Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(62)

He grips my throat and squeezes, practically stopping me from breathing.

“They. Killed. Mine.”

What? Killed his? What does he mean?

“Just like you’re killing me right now,” he growls, and then he lets go of my throat again.

“What are you talking about?” I mutter. “I didn’t kill anyone’s family.”

“No?” He clenches his teeth, clearly trying to hold back from actually killing me. “Because of you, my papa is dead.”

My eyes widen. “What? Mr. Locklear …”

“Gone,” he mutters, clutching the pendant around his neck. “Gone to my ma.”

“How?” she mutters.

“You tell me,” he says, showing me the Zippo again. “Since you were the one who caused it all.”





Chapter Twenty-Nine





Brandon



Past

November 6th



After fleeing from the Burrell property during the fire, I didn’t know where to go. Nowhere was safe. Not at home, not at school, and definitely nowhere in that fucking town.

They’re looking for me everywhere, still trying to hang me for what I did to Derek. Everyone wants to nail me to a cross. As if he didn’t totally fucking deserve it.

Back at the motel, I turn on the shower and let the water rush over my body. No matter how much soap I use, I can’t get rid of that stench … the scent of burning wood and plants. My body smells like fucking evidence.

I was there at the Burrell farm fire. And she saw me.

I chuck the shampoo bottle across the bathroom in complete rage, roaring out loud.

“Fuck!”

It doesn’t release the tension built up inside me. Doesn’t erase the pain she inflicted on me. I came to her in desperation, wanting to love her so badly, yet she turned me away. And for what? A family that sells drugs for a living?

Fuck me, no wonder those twins always looked as if they were rich as fuck, dressing up like they came from London or some other expensive-ass city. They got drug money from Daddy to buy whatever their hearts desired.

Is that why she wouldn’t leave with me? Because her daddy would buy her whatever she wanted, and I couldn’t give that to her?

Well, fuck her and her whole fucking family. Or whatever the fuck’s left of it.

I throw another bottle of gel at the wall, and it splashes all over the floor too.

I’ll clean up the mess later. I gotta get rid of this rage first, but nothing I do helps. I’m still boiling on the inside. A part of me wishes I hadn’t left the property, and I was still there to face them head on. Maybe that’s the anger talking, but right now I don’t give a fuck.

Dixie ripped out my heart and stomped on it.

I don’t feel sorry for her or her dad.

Not when she admitted that her dad is a racist ass who couldn’t even process that his daughter might be interested in me, let alone be in a relationship with someone like me.

Fuck. Why does the whole world seem to hate me?

In full fury, I throw my fist against the cold, hard wall.

My knuckles crack. It hurts like a motherfucker, but I take it like a man.

That’s what grown-ups do. They suck it up and move on.

That’s when I realize I’ve already decided to leave this fucking town. If I can’t take her with me, then I’ll go alone.

All that’s left to do is pack up my shit and drive away.

But to do that, I need to gather the courage to return home.

And face my dad.



*

November 9th



It takes me days to actually man the fuck up and go to my papa’s shop. I thought it’d be easy to hop in and out, but he’s there all the time. I even checked while driving by. I really don’t want to confront him, so I went back to the motel again and again until today.

I can’t stand to wait another second. Not when my ass is on the line. I’m not sticking around just for the sake of it.

If he’s there, so be it. I’ll march right past him.

If he isn’t, I’ll grab my shit and run.

So when nighttime arrives, I park my car in front of the shop and take a deep breath before going inside.

The little bells sound when I enter the door. It’s pitch black inside with no lights on. Even though it’s almost nine p.m., I’d assume Papa would leave a light on to keep the burglars away or at least to be able to find his way around the place, in case he forgot something.

Odd.

I walk through the shop, feeling my way through the aisles.

It’s so quiet too. I could probably hear a pin drop right now. Is he even home? He never leaves the shop this late at night.

Suddenly, my toes bump into something hard on the floor, and I almost fall, but I manage to catch myself on the counter. There’s a light there, so I immediately turn it on.

The counter is soaked in blood.

My stomach twists into knots as my eyes follow the trail down the counter, all the way down to my feet.

Right in front of me …

On the cold hardwood floor …

My papa’s lifeless body remains.

I sink to my knees in front of him, grasping his hand. “Papa! Papa?” I yell, shaking him. “Wake up, please!”