Branding A Legacy (A Silver Star Ranch Novel)

by Bellus, HJ

  The dim lights peeking out into the hall from the small hospital chapel catches my attention. I decide to step inside and glide my hand along the dark wood benches as I walk slowly up to the candles. Before I know it I’m lighting a candle for Marvel and his family and one for my dad. I toss my heavy bag onto a bench as I sink to my knees and begin to pray. Moments of silence pass by as I remain on my knees and soak in the comfort of the chapel.

  I lose track of time as I continue to pray and give away all of my problems to the silence, hoping they’re trapped never to find their way back. An odd but very settling warm feeling bathes my senses and I know it’s my dad telling me to keep on keeping on.

  “Clover?”

  I turn to see Maverik in the back of the chapel holding his hat down at his side.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

  “It’s fine. Is everything okay?” I ask as I rise to my feet, steady myself, and massage my kneecaps a bit.

  “Fine. I mean well…” The chapel is so dimly lit, but the cracks in his voice are evident enough to me that he’s just about to break down. “I’ve never done this.”

  His large frame is silhouetted in the back of the church as he raises both arms up in defeat. With all the carnage and heartbreak I’ve witnessed in the last few weeks, this tops it all. To see a grown man, the leader of his family, breakdown is devastating to my soul.

  Without a word, I walk to the back of the chapel, grab his hand, and guide him right up to the table at the front. I remain silent as I hand him the lighter and gesture to a candle. Maverik follows each of my gestures as he lights a candle.

  “Now, just take your time and pray, Maverik.”

  I grab my purse from the bench as Maverik sinks to his knees and bows his head. A grown man so defeated he’s on his knees begging for mercy for his sweet family. It’s in this moment that Maverik Slatter stole a piece of my heart and definitely solidified the fact they’re good people and will take care of me even though it’s not their job.

  I feel a bit lighter as I walk out of the chapel and into the dark on-call room. My head hits the pillow and the tears release. Each of them falls hard onto my pillow. It’s something I’ve done since losing my dad. I let out my sorrow behind closed doors and upon deaf ears. A tear-soaked pillow only knows the true pain buried deep down in me.

  8

  Marvel

  His screams and yells of agony ring around in my head while his blood is the only thing I can smell and taste. Drip after drip of the crimson liquid flows down the back of my throat with the only sound being Saint’s evil laughter.

  The gravel slips and slides under my boot as I try to get to him but never do. I watch as my best friend takes his last breath and it’s all on my shoulders. My leg twitches hard as I feel myself free falling from the scene and then gasp out loud as I wake up to the cold reality. I lived.

  “Marvel.”

  I look up to see Maverik on one side of me and Merek on the other. It’s the same scene each time. The bastards don’t understand a thing I’m going through. As I rotate my head, I see they finally sent away their women.

  “You okay?” Merek asks.

  I lift my head as much as my neck brace allows and the same scene lies before me. My entire body is covered in bandages wrapped tightly with IV tubes streaming from each of my wrists. The constant heart monitor sings out loud in the room.

  I plop my head back down on the pillow, not answering my brother’s question or even making eye contact with them. The FBI agents will be next, questioning me up one side and down the other, asking if I remember anything that happened or who was responsible for this. I do like I do every other time and just shrug my shoulders, claiming I blacked out.

  The agents informed me my truck and trailer were found out in the desert totaled, making my claim of blacking out even more believable. I’ve led them to the conclusion that I must have rolled the truck and survived the accident, but it leaves Weston’s death wide open along with Jose’s. They make sure to visit me every single fucking day.

  And with each visit and retell of the made up lie, I feel my last ounce of humanity being stripped away. Even my own thoughts scare the piss out of me. Dangerous and horrible ideas flow through me every time I’m awake. Some are what happened to me while others are what my soul hungers for—revenge and redemption.

  “Merek’s staying with you tonight.” Maverik’s voice begins to overpower the beeps of all the machines connected to me. “Just wanted to hang around until you woke up tonight.”

