Buku Branded by Wild Clarissa

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Branded by Wild Clarissa

Author:Wild, Clarissa

Language: eng

Format: epub

Published: 2019-01-30T16:00:00+00:00

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Branded by Wild Clarissa

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dixie

We’ve been driving for hours now, and I have no clue where he’s taking me. Every time I open my mouth to ask him, he gives me this death stare, and I immediately close my jaw.

 

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Branded by Wild Clarissa

Author:Wild, Clarissa , Date: June 7, 2019

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Author:Wild, Clarissa

Language: eng

Format: epub

Published: 2019-01-30T16:00:00+00:00
Chapter Twenty-Four

Dixie

We’ve been driving for hours now, and I have no clue where he’s taking me. Every time I open my mouth to ask him, he gives me this death stare, and I immediately close my jaw.

Fuck me, I don’t remember Brandon Locklear being this intimidating.

Has my memory failed me? Or am I turning into a pussy? Considering how I cowered behind him when his uncle’s men started shooting at us, it’s probably the latter. Shit, I still get goose bumps on my arms when I think about it.

I never expected them to open fire like that. It’s as if they didn’t give a shit whether he survived. Not that I care or anything, but … they’re his uncle’s men. His fucking uncle. And none of them seemed to give a rat’s ass whether he died.

Is that how you deal with family? Not in my book it isn’t.

Then again, the Locklears are anything but normal.

Suddenly, my stomach roars out loud. From the corner of my eyes, I can clearly see him glare. Then he chuckles, shaking his head. I’m mortified.

“What?” I snap, my cheeks glowing.

“Nothing,” he says.

“Fucking hope so,” I say.

“You always this hostile?” he asks.

“To the man who killed my fucking brothers?” I retort. “Oh yeah, definitely.”

With a glazy stare he says, “Oh yeah, definitely … I forgot.”

My eyes twitch, and my nostrils flare. Jesus help me not to set this man on fire right now.

“You forgot you killed my brothers?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“I forgot hating is your hobby,” he says with an added fake smile.

“Only when it involves a specific type of asshole brand,” I say. “Or, in other words, anyone whose name ends in Locklear.”

“Anyone? No wonder … that explains a lot,” he says, rubbing his chin.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He shrugs.

I make a face. “You can’t just throw shit out there and not expect me to want to know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“You can’t expect me to believe you don’t know shit either,” he retorts.

“I don’t,” I say, crossing my arms.

I don’t know what he’s talking about or why he’s always the one acting all upset. It’s as if he thinks I did something to him when he’s the fucking murderer. I didn’t do anything to him except break up with him. That’s nothing compared to what he did.

“Fine,” he says, looking away.

“Fine,” I reply even louder, looking away too.

The tension is so sharp right now it feels like a hot iron poking in my back, but I try to ignore it as best as I can. I’m so pissed off right now, and I don’t even know why I care to begin with. He ruined my life, so I shouldn’t give a damn what he thinks or how he feels.

Yet the more he snarls at me, the angrier I get, and the more I wanna yell at him.

“You know, you could at least show a little bit more gratitude,” he says.

“WHAT?” I lean out of my seat just to look him in the eyes.

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