“You bitch!” He screamed as he flew at her. “Don’t you ever, ever say her name. EVER! My son will be perfect, you hear me, perfect? You useless cow, I can’t stand the sight of you.” With every insult, his fingers tightened and his face got redder and redder. He was foaming at the mouth with rage. Close to losing consciousness, Tori tried to speak and failed as she clawed at his wrists.
Sad, but her thoughts when she was close to dying were, of course, of her mother and father, brother, and best friends. But the one that jumped out in front, as the black spots were melting into each other, was that she’d never get to apologize to Michael for being hurtful. She would die with the last thing she said to the man she felt she could love if given the chance intended to inflict pain and incite his demons.
“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” Richard’s voice was muffled and broken, like a bad cell connection, cutting out in time with the darkness fading in.
Retreating back into the safety of his cabin seemed like the right idea at the time Tori had taken aim and fired. A fatal shot, at that. Once Michael slammed the door, his anger almost completely dissipated. She’d shown admirable restraint, only when he had sunk to the lowest of lows to deliver her agony did she finally fire back. Boy, did he deserve it. She’d been nothing but kind, snarky as hell, but genuine. He however, well, he had definitely had finer hours.
Thinking back over his life in general, he realized, he had never sunk lower. Not even with Tonya, but he suspected he wasn’t invested in Tonya, not the way he already was with Tori. Hard to comprehend how he could care for someone he barely knew, but he kind of did know her. Time wise, not so much, but their time was quality, nitty-gritty get to know you kind of time. He had certainly told her things not told to another soul. It felt as if she had opened up, too. That kind of reciprocal exposure forms a bond like no amount of time alone can.
Michael couldn’t leave it like that, not with her, not with him. Hell, not with the fates of the universe. And he damn sure couldn’t leave her to weather the storm, both metaphorically and literally. Fuck, for her he was about to do something he had been trying to avoid since his age was single digits.
Dressed in the warmest gear he had, he walked out the door, into the snow, heading toward the main cabin and his brother.
Voices, angry voices, floated on the wind as he approached. As they grew louder, their words became clearer, and his internal alarms were fucking going nuts.
“Does she know? Does Sandra know? About me, the stripper? The fact that her son will be born diseased because his father couldn’t keep his skinny prick in his…”
Tori’s voice was cut off by a venomous, “You bitch,” from Richard. Then, a loud thud that he actually felt under his feet as he gained the steps. A series of smaller, rhythmic thuds and scrambling sounds followed, then Richard’s voice again.
“You bitch! Don’t you ever, ever say her name. EVER! My son will be perfect, you hear me, perfect? You useless cow, I can’t stand the sight of you.” That wasn’t the last of the shit Richard was spewing, but Michael’s mind scrambled trying to form a picture, attempting to figure out what was going on. There was something familiar…
Then, his blood ran cold.
“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” It was that shouted promise, reaching Michael’s ears through the door, which brought a flood of memories back. Richard on top of a girl one weekend when he’d come home from college his freshman year, choking her because she insulted his manhood. Michael, just recently a teenager, had barely pulled him off, before she passed out. It was all coming back. The thud, followed by a lesser series of sounds and then Richard telling her how useless she was.
Oh, my God, Tori.
“TORI? TORI?” Michael was screaming as he burst through the front door. The sight that greeted him made him physically sick from fear. It was the same picture, all over again. Richard was on top of Tori, his hands so tight around her throat that his knuckles were near transparent. Shouting at the top of his lungs, and Tori, his Tori, had already lost her battle to stay awake. Her feet were no longer beating out an ominous tattoo on the floor. They were lax and splayed outward, her eyes closed, and her head lolled to the side.
I’m too late, he thought. Too fucking late to save her. No, no. He wouldn’t let it be too late, but when he went to move, he felt like that middle school kid again. But he wasn’t helpless then, he’d always been big for his age, and fuck it, he’s not helpless now. He would save Tori, and once he did, he would make sure no one ever hurt her again.
