Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(34)

When he looked at me, I almost lost the will to fight back. They were that entrancing.

But I must focus and stay vigilant. He’s the bad guy. The one who got away with murder. I can’t ever forgive him, nor can I let him get close.

I get up from the bed and jerk on the door handles. Of course, he locked them. The windows are next, but those too are locked tight. Only a couple of small air vents at the top are open, but they’re only big enough for a couple of fingers to pass through and nothing else.

Mulling it over, I search for more options. There’s gotta be some way to escape.

This damn belt buckle around my wrists isn’t making it any easier either. And it smells like him too, reminding me he has me right where he wants me.

And there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s no knife, no paper cutter, nothing in the drawers to help me free myself.

Goddammit.

It wouldn’t surprise me if he knew. Of course I’d try to escape, and he prepared for it, knowing full well I’d go looking … and find nothing.

Grumbling, I sit down on the bed again. I should’ve fucking used more explosives. At least then we would’ve both been blown to smithereens. Now we’re stuck in this god-awful motel. Why not just kill me and get it over with?

He hates me just as much as I hate him even though I don’t understand why. I didn’t do anything to him except for break up with him. Is that why he murdered my brothers? I killed him with heartbreak, so he kills my family instead?

No, there must be some other reason, but I can’t figure out what, and he won’t tell me.

Ever since my brothers died, I’ve been obsessed with finding Brandon, with knowing the reason behind their murders. And now that he’s here, I feel as though the answer is at my fingertips. All I need to do is grasp it, but how?

How do I make him talk?

Maybe using my body against him isn’t such a bad idea after all …

I mean, his eyes were looking all over the place, scanning my body, almost as if he was hungry for a taste. And I admit, it did excite me a little bit, but I won’t ever say that to him. It’d be a sin, considering the things he did to me.

Still, I can’t help but think about what would’ve happened to us …

And if we ever had a chance to begin with.



*

Past

November 6th



I haven’t seen Brandon since the night at the bonfire. Since he burned Derek’s hand and ran off.

He hasn’t shown himself at school nor at his dad’s shop. I went to Mr. Locklear and asked where he was, but he was hoping I knew. He kept asking what happened to him as if he could sense that I was there when Brandon ran.

I left without telling him the truth.

I don’t feel like it’s my place. Brandon should do this on his own terms, his own way.

If he ever comes back.

God, I hope he’s okay.

I take a sip of my Coke and lean back on my stool. I’m done with all my chores at the farm for today, so I’m busy in the workshop to take my mind off things. Or rather … the situation between Derek and Brandon.

They were fighting over me.

Me.

As if I’m some sort of prize.

Fuck.

It’s like one of those cheesy romance novels with two bad boys fighting over the one stupid girl. Fuck, how stupid am I to be the one in the middle.

Maybe I should just stay a virgin.

I snort to myself. Yeah, like that’s the answer to everything.

But at least I’ll be rid of the boys then. They’ll be my undoing, I just know it.

Sighing, I continue to work on my latest gadget, which is a homemade sprinkler with a timer on it. It might be of some use to my dad and his secret farmhouse. I’m hoping I can impress him with this. Maybe then he’ll want me there too and not just my brothers.

It’s almost midnight, and my dad expects me to be home soon, so I’d better hurry.

However, a soft squeak has me sitting up straight and gazing around. There’s only one small light bulb hanging from the roof illuminating the shed, but it’s enough to see there’s no one here.

Maybe it was a rat. I should work on building a trap next time. My dad’s been trying to catch them for some time now without any luck. Of course, the suckers avoid the poison flakes lying around the floor too. Pesky little shits.

Suddenly, something touches my shoulder, and I freak out.

I shriek, but a hand covers my mouth, blocking my voice.

Adrenaline fills my veins as panic bubbles to the surface. I try to spin on my chair but can’t because someone’s holding me down firmly. Strong arms with a scent that reminds me of … soot.

“It’s me. Don’t scream,” he whispers.

It’s Brandon.

He leans back, and I immediately stand and turn to face him. “Brandon! Jesus.”

“Sorry. Didn’t wanna scare you,” he says, a little too loud.

I close my eyes and let out a sigh. “God, could you have been any more creepy?”

“I could if I wanted to,” he says, raising one brow, mocking me.

I narrow my eyes, but my body remains rigid. Tense. It’s as if my brain has already decided for me that I can’t trust him. At least, not after what happened at the bonfire. “What are you doing here?” I whisper, still upset that he jumped on me like that. And even though he says I shouldn’t be scared, my skin still prickles where he touched me.