Branded (Savage Men 4)

He turns his dark gaze back to the road ahead. Letting him stew, I gaze out into the night as the heavy traffic we find ourselves in slows our pace. The city of lights really does honor to its name with its banners and sparkling lights that fucking blinding you wherever you go. As a tourist, I’m sure it’s a sight to see, but I’m not here on a fucking vacation. I had one job to do, and I fucking failed.

I grind my teeth and stare at the plastic between us, wondering if I can break through it and escape. It’s the only way to make it back to my dad, which is the only place I can try to ruin Josiah’s business a final time. I need to get away from Brandon, but I’m sure he’s not gonna let me go that easily.

Which is why I have to make a ruckus.

So I start kicking the tough plastic partition between us, hoping it’ll crack.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Brandon barks, glaring at me through the rearview mirror.

I don’t respond. He knows exactly what I’m doing.

“Stop!” he growls, but I won’t calm down. Not even a little bit as I jam my foot against the panel between us over and over again.

“You’ll break it, dammit!” he growls, driving like an erratic lunatic.

Exactly the point. But he knows that just as well as I do, judging from the look on his face.

He presses a button, and suddenly, the partition between us lowers. It’s replaced with a gun, though. Right in my face.

“If you do that again, I swear to God—”

“You’ll what?” I taunt.

“Don’t make me do it, Dixie,” he says through gritted teeth, trying to glare at me and the road at the same time.

“Do it. I don’t care,” I say in a bold moment of courage.

“You wanna die?” he blares, unlocking the safety. “Sit. Down.”

My throat clamps shut. He could pull the trigger any time, and I’d be gone. It’d be a quick death, but now that I’m so close, do I really wanna pull the plug so easily?

I have more to offer to this world, and I’m not done with making the sinners pay yet.

So I lower my feet and sit down properly again.

“Good girl,” he says.

“Now behave and maybe I’ll let you out of this car once we get to our destination.”

He makes it sound like I’m a dog on a leash.

“Fuck you,” I reply.

He’ll find out soon enough just how bad I can get.

Chapter Twelve

Brandon

I shake my head, listening to all the bile she’s spewing. “Still have the same potty mouth I remember,” I say, and a lopsided grin appears on my face. “You could’ve used that mouth for better things.”

And that body too, from the looks of it.

Fuck me, I can’t stop looking at her. It’s been such a long time, but I don’t remember her ever looking this mature, that’s for sure. She’s obviously trying to use it to her advantage by constantly pressing her tits together to distract me while I’m driving, but I won’t fall for her tricks. It happened once, and it won’t happen again. Ever.

When we finally get to the remote motel I picked, I jump out of the vehicle and open her door. With my gun, I nudge her out. “C’mon.”

“You’re taking me to a motel?” she says, raising a brow. “Classy. Just like I remember you being.” Her sarcastic tone makes me want to lash out at her.

But that’s her plan. She wants to make me angry and get me to go crazy so I do something stupid and let her escape. It’s not gonna happen.

As I push my gun against her back, I say, “Walk.”

When she puts her hands up, I lower them and hold them behind her back. “And don’t make a scene,” I whisper.

“Fine. Whatever you say, Mr. Locklear.”

“That’s better,” I murmur. “Should’ve learned some manners sooner.”

She doesn’t respond, but the slight tug on her lips tells me she’s agitated. Good. I hope she feels the same irritation I do.

I quickly book a room and usher her inside, locking the doors and closing the curtains.

“Sit,” I tell her, pointing at the bed with my gun.

“And then what?” she says, crossing her arms.

I peek out the windows, checking to see if anyone’s coming. I need to make sure no one followed us. Otherwise, things could get intense quickly. You don’t wanna mess with my uncle’s men, especially when you have something they want.

My uncle’s probably desperate for vengeance by now, which is why I can’t go back to him. At least … not until Dixie’s buried six feet deep.

“You don’t even have a plan, do you?” she asks with a gleeful voice, almost as if she’s laughing at me.

But I’m not the one with a gun pointed at me. She is.