Branded (Fall of Angels #1)(86)

Like for example, the fact that a man in a black suit with long black hair just stepped out of the local tattoo shop and makes a hasty retreat.

It pushes all my buttons. All of them.

And after dropping off my groceries in the back of my car, I immediately head back to the tattoo shop. If it is who I think it is, I need to know what he’s doing there.

I walk into the tattoo shop and go up to the cashier’s desk. “Hey … can I ask who that man was just now?”

A pierced-up guy with green hair stops drawing on a paper and looks up at me. “Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t tell you,” he says. “First, I’m not allowed. And second, he never actually said his name.”

“What did he come here for? A new tattoo?” I ask, frowning.

He shrugs. “He just had a bunch of names tatted on his back and wanted another one. Oh, and he had one removed too. Weird dude, if you ask me.”

“Did he tell you where he was going?”

“Nah. Sorry, I can’t help you out. Unless you want a tat of course.” He winks. “I’d be happy to give you one at a discount.”

“No, but thanks,” I reply, smiling awkwardly before leaving the shop again.

It was definitely Brandon. No question about it. No one else I know has long black hair and names tattooed on his back. It had to be him. But why was he there? And what’s he planning to do?

I still remember seeing those names on his back as if it was yesterday. My name was there too, which frightened the shit out of me because I knew it was a hit list. Brandon even admitted it was. So if he added another name on his back, does that mean he made more enemies?

And what is he planning on doing about it?

Will he keep killing until no one’s left and then come after me last? To erase all his connections to the past and be free of his guilt?

I swallow away the lump in my throat. I’m not afraid of him anymore. The thought of dying used to rile me up like nothing else. It made me fight harder than ever, but now? All I want is peace.

And I can’t have it knowing Brandon is still out there scheming his way through life. There’s just something about him that I can’t let go. He spun a fucking web around my heart and kept it in his clutches all this time. Even when he went away, he never really left.

Him coming back to this town proves it.

He’s still here, in the shadows, constantly hovering over me.

All I need to do is reach out, and I’d probably be able to talk to him again.

But do I want to? Am I ready for the consequences of seeing him again?

A part of me wants to run away, hide in my farmhouse, and pretend life is all fine and dandy. But it’s not. On some days, I still feel empty, and I can’t help but think that’s partly due to missing Brandon.

As strange as that sounds.

I need to know if there’s more. More to him … more to us.

I need to know what it is that I feel.

As I step into my car, I’ve decided.

Whatever it takes, I’m going to find him.



*

Brandon



I’ve finally gotten rid of the final name on my list. The final piece of the puzzle that is my life. I can finally breathe and feel the calmness flowing through my veins. Instead of grinding my teeth with rage, I can relax my muscles and walk away with a smile.

It’s a bittersweet one but a smile, nonetheless.

My life has been one jumbled mess. An inescapable train of pain that has reached its final stop.

My papa’s shop.

God, how long has it been since I was last here? Years, probably. I couldn’t stomach coming here with everything that went down … but it was time.

It honestly hasn’t changed a single bit.

Dust settled on all the shelves, the items probably far beyond the expiration date or current popular themes. Nothing on these shelves can be sold anymore, yet they’re of irreplaceable value to me.

When my papa died, he left the entire place to me through his will. He had it put up before his death and never told me. I didn’t find out until after he passed when they handed the ownership to me.

But what’s a guy to do with a shop that he never built from the ground up? A shop he doesn’t know how to run? A shop that has too many memories and emotions stuck between its walls like the mortar that keeps the bricks together?

Nothing. You do absolutely nothing.

I’ve sat on this shop for years, letting it slowly decay as time passed. It’s taking longer than I anticipated.

It was stupid to think this place would crumble without a little help.

But first, I have a final task to complete.

I go upstairs to our old living room. All the furniture is still in the same place, covered in the dust of time. In the light of the sun breaking through the window, I blow some off the seat in front of the fireplace and watch the specks flutter through the air.

Taking a deep breath, I pick up a few chunks of wood and throw them into the fireplace, lighting them with my Zippo. Then I grab the iron and place it between the fire.

I sit down on the chair and wait.

It seems to take forever, but I’ve got the time.

There’s nothing else for me to do, no place else to go. This is it. The final stop. The epic ending to my miserable tale.

When the iron turns red, I take off my clothes layer by layer until I’m only wearing pants. I pick up the iron and take a deep breath. I go to my knees in front of the fire and close my eyes. Then I put the iron against my back.