Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(56)

And I hate doing things I’ll regret. So I’ll make sure she survives until I can figure out what to do with her.

Because fuck me … things are getting complicated, for sure.

That whole shitshow at the diner proved just how conflicted I am.

First, the fact that I wanted to give her something to eat as if I somehow cared about her well-being and her hunger. Then the fucking looks she gave me when that waitress started flirting with me. I gotta admit, seeing her get riled definitely pushed all my buttons. I loved seeing Dixie squirm. It brought back memories of a time long ago when we weren’t two people entangled in a miserable fate.

Now we’re stuck together in the middle of the desert, and I have no fucking clue what I’m going to do with her.

Part of me wants to punish her even more for what she did, maybe give her a good spanking and a branding, just for the sake of it. That would teach her not to mess with my family … not to toy with me.

But my family is gone now, and the only one I have left does not give a shit about me.

He’d probably kill me if it meant he could get his hands on her.

I’m pretty sure he’s called my phone fifty times already. I’m glad I blocked him, but what the fuck do I do now? Do I end it? Can I even kill her? And what if I’m done with her … what then? Do I let her go?

I pick up some more twigs from the ground and chuck them into the fire.

Maybe I should stop thinking about shit so much and do whatever the fuck I want. It’s too late to make the right decision anyway. My uncle will probably never accept me back into his hotel or even anywhere near the family.

Sighing, I rotate the lizard until it’s crisp and take it out. I start cutting into it with a small army knife I brought and hold out a piece to Dixie.

She winces. “No, thanks.”

“You sure?” I ask, taking a bite out of the meatier part. “Beats being hungry.”

“Yup, I’m sure,” she says, making a face as if she’s about to puke.

I shrug and rub my lips together. “Suit yourself.” Then I take a bite.

She cringes again, practically turning green at the sight, making me laugh.

“It tastes delicious.”

“Ew, don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know,” she says.

I love how I can make her hate me just by eating food. I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with seeing the rage in her eyes. Or why it makes me wanna laugh.

There’s just something about this girl that makes it hard not to care.

I sigh as I stare at the fire and take another bite of my dinner.

“You sure do love the fire, don’t you?” she suddenly asks.

“Mmhmm,” I mumble. I love it … the smoke … the red glow. I love it a little too much. Like an unhealthy obsession. Like her.

I swallow down the piece of lizard.

“My papa and I used to do this all the time,” I say.

“Oh, yeah?” she mumbles, her eyes glistening with interest when she looks at me. “Camp outside?”

“Yep. He loved the outdoors. The cold of the night. The smell of burning wood.” I take a whiff. “Same as me.”

“So you’re a lot like your dad then,” she says. She still can’t take her eyes off me. I wonder if it’s the clothes or something else. Something we’re both ignoring.

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t realize it when I was younger, but I do now,” I say, gazing wistfully into the fire. “Sometimes, I wish he was still here.”

She nods, glancing away too. “I feel the same about my brothers. Even though they acted like assholes all the time, I still loved them.”

Her chest rises with each breath she takes and her lips pout. The thought of kissing her crosses my mind. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the sooty air or lack of sleep messing with my head.

“What do you want me to say? Sorry won’t bring them back,” I say.

“No, but it’s a start,” she says, crawling away.

“Hey.” I grab her hand. “Where are you going?”

“To take a piss,” she says as she jerks free and gets up. “What else?”

“Don’t walk off,” I say while she swiftly turns on her heels.

“Where the fuck am I supposed to walk off to, Brandon?” she asks, her hips swaying with sass as she walks. “We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere because of you.”

“Hey, I’m protecting you, and you know that,” I reply with a fistful of dirt.

“I never asked you to protect me,” she says, sticking her finger up at me before walking off to somewhere behind the car. “Don’t follow me. I don’t want you sneaking around, being a pervert and shit.”

“That’s the last thing I wanna see from you, trust me,” I yell back.

It’s a lie.

I want to follow her.

Desperately.

But I don’t.

I don’t want her to think that I’m obsessed with her because I’m not. I just don’t want her to run. That’s all.

At least, that’s what I tell myself while I stare at the fire, still thinking about how beautifully her tits bounced up and down while she walked. Was she always this beautiful? Or has my mind just marred the image of her so I could deal with it better?