  I ball my fists up on the bed. They’re about the only other things I have function over right now, and then squeeze my eyes shut tight.

  “Marvel, we aren’t leaving.” Merek leans over the bedrail so close that I can feel his breath pouring down on the side of my face. “You’re talking to the king of dicks, and if you think you can play my game, then you’re quite the fucking fool.”

  I don’t miss the wicked laughter that rolls from Merek. He’s pushing me and so is Maverik as he grips the side of the bedrail cracking each knuckle. Being the youngest, I should know better. These two won’t fucking give in.

  “Why did you bring the fucking colt home, Marvel? We’re trying to cover your fucking ass. The agents are down all of our necks,” Maverik whisper-shouts.

  “I rolled the truck and trailer and don’t remember anything else.”

  It sucks lying to my brothers, but it’s my only choice at this point. Saint and his men will go after both of them and their wives, taking no mercy on them. And that’s the one thing I’ll never chance no matter what.

  “You stubborn fuck,” Merek hisses. “You brought the fucking colt back home. We saw it with our own eyes in the stable.”

  It takes all of my willpower not to yell back at him and lay it all out, but I lick up the bitter taste of blood from biting my tongue. I never got the damn colt. I was just mere feet away and moments from the exchange before all hell broke fucking loose. Saint made it clear he was the king of Fulton County, allowing no shit to go down he doesn’t know about.

  I’ve never experienced nightmares as a child, but now it’s pretty much a nightly occurrence, or whenever I fade off into slumber. Everything I experience in a nightmare is all my fault and just seals down each nail in my coffin. I don’t know how to live, can’t even find the damn will to, and here I lie in a hospital bed with a dozen doctors and nurses at my beck and call.

  “Marvel, time to change your bandages.”

  A familiar face appears in the door and I know the torture is about to begin. I’ve passed out several times when they’ve changed the bandages covering nearly all of my body. It’s a pain I never thought existed. I don’t answer her as she makes her way in with another nurse. I hear them ask my brothers to leave the room, and that may be the only thing I look forward to with this whole fucking process.

  It’s the one time they leave my side, giving me a moment to exist without feeling the insurmountable guilt crushing my chest. It’s the torturous pain or my brothers applying the pressure on me. It’s sad when I chose something that’s not family. But it’s as if the pain is morphing into comfort and a well-deserved punishment, and my brothers’ faces are becoming the enemy. It’s all wrong in every sense. It’s not the way I was raised, or the direction my blood flows in my body, but I don’t know how to stop it.

  The nurse’s musty scent attacks my nostrils before I know what’s happening. I hear her instructing her partner as they peel back each bandage on the top of my one thigh. The next scent to hit me is one I hope I’m never forced to smell again—my own burnt flesh. I feel the scrubbing process begin, and it only takes a matter of seconds of the bristle brush to scrub against my raw skin for me to pass out.

  When I come back to, the nurses are up around my chest unwrapping the wound bandages.

  “Doing okay?” one of them asks.

  I only nod, feeling queasy with the stench of the room and the tingle attacking every inch of my skin. My vision blurs
as I try to focus in on the nurse on my left side, and it’s only her raven black hair that swirls around in my vision.

  “Oh, excuse me.” I hear the door to my room swing wide open. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “Clover, get over here. Jaime can’t handle this. I’m almost done and need another set of hands.”

  The nurse’s voice is panicked and quite rude, which I know is all chalked up to being stressed. It’s one thing I’ve learned after lying here day in and day out.

  “I need to get back to the third floor.”

  “Now, Clover.” This time her voice leaves behind no question of what will happen next.

  I hear the snapping of latex gloves and the gentle voice of the new nurse as she excuses the queasy one. Nothing is more demeaning than having other adults turn violently sick due to the state of your flesh. I’ve morphed into a monster inside and out. If I were a betting man, I’d bet this new nurse will last ten minutes maximum. They start out strong, go pale, and then the gagging begins.

