Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(18)

As I spin on my heels, something hits me on the back of the head.

I fall to the cold hard floor, but I catch myself quickly. Turning around, I find the blonde towering over me with a gun pointed straight at my face.

My eyes widen as I brace for the bullet to pierce my skull. Seconds pass that feel like an eternity. She doesn’t pull the trigger … yet.

I feel like I’m between living and dying. But nothing happens, so my survival instinct switches on, and I swiftly kick her in the shins. She topples down too, and I crawl on top of her, grabbing her wrists so she can’t use her gun.

A wicked grin spreads on her lips. “Nice to see you too …” she says. Her voice sounds eerily familiar, but I can’t put a finger on it.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” I growl, holding her down with sheer force.

“None of your fucking business,” she barks back.

I feel like I recognize that voice from somewhere, but that doesn’t make any sense. Now I’m starting to doubt my own sanity.

My thoughts leave me distracted, so when I aim my gun at her forehead, she manages to knock it out of my hand. It lands somewhere on the other end of the bathroom, out of reach.

“Got you, motherfucker,” she says, and she holds out her gun again.

BANG!

The shot goes right past my head.

Fuck me. She means business.

A struggle for power follows. We push and shove each other back to the floor. I smash her wrists to the floor, and her gun flies away to the corner of the bathroom. Now we’re on equal ground.

She scratches my face and smacks me hard, but there’s no point. I don’t lose. Ever.

Then she kicks me in the balls.

Fuck. A low blow. Literally.

I heave as I’m on my knees while she gets to her feet and scrambles to get her gun.

“I should kill you right now and get it over with …” she mumbles, pointing her gun at me.

More seconds pass.

She’s hesitating.

Why is she hesitating?

“Do I know you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“You should …” she hisses.

She grabs her sunglasses and takes them off. My eyes rise to meet hers.

Is it … it can’t be true …

Son of a motherless goat.

I mumble. “Dixie?”





Chapter Nine





Brandon



Dixie fucking Burrell. The only girl who ever managed to steal my heart and crush it all the same time.

I never thought I’d come face to face with her again.

Within seconds, I’ve grasped her by the legs and pulled her down to the floor. The gun goes off again, but I don’t give a crap as long as it doesn’t hit me. I quickly pin her between my arms and knock the gun out of her hand.

Then I tear off the obvious fucking wig and chuck it aside.

“It’s you …” I say through gritted teeth.

I never thought I’d see her again. Definitely not in this place and definitely not with guns and bombs blazing.

However, I don’t even get time to ask a single question.

She butts me in the head so hard I get dizzy. “Yes, it’s me, you son of a bitch.”

She pries a knife out of her pocket and jams it into my thigh. I howl and immediately reach for the wound while she tries to squirm her way out from underneath me.

“No fucking way,” I growl, pulling out the knife. I hold it to her throat. “Stay. Still.”

“Get off me, motherfucker,” she squeals, so I cover her mouth with my hand.

I can’t believe she’s actually here in the flesh, but now I gotta deal with this situation head on. “Listen, sweets. You’d better tell me right now what the fuck you’re doing here and why the fuck a truckload of explosives are in those bags over there.” I point at the luggage in the room.

Her high-pitched laughter, like she’s cackling, makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Like I’d tell you,” she scoffs. Then she spits in my face.

She sure hates my guts, but I won’t pretend I don’t know why.

I sigh. “Now, now … that’s not a nice thing to say, sweet cheeks.” I wipe off the spit and brush it onto her cheeks.

“I’m no one’s sweet cheeks, asshole,” she says. “Now get the fuck off me before I—”

“Before you what?” The left side of my lip curls up. She’s making threats now? She sure is just as feisty as I remember. “From what I can see, you have no weapons, so that puts you on the losing end.”

She tries to hit me again, but I hold down her wrist. “Nuh-uh. Not happening, sweet cheeks.”

“Shut your fucking trap,” she says.

“Still the same foul-mouthed girl, I see.” For some reason, that makes me smile, but I fucking will it to go away. She doesn’t deserve any kindness.

“And you’re still an insufferable asshole,” she replies.

I guess neither of us has changed.

“Since when do you work for Josiah Locklear?” she asks with contempt.

“Since it’s none of your fucking business. How do you even know him?” I reply. Lifting her from the floor, I pin her to the wall with the knife still jammed against her throat. There’s a more important question that needs answering right now. “How do I stop the bomb from exploding?”