Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(29)

The men beside me occasionally glare at me, and I glare back equally hard. I wonder how my uncle knows them, and why they’re coming along. Do they work for him?

And what the fuck are they planning to do?

One of the men starts playing with a knife, twirling it swiftly in his hands as if he’s got nothing better to do. The one beside me doesn’t even seem fazed as he casually drinks from his water bottle.

Who are these guys?

There’s only one thing all of us have in common, and that’s the long black hair.

Native Americans.

Did my uncle drum them up from the reserve?

Before I can ask my uncle any of these questions, he says, “We’re here.”

The men immediately grab gloves and ski masks and put them on. My stomach churns.

The doors of the van open, and I’m pulled out by my uncle. We’re right in front of the Burrell’s gate.

The sky is pitch black with nothing but the stars illuminating our way. One of the men brought bolt cutters and breaks open the gate. My uncle pulls me aside and hands me a pair of gloves. “Put these on, boy. You don’t wanna leave any trace, remember?”

I’m surprised he thought of this. He’s thought of everything. It’s almost as if he’s done this before. Or maybe he just knows how shit like this goes. He always seems prepared for the world to go down. Tonight is no different.

My uncle ushers us onto the property, but he remains at the gate. He hisses, “Go! I’ll stay here and make sure the van is ready.”

For what, I wonder.

A quick getaway? Maybe … or maybe he chickened out.

Whatever. I’m not gonna sit and wait for the others to do the job. I need to know why the twins did what they did. And they should pay with a rough beating at least.

I’m pretty sure my uncle hired these three men to take care of that so he doesn’t have to do the dirty work himself. He’s just letting me tag along with them for the ride.

The men go ahead, and I follow them, sneaking onto the property. One of them turns on a flashlight and peers through the windows, looking for movement. There are no lights on inside, and no one appears to be awake. Good.

One of the men pulls out a small tool and pries the door open in no time. We go inside and up the stairs. Mr. Burrell is snoring loud, so we head in the opposite direction. On the doors are nameplates and one of them reads Dixie. My throat instantly feels dry.

I try to ignore the uneasiness bubbling to the surface and focus on the task at hand.

When we’ve found the door that says Ben & Danny, we come to a stop. One of the men gently pushes open the door, and we all go inside quietly. The two boys lie on their beds, snoring loudly.

Just seeing them sleep like babies makes my blood boil. They should be crying in a pool of their own blood. I can’t wait to beat their asses.

I won’t be gentle, but I won’t be cruel either. I’m not like them.

With clenched fists, I march toward Danny and stand in front of his bed, waiting for him to open his eyes and see what he’s done when he stares back at me. I want him to see the pain, the suffering, the humiliation. I want him to experience the same.

I almost contemplate hurting his dad instead.

But one of the men steps forward and grabs my shoulder, pulling me away from the bed.

He pulls out a knife … that same knife he was twirling in the van … and rams it straight into Danny’s heart.

My eyes widen, and I fall back onto the floor. “What the f—”

“Shut it,” one of the other men hisses at me, placing his finger on his lips.

Danny releases a muffled growl, the sound of a person in need. The sound of a person who’s dying.

The man with the knife keeps jabbing him, over and over again. Blood spills everywhere, staining the bed.

It drips down onto the floor and makes me crawl away.

I bump straight into Ben’s bed.

One of the men immediately lifts me to my feet and pushes a knife into my hand. Our eyes meet. His are empty, void of any emotions while mine probably drown in them.

Still, he nudges me toward Ben.

I hold the knife in front of me as though it’s a weapon, a sword to slay my enemies.

But this is no game, and I’m no fucking prince on a horse saving the damsel in distress.

I’m hurt. Wounded. Scarred for life.

They deserve this.

At least, that’s the mantra I repeat in my head, but I can’t bring myself to actually hurt him.

What am I doing?

I wanted them to pay.

Desperately.

But the longer I stay here, hovering over his body, wishing he was dead … the more I’m beginning to shake. Violently.

I turn my head toward the door, and a moment of panic rushes over me.

That’s when I spot them … the terrified, tear-stained eyes watching us from the hallway through the gap in the open door.

Dixie.



*

Dixie



My throat clamps, and my lungs squeeze together. I’m horrified. Struck with blinding fear and shock as four men move like shadows through my brothers’ room.

A split second is all it takes for me to notice the blood on Danny’s bed.

And the guy standing in front of Ben’s bed, ready to do the same to him … Brandon.

Our eyes meet, and I know he sees the hatred.