Shaking off the past and spurring into action, Michael threw Richard off Tori as if he were a rag doll. Once there was a safe distance between Richard and Tori, Michael let his fists fly. Giving no thought to his hand, his future, or Richard’s life, he delivered blow after blow. It wasn’t until he heard a series of coughs and moans from behind him that the murderous rage, which had overtaken him, lifted slightly.
As he had a brief moment of realization, he looked down, and horror struck deep in his soul. Michael wasn’t a violent man, never had been. “Just enough” was his motto. He’d always done just enough to get out of a situation or save the damsel in distress. Even when it came to fitness, he passed on the kick boxing, MMA craze. It wasn’t that he couldn’t kick ass, as evidenced by the swollen mess of his brother’s face, just, he didn’t like to. He abhorred violence in all forms, even sporting.
Yet, here he was, on top of his brother, with hands that were starting to swell and bleed and fingers that looked a bit like homemade sausages that had busted through their casings. Richard’s face wasn’t much better. Just as he started to question what the fuck he had done, he heard it.
“Michael.” His name, whimpered in pain and scratchy like it tortured the speaker to even breathe, much less talk.
Tori. He scrambled across the floor to her side and gently lifted her head to his lap. This was why he’d resorted to animalistic behavior.
This.
Her.
“Shhh, sweetheart. Don’t try to talk. Just relax and breathe through your nose, it might help.” He tried to offer comfort by stroking her hair, but he didn’t have a clue what to say or do. What he did know was she had burrowed deeper into his heart and soul than he thought. It was when he saw her on the floor, limp and lifeless, that realization struck like a fucking bolt to the head.
Shock-induced slow motion made the seconds seem like an eternity when he first glimpsed her delicate neck under Richard’s violent grip. That scene told him everything he needed to know. He knew if he never heard her laughter again, his soul would be without music. Without her smile, his life would be without color, and without her love, his existence would lack flavor. Without Tori, his world would be bland and unimaginable.
That thought rocked his physical being so hard, the lower half of his legs on which he was kneeling, slipped sideways and his ass hit the floor, jarring Tori’s head as evidenced by another pained moan.
Fuck, how did something like this happen? How could he be in love in a matter of hours? Sure, he’d been thinking about her for days, but the truth of it was boiled down to a day, at most. That’s all the time they’d had together, and half of that, he was being an epic asshole. And the icing on the cake, in a remote corner of his mind, was he still partially blamed her for what went down with the waitress, Wendy.
Dropping his eyes to her face and stroking her cheek, he saw some other truths there. He didn’t blame her, not really. It wasn’t her fault, and when that thought washed over him, so did a small measure of peace. The biggest problem now, was convincing her that love at first sight was real, by winning her love and respect.
Michael’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice he never wanted to hear again.
“What the fuck, baby brother?” Richard’s voice was clear, condescending, and pissed. He was rubbing his jaw as he sat up and spat blood off to the side, and then looked from Michael to Tori then back again. “Hmmm, so that’s why the bitch knew so much? Are you fucking her?” Anger was risi
ng in his brother’s voice and so was he. Michael couldn’t be in a vulnerable position when Richard steadied himself, or shit could get real.
It was a pattern he’d seen before. Richard’s violent outburst always followed the same routine. Swiftly removing his jacket, Michael rolled it into a makeshift pillow. As he placed Tori’s head on it, he whispered to her, “Don’t make a peep.” With that, he rose to his full and intimidating height and faced his brother—the only man who had tried to kill him. It made Michael sick that he shared half his DNA with this person.
“Shut your fucking mouth right now, Richard, and walk away.” This was the wrong way to handle his brother when he was in this state, but Michael couldn’t help himself. As long as Tori stayed quiet, Richard would focus on Michael and she’d be safe.
