Liam: Branded Brothers (18 page)

Liam’s need to find his family and discover the truth about
Jack had stirred an urge in her to move past everything that had been weighing
her down. It was time to move on and start a new life. Without Rex, without the
guilt of her stepfather’s death, and without the weight of an alcoholic mother.
She wouldn’t let these things define her anymore.

She pulled into the driveway and parked alongside the front
steps of the cottage. She’d be in and out in no time, just like Liam asked. She
slammed the door and scoped out the cottage. It looked completely undisturbed
and tranquil, just like she had left it. She slid her key into the front door
and walked in, looking around the living room. The ratty burgundy couch was
still there along with Jack’s recliner. The coffee tables were stacked on top
of each other. She’d made good progress yesterday, and she wanted nothing more
than to finish what she’d started. She calculated the boxes inside the dining
room. It would only take a few more trips to get rid of everything. Her bedroom
furniture and belongings in her room were the only things that would take some
time to pack.

She gazed out the patio door at the shimmering lake as the
bright sun shone against it. A group of tiny waves fluttered on the surface as
a duck and its ducklings paddled in the water.

“Damn, I’m going to miss this,” Charla whispered, folding
her arms across her chest. She sighed, giving the lake one last look before
heading to her bedroom. She opened her closet, grabbed a duffel bag, and threw
it on the bed. She pulled Liam’s shirt over her head and tossed it into the
bag. She grabbed another t-shirt and threw it on before sliding her laptop into
the bag. As she stood in front of her closet, chastising herself again for her
lack of wardrobe, a small creak sounded from inside the house. She paused for a
second, then ignored it and continued to add items from her drawer. Liam said
it would only be a few days, but she grabbed a week’s worth of clothes. After a
few minutes, she assessed the stack of shirts, shorts and underwear before
zipping the duffel half shut. Her eyes caught the baseball bat resting against
her nightstand as she leaned over the bed.

Jack
’s bat.
She grabbed the bat and set it
next to the bag. Then she walked across the hall into the bathroom and grabbed
her makeup bag. Another creak sounded inside the house, this one longer and
louder. Charla’s heart pounded as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.
She could feel the rush of panic flush to her cheeks. What if Liam’s warnings
were right? Had they found out where Jack lived?

Her chest heaved as she listened to the silence. She tried
to steady her breathing.
Nothing, Charla. It was nothing
. She grabbed
her makeup bag and poked her head into the hallway. Nothing. She darted across
the hallway and stuffed her makeup bag into her duffel and zipped it shut. She
swung it over her shoulder and grabbed the bat.

She crept back into the hallway, the bat gripped tight in
her hand. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight, mafia or no mafia. Her
eyes scanned the dining room and kitchen, catching the only thing she knew was
different.
The basement door
. The door was cracked open again. She knew
she’d closed it yesterday. There was no doubt in her mind.

Maybe it
’s the door
, she reasoned. The cottage
was
old. Maybe the latch on the door was loose. The door had always been
hard to close.
That
’s it, Charla. Just a bad door.
She exhaled
and loosened the grip on the bat as she walked toward the kitchen. She grabbed
the handle, about to close it when curiosity ran through her blood.

Dropping her duffel, she ran her hand along the wall and
flicked the light switch. A dull glow illuminated on the bottom of the stairs.
There
’s
nothing down there. Just look to see how much you have to clean up
. She
took the first few steps down, her ears perked for any sound. As she got to the
middle of the stairs, she saw a board ripped from the wall.

That
’s strange,
she thought. She didn’t recall
any boards ripped from the walls, but then again, it had been a long time since
she’d been down here. She took another step down and craned her head. The next
board was ripped off the wall. Then another. And another. She got to the bottom
of the stairs and flicked on another light.

Charla gasped. Every single piece of wood paneling was
ripped from the walls, exposing the interior framework of the house. The
basement was trashed, the boards strewn and broken all over the ground. She
knew there was no way Jack had the strength to do this. Her heart hammered as
panic flooded her body.

