Branded by the Drake

Chapter 1

LENNOX

The apartment smells like cheap wine and Janie’s coconut shampoo when I walk through the door after my shift. I kick off my heels, the ones I wear to smile at rich guests in The Drake’s marble lobby, and call out.

“Janie? You home?”

No answer. But her purse is on the counter, her jacket thrown over the back of our thrift-store couch. She has to be here.

I find her in the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet lid with her knees pulled up to her chest. Mascara streaks down her face in black rivers, and her whole body is shaking like she’s freezing despite the warm California evening.

“Jesus, Janie.” I drop to my knees in front of her. “What happened?”

She looks at me with red, swollen eyes and shakes her head. “I can’t do it, Lenny. I can’t.”

“Can’t do what?” I grab her hands between mine. They’re ice cold. “Talk to me.”

“Tonight.” Her voice cracks. “There’s this thing tonight, and I, God, I’m so stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.”

Janie never curses. Ever. She’s been raised in a religious compound masquerading as a commune in rural Montana. Their compound was “next door” to my family’s land, and even though the compound was strict, Janie and I had been best friends.

Suddenly one day her mother started quoting scripture at anyone who dared to look at her wrong.

Moving to California with me had been Janie’s grand rebellion, her escape from suffocating expectations of how she was to live her life, nightly prayer meetings and even twice on Sunday.

When life changed for her, I was determined not to lose her as my friend.

She’d sneak away from the compound and meet me at our “fort” in the woods. Together we shed more tears in that fort than I care to think about, and it kills me that she’s sitting here crying again when life has been so great lately.

“What thing?” I keep my voice calm even as my heart is hammering. “Janie, what did you get into?”

She pulls her hands away and wraps her arms around herself. “You remember Tim? From the Drake Hotel?”

I do. Tall, good-looking in that California-surfer way, always hanging around the pool bar where Janie works housekeeping. He’s been paying her attention for months, compliments, invitations to staff parties, making her feel special.

“What about him?”

“He invited me to these parties. Exclusive, invite-only parties. He said I was too pretty to be changing sheets, that I deserved better.” Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. “And I believed him. I was so desperate to feel like I mattered, like I was more than just me.”

My stomach sinks, and I close my eyes, dreading what she is about to say next.

“He introduced me to people. Wealthy people. They were nice at first, buying me drinks, asking about Montana like it was exotic or something.” She’s talking faster now, words tumbling out in a rush.

“Then he said there was an opportunity. A way to make real money, enough never to worry again. And I needed money to send home so badly. I got a call from Annabeth, and she wants to leave the compound but didn’t have any money, so I told Tim I would do it.”

“Janie.”

“I signed something.” Her voice drops to a whisper.

“I was so drunk, and I thought it was just working in a restaurant, delivering drinks and making sure people were happy. But I didn’t read it carefully.

And now they’re saying because I can’t give back the money, I have to—” She breaks off and presses her hand over her mouth like she might be sick.

I stand up, and my blood runs cold. “Agreed to what?”

“An auction.” The words come out strangled. “Tonight. At some private club in Monterey Cove. They’re going to put me on a stage, and men are going to bid on me. And I’ll be stuck there. For two years, Lenny.”

The bathroom tilts. I grip the edge of the sink to steady myself.

“And I can’t.” Janie’s voice rises into panic.

“I can’t do it. I’ll die up there. They said I have to model different outfits, that I have to strip down to almost nothing so they can see what they’re buying, and I can’t.

” She’s hyperventilating now. “The things Tim told me they expect, what the men want, I can’t survive that. ”

Janie Turner grew up thinking dancing is a sin and kissing before marriage will land her in hell, and she still flinches when someone curses too loudly.

Who’d cried for a week when her mother found out she’d moved to California with me because she was being told she was heading to hell in a selfish basket.

“What happens if you don’t show?” I ask quietly.

“They have my signature. They paid Tim a finder’s fee or something.

He said if I don’t go through with it, they’ll sue me for breach of contract.

Or worse. I can’t even think of what’s worse.

” She looks up at me, terror written across her face.

“He said these men don’t like being disappointed.

That they have ways of making sure girls honor their commitments. ”

“How much time before you’re supposed to be there?”

“Three hours.” She starts sobbing again. “I don’t have anywhere to go, Len. I can’t go home. My parents would never understand. And I… I can’t do this. I’d rather die.”

I believe her. I’ve watched Janie struggle with everything from ordering wine at dinner to wearing a bikini at the beach.

The guilt her mother programmed into her runs bone deep.

Putting her on an auction block in front of predatory men who will expect her to submit to their darkest whims for two years? It will destroy her.

But I’m not sheltered like Janie. I grew up on a Montana cattle ranch where I saw animals born and die before I was five.

Where I learned to shoot, ride and brand before I learned to do my makeup.

Where my father taught me that the world was brutal and beautiful in equal measure, and the only way to survive is to be tougher than whatever tries to break you.

I came to California because I wanted to see something beyond the endless sky and cattle.

Because I wanted to know who I was beyond being a Briggs, beyond the ranch that defined my family for four generations.

But I didn’t stop being that girl who could stare down a spooked horse or stay calm while a cow birthed a breech calf.

I’m not breakable. Not like Janie.

The decision settles into my bones with a certainty that surprises me.

“How much money do you need to get home?” I ask.

Janie looks up, confused. “What?”

“To get home. Tonight. How much?”

“I… I don’t know. A few hundred for a last-minute flight? But Lenny…”

I walk out of the bathroom and go to my bedroom, pulling out the shoebox I keep under my bed. Inside is everything I’ve saved over eight months of working at the Drake, tips from guests, what is left after rent and food. Three thousand dollars in cash that I’ve been saving to buy something fancy.

I bring it back to the bathroom and press it into Janie’s hands.

“Get on the next flight home. Go to my family’s ranch and tell Cage that I sent you and that you need a job and a place to stay for a while. He’ll take you in, no questions asked.”

“Lenny, I won’t take your money.”

“Yes, you will.” I squeeze her hands. “Get out of California and don’t look back.”

“But the auction, they’ll know I didn’t show.” She shakes her head, and panic flashes across her face again.

“They won’t care which blonde walks through that door, as long as one does,” I say calmly. “They just want payment for their money. And I’m guessing someone who looks like me will bring in more than someone who looks terrified and like she might keel over.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by horror. “No. Lennox, no. I can’t let you.”

“You’re not letting me do anything.” I pull her to her feet. “This is my choice. Now get your shit together and get to the airport before I change my mind.”

“They’ll… Oh God, Lenny… The things they’ll expect you to do.”

“I can handle it,” I say with more confidence than I feel, but Janie needs to believe it. Needs to get on that plane without guilt destroying her. “I’m tougher than I look. And it’s only two years.”

Only two years. Christ almighty.

“I’ll never be able to repay you,” she whispers.

“Then don’t.” I grab her suitcase from the closet and start throwing her clothes into it. “Just promise me you’ll never tell anyone about this. Not your parents, not my brother, nobody. You’re back because you didn’t like California, and your mother wouldn’t let you back into her home. That’s it.”

She nods, tears still streaming down her face. “I promise.”

Twenty minutes later, I put her in an Uber to the airport with my money and a fierce hug that I hope conveys everything I can’t say out loud.

That I’m terrified but wouldn’t show it.

That I’ll do this because she can’t. That some part of me needs to know if I’m as strong as I’ve always believed. “Text me when you get to Cage’s.”

The ride share pulls away, and I stand on the sidewalk watching until the taillights disappear.

Then I turn and go back inside and take the longest shower of my life.