BRANDED

by April Lust

  I could make her safe. I just couldn’t do it like this.

  “I think this is it,” I told Bills. He gave me a confused look, not following the thoughts in my head. “This is my last big deal. Things have gotta change, man.”

  I heard a sound behind me, footsteps on the stairs, and almost sensed more than heard Lucy standing at the top landing. I felt like I could hear her breathing and feel the pounding of her heart. Things were like that sometimes. Like we were so connected that there was this sixth sense about her. I always wanted to ask her if she felt it, too, but could never man up enough to do it.

  “What the fuck?” Bills demanded in a low, angry whisper. He looked like he might argue or say something else, but snapped his mouth shut instead, his eyes moving from my face. He’d seen Lucy, his gaze going to a spot behind me, and the glare there was more than a little intense.

  Things weren’t great between the two of them, not that I could blame Lucy for that, but I could see what Bills thought was going on.

  He thought she was a distraction, and maybe she was. Maybe she was the worst and best kind of distraction, but that wasn’t Bills’ call. He didn’t have the right to say one way or the other what kind of leader I was, because everyone had a pretty good idea what kind he would be. Reckless. Dangerous. A loose cannon. If people left the club to him, everyone would be thrown in the slammer by the time the year was up.

  But that wasn’t the real reason he didn’t like Lucy. It was part of it and the only legitimate thing he could say against her, because no one questioned the validity of the Preacher’s daughter, least of all to me. The other part of it was less pretty and less fair, though maybe made more sense.

  He was in love with her.

  Or at least, he wanted to fuck her pretty badly. He wasn’t the only member of the Sin Reapers who’d eyed Lucy like she was a piece of meat or some French model they could bend into all kinds of naughty, dirty positions. But he was the only one who’d made a pass at her.

  It had been years ago and it was water under the bridge—at least it was for me, more by force of will than any real inclination—but no one had forgotten that it’d happened. Not Lucy. Not me. It was hard when you had as much history as we did.

  Ten years ago, I’d saved Lucy. Maybe I didn’t look at it that way, but Lucy did. We were just a couple of kids in high school. She was only fifteen and I was coming up fast on seventeen. Even then, her father had been leader of the Sin Reapers. She acted a lot tougher than she was back then, and that along with her father’s reputation was usually enough to keep her out of trouble.

  But not that day.

  I’d never forget it, though my memories were red around the edges and fuzzy in the middle. It was raining. Lucy was walking home. I never did find out why, but it was the last time she did it. I was on the other side of the street trying to bum a cigarette off a guy who wouldn’t believe I was eighteen—which I wasn’t.

  I saw the guy start following her, but didn’t think much of it. A lot of people walked that way; no big deal. But then she got a little farther and he got a little closer. She finally stopped, leaning against the wall like she was waiting for someone. But she wasn’t.

  The guy looked like he might just keep going, but when he didn’t I knew things were about to get bad.

  I forgot the guy and the smoke, turning to cross the street just as the guy reached for her. He grabbed her by the arm and she struggled to shake him off, but he was too strong for her. A car nearly ran me over, making me stop before I could reach her, and by the time it passed that guy was dragging her into an alley between a smoke shop and the Mexican food place right next to it. I heard a scream.

  I ran. When I got to that alley, she was pressed against the wall, the guy holding her down as she kicked at him, struggling to break free. But his hold was tight and his free hand was already wandering. He had one knee between her legs, forcing them apart, and his hand was starting up her skirt. She screamed. He smacked his hand over her mouth. She bit him. And that was when he hit her across the face, making her fall to the alley floor, her mouth bleeding.

  I saw red. Fury flared through me, so hot I might have burst into flames. I ran for her as the man started to undo his pants. I heard his sneering voice as he told her, “Scream again, bitch, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

  The rest, I didn’t really remember. I knew I got there before he reached her. I knew I punched him until his face was broken and bleeding and my hands weren’t doing much better. I knew when I finally came back to myself, Lucy was wrapped in my arms, my bloodied hands stroking her dark hair as I whispered to her that she was okay, I’d protect her.

  As far as I knew, the man survived. Barely. His face would never quite be the same though. I wasn’t charged only because Lucy was the Preacher’s daughter and he had an in with the police department.

  After that, I always walked her home. We started making out in little hallway nooks when no one was looking. By the end of the year, my hands were constantly down her pants, making her cry out in pleasure. And on her seventeenth birthday, she took off all her clothes and told me she wanted me to be her first. I was. I’d had other girls before and made sure it was good for her. After that first time, we couldn’t be separated.

  When she graduated high school—I had dropped out senior year to work full time at an auto shop—I thought she might go off into the world and leave me behind, but she took local community college classes and stuck with me.

  Eventually, she got dragged into the club just like I had. It was inevitable; her dad was the Preacher, leader of the club. She was more accountant than anything else and kept the books balanced.