Someone was here.

“Shit,” she whispered as she turned and fled up the stairs,
gripping the bat until her fingers ached. Just as she reached the top step, a
black figure appeared. A large arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her
through the doorway. Her bag skidded across the kitchen floor as she shrieked
and kicked. She swung the bat wildly in the air but was unable to connect to
the body behind her. She felt her body weaken under the man’s strong arms as he
pulled her in tighter until she was snug against him. She jabbed the bat behind
her, still trying to connect in vain.

“Drop the bat,” he rasped in her ear.

She squirmed and kicked her legs, trying to get free from
his grasp. He picked her off the ground.

“Drop the bat,” he repeated calmly as she swung the bat
loosely with only one hand. His accent lingered in her ear. It was thick, an
accent she’d heard before in one of her nursing classes.

“No,” she choked out. She wasn’t going to go down without a
fight. Not here, not in the only place she’d felt safe for the last three
years.

“Drop the fucking bat,” he barked this time, squeezing even
harder. She felt the pressure on her chest constrict her breathing. She panted,
wincing at the burn in her ribs. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

His words cut to her bones. He wasn’t going to let up, and
there wasn’t a shot in hell she was going to get away from him. His death-grip
made sure of that. Charla’s head clouded and a warm sensation flooded her body.
If she didn’t obey, she’d pass out. She finally relented and loosened the grip
around the bat, dropping it to the floor with a clatter. Her body slacked as
her feet dangled just inches above the bat.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, adjusting his grip on her.
She felt the pressure ease up on her ribs, allowing her lungs to expand more
fully. She inhaled deeply, trying to even out her breathing. She knew she
needed oxygen and fast, and the best way to do it was to relax. But her body
resisted, wanting to keep up the fight.

Breathe, Charla.

He leaned his chin against her shoulder so his lips were
almost touching her ear. His words filled her head. “You promise to be a good
girl, Charla?”

He knows my name.
Her body recoiled, filling with
dread.
He knows my goddamn name.

“What do you want?” she sputtered, trying to replay the
vision of the man on top of the stairs. All she’d seen was black. A massive
black figure with no face and a thick accent.

Boston. He
’s from fucking Boston.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he replied calmly. The
resolve in his voice sent shocks of warning through her body. He’d been in
situations like this before. He was in complete control. “Don’t make me ask
again. I don’t like repeating my questions.”

“Yes, I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” she muttered,
looking down at the floor below her. She’d never felt so helpless in her life.
All she wanted to do was be in control of her body again. “Just let me down.”

“I thought a woman like you would have some manners,” he
said, still holding her in the air.

“Please,” she hissed through her teeth as she eyed the bat.

“That’s better,” he replied. “But I’m going to make you
promise me something.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, feeling more and more like a
rag doll in his hands. She hated that someone could make her feel so
vulnerable.

“I’ll put you down as long as you don’t go for the bat.” He
let out a low chuckle that made the hair on her arms stand at full salute.

“I won’t go for the bat,” she recited the lie, trying to
sound convincing.

“Good because if you do, I’ll put a bullet through your
skull, and I don’t want to have to do that.” His grip around her loosened, and
he lowered her until her feet touched the floor. He held her loosely around her
waist.

Bullet through my skull
. Panic waved through Charla
as she struggled to stand. The bat seemed pointless against a gun. She looked
towards the door to the patio. Her keys were dangling in the ignition. Her
phone was in her purse on the passenger seat. Only thirty feet from freedom,
but there was no way she’d be able to outrun him.

“You’re not going to get far,” he said behind her, sounding
almost amused. She looked back to the kitchen counter, realizing she’d already
packed away the knives. She was defenseless with nowhere to run.

“What do you want?” she asked, spinning around slowly. If
she wanted to get out of this alive, she was going to have to give this bastard
what he wanted. Her eyes gazed across his massive chest in a fitted black shirt
and then followed it up to the ski mask covering his face. He was dressed head
to toe black, including leather gloves. He clenched his fists, drawing
attention to the gun holstered on his hip.

