Branded: Savannah: Sisters Bound By Blood

by Karen Kelley

  Savannah pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth. This was getting more complicated than she'd first imagined. She looked between the two women who'd immediately taken her under their wing from the first moment they met her. She felt guilty that they didn't know the truth about her. How would they feel if they knew?

  "There's more to this than we know, isn't there?" Rayan guessed.

  Savannah grimaced. "I want to cover up something."

  Angie was shaking her head. "You're beautiful. What in the world would you want to cover up?"

  "A brand."

  "What the hell?" Rayan asked, sitting forward.

  She looked between them, then took a deep breath. Angie knew about what her father had done, but Rayan didn’t. "My father sold me to Marco when I was fourteen.” She couldn’t meet their gazes any longer. She ran her finger over the cool ridges on her soda bottle and continued. “I tried to run away that first night. I wanted to get back to my little sister. She was only twelve, and I knew she'd be scared. I thought we could run away together."

  "Except Marco caught you," Rayan filled in her slight pause.

  "That night, he had two of his men hold me down while another one branded me with Marco’s initials.” She stood and pulled one side of her shirt to the side until she knew the scar was showing. She took a deep breath, and let her shirt fall back into place before turning around to face them again. She didn't know what she expected to see on their faces. Maybe disgust. She didn't know. It definitely wasn't their looks of sympathy.

  They both came to their feet and walked over to her, then enfolded her in their arms. Tears welled in Savannah’s eyes. Shunned by everyone her whole life, except for her sisters, she was almost afraid to believe someone else could care about what had happened to her. She’d thought Breaker had been an anomaly.

  "That bastard," Rayan muttered. "If he comes near you, I'll kill him myself.

  "Little roses or maybe even butterflies would cover it." Angie’s voice was thick with unshed tears.

  Savannah knew Angie was good at hiding her feelings, so to hear the emotion in her voice brought more tears to Savannah's eyes until they spilled over and ran down her face. She sniffed as she quickly wiped them away.

  "Okay, don't you two even think about bawling,” Rayan told them.

  “Too late,” Savannah sniffed.

  Rayan grimaced. “It won't be long before the bar opens up, and we'll look strange walking around with red eyes and noses. I guarantee you I won't get near as many tips if I look like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer."

  Angie and Savannah began to laugh, then Rayan joined in, and that's how Shorty found them when he came inside the bar.

  "You three decided to have a party and didn't even think about inviting me. Shame on y'all."

  Angie glanced at her watch. "Aren't you here kind of early?"

  "Of course I'm here early. I'm as worried about Breaker as the rest of you. I figure he works for the CIA or DEA or something else that’s dangerous.”

  "Or maybe he has superpowers," Rayan quickly added, then cast a meaningful glance in Savannah’s direction.

  He looked at them, then cleared his throat. “There is a possibility of that as well. Besides, I figured the girl would need company." He walked around behind the bar, grabbed a soda, then twisted off the lid before joining them at the table." They were seated once again when he continued talking. "So, what's going on?"

  "Savannah is thinking about getting a tattoo," Rayan informed him.

  Shorty almost choked on his drink. He set the bottle down with a bang. "Why the hell would you want to do a thing like that?" He quickly glanced at Rayan. "Not that your tat isn't nice. I even have a couple that I'm partial to."

  She nibbled her bottom lip again. She looked at Rayan and Angie for help. They both shrugged their shoulders, telling her it was her choice. She took a deep breath. Shorty was part of her new family, too.

  "When I was fourteen, my alcoholic father sold me to Marco. That night I tried to run away from him, and his men brought me back, and that night he branded me." She came to her feet and pulled her shirt to the side, showing him the brand. "He didn't want me to forget that he owned me. As long as I have his brand on my body, I'll always feel like he owns me, so I asked Rayan about getting a tattoo."

  She took her seat once again but was afraid to look at Shorty. She couldn't stand it if he thought less of her because of what Marco had done or what kind of father she'd had. She’d once heard that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. When he reached over and took her hand and gently squeezed it, she looked up.

