Chapter 30
Lily
Bran smiles, those perfect white teeth glistening in the roar of the stoked campfire.
“Lily …” He breathes out, reaching for my messy hair and pulling the few strands to his nose to inhale.
My body shakes, trembling as I remember the last time I’d seen him. On top of me.
Get off!
Get off!
A warm tear slips down my cheek, and he reaches to thumb it away, but I jerk back, abruptly standing.
“Don’t touch me,” I hiss.
Bran smirks, nodding to someone behind me. They grab my arms, pulling me back. This time I don’t wrestle, I don’t fight. I stare him down instead, nostrils flaring in disgust.
I’m ushered backward to a makeshift seat made from a tree stump, and as I’m forced down, they pull heavy metal chains over my legs and wrap them around my middle.
But as the clank of the metal locks, I can only think of one thing.
“H-how did you find me?”
Bran moves toward a table and drags his pointer finger through a dusty white powder and inspects it.
“Raven. Brent and Sheriff Tate just messaged and said the ranger is on the hunt,” a random man says, coming up to him.
Damn it. I knew Paul was dirty, and Brent? Isn’t that the guy Noah said was his friend … what the hell?
Don’t, Noah, I say into the void of my mind. Not for me. Don’t risk it.
Bran shifts, looking at me. He tilts his head, eyes combing from my mud-stained shoes to the rumpled diner uniform. He pins me with a stare, looking at my chest. He doesn’t take his eyes away as he says, “Let him come. Doubt he finds us, but we’re prepared if he does.”
The other man retreats with a nod, and Bran steps forward.
He’s wearing dark baggy jeans, and a tight black long sleeve.
His hair is how I remember—black with a bluish tint and gelled into tiny spikes.
Those soulless eyes remain focused on my chest as he raises his hand, using a finger to lift the raven necklace off my neck.
“Not too keen on keeping your name, Bran? Too afraid people would mistake you for the cereal.”
He allows the chain to tumble through his fingers, his expression working overtime as he studies it. “Did you know that the raven was thought to be a messenger in old myths. Watchers, guides between worlds. Bran is Celtic and means raven. My mother said it suited me.”
When he lets out a sigh, I assume he’s going to drop it, instead he twists. He hooks his fist around the raven and rotates, tightening the necklace like a noose and his fist like a garrote.
He snarls down at me.
The pressure tightens around my throat, cutting off my gasp and subsequent air.
“You took this yet ran from me.” He stares down at me. “Did you touch yourself wearing this, Lil? Did you think of me? You see … ravens watch, and they wait. It doesn’t matter how long has passed. I’ve waited.”
My lungs burn and my pulse hammers against the strangling gold. I strain against the weighted chains tying my hands, the urge to claw at my neck instinctual.
Black spots swarm the edges of my vision, my body wanting to go limp.
I do my best, as the world blurs and sounds muffle, to scowl at him.
The grittiness in my eyes is relieved as tears flood them, but still—I’ve worn this necklace every day since he took from me.
I took from him this reminder that he doesn’t frighten me. It’s my way of taking back power.
Bran’s look, which has been distant and unfocused, suddenly blinks, as if coming back. The tension in his posture loosens, and his shoulders sag while the grip on the necklace lifts. He swallows and then drops his hand, fingers twitching at his side.
I suck in a breath of air.
“See what you made me do?” He smooths a palm down my face, and I jerk my head away. “Always driving me crazy, Lil.”
My lip curls at the nickname—from him. I was pissed when Noah used it at first. All it did was allow Bran’s disembodied voice purchase in my mind when I’d done the work to forget it.
But then … then he used it again, maybe even pushed it, like maybe he didn’t want me to fear the name, and the seething voice in my head distorted some.
Then he used it again, and again. Now when I hear Lil, it’s Noah’s affectionate timbre that crashes into my mind, and I’m angry anyone else but him would use it.
“What do you want?”
His stern expression softens. “I want my Lily back.”
“I’m not yours. You hurt me. Raped me. You’re delusional.”
“You wanted it, wanted me.” He sniffs, stepping back, and raises a hand at someone.
“No. I left because of you. What do you want?!” I scream it, annoyed and in pain. The last of my words echo among the towering trees, and the clings and clangs in the camp pause as everyone turns our direction.
Chest heaving, I say again. “Why did you take me? It’s been years, Bran.”
“The name is Raven.” He reaches up and lifts his shirt over his head, exposing a creamy pale chest. Over his chest is a large flower tattoo—a lily.
I can’t help it. As much as I want to turn away, to not look at him, I’m stuck staring.
Eyes wide, I take in the tattoo that sprawls across his left pectoral.
The petals are inked in intricate bold detail.
Dark shading deepens the contours, glaring in contrast against his skin while thin lines trace the veins of each petal.
