Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

I watched as Brodie walked into the fight zone and smiled at him.

‘Don’t goad him, Brodie. Stay focused.’

I hoped my subconscious message got to him. I was fully channelling my twin power of telepathy, but from the way he glared as the ref fed them the rules, I knew he wasn’t in-tune. He wouldn’t listen.

He held his fists up ready to fight and then I heard the final nail in the coffin.

“Come on then, you pussy. Show me what you’ve got. Or did Jensen wear you out the other night? You’ve always been a disappointment. All these people here tonight to watch you fight and look at you, nothing but a weak ass fucker with a chip on his shoulder.”

Oh, Brodie. Why couldn’t you keep your big mouth shut?

He never was very good at engaging his brain before he spoke. Tonight was a perfect example. He’d just given Brandon the fuel he needed to stoke the fires. Not that he needed much more to get him going. The guy was demonic. Focused on his opponent and using that tunnel vision I’d watched him use before to drown everything out and analyse the fight.

Brodie was a scrapper, but Brandon was methodical. Where Brodie used power and brute force to gain the upper hand, Brandon used strategy powered by a deep-seated anger. Brodie had played right into his hands.

The fight started and the crowd booed as Brodie smacked his fist into Brandon’s face. Brandon could’ve easily ducked away from the hit, but he didn’t. He smirked as the blood coated his teeth. He wanted Brodie to hit him. That told me one thing; he needed to feel the pain. It spurred him on and fired him up.

Brandon took a few more hits to the body and everyone started chanting, thinking Brodie had this wrapped up, but I could tell from the fire in Brandon’s eyes that he wasn’t out of it yet. This was foreplay for him. The way he tightened his abs as Brodie punched him showed he was absorbing the pain. The way his mouth quirked up at the edges meant he was enjoying the build-up. The attack was all part of his plan.

I shouted out to Brodie, scared he was wearing himself out too soon. He had a large frame, but he wasn’t built for stamina. My brother was more of a knock-em-out kind of fighter. Brandon had staying power. I knew that. I’d done my homework.

Suddenly, the air in the barn shifted as Brandon threw a punch into Brodie’s face. He hit him with so much force that Brodie staggered backwards and then wiped over his face as the blood began to pour from his nose. Blows to the head were my biggest fear, and I grew dizzy as Brodie shook his head and tried to regain his balance. Something didn’t feel right, and I pushed through the crowd, trying to get as close to the action as I could. A few people complained and shoved me back, but when I snapped at them that I was his twin sister and pointed at Brodie, they moved. Don’t piss off the angry sibling. If I wanted to be in the heart of the action, I would.

I felt a surge of energy, and the crowds cheered as Brandon charged into Brodie and pinned him to the hay bales, raining down blow after blow on his body. Brodie tried to cover himself as best he could, but he lost his footing and fell onto the ground. I shouted for the ref to intervene and he did. Jensen and Chase were standing beside me now and judging from the look on their faces they weren’t as confident as they had been in their pre-fight verbal knockout. They looked as green as I felt.

“He’s going to fucking kill him,” Jensen whispered to himself, but I heard, and my stomach turned over. “Come on, bro!” Jensen cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “Get up and take him out.”

I tried to shout too, but my throat had closed up. All I could do was watch everything unravel in front of me. I knew as soon as it was over, I’d be leaving this barn and I never wanted to watch another fight for as long as I lived.

Brodie pushed himself to stand up, stumbling a little as he did, but his eyes were unfocused, dazed almost. The ref said something to him, nodded, and then stood back. And then my heart fell from my chest right onto the cold, hard floor of the barn. Brandon had caught Brodie with an almighty punch to the side of the head, knocking his jaw and making him stumble and miss his footing. Brodie fell backwards and crashed to the stone floor. The way his head bounced as it impacted on the dusty cobblestones made me howl in pain. I pushed Jensen out of the way, as he screamed over the noise of the crowd for Brodie to get back up.

Was he for real?

My brother had just been knocked out cold. He wasn’t going to get back up and fight. Not if I had anything to do with it. This was over.

As I pushed my way into the fight zone, I saw the blood trickling out of the back of Brodie’s head, covering the floor in a dark red puddle that made me feel physically sick. Brandon was leaning over my brother as if he wanted to finish the job he’d started, but the ref pulled him away.

I knelt at the side of where Brodie lay and picked up his head, cradling it in my lap. The blood soaked through my jeans, but I didn’t care. He was lifeless, and in that moment, I felt helpless. I put my fingers against his neck to feel for a pulse, but there was nothing, and the blinding pain in my head told me all I needed to know.

I looked up at Brandon standing over us like the demon he was.

“I think he’s dead!” I cried, wanting to take a knife and finish this guy off myself for what he’d done to Brodie. “You killed him! You fucking killed him!”

You killed him…

You fucking killed him…

I woke up with a start. The sweat from my body drenched my bed covers and my heart was racing so fast I felt like my chest would cave in at any moment. Frantically, I threw the covers off to try and cool myself down and took deep breaths to regulate my breathing.

I had these nightmares most nights, and I usually woke up when Brandon got the first punch in, but not tonight. Tonight, I’d lived through it all. The hell that was my brother’s last moments on Earth. The twist in my stomach felt as fresh as it did on that night, and I wondered if it’d ever get any better, or was this my new normal? A life where every waking moment was filled with the pain of loss and the guilt that I could’ve done more. I should’ve done more.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I tried to block out my guilt-ridden thoughts, dragging my nails over my thighs in the hope that the sting from my skin would ease the pain in my heart. Everything felt disgusting, dirty, and wrong. I lifted myself off the soaked bedcovers. My silk nightie was stuck to my skin, and I peeled it away to waft some coolness over me. Having long hair wasn’t always great when you were hot. Mine was cur

rently dripping wet and plastered to my neck, so I pulled it into a ponytail and then used a band from my bedside table to keep it in place. I felt heavy from the weight of emotions that still plagued my waking mind, a cruel gift from the nightmare I’d just clawed myself back from.

I headed to the window to open it up and let in some fresh air. At the same time, I hoped it’d release the stifling demons that were swirling around me in the musky darkness of my room. The flicker of menacing shadows from the trees outside danced across my walls, as if they were trying to reach out and grab a hold of my soul and drag me farther and farther down to hell. But they didn’t need to try, I was already at rock bottom.

That was when I saw it.