  I always waited for her to leave me, to find someone better, but she never did. Instead, our relationship seemed to just grow in intensity. The sex got better every time we had it and I knew unquestioningly that I loved her. That kind of crazy love that drove you to do things you wouldn’t normally do. Things like beat a man within an inch of his life.

  Bills didn’t love her like I did, no one did, but he wanted her and he wasn’t the kind of man who took kindly to “no.” I didn’t know what he said to her, she refused to tell me, but something happened that made her skittish around him. All she would tell me was that he told her he was interested and she told him she wasn’t.

  I didn’t bother asking him. He’d just say that nothing had happened.

  “You sure that’s you talking?” Bills asked me finally, jerking me back to the here and now. His tone was even, though his face was red and blotchy. He was pissed, no question. I couldn’t tell if Lucy had heard him or not or if he’d meant her to, but I knew what he was trying to say.

  He always tried to tell me that she distracted me. I always told him to shut the fuck up.

  “Let’s worry about it another time,” I told him, not interested in dealing with the issues I knew wouldn’t wait for much longer. “Right now, I want to focus on that guy. I want to know who he was and if he really was a Slayer.”

  Bills nodded his head. “I’ll find out.”

  I had little doubt that he would.

  Chapter 9

  Lucy

  I stood at the counter. The stovetop next to me was hot, the pan with the bacon in it sizzling and occasionally splattering grease back up at me. I had eggs going, too, and there was toast I wasn’t paying attention to. When I finally caught it, it was already half burnt. “Shit!” I said in annoyance, already a little frayed from last night. We hadn’t gotten much sleep last night after Bills had busted in, announcing there’d been a prowler lurking just outside the house.

  The memory of it all made me shudder. It had been awful.

  But not everything about that night had been awful. The sex, of course, had been amazing. Max had always been a good lay and last night was no exception. I’d had girls, the bikers’ old ladies, tell me I couldn’t really know if he was that good or not because he was the only man I’d ever been with, but I ignored them. I knew a good thing when I saw it—o
r felt it buried deep inside me—and I knew for a fact that many of them were merely jealous.

  The other part about last night that stuck with me was Max’s words. This is my last big deal. Things have gotta change, man.

  I’d dreamt about those words again and again over the course of the last six months, and part of me couldn’t believe he’d actually said them. I was waiting for him to come downstairs to see if things were different, if he’d meant those words, if he’d actually said them at all. He was upstairs taking a shower, washing away the memories of last night, I suspected. I’d do that soon, too, but I wanted breakfast ready for him when he got out.

  The toast wasn’t too bad, so I scraped off as much of the charcoal into the sink and spread a little butter over the rest of it. I called it good, even though it’d be a little crispier than either of us liked.

  The eggs were done and I placed them on a plate with the toast, then added the bacon. I made sure there was a glass of milk with the whole thing, too, then waited. The water shut off only a little bit later and I heard him call for me from upstairs.

  “Lucy?”

  His voice sounded slightly strained. I knew part of the reason he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before was that he was worked up over that guy who’d come to the house, but that was because he was worried for my safety not his own.

  “Downstairs!” I called up to him, grabbing the silverware. I heard him coming down the stairs.

  Max joined me in just a few minutes. He hadn’t thrown on a shirt yet and his hair was still damp from his shower. It took everything I had to keep the sudden and intense flare of desire low in my belly at bay.

  God, how I wanted him.

  “This looks good,” he told me as he took a seat at the table. I joined him and sent him a shy smile. I didn’t know why, but sex with Max always made me a little shy the next day. Once, he’d told me that he adored that, that it drove him a little crazy and made him want to take me all the harder the next time.

  I hoped it was still true.

  We ate quietly, but I couldn’t keep my thoughts to myself for long. He seemed…slightly different. More somber, quieter than usual, and it gave me hope that maybe he’d meant what he’d said last night. Maybe he really was ready to be done.

  When we’d mostly finished and were just picking at our plates, I cleared my throat to get his attention. He looked up at me and I made myself be brave.

  “I want out.”

  He stared at me blankly for a long moment, as though he couldn’t quite make himself process what I was saying. He couldn’t make himself understand. Then, when he did, he looked almost desperate. “You want…you want out?”

  I nodded. I reached across the table for his hand, squeezing it in mine. “Yes. I want us to go, together. I want us to finish with all of this and say to hell with it. Let’s just go.”

  Excitement bubbled in me, thrilled by my confession and the prospect that maybe he would go for it. But then I saw the hard line of his mouth and the sadness in his eyes. My hopes withered and died in my breast. This wasn’t going to go well.

  “I’m sorry baby, but we can’t.” He picked up his glass of milk and took a big gulp, like that was all he had to say.

  “What? But…why? You said—”

  He interrupted me. “I know what I said, but I’m telling you now, we can’t.”