The stem curves, following the natural plane of his chest.
This is …
“Amazing, isn’t it?” He steps closer to me, and I shift, the chains rattling around the stump.
Not the word I’d use. It’s creepy. Disgusting. Hell, why does my name feel dirty now?
“I had this tattooed six months after you left. I carry you with me all the time.” He approaches and lifts my chin. I want to spit in his face. He fingers my nose ring. “This is new.”
I’m not sure if his words are laced with annoyance, upset I have the stud in my nose, but I snap at him. “Not really. Got it six months after I left. Probably around the same time you plastered that shitty tat on yourself and pierced your own face.”
His nostrils flare, and he steps back.
It’s chilly, but he keeps his shirt off, and I swear it’s to rub that damn flower in my face. He spreads his arms wide, turning in a slow circle. “All this is my empire, and I owe it all to you.”
I look around.
“I knew I’d catch up with you someday, Lily.
To think one of my men is from Pinebrook—it feels like fate.
When the rangers called the sheriff in Ruin about your hospital stay, it was my lucky day.
I had one of my men in Ruin’s station. It wasn’t too much longer before the DEA kicked everyone out and your brother replaced the sheriff. ”
“My brother? Liam?”
“That wife of his is something beautiful. She played a role in the dismantling of the Ruin operation.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. My mom mentioned Fleur, Liam’s new wife.
I don’t know the full story of how they met, only that it was unconventional.
She didn’t mention Liam was the new sheriff, though.
Granted, when I called her, I mostly cried.
I told her, while I wasn’t ready to talk about my reasons, I wanted her to know I didn’t leave the family because of them and that I loved her.
I like to think Ms. Sullivan would be proud.
Regardless, I can’t help the sense of pride that Liam’s the sheriff. He always wanted to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps. There’s so much back home I’ve missed.
My shoulders slump, and I sit against the uncomfortable stump.
“Don’t worry, my little flower. None of that matters. What matters now is that I’m in with the cartel, and I am building this empire. For us.”
“You’re insane. I want nothing to do with you!”
He flinches at that, but his face hardens, and he pounds on the table next to him. Tightly packed bags of powder jump along with the workers on either side, measuring and bagging. He grabs one and walks it over to me before squatting.
Watching me the way a predator watches a cornered animal, he rips the plastic open one-handed.
The powder spills in a messy, uneven pile across his knee.
He drags a finger through it, coating the tip, then brings it to his nose.
With a sharp inhale, his nostrils flaring, he snorts.
His eyelids flutter shut for half a second, then snap open, darker.
A slow grin tugs at his mouth. “The perfect mix.”
I swallow, my throat dry. I don’t know this man. Whoever he’s grown into, it’s ten times worse than the younger him.
“I’ve watched you with him over the past couple of months. You’re too damaged for him, Lil. He has a proper life here, another woman who’d create a perfect life with him. Do you really think he wants you? You’re just the rescue he can’t avoid, the chase he wants before settling down.”
I shake my head, keeping his words from toying with my mind. Noah loves me. He loves me, right?
He flicks the excess powder from his fingers, then his hand shoots out.
Rough fingers clamp around the side of my face, his palm calloused and heated against my cheek.
I jerk back, disgusted, but there’s nowhere to go—just the cold bite of the tree trunk scraping my spine and the weight of his hold keeping me still.
A sharp sting of fear tightens in my ribs, and the night air feels too thick to breathe. For a moment I think I hear the rustling of underbrush, but he doesn’t notice, and my mind quickly replaces the thought with an ominous gut punch.
He tilts my face up, forcing my eye to his, and his gaze … it’s cold and assessing.
My stomach knots. The pulse in my throat speeds up the more the pressure of his grip grows. His thumb digs into my jaw and my mouth opens in a silent wince. He fingers my lips, smearing the few drops of tears that’ve leaked down my face.
With his other hand, he rubs the lily on his chest. He stays low, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet. Crouched, he creeps forward, his boots shuffling against the dirt until the shadow of his face meets mine.
His mouth is inches from me, and he hovers there, patient and controlled. He moves a hand toward my nose.
Pain explodes through my face. One second, his hand is there, the next a tearing sensation rips through my skin as he yanks the stud in my nose free.
A strangled cry bursts from my lips and a metallic tang floods my senses. It’s not much, but the warmth of it dips to my lips. He holds the side of my face as I struggle to pull away—indifferent to me or the pain he’s caused.
“What the hell!” Tears flood my waterline, and I do my best to keep from bursting into sobs. I’ve been hurt worse, so much worse. I refuse to give him any satisfaction.
The night presses in around us, the wind shifting colder. I latch on to the numbness, and suck in tiny breaths as he tilts my head side to side, examining my nose before he glances at the piercing in his hand.
“There,” he says, voice almost amused, “that’s better.”