it before I walk away from you.”

  “Are you that protective?” she asked. “Or that much of a control freak?”

  He tilted his head and his lower lip slipped out a fraction. “Probably a bit of both,” he said and she laughed because he was right when he said he didn’t lie.

  Maybe it was that refreshing honesty that made her stretch her hands up to comb her fingers through his hair above his ears. “Sometimes I want to kiss you, but I can’t reach.”

  “You pout those pretty lips and I’ll deliver,” he said and bowed down, sliding his hands to her ass to boost her up and unite their mouths.

  Kissing on street corners wasn’t something she’d done for years, probably not since she was a kid. Well, she kissed on doorsteps and sometimes in alleyways or in a club, but on a normal, well-lit street at what could be one or two o’clock in the morning. No, she hadn’t done that for years. But it felt good.

  Usually, she was aware of everything, she had to be, she’d conditioned herself that way, to be aware of footsteps on the asphalt, car engines, groups of men who may be jeering or shouting or drinking too much. Any whiff of alcohol in the air when she was alone in the street heightened her anxiety. A barking dog would make her ears prick up, because if that dog was angry and afraid, she should be too.

  It came with being a woman who was used to walking around in rough neighborhoods. She was aware of corners, of alleys, of shadows, of which streetlights worked and which ones didn’t. She’d learned how to walk nearer the curb to avoid being snatched from an alley. How to hurry beneath the broken lights to get into the next pool of illumination as quickly as possible. How to use the environment to create a barrier between herself and passing cars.

  But here, in his arms, with Archer’s mouth devoting itself to hers, all of that fear melted away. She wasn’t worried about anything. A dozen cars could have driven by. An angry mob of Viagra-high louts with alcohol, cocaine, and no-good-sense in their systems could’ve trundled past. She was aware of none of it because for the first time in her life, she didn’t have to be.

  For the first time in her life, she was with a man who was capable of protecting her from every threat. Archer wouldn’t just pull her out and run to pick up the pieces after, as Tag would. Archer would memorize every face and he would make every man who scared her pay, bleeding every drop from them for her. He’d deprive them of blessed oxygen until she granted their reprieve.

  Somehow she knew this, though they’d never discussed the details of any future they had as a couple. He’d promised he would help her find Jamie’s attackers, he’d said that he never forgot a debt, and he promised payback on Tag. Archer had integrity. A warped kind of integrity, because although it was absolute, his morals were shaded, so he had his own special kind of code that allowed him to do some despicable, horrific things, but for reasons that he believed were right, whether they were or not.

  Turning her lips into her mouth, she leaned back, breaking the kiss. “You know, if you park your car on my block, I can’t guarantee it’ll be there in the morning,” she said, slipping her hands around under his arms to slide her hands into his back pockets to hold herself even closer.

  “Oh,” he said, satisfaction spreading a sneer onto his face. “I would love for someone to steal from me.”

  “If you’re willing to take the risk. Maybe you could give me a ride home,” she said, accentuating the word “ride.”

  He guided her to the car without releasing her from his arms until he absolutely had to and she was safe inside. He went around the hood to get in and drove her back to her place.

  Nya wasn’t joking about her street. Her apartment was a shithole; there was no other word for it. A studio that was little more than a box without windows. It had a living area to the left, kitchen to the right, and the bedroom was in the back left of the space with the small shower room opposite.

  The only natural light came from a long, narrow skylight that ran the width of the apartment above the bedroom and bathroom in the slanted ceiling. The stars shone over her at night and the sun irritated her in the morning.

  Usually she could tell a lot about a guy from the way he reacted to her place. Archer had been here before and he hadn’t batted an eye. Some were disgusted and struggled to conceal how unimpressed they were. Others saw her place as heaven in comparison to where they stayed. But it was clean and it was quiet, at least this building was. Sometimes there were shouts on the street that indicated trouble, but she couldn’t see out because of the height of the skylight.

  So even if Archer’s car was stolen, they would never be able to witness the act because all they could see was the sky.

  He came in and took his jacket and his boots off while she locked the door, making himself at home and showing there would be no subtle seduction. Taking off her own jacket, she watched him get up from her kitchen table and go over to check the locks she’d just secured.

  “I’ve lived here for a long time,” she said. “I know how the locks work.”

  “I know,” he said. “It’s just habit.”

  “You never seem bothered at your place.”

  “I lock my door.”

  Putting her purse on the table, she sat down to slip off her shoes and wiggle her toes. “Yeah, but you answer it without checking who’s on the other side.”

  “Anyone stupid enough to knock if they want to kill me, I can take down.”

  “Stupid enough?” she asked.

  “Su
re, my place isn’t that big and there’s only one way in, one way out. If they wanted to kill me they’d stand opposite the door and wait until I opened it to take out my trash or something.”

  “You do have experience,” she said, rising up to take off more than her jacket.

  Her top went next, then her skirt, and she enjoyed watching him observe her reveal each inch of skin. Archer didn’t move to take off his clothes, but she didn’t mind, not while he was looking at her like he was. Stopping when she wore nothing but her bra and panties, she turned in a slow half circle to begin slinking toward the bed.

  “Come on then, Fella,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder, doing her best to showcase her bedroom eyes, begging him to come hither as she sashayed through the thin curtains that acted as her bedroom walls. “I’m waiting for my goodnight kiss.”

  thirteen

  Something about the warmth of his body easing away from her stirred her out of her slumber. Nya moaned and stretched an arm across his chest to squeeze herself close again. “Not yet, don’t leave.”

  The light was streaming in above them through the skylight; she only knew that because of the glow on the other side of her eyelids. She didn’t want to open them, she wanted to stay there, nestled in the corner with the wall at her back and her man propped against her chest.

  He was solid, stable, a shield between her and the rest of the apartment. Although it was a studio, she’d separated this part of the space from the rest using two dark gauze curtains that she’d pinned to the ceiling and the walls. So although she would see the blurred outlines of the rest of the furniture, if she was to waken, this could still be their private cocoon, and they were all alone.

  “It’s morning,” he said, and his hand skimmed up and down her arm until it came to rest on her hip. He buried his mouth and nose into her hair, so she draped a leg over his to nestle her knee between his thighs.