Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(16)

Fuck him. “No,” I bark, turning around and walking off.

My papa stomps after me, placing his hand on the door. “I gave you everything. Don’t you dare walk out on me, boy.”

“Everything? Is this what you call everything? Moving towns just because you feel like it? Ruining my childhood? You’ve given me nothing but pain.”

“I did it for you,” he says, his voice seething with just as much pain as I feel inside my chest right now. “You don’t understand this now, but one day you will. I promise.”

“No. I’m done. I’m leaving,” I say, opening the door and pushing him aside.

“Brandon, you’re making a mistake.”

“Yeah, well you were too. I’m fucking eighteen years old, Papa. I don’t need you to tell me what’s good for me. I know what I want. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

I mash my lips together and bite the inside of my cheeks, waiting for him to respond.

But the words never come.

He never says he’s sorry. Never says it’s okay. Never wants me to be happy my own way.

So I rip the pendant from my neck and shove it back into his hands. “I don’t want this. And I don’t want you.”

Before he can say another word, I turn around and walk out of the shop, slamming the door shut behind me.

My face stings with the tears I refuse to shed. And fuck me, do they burn.





Chapter Eight





Brandon



Present

Age 30



My cigarette burns away fast as I stare at it. The scorching bud reminds me of the traffic lights around every corner in this city. Las Vegas, the city of lights.

The only light I care about right now is the one around my wrist that says what time it is. Only two more hours until my shift is over. Good. This day’s been boring as fuck.

I take a final drag and chuck the cigarette on the asphalt, stomping it out before I go back inside. The noise from the hotel lobby hits me like a train rushing by. People bustling, suitcases rolling along, chitchat everywhere. It drives me nuts. I prefer peace and quiet. Not that there’s any of that here in Vegas. But I’m here with a reason and that reason is a well-paying job for a guy like me, so I can’t complain.

As a security guard, I’m tasked with keeping the guests and staff safe, and that includes mundane tasks such as watching the monitors in the staff room. But my favorite part is kicking out the misbehaving assholes. A hotel casino is a busy place with slot machines and poker tables at every turn. People can’t control themselves when it comes to money, so that’s where I come in. One stern look is usually all that’s needed to get troublemakers to leave, and if not, my co-workers and I round them up and throw them out.

Sometimes we have to call the police, but it usually doesn’t come to that. Violence is the last resort. Don’t wanna scare away the customers.

That’s what my uncle would say anyway, and he runs the place. Built it from the ground up.

I don’t always agree with him, but he’s a hardworking man, and I can get behind that. My papa raised me the same way, so I guess it runs in the family.

After a quick check on the floor to make sure everything’s running smoothly, I go into the office and tap Mateo’s shoulder. “Your turn.”

He spins his chair around and looks up at me. “That was quick.”

“Yeah, just had a smoke. That’s it,” I reply, tightening the hair band around my braid. I grew out my black hair over the years. It’s a way to honor my ancestors. And my papa. He always wore his braids just like this. It’s a small gesture to remember where I came from.

“Dude …” Mateo snorts, shaking his head. “What about lunch?”

I shrug. “Not hungry.”

He makes a face and gets up. “Suit yourself.” Then he takes a box out of his bag and opens it up right in front of me, eating half the sandwich while walking out with a stupid grin on his face.

Fucker. Trying to get me to feel hungry. Well, it ain’t working. I’m not the type to eat three times a day anyway. Breakfast … sometimes … but I almost never have lunch. Usually, I just shove my face full of burgers after my shift ends. That’s it. It’s not healthy, but it’s cheap, and a man’s gotta eat.

My boss may be my family, but he ain’t paying me to get rich. I need to work for my food. Besides, it’s not like cooking is so much fun when you’re eating by yourself. I’d rather spend that time going for a ride in my truck, enjoying the fresh air like I do every day after I get off work, and filling my stomach to the brim.

Sighing, I plop down on the chair and watch the monitors. The people in the casino probably don’t even know I’m watching, and if someone told them, they probably wouldn’t believe it. Ignorance is bliss.

I’d rather not know someone was watching my ass 24/7 either. But that’s my job, and it’s what I do best.

I go through the live video footage, trying to find something interesting while looking at my phone at the same time. There’s not usually anything noteworthy happening, so scrolling through a news app entertains me otherwise.

However, the moment I look up at the monitor again, something catches my eye. A woman dressed in all black with long platinum blond hair and wearing sunglasses walks along the hallway on the twentieth floor. She glances around hastily, then goes into room number 2042 using one of the key cards.