Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(81)

I slowly place it on the floor. As my uncle focuses his attention on the gun I slide toward him, Dixie swings her head against his nose so hard he buckles, bleeding from the face. She instantly leaps toward the gun. Both of them shoot at each other. He hits the floor right beside her head. She hits him in the shins.

He topples over, sinking to the floor, his gun still in his hand.

However, her next shot blows off half his hand.

He screams out loud in agony, looking at the gaping, bloody wound in his hand.

Her aim is what saved us both, and I can’t help but smile at her wit and persistence.

“You deserve all the pain and more, motherfucker,” she hisses, kicking away his gun so far he could never reach it.

She steps backward, coming to my side of the shed. She lowers herself to my level and then hands me my gun. Our eyes connect, and I feel like with only one look, we’ve told each other a thousand words we could never say.

And without thinking, without even looking, I shoot my uncle straight in the heart.

“He was your uncle,” she murmurs, looking at his body slumped to the floor.

“He never was. Not when he killed his own brother without mercy. He never was family. All it was, was a damn lie.” I bite my lip and shake my head, disappointed at myself for believing him all this time.

“That must’ve been hard for you, though,” she says.

I look up at her while she kneels beside me. Even after everything she went through, she’s still thinking about me? I can’t believe how foolish she is … or how jealous I am of that superhuman trait.

I reach for her face and cradle it, and she leans into my hand. She’s so damn considerate, I can’t think straight. The urge to kiss her almost becomes too strong to ignore, but I stop myself just in time. It wouldn’t be right.

Her dad just died.

And from the look on her face, I can tell it hits her hard.

Not as hard as the death of her brothers but still hard enough to make her teary-eyed.

I reach out for her and pull her into my embrace.

Not because I need her, but because she needs me right now. She needs someone to hold while she bawls her eyes out. And for a while, we just sit there, soaking up the pain in the truth we’ve just been given.

After searching for it all this time, I never thought it would hurt this much.





Chapter Thirty-Eight





Brandon



When the dust has settled, Dixie called an ambulance for me. I didn’t want to go with them at first, but she assured me they wouldn’t take me into custody and hand me over to the police. After a few days, I found out she told the police that my uncle was responsible for everything. That he killed her dad and her brothers and my papa.

With him, the circle of death ended.

But I never ceased feeling guilty.

We haven’t spoken since that day in the shed. She hasn’t come to visit me in the hospital, and I don’t blame her. Who would visit the man who haunted you for half your life? Who destroyed your family and your love for life? How do you come back from that?

You don’t.

I swallow away some pills the nurses gave me and stare out the window. My leg is almost healed, but the pain in my heart doesn’t easily mend. I’m conflicted, and I don’t know how to tear away all that hatred I once felt for a single girl and turn it into something productive. Something I can live with.

She deserves so much better than what I gave her all this time. How do I make that right? Should I even go to visit her if she doesn’t come to me first? Is it worth it after all the pain we both endured at the hands of my uncle?

I don’t feel like I have the right. Not after everything I did to her.

Someone knocks on my door, and I turn my head to see who it is.

“Hey.” It’s Matteo with a pizza box in his hand. “Can I come in?”

“If you leave your gun at the door, sure.”

He laughs and raises both hands. “Didn’t bring any. Look.” He pulls out his pockets, and then shows me his buckle, which are all empty. “I come in peace.”

“Good. I don’t think the hospital staff would take it so well seeing an actual gun at the door.”

He laughs again and holds up the pizza box as if it’s some kind of trophy. “Thought you might enjoy some actual good food for once.”

“Thanks, dude,” I say as he puts it down on my bedside table. When he opens it and tries to offer me a piece, I say, “No, thanks. Not hungry yet.”

“Bummer. Mind if I take one?” He shrugs.

“Be my guest.” I wave it off, and he eagerly takes a bite out of the pepperoni pizza. It does smell nice, but I just ate, unfortunately. “Save me some for later, though.”

“Of course,” he says. “I just thought I’d bring it … ya know, as a sort of peace offering.” He gives me an awkward smile as he sits down on the seat beside my bed.

“Thanks,” I say. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, bro. I did.” He clears his throat. “Look, man … I wanna apologize for shooting at you and all that idiotic stuff.”

“I get it,” I say.

“No, I’m serious, bro. I know what I did was wrong, and I wanna own up to that.”

“You did what my uncle told you to do,” I reply.