  I felt anger swell inside me, starting slow, but growing in intensity quickly. I swallowed, trying to stifle some of it. I wanted to seem reasonable right now and a sudden angry fit wouldn’t help my case. “Why the hell not? I mean, what’s keeping us?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “It’s just not the right time. It’s not what your father would have wanted.”

  I froze. The anger that I’d been trying to keep down reared its ugly head viciously. “What did you say?”

  “I said—”

  But I cut him off. It had been a rhetorical question. “What the hell do you think you know about my father?”

  The line of his mouth grew thinner, sharper. “I know a lot, baby. A lot.”

  “You don’t know shit!”

  He shook his head. “I know why he died.”

  The air in my lungs left with a sudden whoosh, and for a moment I was so breathless that I felt lightheaded. Were we talking about his suicide? I knew what the note said, but that didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean a damn thing and I— “You…” But I couldn’t get anything else out of my mouth.

  He took a breath. “I know why he died, but I can’t tell you, not yet. Not now.”

  He looked torn, conflicted over something, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t interested in what he was feeling. “What right do you have?”

  “Cherry—” he tried, and that only made things worse.

  “I fucking hate that name!” I spat at him, tossing the dishes in the sink just so I could look away from him. “I’ve always fucking hated that name.”

  It was an old nickname from high school, one I’d picked up reluctantly. As a freshman, it hadn’t bothered me because I thought it sounded cute. But by sophomore year, I’d realized it was because guys were always talking about popping my cherry. They’d snicker behind my back and stare from across the courtyard; then when I caught them, you’d think they’d be ashamed, but all they did was stick out their tongues lewdly at me, implying what they wanted to do.

  It wasn’t fair for me to get pissed off at Max for that; he didn’t know what it meant or why I hated it. But I was already angry at Max. I was furious with him and then he used that fucking name and it was all I could do not to reach out and actually strike at him.

  I started to scrub at the dishes, turning on the water so hot that it all but scalded my hands, but I didn’t care. The spark of pain felt good. It felt better than the tearing of my heart at Max’s words. I wasn’t ready to talk about Dad or why he was dead. I just wasn’t ready.

  I heard the kitchen chair legs scrape across the linoleum floor and heard as Max’s heavy footsteps moved towards me, but I didn’t look back at him. My eyes stayed focused on the sink and the dishes and the water. I wanted to be mad at him, damnit, and I knew he was about to try to convince me not to be.

  His large, rough hands slipped over my upper arms, gripping tightly, but not so tight that I couldn’t jerk out of his grasp if I wanted to. Max was a lot of things, but he would never keep me somewhere if I didn’t want to be there.

  “Lucy,” he said soothingly, his voice apologetic and deep, though he would make no real apology. That much I knew already. “I need you to trust me, baby. I know it’s hard right now. I know you’re hurting, but I need you to try. I promise it’ll make sense in the end, but right now, we have to do it my way.”

  “Damnit, Max,” I whispered, feeling hot tears well in my eyes. But I still didn’t look at him. “Just tell me now. Please, just tell me.” I imagined him shaking his head, felt his grip tighten, then release me. He took a step away from me and I suddenly felt cold. I didn’t want him to let me go, no matter how angry or upset with him I was. “Max?”

  “I can’t. I’m working on it and I’ll tell you, I promise, as soon as I need help. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one, baby.”

  I pursed my lips tightly shut, knowing it was a lost cause. I wanted to push and push, to poke at him until he caved, but I knew better. Once Max made up his mind about something, that was it. If he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, he wouldn’t. Not until he decided otherwise. There wasn’t a damn thing I could say or do to change that.

  Even so, I couldn’t help the whisper that left my lips. “He was my father, Max.”

  I heard him sigh. “I know. You’ve just gotta hang in there a little longer, baby. I’ll make this right.”

  Except I didn’t believe him. I knew he meant what he said, but things were so fucked up that I didn’t think anything could make any of this right ever again. I heard his footsteps as he left the kitchen. He might have said something else so quietly that I couldn’
t hear, or maybe he just left in silence, but it amounted to the same damn thing.

  Why won’t you just come with me? I thought miserably as I took the rest of the dishes to the sink. Why won’t you just come with me and we can go together?

  I couldn’t think of anything, anything in this world that would make staying worth it. And I couldn’t honestly believe that my father would have wanted me to stay. How could he have? How? He would have wanted me safe and happy, and that wasn’t the kind of things I would get here.

  I finished scrubbing the dishes and then rinsed them off. I dried them and put them up, thankful for the menial task and the distraction it gave my mind. Ultimately, I finished quickly and had to face the day. I headed up the stairs, resolving for a shower. The door to the bedroom was cocked just barely open and I knew Max was in there. I debated for a split second about whether I should try another go with him, but ultimately decided there was no point. I resigned myself to waiting, at least for a little bit, until Max told me what was going on.