Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(71)

“By calling me? As much as I’d like to, because you’ve done so much for me in the past, I can’t help you, Brandon.”

I sigh out loud, running my fingers through my hair. “Fuck …”

“You’re a good tracker. Can’t you like … find her on your own?” he asks.

“How?” I ask, frowning. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know. You’re a Native, right? You have skills.”

“Skills? Really, dude?”

“They listen to shit, don’t they?”

“You’d better not be suggesting I put my face in the dirt and my ears against rocks. I swear to God, Chase.”

“What? I don’t know what it is that you do that makes you so good at your shit, sorry,” he says. “The point is … you gotta figure this one out by yourself. I’m sorry.”

I close my eyes and sigh again, then put the phone away.

Fuck, why is he so useless when it matters the most?

I always help him out, but when it comes to helping me out, he flakes out. Typical.

Dude’s only approachable when it comes to killing people, but when I need him for important stuff, it’s futile to even ask him. Especially since that girl came into his life, he’s just been so absent. Like he cares more about her than he wants to be my friend.

I grunt and bang my head against the car door. Not that I’m not in the same situation.

Of course not. I’d never fucking admit a girl takes up so much of my mind that I can’t fucking breathe when she isn’t in my hands where she belongs. No fucking way.

As I peer through the window of the car, I realize she took Matteo’s phone. I clearly remember him telling me he had a tracker installed in case it got stolen.

I smirk.

I guess luck’s on my side now. Time to find my little cupcake.





Chapter Thirty-Three





Dixie



With a pounding heart, I push the doorbell and wait.

“Who is it? If you’re here to sell me shit, I’m not interested!”

When he opens the door, I say, “Hi, Dad!” with the biggest smile I can muster.

His face only turns more sour once he realizes it’s me. “Dixie? What are you doing here?”

“Ah …” I make a face. I haven’t exactly thought about how I’m gonna tell him the news yet about the failed attack on the hotel. And fuck, I don’t even wanna mention Brandon at this point. I know my dad is pissed. I can see the fire burning in his eyes.

“Aren’t you supposed to blow up that goddamn hotel?” he asks, rubbing his scruffy, unkempt beard.

“I was …”

“But you failed.”

Rain pours down on my face. Every drop feels hard but not as hard as his words.

“I did my best,” I say, swallowing away the lump in my throat. “I’m not done yet.”

“You’d better not be,” he says, grabbing his coat. “You’re a disgrace.”

I cringe when I hear those words. I honestly tried. I wanted it to succeed, but then damn Brandon had to go and butt in. Plus, I didn’t use enough explosives to blow up the whole building. I should’ve brought more.

“Jesus Christ, Dixie. Why the fuck did I put you in all those martial arts classes? Did you even learn anything?”

“Yes!” I say, licking my lips. “I used all the techniques on a security guard at the hotel.”

“And still you failed,” he says, spitting in the spittoon standing in the hallway.

His words cut me like a knife. I wish they didn’t, and I try not to let him get to me, but he’s my dad. “I’m gonna try better,” I say.

“Good. I don’t wanna see you back here until that whole goddamn hotel is buried in the ground,” he snarls, putting on his coat. “That son of a bitch deserves to die.”

“I know. I wanted him to. I just … miscalculated on the amount. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” he says, pushing his index finger against my chest so hard I’m forced to take a step back. “That shit is all over the news. Now everyone’s looking for us.”

“No one knows it was me!” I say as he puts on his hat too.

“I fucking hope you didn’t leave any evidence, Dixie,” he hisses. “When I told you to do this job, I expected you to do it without gettin’ noticed. Clean and crisp.”

“I know, Dad,” I say. “I’m gonna do better, I promise.”

I wish I could tell him what happened at the hotel. That I fought as hard as I could, that I got taken away, that I met the one man he’d shoot on sight. Okay, second man he’d shoot on sight.

But he’s never been interested in what I have to say, and today’s not gonna be any different.

His tongue runs along his dry, cracked lips. “I don’t care what you do as long as you get the fucking job done. Josiah ruined our business. Our family. Or whatever’s left of it,” he grumbles, looking away. It’s that same expression whenever he thinks of my brothers. He misses them so much. I don’t think I can ever fill that void.

“I know, Dad. I hate him too,” I say, licking my lips to try to stay strong, but I’m on the verge of tears.