Page 7 of Branded Betrayal

I remember watching the light in her eyes die out when I spoke those words. I shredded her hopes for a future with me when it was all she had left to cling to.

And then I took a hammer to the jagged pieces. Being with her was wrong on so many levels, but on that night? It had deadly consequences, ones that’ll haunt me forever.

Savannah never knew the truth . . . about that night or what led up to it. She didn’t know about her parents’ financial troubles. And she had no idea that I ran smuggling jobs for an organized crime boss named Jack Wilkerson, who wanted to establish a new distribution route for moving his goods.

It was supposed to be a simple transaction at the Carlson ranch—stolen goods in exchange for cash. Her parents needed money because their ranch had been suffering, so my dad offered them an opportunity to work with us. They let us use their propane delivery trucks to transport the goods earlier in the day. But when it came time for the sale, our buyer never showed up. Instead, a rival gang attacked the place and shot up the propane tanks, which caused the inferno that followed.

Nash couldn’t hold them off on his own. He needed backup, but I was with Savannah, and my dad decided not to show up.

I grit my teeth. My fucking father never shows up, though, so that shouldn’t have been a shock. He’s only ever been good at making the messes, never cleaning them up.

Which is why I’m back in Whiskey Creek after all these years. I tried to stay away after leaving the military. Hunkered down in some town down south as a ranch hand, thinking I’d finally escaped the past until Wilkerson found me.

Just like he always does.

The people gathered for the funeral walk toward the casket. They each drop a single white rose on top, and with some final whispered words to Savannah and Nash, they disperse.

Savannah cries quietly, nodding at those who pass until she’s left alone with Nash. He drops his rose, turns his back on Savannah, and stalks toward his truck.

Fucker.

I want to go to her, to take her in my arms, whisper that she’s not alone.

My mind screams at me to leave, to walk away before I hurt her more than I have. But my body refuses to move. I watch her lean over the casket, murmuring words she never got to say. Minutes later, she walks toward her car, hunched over, her hand over her mouth.

Dirt is shoveled onto the casket, the sound jarring me. My vision blurs, and instead of Marg’s picture in the distance, I see Liam’s smiling face. My pulse jackhammers against my throat at the thought of the man who’d quickly become my closest friend when we met on an overseas tour. Best man I knew.

I told him not to follow me, that I’d be fine on my own. But he didn’t listen. If he’d have just fucking—

I scrub a hand down the front of my face and back away, pressing my fingers to my temples. Christ, I’ve taken so much from so many people.

I should have never come back here. I should have stayed far away from anyone else I could hurt.

Without paying any mind to the annoying-as-fuck voices in my head that tell me to go home, I follow Savannah’s car into town. She pulls into a spot on the street outside Brixton’s General Store and walks inside.

I push open the door of my truck and hop out. Walking around the front of my truck, I feel the stares. Hushed whispers make my ears perk up.

“. . . always been trouble . . .”

“. . . heard he didn’t leave the military willingly . . .”

I head to the general store, but not before I slant a dark look at the two women gaping at me on the side of the road.

I pull open the door, the chime jingling as I step inside. My breath hitches when I see Savannah lean over a table filled with purple sachets, ones I know her aunt used to make. She picks one up and holds it to her nose.

I walk over to her and lean against the table, unable to resist her magnetic pull. I’ve thought about her, craved her, fantasized about her for six long years, and now that she’s here, I can’t just walk away. I can’t just forget.

Leaving Savannah was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make, but Jack Wilkerson left me no choice.

She thinks I left because I didn’t care about her.

The truth is, I only left because I cared so damn much.

“Hello, Savvie.”

And only then does she look up, the murderous glint in her blue eyes sharp enough to pierce my soul.

“What the hell do you want?” She straightens up, hatred lacing every word. “To pay your respects, the way every decent person here in town already did at the funeral you didn’t bother to attend?”