Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland Book 2)

by Nikki J Summers

  “No, we wouldn’t. Not with this. What happened was… awful.”

  I scoffed and shook my head at Zak Atwood’s woefully inappropriate description of my brother’s murder.

  “Awful? You want to know what’s awful? The fact that you came here today thinking you deserved a place in that church. Neither of you deserve to be here. You’ve got blood on your hands and you know it. You might not have been there that night, when Brodie died, but you had a hand in it. You could’ve stopped him at any time, and you can stop him now. Don’t act like you’re all innocent.” I looked each one of them in the eye, but apart from Emily, they couldn’t look back. “If you really want to help, tell the police where he is, or better yet, tell me. I’d rather see my own form of justice served, anyway.”

  Emily stepped forward, rubbing Ryan on the arm as she did, as if he were the one who needed consoling.

  “Harper, I don’t know you that well, but I know what it’s like to lose a brother. I think I understand a bit about what you’re feeling right now.”

  Was she delusional?

  Who the hell did she think she was?

  “You don’t know shit, little girl. Your brother died in a car accident. He wasn’t knocked out right in front of you and bled out in your lap. I still have the clothes I wore that night, you know. Soaked in my brother’s blood. It’s a harsh reminder of what happened and keeps me focused on what I want. Revenge. You know nothing, so keep your fucking nose out of my business,” I sneered at her, but she didn’t flinch, just gave me a fake-ass smile and nodded to herself knowingly.

  “That anger will need channelling somewhere. And when you need to talk and let it all out, just know you have me in your corner.”

  She needed to wake up and smell the bullshit.

  “Oh, fuck off. I don’t need your sanctimonious crap. Go and sort your own life out before sticking your nose into mine. I hear daddy has his trial soon. Might want to save some of that fake humility for the cameras when you do your press conference. You know, to save your family name and make yourself look good.”

  Like everyone else in this town, I’d heard about the money laundering her dad was involved in. Not the best advertisement for his political campaign. Her innocent act was lost on me.

  Ryan put his arm around Emily and glared angrily my way.

  “That’s enough.”

  “Enough?” I laughed sarcastically. “It’ll be enough when he is in a grave in this churchyard. Until then, nothing will ever be enough. So, do me a favour and go. Leave. All of you. You’re not helping me or my family, gloating over the scraps your friend left behind.”

  I went to walk away but had to get one last shot in before I left.

  “Tell him it was a lovely send-off. The church was full, and everyone was there because they loved Brodie. When his turn comes, there won’t be anyone to see him off. Except me, that is. I’ll be standing there making sure they bury him as deep as they can. I’ll even spit on his grave.”

  And with that, I turned and left.

  “Why are we doing this? Why are we here? You know I hate these nights, Brodie. It makes me feel sick. I wish you wouldn’t do this.”

  The barn we were packed into was stuffy and full of rowdy groups shouting over at the two men fighting in the middle.

  Bare-knuckle boxing.

  I hated it.

  But my brother, Brodie, he lived for nights like these. All of his friends did, although there was only Brodie and Jensen who’d ever fought. I blamed the overload of testosterone. I didn’t see the appeal in smashing your fist into another human being, but what did I know?

  “Chill out, Harper. I’m down to fight and you know I’ve got this. I’m undefeated…” He huffed, clearly annoyed with me, and he ran his hands through his hair. “Just let me have this, okay? I need to let off steam. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to watch.”

  Brodie hadn’t fought the last time we went out; he’d given that honour to Jensen. But now, it was his turn, and the familiar bile rose up in my throat as we made our way towards the middle of the barn. Since splitting up with his girlfriend, Sally, he’d been more reckless. I think boxing was his way of letting some of the angst and frustration out. If Sal were here, she’d have been able to talk him out of it. She always did. But not me. He never listened to a word I said. I didn’t know why I still came to these things. It was bloody torture.

  I saw Jensen nudge his brother, Chase, and turn to give Brodie a wicked stare. When I saw who stood beside Pat Murphy, the organiser of the fight, I knew why.

  Brandon Mathers.

  He was a few years younger than us, but that didn’t mean shit. The guy looked feral, unhinged, and his eyes were glazed over like he was on something. Even crazy people would give Mathers a wide berth if they met him.

  I prayed to God he wasn’t fighting Brodie. They had history, and if they were pitched against each other, it’d be a bloody massacre.

  Their feud went way back to primary school. I had no idea what had gone on, but I knew Brodie and the others hated Brandon. He was that kid. The one who looked like he needed a good wash and a decent meal growing up. The boy that looked one step away from totally flipping out. An outsider, a tear-away, and the last boy you’d ever invite to your home, because he’d probably steal from your mum’s purse while you weren’t looking and vandalise your bedroom before he left. In short, he was bad news. Always had been and always would be.

  “Please tell me you’re not fighting him, Brodie. He fought Jensen a few days ago and look how that turned out.” I gestured over to where Jensen stood in front of us, sporting a still nasty bruised and swollen face. The guy was making the effort not to hobble, but I knew he was in pain. He couldn’t hide it, no matter what.

