Brandon looked like he wanted to reply to this insult, but he thought it wise to keep his mouth shut until he was out of his own trap.
Finally, Jet went to Brando, purring against his chest and nuzzling him under the neck. I took a step forward, assessing the damage to Brandon’s back.
“It’s not so bad,” I said, hiding the fact that my teeth were clenched. “She mostly ripped your shirt. And stuck her claws in.”
The worst of it was the puncture wounds. The shreds weren’t too bad, though bad enough.
“You have to learn how to put them at ease,” Brando said. There was smugness to his voice that I sensed Brandon wanted to eliminate with physical violence. “A puss—” Brando looked at me, and then didn’t finish whatever he was going to say.
“Scarlett, would you mind putting some ointment on my wounds?” Brandon asked, pretending to ignore Brando. He hissed out a breath when he went to move his shoulders. “They burn.”
“You’re probably going to have to go to the—”
“My wife puts one hand on you, and the scratches will be the least of your problems,” Brando said, looming closer, and handing Jet to me.
“What’s wrong, Fausti?” Brandon said. “Afraid your woman will know what it feels like to touch a real man?”
Brando’s lip quirked up at this. “My wife’s hands stay clean, Stone. She’ll never touch trash.”
Usually, when the situation became threatening, Brando became dead calm. This situation was nothing to him, almost fun. I didn’t like it, though, and I started to tremble. Before the two men could take another step toward each other, closing the gap, I slipped between them.
“You know,” I said, “it’s funny, but only one letter changes Brando to Brandon. Haha!”
This imbecile comment went ignored.
“What? You have to hide behind your woman like you hide behind her daddy’s money?” Brandon spit the words out at Brando.
Brando opened and closed his arms. “At least I have one and know how to keep her satisfied. Tell me where Juliette is, Stone.”
If Brandon had an implode button, Brando had just smashed it.
Brandon took a step forward, so did Brando, and he deftly me moved me out of the sandwich.
“Her—” he used his head to refer to me “—and how many others, Fausti? There’s not a woman in this town that you didn’t ruin. We all had to search elsewhere for women that weren’t tainted by Fausti di—”
“What’s going on out here? A party? And I wasn’t invited? It’s just plain mean not to invite the only pirate in the house.” He tapped at the upper part of his leg. “I’m getting my wood leg soon.”
A sigh of relief escaped my mouth when Mitch rolled out of the door in the rented wheelchair. Out in the sun, the missing part of his limb was apparent, the leg of his jeans hollow where it should have been solid.
Brando and Brandon stared at each other for a few seconds before Brandon took a step back, refocusing on Mitch.
“I see you’re still alive, Lewis,” he said.
“Yeah,” Mitch said, a grin on his face. “You can’t kill bad grass. You should know something about that, Stone.” He nodded toward Brandon’s shirt.
“The psychotic cat,” Brandon said as way of an explanation.
“You have to watch them pussy cats.” Mitch wiggled his brows. “You don’t handle them with care, and they attack. That one is particular about her tail.”
I set Jet on Mitch’s lap, and she purred against him, her green eyes narrowed on Brandon. It was debatable whether she was finished with him or not.
Free of my burden, I took the opportunity to wrap my arm around Brando’s waist. He was still slick with sweat, and I caressed his back with my fingertips, hoping to settle him down some.
Sheriff Stone appeared in the doorway with my father. The two men shook hands and then the sheriff came toward us, tipping his hat to me. He gave Brando the briefest of steely-eyed stares before he took Brandon’s keys from him, ordering him to get into the truck.
“I’m sending you the hospital bill, Fausti!” Brandon shouted toward us before he got into his truck, sitting sideways so his back didn’t touch the leather seats.
“You do that,” Brando said. “It’ll be the best money I’ve ever spent. Worth every fucking penny.”