“Walk away? Walk away? I don’t think so, little brother, you see, she fucking ran her mouth and needs to be taught a lesson, and well, if she’s fucking spreading her legs for you, then she’s useless anyway.”
“I said, Shut. The. Fuck. Up. And. Walk. Away. Now. And never, I mean never, put your hands on her again. Better yet, don’t even think about her. And if you ever insult her within earshot of me, I will rip your fucking throat out with my bare hands, are we clear?”
“Sure, baby brother, I was actually done with her anyway, but let me ask you something? How does it feel when you’re riding her deep, I mean when you’re really buried inside her, knowing that I was there first? But then again, you’re probably used to it, you’ve always been second to…”
The crunch of bone interrupted his words. It wasn’t a conscious decision on Michael’s part to let his fists fly again, it was a reaction he had no control over. Richard had gone too fucking far, and Michael didn’t know if he could pull back this time. Almost instantly, they were rolling around on the floor trading punches and barbs. This time, Michael feared it wouldn’t end until one of them was unconscious or dead.
“You fucking asshole, Tori’s not like that. How dare you insinuate she is!”
Punch, punch, roll.
“Me, you’re the one mooning over a used-up, old whore.”
That was the exact wrong thing to say. Michael wasn’t in control of his body as he delivered blow after blow to his brother. He was the only family he had left in this world, but he couldn’t help it. Tori felt more important to him than this asshole ever did. For brothers, they had never bonded, as they should’ve. That had always bothered him right up until the moment he saw Richard’s hands wrapped around Tori’s throat.
“God, what fucking misdeed did I commit that was so bad that I got stuck with a brother like you. Jeez, Richard, do you even have a soul? A heart? Have you ever loved anyone besides yourself?” Michael asked between blows. Exhaustion was setting in and his punches had lost their, well, punch. It had almost devolved to a slap fight, as it was clear Richard was wearing down, too. “Me? Did you ever love me as a brother?” Michael breathed out the almost-silent question on an exhale, as his fists all but stopped.
Richard, not one to miss the chance to exploit another’s weakness, quickly shifted their roles. Michael found himself on his back with his brother’s livid face looming just inches from his own.
“Love you? You? I loathe you. I always have, even before I knew that you weren’t even my brother.”
“Half-brother is still a brother Richard, but you never missed a chance to make me feel like a half to you.” Michael attempted a comeback, but all he managed were a few half-hearted punches. Richard landed one hell of a blow, then grabbed Michael by his collar and brought their faces nose to nose and spat out words that would change Michael’s life.
“Half, Michael? You flatter yourself. You’re not even half of anything, least of all, my brother. I’ll tell you a little secret…” Richard’s face took on a cruel twist like he was enjoying this beyond measure. “You’re not even a Brande. Not half, not a quarter, not one eighth, nothing. Neither of my parents contributed a drop to your tainted DNA.”
It felt like she’d gargled with razor blades and Drāno. Tori sat up rubbing her throat as she took in the heavyweight fight going on around her. Michael and Richard were pummeling each other, and Richard, per his MO, was throwing out hurtful insults to her, to Michael, to anyone he thought could wound his opponent. That’s what he did, but her concern for Michael was growing. He was getting tired, it was clear he wouldn’t last much longer at this rate.
He’d come here for her. After what she’d said, he’d come for her, to Richard’s cabin, no less. She may not have known Michael long, but she knew that seeing Richard was right up there on his list between getting a root canal without anesthesia and having his genitals slathered in honey and sitting atop a fire ant bed. But he’d done it, for her.
Thank God he did, or she would be dead. It was in Richard’s eyes before she lost consciousness. He would’ve killed her, there was no doubt about it. Michael saved her life.
Maybe there was a chance for them to have a relationship, at least, see where one could lead. Tori got a feeling that if it didn’t lead to kids and a change in her surname, she would be devastated, but she was willing to risk it to be with a man like him. He was good, and caring, the kind of man she deserved.