  “I am, and he needs taking down a peg or two, Harp. I’ll do it for Jensen, and you.”

  He kissed the top of my head and left me standing there as he sauntered over to where the others stood. I followed, reluctantly, but kept myself hidden in the crowd. I didn’t want any part of the ridiculous taunting they’d engage in to get a rise out of Brandon. Like he needed goading. He looked like he wanted to take on every man in this shithole barn.

  Jensen called out Brandon’s name, and he turned to face them. I could see a slight smirk creeping out of the corner of his mouth, but he soon turned that shit off and did a really good job of looking dangerous and soulless. The guy was like a machine, primed and ready to attack. Horror movie bad guys had nothing on him. He was the real deal. The bogeyman that kept kids in Sandland awake past their bedtime. I hated him.

  “No friends tonight, Mathers? They finally seen you for the loser you are?”

  Jensen was playing with fire, talking to Brandon like that. The guy always did have more bravado than brains. Brandon had given him the pasting of his life, he still held the evidence of it for everyone to see on his beaten up face, but that switch in his head that was slightly off kilter didn’t register what the rest of us knew. He was making things worse for Brodie by firing Brandon up. He wasn’t doing a great job at saving his own ass either, because that switch that the rest of us had, that told us when to stop, Brandon lacked it too. Pitting those two against each other was a lose-lose situation. Nothing good could come from them verbally sparring before Brodie’s fight.

  “That’s funny. I seem to remember beating your ass just a few days ago, Lockwood. I’d wait for the bruises to fade before you come at me again. You might sound more convincing,” Brandon spat back, looking like he was ready to give Jensen a reminder of what it felt like to be on the receiving end of one of his punches.

  I knew the night wasn’t going to end well. The whole aura felt off. Knowing both Brodie and Brandon were undefeated on the bare-knuckle boxing scene meant someone was going home fucking shredded to pieces. I prayed it wouldn’t be Brodie.

  I went to reach forward to grab him, maybe pull him back from the crowd and talk him out of it, but I was jostled out of the way, and all I could do was watch as they
all went toe-to-toe in their stand-off before the big fight. Jensen was snarling and getting into Brandon’s face.

  “All I see is a lonely, washed-up nobody. A wannabe Tyson Fury without the charisma. You’re less gypsy king and more shitty king. You know, like the shit they found you in when your mum left you to bone every drug dealer she could get her hands on.”

  We all held our breath as Jensen said that, spilling truths we’d all heard whispered around Sandland.

  Brandon snapped and lurched towards Jensen, and in that split second, I saw the fear in Jensen’s eyes. He knew he’d gone too far. He’d woken the beast, and now my brother was going to step into the ring with it. I say ring, but they didn’t fight in the usual boxing ring. A tower of hay bales and a referee was all that kept them from the baying crowds that jeered and shouted as each punch was thrown. Jensen had done a great job of riling up Brandon, and now, we all had to watch as Brodie dealt with the fall-out.

  Pat Murphy whispered to Brandon, probably hoping to calm him down, and Brandon nodded then pulled his shirt off.

  “Hot damn, that boy is fine.”

  I turned to where a group of women were standing just to the side of us, eyeing-up Mathers like he was the half-time snack. I looked back and tried to see what they saw. Okay, so he was ripped, and his abs looked like a work of art. Not to mention the tattoos that covered his body. If he wasn’t the unhinged psychopath I knew him to be, I might’ve joined in on the eye-fucking, but he was a psycho. One look at the dead eyes and fearsome snarl and I felt nothing but revulsion.

  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.

  The orange glow of a cigarette at the bottom of my garden.

  Someone was down there, hiding in the midnight shadows.

  I gasped as my adrenaline spiked and my nerves went into freefall. Moving to the edge of the wall, I plastered my body against it, praying they didn’t see me. God, I hoped they didn’t see me. My heartbeat drummed fast in my ears, and I tried to steady myself as best I could, but how could I? When there was a psycho standing in my garden, ready to do God knows what. My nightmares were becoming a fucked-up reality.

  Cautiously, I peered slowly around to see if they were still there. My throat pulsed with fear, and I held my breath as I saw the dark, hooded figure take another drag of their cigarette, momentarily lighting up their face. A man’s face; rugged, unshaven and sinister. Whoever was down there was dressed all in black and had the hood of his jacket pulled low over his eyes. But he was watching. That much was clear.

  Was it him?

  Had he come back to finish the job?

  He’d destroyed one twin, so now, was he hell-bent on finishing the other?

  The sweat that soaked my skin only moments ago had turned to ice, and I was shaking. I didn’t know what to do. I could open my window, maybe shout and alert my parents and the neighbours to our silent stalker, or I could stay hidden and watch him. Try to figure out what he wanted and why he was doing this. I decided I’d wait it out. In some sick, perverted way, I wanted to lure him in. Maybe this was the best way to catch him?