  "I've always been partial to butterflies myself," he said.

  She raised her chin. “Then it’s settled. I’m getting a tattoo.”

  They made plans for the next morning to get the tattoo. She was a little nervous, but she figured it couldn’t hurt as much as when Marco had branded her. She wanted it done before Breaker returned. She didn't want another man's brand on her.

  She assumed that she would only be going with one of them, but all three showed up at the bar the next morning. She was glad they were going. If for no other reason except to give moral support. They had become her family.

  They all looked at the book of samples and decided on two butterflies. One black and gold because it reminded her of Breaker—strong and pure of heart, and for the other one, pink and light purple—in honor of her sisters. Between the butterflies would be a red rose—that she hadn’t forgotten them and the love she felt for everyone in her new life. The tattoo wasn't large, but it would cover Marco's brand on her right shoulder.

  "So, did you decide on one?" The tattoo artist asked. His name was Chuck. He was big and burly with tattoos covering almost every inch of his skin except for his face. At first glance, Savannah was a little nervous about having him put any kind of tattoo on her, but then she looked into his eyes. There she saw warmth and kindness.

  Shorty had told them that he’d met Chuck at the VA hospital one day. They formed a friendship from that day forward. If Shorty trusted him, that was good enough for her.

  Chuck looked at the picture. "Oh, I like that one. It's beautiful, and I've done it before."

  He took the book over to the chair and set it on a small table, and then he handed her a towel that would fasten in the front and had elastic around the top edge to hold it in place.

  Before she went into the dressing room, he looked at the other three. "I'll make sure no harm comes to her. Now off with all of you. Give me a few hours before you come back. Got it?"

  They grumbled, but left. She was still smiling when she came out of the dressing room, ready for her tattoo. She lay face down on the table, ready to get started.

  "Okay, you said right shoulder, correct? Shorty said it was to cover up a scar."

  She would've thought Shorty had told Chuck why she wanted it. "Yes, my right shoulder. But it's not a scar."

  He moved her hair out of the way, then his fingers stilled. "Someone branded you."

  She felt as if her past was becoming an open book. "When I was fourteen. A very bad man did this to me. He thought he owned me, but he doesn't anymore."

  Chuck sniffed loudly, and when he spoke, Savannah thought she heard tears in his voice.

  "I'll give you something pretty. You'll never even be able to tell that his mark was ever on you. And if that son of a bitch ever comes to town, you just let me know, and I'll take care of him for you."

  "Thank you." She couldn't say anything more because her own eyes were filled with tears. It had been a long time since she'd been treated like this, like she deserved love, and now she seemed to be surrounded by it everywhere she turned.

  Perhaps they cared a little too much, she discovered after Chuck finished the tattoo. Her cohorts in crime admired Chuck’s artwork, but then Angie, Rayan, and Shorty wouldn't let her work. They said she would be sore and needed to rest.

  They were right about her being sore, but getting the tattoo hadn't hurt nearly as much as she th
ought it would. She'd taken a couple of over-the-counter pain tablets, so it was barely bothering her now.

  She smiled, and it looked as pretty as she imagined it would. The area was still red, but Chuck said that would go away. She couldn’t even tell where Marco’s initials had been. Chuck was a true artist.

  But now she was alone in the apartment, and her thoughts kept turning to Breaker. Where was he? What was he doing? She hugged her middle. Was he in danger? She swallowed hard.

  No, she wouldn’t think about him possibly being in danger. She would stay busy. She walked over and picked up the remote, clicking on the TV. She switched from channel to channel, but nothing interested her. She stopped on a movie where a military man had apparently been captured and was now being tortured. She quickly turned off the TV.

  She glanced at the clock. It still early, barely five. Nope, she couldn’t handle the silence any longer. She made a quick decision. She ran a brush through her hair, then left, locking the apartment behind her and pocketing the keys. Now that she had a plan of action, relief swept over her.