Shit, he wasn
’t bluffing about the gun
. Charla’s
gut churned as she eyed the gun. He was almost a foot taller than her, putting
him easily at 6’5”. And he was built like a brick house, his chest and
shoulders broad and massive. The veins of his biceps pulsed on the edge of his
t-shirt. Jade eyes stared back at her through the ski mask’s two holes.

Charla definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

“Where is it?” he asked without blinking.

“Where is what?” she replied, holding out her hands.

“I don’t like repeating my questions,” he replied, the edge
in his voice deepening. He folded his arms across his chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she pleaded, the
panic rising in her voice. Whatever it was he wanted, he wasn’t going to leave
without it. “What are you looking for?”

He cocked his head slightly, his eyes burning through her. “Where
is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re looking for,” Charla repeated. “If
it was something in the basement, I have no idea what it was. I was only an
in-home caregiver…”

“Cut the shit,” he barked as he put his hand on his holster.

“Jack had Alzheimer’s,” she stuttered, swallowing hard. She
put her hands in the air again. “I don’t know anything about what he might be
hiding here. I’ve only been in the basement once or twice. I have no idea
what’s down there. I have no idea what you’re looking for.”

“The bag,” he said, tightening his grip on the holster.

“What bag?” Adrenaline shot through her body. “I don’t know
anything about a bag. I don’t know anything about anything. Jack was
incomprehensible for the last six months. He was a crazy old man who forgot to
wear his pants half the time. I think you’ve got the wrong place. Please.”

“I don’t have the wrong place.” He mocked her tone.

“Then look,” she said emphatically, waving her hands around.
“Look around. Do whatever you need to do. Just let me go. I don’t know
anything. Please. Let me get in my car and pretend like none of this ever
happened.”

“Right.” He laughed. “Anyone else been in the house besides
you?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Just me and Jack.
That’s it.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, her mind raced to Liam.
He ’d been in the house two days ago.

The man nodded his head and folded his arms across his chest
again. A wave of relief coursed through her. The further his hand was away from
the gun, the better. She inhaled, feeling an edge of courage seep back through
her veins. There might be a shot she’d get out of here alive.

“That’s it? Just you and Jack,” he said.

“Yeah,” she lied, folding her arms across her chest.
Breathe
Charla.

“Where’s everything from the house? Half the stuff is gone.”
He kept his eyes steady on her.

“I brought it to the thrift store,” she replied slowly,
trying to figure out what Jack could have had that this man was looking for.
She added quickly, “None of it had any value.”

“To you,” he replied, finally breaking eye contact to look
around the kitchen. “Where is the stuff from his room?”

Charla swallowed hard, thinking of the box she’d given Liam
yesterday. “Thrift store.”

He put his hands on his hips and let out a noise that
sounded like a growl. “Fucking thrift store.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“Where is it?” he demanded, taking a step toward her. He
looked down at her with steely eyes.

“I don’t know what…” she started. He reached out his finger
and pressed his gloved finger under her chin. He lifted her chin slowly, her
jaw clenching beneath his finger.

“What fucking thrift store did you bring the stuff to do?”
he breathed.

She trembled beneath his finger, trying to keep her
composure. “Goodwill. Over in Blackwell.”

He leaned closer, their faces only six inches apart. She
could smell the strong musky scent of his cologne mixed with sweat. She held
her breath, her body paralyzed as he opened his mouth. Just as he started to
speak, a muffled beep sounded from his pocket. He abruptly closed his lips
together and stared at her for a second longer. Then he finally removed his
finger from underneath her chin and grazed it along her cheekbone, sending
shivers through her body. He smirked before leaning back and digging into his
pocket. He glanced at his phone and then shoved it back into his pocket. He looked
back at her, narrowing his eyes one last time before smirking again.