  “We just have his chest left,” the black-haired nurse who has never given up on me says. “He’s looking good today.”

  I watch as she directs with her eyes and free hand to the new nurse. When the nurse’s petite hand touches my bare skin I gasp for air. It’s a touch I recognize even through her latex gloves. It takes me a moment before I build up enough courage to make eye contact with her.

  As I listen to her innocent voice and focus in on her touch, I know it’s her, and that fact sends shivers down my spine. It’s the first feeling I’ve felt besides pain and agony. It’s a knee jerk reaction. My brain screams no, but I watch my arm raise up to her. I feel my skin scream back at me as it tears and peels from my bone. I’m finally able to cover the top of her hand with my palm, and even though it’s bandaged I can still feel her.

  “You saved me.” Three simple words spill from me and I regret each syllable as they connect with the air. I didn’t want to be saved or my family in any more danger because of my stupid ass move to one up Saint and fight for the good to prevail. I needed to die, so everything would go away. Clearly, God, life, or whoever is our creator taught me a nasty lesson that starless night. It doesn’t matter how you get there as long as you get there. Saint Johnson came out the victor in the game of life as I lie in a fucking hospital bed with nurses scrubbing away my dead skin and me lying to my family only to protect them.

  “You remember me?” Her voice distracts me from my worthless thoughts. I peer up to her, first connecting with her gorgeous dark hair, then her pale creamy skin, and then the blue eyes I focused on the night I was saved from my own personal hell. It seemed like a dream at the moment until the harsh second I woke up and finally felt every inch of my skin scream in torture and was blinded by the bright lights of the ER.

  I only nod back to her.

  “I’m glad to see you’re doing so well.” She keeps her gaze on the task at hand and her hands busy.

  “Clover, we are going to need more steri strips. Keep working and I’ll go grab some.”

  I wait until I hear the door shut to my room before I lay into her.

  “You must be fucking dumb or something?”

  My words cause her to freeze and her vision to connect with mine.

  “I told you to leave me the fuck alone. Guess you don’t understand fucking English.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Her jaw drops open and her eyes bulge even bigger.

  “I’m fucking alive, that’s what.”

  “I uh-I…”

  I cut off her pathetic stammering. “You’re fucking dumb.”

  The other nurse joins us and they quickly finish up changing my bandages, and I make sure to stare down Clover, trying to make her feel as uncomfortable as possible. Giving her a little taste of my own life…I’ll never be able to live in this skin knowing the bloodshed on my hands and who knows what else is to come.

  I hear one final rip of tape and then the original nurse leaves. She and Clover exchange a few words but I don’t catch any of them. Just seeing her face makes my blood boil. I’ve never hated anyone until Saint and my father’s ordeal, but now I truly hate this woman who saved my life. Again, the nasty greedy monster within me rears its ugly head.

  “I came in here because…”

  “Do me a favor, you stupid bitch, and leave me alone.” I raise my head just enough to make full eye contact with her. “I never want to see your face again.”

  “Clover, I’m coming in.” A new and very familiar voice rings from the outside of my room. “I’m done waiting.”

  The top of the door swings open, and I’m unable to sit fully up to see who’s entering. Internally, I begin to panic knowing Saint will inevitably finish off the job he set out to do.

  A creaking sound slowly makes its way to me.

  “I’m sorry.” Clover clutches her hands to her chest. “I tried to ask him, but we got busy changing his bandages.”

  I go to open my mouth to tell the bitch off again, and right when the first word is about to roll off my tongue, my granddad’s face is in mine.

  “Clover, would you excuse us please?”

  “Yes, but I’m waiting right outside the room. I’ll get in big trouble if you get hurt.”

  “I’m fine, young lady. Give us five minutes.”

  Reservation covers Clover’s face and I can immediately sense she’s not comfortable leaving him here with me. I guess she got my message loud and clear.