  The backdoor of the bar wasn’t far from the staircase going up to the apartment, and it wasn’t even dark yet. Maybe that’s why she didn’t pay much attention to her surroundings. She was safe here. Breaker said Marco wouldn’t be able to find her.

  But when someone spoke behind her, she froze.

  “I never thought I’d find you,” he said in a raspy voice.

  Cold chills trembled over her. No! This wasn't happening. Breaker had promised. She sucked in a sob and turned.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the time Breaker had a chance to call the bar and talk to Savannah the night before, he knew she would've already gone upstairs to the apartment. Sleep had not come easily.

  It was around five now. He knew she would be at the bar. When he called, Angie answered and said they were swamped, then asked if he was okay. He told her yes and that he would probably be back Saturday, then let her get back to work.

  He could kick himself for not getting Savannah a cell phone. He would rectify that as soon as he returned home. Swamped or not, he wanted to talk to her. Angie had ended the conversation too damn quick.

  His mind filled with visions of her lying in bed, her hair spread out around her. She’d be naked beneath the covers, and she would look at him with a silent invitation in her eyes.

  "Savannah must be some kind of woman," Carter said.

  Breaker jerked his mind away from his fantasy and focused on his friend. "What do you mean?"

  “You've been in a daze. I've been talking to you for the last few minutes, and I don't think you heard a word I said. I figure you're hung up on this woman and thinking about her."

  Carter pulled up a chair and sat across the table where Breaker was seated. He and Breaker were about the same size, both had dark hair, but that was where the similarities had ended. Breaker had grown up poor as dirt. Carter was a senator’s son. The golden boy who was supposed to follow in his father’s footsteps but rebelled instead. Carter had decided a long time ago to walk his own path. Right now, Breaker knew there was more that Carter wanted to say, but he was holding back.

  “Just spit it out,” he finally said.

  Carter released a deep sigh and met Breaker’s gaze. "I hope you haven't forgotten what happened with Brianna. She did a number on you. Almost got you killed. It took you a long time to get over her. Don't let Savannah do the same thing."

  "Savannah is different. She's special."

  "Her father sold her to someone in the drug cartel. She can’t be all that innocent. Not anymore. She had to have seen what was going on with Marco."

  He shook his head. "She was nothing more than his property. Yes, she knows what kind of man he is and that he's a drug dealer. She doesn't know anything about his shipments or how he runs his business."

  He shrugged. "She was with him for a long time. She may have known more than she's letting on."

  "She was just a kid when he bought her. Only fourteen."

  "But now she's nineteen,” Carter said. “You can learn a lot in five years."

  "Nineteen? No, she's twenty-two."

  Carter hesitated.

  Breaker’s eyes narrowed. “What? No, she told me she was twenty-two.”

  "She lied to you. She's only nineteen. Almost twenty." Carter studied him. "She might have lied about other things as well. Are you sure you want to take this guy down and get in this deep? It's not too late to call this off."

  Why had she lied to him about her age? Maybe… No, he wasn't even going there. "She lied about her age. So what? I'm sure she had a good reason. I saw where he branded her. That was real."

  Carter looked down at his hands again. "Some people are getting brands nowadays. It's like getting a tattoo. Just different."

  His lips thinned to a fine line. "I guess you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. Maybe she did lie about her age, and there are probably things that she hasn't told me because she doesn't want to talk about them. I'm okay with that. You didn't see the fear in her eyes that first night or the thugs who came after her and were going to return her to Marco. Or the look of defeat when she said she would return with them so that she could protect me. What I saw was real."

  "I hope you're right."

  "Either way, Marco is the bad guy."

  Carter suddenly smiled. "And we’re good at taking out the bad guys."

  "Damned right we are." He was thoughtful for a moment. “How are you doing?”

