Page 9 of Branded Betrayal

The totaled car, Savannah slumped motionless over the steering wheel, surrounded by shards of glass and blood.

It happened right after I told Wilkerson I was leaving Whiskey Creek.

I swallow hard, the sides of my throat gritty like sandpaper. The thought of working for Jack again makes my gut knot. But this asshole has my dick in a vise because my father is a drunk-ass gambler who doesn’t know his limits. Wilkerson bailed him out plenty over the years, and I’m the one who ends up paying off the debts that never seem to get smaller, no matter how much time passes.

Jack’ll expose me, send me to jail, where all the thugs I screwed over doing jobs for him will finally be able to get their revenge.

And worse . . . he’ll go after Savannah again. Only this time, his henchman won’t just run her off the road.

I laser him with a glare, my shoulders locked. “If I help you with whatever it is you want this time, my debt and my family’s debt are cleared.”

“If you deliver, then yes.” His eyes glitter with malice. “Just remember, I can make Savannah scream just as well as you can, though I don’t think she’ll much like my methods.”

“You fucking son of a bitch. Leave her alone.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to order me around, Blaze. I hold all the cards here. And I’ll be in touch soon with the details.”

I shove open the door, get out, and slam it shut. Sweat prickles my skin as I stalk back to my truck.

Savannah is probably at Red Rock now, trying to come to terms with the loss of her aunt. She has no idea I just sold my soul to a crime boss to keep her safe. And she has no idea that whatever he wants me to do, I will deliver.

Because I’m Wilkerson’s weapon. And he just aimed me at the one person I can’t bear to hurt again.

Chapter Three

Savannah

The heat of Blaze’s gaze still burns through me like I’m that naive girl again and stupid enough to believe in forever with a man who doesn’t even know the meaning of the word.

“Hate’s safer than love.”

That fucking asshole. How dare he think he can speak to me after everything he did . . . and didn’t do?

I wander around the house the day after the funeral, my mind still spinning from my run-in with Blaze.

It just feels wrong without Aunt Marg. Too still. Too quiet.

Aunt Marg always had a television on as background noise when she baked. She hummed and talked to herself too. It always made me chuckle when I’d catch her having full-blown conversations with herself.

Now there’s just silence.

I move between rooms until I end up in her bedroom. The eyelet-lace coverlet is perfectly folded and wrinkle free. Throw pillows are perfectly centered on the bed. I walk over to her closet and pull open the door. My eyes fall on the faded blue-denim jacket with embroidered wildflowers on the back. It was her favorite. She made that jacket herself back when she first came to Wyoming. Young and heartbroken and determined to reinvent herself.

“I was running,” she’d told me when I asked her about why she’d come to Wyoming. “From Nashville, from a man who didn’t deserve me, from dreams I realized were never going to come true. I figured I’d take a break, stay here for maybe a year or two since your mom and dad were here. Then I met your uncle, and the rest was history.”

I remember her putting a hand on my shoulder, the intent look on her face when she said, “I came here looking for a break from life. Instead, I found my home and my future. I just needed to stop running, Savvie.”

She built this.

And I left it all behind.

But she never pushed me to come back. Never guilt-tripped me. She respected my decision and made sure I knew I always had a home here.

I’m sure it hurt her every time I told her I couldn’t come home. And it kills me that I never got a chance to tell her the truth about why.

A shuddering sigh quakes my chest.

I open her dresser drawers, then the nightstand drawer, where I find a photo album. It’s one of those old-school books, with sticky pages and plastic covers. I open it carefully and flip through the pages. A smile tugs at my lips as I watch the progression of her life between the pages. There are pictures of her and Mom through the years, photos of Red Rock when she moved in and then over time as she and my uncle restored it.