  “You heard him,” I growl at her as I try to adjust myself in the bed to look closer at Granddad. When my sight hits the metal walker he’s clutched to I spiral even deeper into my own depths of hell. I’m left speechless staring at him and barely recognizing him. He’s lost weight, he’s pale, and has aged even more than before. His fragile body hurts to look at. Granddad takes his time resting his elbow on the side of my bed and then catching his breath.

  “Are you okay?” It comes out as a whisper, but I’m legitimately scared right now seeing my very own hero in this condition. More scared than the dark nights out in the wilderness not knowing when Saint’s men were going to come back and finally finish me off. This is a shock that rattles me to my core.

  “Talk now, Marvel. There’s no agents around or your brothers. Talk to me now.”

  “You didn’t answer my question, Granddad.” I hoist my upper body up in the bed until I’m in a sitting position and ignore the tremors of pain shooting through my body. My fingers tremble around the bedside rail as I fight to clutch it and ignore the pain.

  “I’ll be fine as soon as you tell me what in the hell you’ve gone and done.”

  I know he’s not letting this go, and the longer I refuse to talk only means the longer he stands next to me. My eyesight goes straight to the hospital bracelet wrapped around his wrist.

  “You’re in the hospital too?”

  “Yes,” he growls. “Admitted the night you went missing. Damn old heart tried to quit ticking again. Doctors have it patched up real good this time.”

  In a quick motion, Granddad raises his hand and then slaps me on the back of the head. “Talk dammit.”

  “Ouch.” I clutch the back of my head, rubbing the pads of my fingers over a long line of stiches. “I don’t…”

  “Boy, don’t feed me that shit. I know you remember and I need to know the whole truth.”

  “I was going to say, I don’t want to remember that night anymore.”

  I notice him begin to shake and grow weak right in front of my own eyes.

  “Sit down. You’ll need to sit to hear all of this.” I gesture to the chair next to my bed, and as I raise my hand the clear IV tube tugs back on my skin causing yet more pain to flow through me.

  “Now talk. I know this is hard and you don’t want to do it, but you will, son.” I don’t miss the determined tone in his voice. It’s one thing I’ve never done, and that’s disrespect my granddad.

  “I wanted the damn colt back. We deserve it. Saint made us out to be fools and
fucking idiots capitalizing on our hard work only because of our piece of shit father.”

  A monitor in the distance goes off and I know it’s my blood pressure racing out of control. I take a few moments to control my anger before I begin talking again.

  “Maverik and Merek were watching me too close the day we sent the colts back, so I had to go around them. Made a deal with one of Saint’s men to get the colt back.”

  “Jesus, Marvel, are you that big of a fool?” Granddad buries his face in his palms.

  And the real pain of my situation finally hits me hard in the gut. His disappointment is worse than any flesh wound.

  “It’s not what you think. He never turned on me.” I try to sit up a bit taller telling my story and fighting back not to wince out loud in pain. As each shred of torturous pain shoots through me I know I deserve all of it—every single ounce—and feel even worse thinking about Weston.

  “Saint found out,” Granddad whispers.

  “He found out and met us that night at the meeting spot. I had no time to get out of there. He killed his man and Weston right in front of me. Beat them to near death and slit their throats and then came after me.”

  “How did the colt make it back to our barn?”

  “I have no clue. They beat me but always kept me right on the edge of awareness.” I take a moment to gather my bearings. Retelling the story is a lot fucking harder than I ever thought it would be. “I know they wrecked my truck, then had me dumped out in the desert. I lost track of time, but Saint’s men would come out every so often to give me just enough food to keep me alive and torture me more.”

  “It just doesn’t all add up, son.” Granddad shakes his head as he rises up to face me. Tears roll down his face, gutting me even more. I’m not sure what I have left to give.

  “I’m sorry, Granddad.”

  “Sorry for what? Standing up for your honor, defending our ranch? You’re sorry for that?” His voice grows loud as he yells at me. The anger lacing his voice is obvious as his face turns beet-red.