  He shrugged. "Same old shit, different day. If you're asking if I'm involved with anyone, then the answer is no. I'm not interested in starting another relationship right now." He grimaced. "My parents have been pushing me to meet this girl, but the last time they tried to interfere in my love life, it was a disaster. I'm trying to keep my distance."

  “What would it hurt to meet her? Who knows, you might like her.”

  “Doubtful.” He glanced around. “I’m going to check in with Dylan. He’s watching the docks.”

  Carter got up and walked out of the room, leaving Breaker alone with his thoughts. He leaned back in his chair and began to tap his foot. Finally, he came to his feet, walked over to the sliding glass door, and then stepped out on the balcony. The ocean breeze swept over him.

  What if he was missing something with Savannah? He’d been burned by Brianna. He inhaled the salt air as he thought about that first night when he'd seen Savannah. No, there was no way in hell she could pretend to be that afraid. His gut told him that he was right about her.

  Maybe she had a good reason to lie about her age. Hell, he didn't know. It had been easy to believe she was older than she was. She'd lived through a hell of a lot more than most women her age. Sometimes she would have a faraway look in her eyes, as if she was remembering something. If she was thinking about her sisters, Savannah's features would soften. If her thoughts involved Marco, her body would tighten, and she would hug her middle as if she could ward off the painful memory.

  He'd ask her why she’d lied about her age as soon as he got home. Either way, they would destroy Marco's drug business. He wanted Marco to feel the heat from his boss. He wanted him to know what fear was, and Breaker had no doubt his team would be the ones to bring him down.

  There were six of them: him, Carter, Ty, Samson, Ethan, and Dylan. Their training went far beyond the Special Forces. They were part of a group specially trained to go where no one else would go. So yes, they would take Marco down.

  Ty opened the sliding glass door. "Marco has been spotted in town."

  Breaker strode back inside, closing the door behind him. "Where?" He wanted to see this guy for himself. Size him up.

  "Down by the docks. There are three men with him."

  "I'll be back." Without another word, he walked out of the apartment and took the elevator down to the garage.

  Carter had rented them a place to stay while they waited for Marco's drug shipment to arrive. They'd already discovered it was coming in
by boat. It wasn't as big of a shipment as he'd hoped, but it would be enough to do damage to Marco. Now they were just waiting for him to arrive, which he had.

  He straddled the sleek, black motorcycle, then pulled on the black helmet. The bike roared to life when he turned the key. He drove to the edge of the garage, then stopped long enough to put on a pair of sunglasses. The less Marco saw of him, the better off he would be.

  It didn't take him long to get to the docks. He parked, surveying the area. The town was small. Not much traffic. Probably why they had chosen this area to pick up the drugs, it was less likely anyone would question why they were there. A busier port would have more eyes on the incoming and outgoing boat traffic.

  Breaker immediately spotted Marco. His eyes narrowed. He expected him to be bigger, taller, but he was only about five feet, ten inches with greased back, black hair, and weighed around one-seventy. His beard was trimmed close to his face. He wore black slacks and a white button-down shirt.

  When a young teenage girl with long blonde hair ran past him, he turned and watched her. Jeez, the girl couldn't have been more than thirteen. The guy was a pervert.

  There were two men with him. Another joined them. From the bulges beneath their jackets, he knew they were carrying. They were taller than Marco and just as mean looking.

  Another man walked down the short pier and joined Marco. Breaker studied the man. He was taller than Marco. Around six feet. He also outweighed Marco by almost a hundred pounds.

  Breaker leaned over and reached into the saddlebag on the side of the bike. He opened it up and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He studied the man a little closer—Mexican from the looks of his dark, olive skin.

  He turned the binoculars on Marco, watching every nuance. It didn't take him long to figure out that Marco didn't like this man. He was only dealing with him because he had no other choice.

  Everything about Marco screamed old money. Whether it was from drugs, or his family had gotten it legitimately, then fell on hard times and turned to selling drugs, he wasn't sure. Marco carried himself like someone used to getting his own way.