Page 62 of Branded Betrayal

He told me to walk away. But all I want to do is chase him down and force him to give me answers I know he won’t.

Because I never fucking learn.

Chapter Twenty

Blaze

I blow on the shavings gathered on top of the pawn. They scatter all across the chessboard that I carved while I was overseas.

A humorless smirk tugs at my lips.

How ironic that I chose to whittle that specific chess piece tonight, of all nights.

Pawn is a role that I’ve been stuck in over the years. First, with my dad, then that fucker Wilkerson.

And he hasn’t stopped, which is why I have no fucking delusions about this job. There’s no way he needs me to handle one transport for him. He’s testing me to make sure I still have my edge and can use my training if it comes down to it.

I hold up the piece and stare at it. Smooth head, perfect shape, precise edges. I’ve worked on this pawn for weeks now, every minute a test of my patience and focus. While I was on tour overseas, whittling kept my mind at peace while turmoil and chaos ensued around me.

Liam was an expert whittler, and he taught me the proper technique and use of the sharp knife. I run my fingers over the contrasting colors of the smooth board squares. He’d have loved this. I started making it because we first bonded over chess in the early days. It was our thing, the way we liked to unwind. And shit was tense over there, so practicing ways to keep a level head was important. Life or death, really.

I place the piece on the board and toss the knife onto my desk. Leaning back against my chair, I push back my hair. A deep sigh shudders my shoulders.

“I fucking miss you, man,” I mutter, running my fingers over his dog tags. I thought when I finished the chessboard and pieces, I could send it to his wife and daughter, just as a token.

As if it could bring them comfort.

“Fucking stupid.” I grunt. My eyes fall to my phone.

Just about midnight. Time to go.

I grab my hat and put it on. Then I put my gun in the waistband of my jeans and pocket my fake registration and burner phone. Precautions, just in case shit goes sideways.

The house is quiet when I head downstairs. Everyone is out.

I pull on my boots and grab my keys, taking one last look at the house behind me. It’s weird that I suddenly feel so nostalgic. That’s not really like me. I don’t dwell in the past because there’s a lot of bad shit back there that I want to forget.

But for some reason, my mind won’t let me tonight.

And in the center of it all is Savannah.

The need to see her, to feel her, almost makes me detour over to Red Rock.

I let out a sharp hiss of breath as I hop into my truck and turn on the ignition. I press the gas pedal to the floor, the engine roaring like my mind.

Even if I went to her . . . even if I risked everything, told Wilkerson to do his own dirty work, and said fuck it with this job . . . she’d never have me, anyway. And that’s without even knowing who I really am and what I’ve done. She’d hate me even more if she knew the truth.

Maybe deep down it’s why I keep pushing her away. A tiny part of me wants to hang on to her fantasies about the guy she used to know. Dammit, I want to be that guy again, the one who was happy and didn’t have fucking criminals threatening him or thug-ass gangs looking for revenge over old beefs. I hate the person I’ve become. Hard. Closed off. Alone.

But you can’t ever go backward. I’ve learned that.

I grip the wheel tight, rolling a toothpick from left to right in my mouth. Wilkerson sent directions to my burner phone, said I need to steer clear of certain highways just to keep off the radar of local law enforcement. He’s got me going through random back roads to avoid the interstate since the pickup is in Old Forge, Montana, right over the border.

It’s damn near pitch black when I roll up to the dilapidated building in the literal middle of nowhere. My insides plunge into a deep freeze, and again, I have to wonder what the hell I’m walking into. I step onto the uneven dirt path, the gun cool against my flushed skin.

It’s the only comfort I have as I inch toward the metal door.

My heart rattles in my chest, the rustle of tumbleweed blowing through the open fields making my insides churn. I force out a breath.