Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(37)

He needed to hear this in order to move on.

In order to let me go.

He paces in the shed with his hands in his hair, murmuring some inaudible words. Then he stops and glares at me.

“Fuck you, you know?” he fumes. “Fuck. You.”

The second time around, he actually means it.

Tears sting my eyes, but I push them away into the abyss of my soul.

“Fuck you, I’m outta here,” he says, shaking his head.

Without looking at me, he storms out of the shed, slamming the door shut behind him.

I sink down onto the stool and bury my face in my hands, wishing all the wishes of a teenage girl that never came to fruition.





Chapter Eighteen





Brandon



Present



There’s an aching need in me that needs to be fulfilled. A thirst dying to be quenched.

A hunger for death.

I haven’t always felt this way, but ever since that night at the Burrell farm, I can’t stop thinking about it. Death. Killing. Murder.

It’s on my mind plenty during the day, and the more I stopped listening, the worse the voices became. So I caved in and started looking for victims to punish. Little by little, step by step … I became more and more vicious. When I look in the mirror now, I don’t even recognize myself anymore. That’s how much I’ve changed over the years.

Dixie Burrell … finding her at the hotel and taking her with me only brought out the monster in me.

She antagonizes me. Pushes me. Gets underneath my skin and makes my blood boil.

And it makes me wanna kill someone … literally.

I want someone to feel the pain I do, to experience the suffering, and then end it all. Snuff them out with fire.

So I’m gonna put my thoughts at ease and do just that. Calm my mind a bit, just as it always does when I pick a criminal to punish.

It’s not bad when it’s someone who deserves it. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I know it’s hypocritical, considering the crimes I’ve committed, but I’m not the only one who deserves to go out with a bang. I won’t hide in the shadows … I’ll welcome death with open arms. But as long as I live, I’ll continue using fire to my advantage and pleasure.

Which is exactly what I’m going to do with this man right here. The man sitting right in front of me on this abandoned road. The dirt clings to his neat suit, but it doesn’t hide the filth underneath.

I found him via a friend of mine who works at the police station. We have this unwritten rule that as long as I don’t leave any trace, I get the names on a certain bad-guys-who-got-away-with-shit list. Suffice to say, I locate them, hunt them down, take them somewhere remote, and do whatever I want.

The guy in front of me is one of those who used the justice system to his advantage and got away with hurting a child.

Not on my watch. I’ll play the role of judge, and I won’t be gentle.

“Please, don’t,” the man begs on his knees. His oil-soaked body is shaking vigorously. “I’ll do anything. Please.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you hurt that little boy. Didn’t you hear him beg for mercy when you whipped his ass until he died?” I say, cocking my head as I play with my Zippo. On and off. The light captures his attention like a moth to a flame. They all get burned in the end.

I bend over and flick open my Zippo.

His screams fill the air, lighting my soul on fire.

This is why I do it. Dishing out pain soothes my own.

Maybe it’s evil, and maybe it’s monstrous, but at least I only target the scum of the earth. Those who deserve to die anyway. I’m only making it painful, just like they deserve.

Fire will always have a special place in my heart, its passionate flame reminding me of my own unending and all-consuming rage.

But this … this makes it a little more tolerable. Seeing the light snuff out in his eyes is like snorting coke straight up the nose. Addictive as fuck and so fucking energizing.

And when the fire reaches the sky, I turn around and walk away, leaving his corpse to rot in the blazing sun. Just like he deserves.

Just like I deserve.

One day.



*

Dixie



When he comes back, I scramble back to the bed. It’s been just under an hour. I have no clue what he’s been up to, but it can’t be good. A strange odor follows him as he steps inside with his muddy boots. Something that smells like … soot and fire.

Did he do it again?

Burn something … or someone?

I swallow away the lump in my throat as he passes me without saying a word and goes straight into the bathroom.

“Hey,” I say, trying to capture his attention, but he ignores me and turns on the water faucet instead. “Where were you?” I ask. “Did anyone follow you?”

I hope he was careful going in and out of the parking lot. For all we know, his uncle’s men are on the watch. He said so himself.

Of course, he doesn’t answer me, so I shift the topic. “Can you at least untie me?” I ask.

“No,” he says with a slightly mocking voice.

I bite my tongue instead of swearing him up and down. If he’s not gonna kill me, fine, but he can’t keep me cooped up in here either.