I take a deep breath, and say, “What’s done is done. I can’t change the past.”
“No, you can’t,” she replies, her lip twitching. “But you can sure as hell can pay for it.”
Suddenly, she lunges forward and grabs my gun from my holster.
She almost shoots me in the chest, but I dodge just in time.
“Fuck,” I hiss, and I jump on top of her, shoving both her arms down on the bed and knocking the gun from her hands.
“Get the fuck off me!” she snaps, writhing underneath me.
“Fuck you, Dixie, fuck you,” I yell in her face. “Are you insane? Are you trying to get us killed?”
“No, just you.” She tries to get up, but I keep pushing her down. I don’t intend to get off her anytime soon.
“Josiah’s men are looking everywhere for us, and you just shot a fucking gun. Do you want them to find you?”
She sucks in a breath through her nose, her nostrils flaring. “No.”
“Then behave,” I say, still holding her wrists.
She’s fighting me but with less force than before. Still, I can’t trust her not to pull shit like that again. I have to restrain her somehow.
I look around and decide there’s only one option.
I crawl off and lift her from the bed with one hand, holding her wrists together with the other.
“What are you doing?” she asks with a condescending voice.
“Tying you up so you don’t do anything stupid,” I reply, and before she can say another word, I’ve already unbuckled my belt and tied it around her wrists with a thick knot.
“Ow!” She makes a face as I tighten it and shove her down onto the bed. “Jesus, Brandon.”
She deserves the pain. On every … single … inch of her body.
And fuck me, seeing her tied up like that really tickles my senses and makes me think of other things that I could be doing to her … real wicked, dirty things.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” she murmurs with seductive eyes. “Touching me … feeling me … like we did a long time ago.” She arches her body toward me, pushing her tits against my chest, making me painfully aware of how hard her nipples are … and how many fantasies I used to have about sucking them.
But we’re not young anymore, and everything I once thought I knew about her was a lie.
“Go on then … Do it,” she taunts, licking her lips. “One last kiss goodbye before you kill me.”
I’m tempted. Almost.
Her lips look so tantalizing. And that fuck-me smile undoes me every time I see it. Sweet and sinful, just as I remember.
No. I must restrain myself.
We happened once, but it won’t ever happen again.
Too much heinous evil has taken place. And we’ll both have to pay for our crimes one day.
Today is hers.
So I wrap my fingers around her throat and slowly squeeze, harder and harder …
Watching her squirm is the best thing in the world.
It gets my dick so hard I only stop once her eyes roll into the back of her head.
When I release, she coughs and wheezes, trying to catch her breath.
“Fuck,” she mumbles after a while.
I back off and stare at my own hands … then down at my boner that just won’t go away. I don’t even want it to. I’m a twisted motherfucker, and I know it.
This is what I live for.
What I’ll die for.
Pain.
Suffering.
I’ve made it my hallmark. My only salvation in this cruel world.
“You … liked that, didn’t you?” she huffs, still coughing.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I don’t know why, but I just needed to snuff out the light in her eyes. Just for one second, that’s all.
And it felt fucking powerful as hell.
“You sick, twisted son of a bitch,” she says, shaking her head but laughing at the same time. Her smile vanishes almost immediately as if she swallows it like a bitter pill.
“Are you gonna kill me like my brothers?” she hisses. “You’re a pig, and you know it.”
I won’t deny it. I know I deserve her rage just as much as she deserves mine.
She spits on the floor in front of me, but I’ve already stepped away far enough so I won’t do more damage.
Because I know damn well what I did was unforgivable.
It was a culmination of events she set in motion.
We’re both at fault, but she won’t ever admit that. Ever.
I turn around and face the mirror again, so I can force myself to look at my own face.
The face of a fucking murderer.
“Don’t you ever think I’ll forgive you Brandon …” she yells. “Because of you, my fucking brothers are dead!”
It’s true.
I’m a cold-blooded killer who committed a horrible crime and then ran like a coward with his tail tucked between his legs.
Chapter Sixteen
Brandon
Past
November 9th
My mind is still spinning, my body reeling with adrenaline while I’m ushered into the van, and it immediately races off. We’re already miles away from the farm before it finally sinks in what we did. What I took part in.
We killed Dixie’s brothers.
I vaguely hear my uncle’s voice. “Brandon?”
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I say.
He quickly fishes a plastic bag from a pocket behind the seat and hands it to me, and I puke.
“Always keep these handy for moments like this,” Uncle Josiah says, chuckling a little.
It’s good there’s no mirror in here because I’m sure I would scare myself into a heart attack if I saw my face right now.
My uncle pats my shoulder. “Thatta boy.” He takes the bag away, ties a knot into it, and chucks it out the window. “Better out than in, I always say.”
I frown, gazing at him. “How are you laughing right now?”
“What else am I supposed to do?” His brow lifts. “We don’t cry, remember?”
“We killed two fucking boys!”
“An eye for an eye.” He shrugs.
“We weren’t supposed to kill them! We were only supposed to rough them up,” I say in full panic.
“Calm down, Brandon,” my uncle says. “You don’t wanna make a mistake now.”
Why does that sound like a threat?
I ball my fists. “You put them up to it, didn’t you?” I hiss.