Tori believed the connection she felt to Michael was genuine, and even though they had both set out to cause the other pain, they could be good together. She knew it sounded ridiculous to be sitting here amidst a fight between her just-minutes-old ex and a man she only spent hours with, mentally mapping out her future, possibly their future.
The growing goose egg on the back of her head may account for her less-than-adult thoughts. She giggled to herself at the picture they conjured. She was acting so out of character, not like Responsible Tori at all. She wondered if she would end up sitting crossed-legged on her bed writing their names over and over in strawberry scented ink, and doodling little hearts all over the page. It’s sort of what it felt like right now—that first crush kind of high. The one where a million birds take flight in your stomach if he dares to talk to you in the hallway? The kind that feels amazing and fresh and all-encompassing.
God, she needed to get a grip and break up this fight before it went too far. Richard appeared to be getting a second wind and Michael seemed spent. The words Richard was grating out in Michael’s face started to soak into her giddy, teenage fantasy world. Oh, no. Michael would be destroyed, but some things Richard had alluded to were starting to click. This must be the secret that he was legally obligated to keep or forfeit the cabins.
Without the benefit of details, and a non-fuzzy mind, she wasn’t sure she could paint a complete picture, but she was starting to see enough. He even declared how he couldn’t wait until the time was up so he could see the look on his brother’s face when he “found out.” Richard had mentioned just having to get through the months ahead without spilling the beans and then he would have the cabins.
When she questioned him, he clammed up, but did confirm it was a secret that he wasn’t supposed to tell at all, but if he did so before the three months were up, the cabins and all properties would revert to his half-brother after their mandatory stay. At the time, she didn’t really notice how he sneered the word half-brother, but considering what he’d just said to Michael, it all made sense.
Michael’s hollow voice broke her heart. “What do you mean not even a Brande?” Richard threw himself backward and crab walked away from Michael as if he’d just realized the error he made.
“Nothing, it means nothing. I was just trying to hurt you. That’s all.” Both men unsteadily gained their feet before their heated discussion continued. Tori rose much more slowly—the dizziness upon rising plastered her against the wall for support.
Approaching Richard, Michael spoke in that lost little boy voice again. “Bullshit, Richard. You say shit for effect all the time, but you’re not that creative. Now, drop the act and tell me how I’m not a Brande.”
“God, you always were a persistent shithead. Fine, but re
member you asked. Let me speak slowly so you can comprehend. You. Are. Not. A. Brande. Did you get that? In order to be a Brande, you would need to be born one, and the fact is, you weren’t. Officially, I found out back when mom died, but unofficially, I’ve always fucking known.”
Richard started pointing at, and advancing on Michael, but he wasn’t backing down. He was standing tall, even in the face of this. Tori wished she’d gained enough self-control to stand by his side, but as it was, everything was still blurry. So, she watched from the sidelines as Richard tried to destroy the man she kind of fell in love with.
“Oh, I fucking knew. I hated you from the day my mother brought you home. You looked like a fucking red-skinned little shit. Mother said it was dad’s native heritage shining through the generations, that you ‘were blessed’ to have been born with it so predominate.”
Richard was in his face now. “But I say it was a curse, a constant reminder that my mother wasn’t woman enough to keep my dad from wandering. But, the years went on and my prayers that you meet with an untimely accident went unanswered. I watched my mother and father fawn over you like you hung the fucking moon.” Now, he started pacing and talking, but at this point, it didn’t seem like it was directed at Michael so much as himself.
“God, do you have any idea how sickening that was? Watching them love you and cheer for you and be proud of every fucking thing you did while it was always, ‘Watch your temper Richard. You can hurt people like that, dear. Why can’t you be more like your brother?’” Turning back to Michael, Richard’s temper flared anew.
“Do you know how much I fucking hated to hear that? I swear, by the time mom died, if she had said that shit one more time, I might have killed the woman myself.”
Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2) Page 10
