Branding A Legacy (A Silver Star Ranch Novel) (9 page)

He lets out a devilish chuckle. “Good, I don’t deserve it.”

“Stop.” My voice is nearly a scream as I slap him on the back. “Stop all this damn madness and your selfishness now.”

I don’t ask him anything else or even try to coax him to cooperate with me as I grip onto his forearms and rise to my feet ready to drag him up. He needs help right now and from me, but the stubborn asshole refuses to ask and only turns to anger. I get only having one thing to turn to, but eventually even that runs out.

“You’re being an asshole, Marvel Slatter. You have a family who loves you and beautiful ranch to call home, but yet you lie here refusing to live or even fight for a recovery, and to me that just spells asshole.” I let go of his arms and stand, sick of his attitude. “Actually, I’m insulting the word asshole by calling you it. You’re a prick. A bona fide, assholish prick.”

I pretend to wipe my hands clean of him and go to turn around. “When you want help I’ll be right over here in the chair.”

I yearn to add so much more to the end of that sentence, to explicitly illustrate to him what he’s done to me and my psyche. I’ve smelled the smell of rotting flesh because of him, witnessed the first man die in front of my own eyes because of him, and been kicked out by my own family because of him. As the thoughts run rampant in my mind, I want to kick the asshole straight in his recovering ribs.

“Clover.”

I look down to the grown ass adult in front of me lying on the floor. Each of his muscles still strain to regain control of his own body, but none seem to work together. A part of me feels the resenting anger toward him boiling up inside while the other half wants to run to his rescue once again.

He stutters out my name one more time before grabbing my attention.

“What?” I finally snap back at him. “What in the hell do you want?”

My emotions and boiling rage get the best of me as I snap.

“I’m sorry, Clover. I’m so sorry.”

“Marvel, you’re an asshole and have pushed me to the point of not wanting to help you.” I slam my hands down on the wooden armrests of the chair. “I’m a damn nurse, and I’m nearly enjoying watching a patient suffer right in front of me. What have you done to me, Marvel?”

He pushes himself up one more time and repeats sorry before I watch him completely collapse onto the tile floor. It’s like every single muscle in his body shuts down automatically. I lurch forward but not fast enough before I hear the sound of his face colliding into the stone cold floor of his hospital room.

Blood pools around his face as I reach down to help him up, and it’s his lifeless body that makes me react.

“Help. I need help in here,” I scream out as panic threatens to take over.

My fingertips are soaked in his blood as I fight to turn over his body. The crimson liquid flows from his nose.

“Marvel.” I repeat his name over and over again as I finally get him cradled up in my lap. He doesn’t respond at all. He’s out cold. I hear the creaking of the door open and then Maverik’s voice. It’s loud and demanding but I’m unable to process any of the words. Marvel’s body begins to writhe in mine. His eyes open for a split second and then begin rolling back in his head, and with no warning his body jolts and jerks into a full seizure.

Immediately I roll him over to his side, keeping his head cradled and protected in my lap while checking his airway. Maverik’s voice grows louder as Marvel’s seizure doesn’t let up. It feels like hours fly by while I protect his head from the punishing tile floor.

I’m a nurse and this should be nothing but routine, but picturing him only moments ago struggling to stand on his own and repeating sorry over and over again stings my fucking heart. The same organ that’s fallen in love with him.

“
W
hat’s
the other guy look like?” Merek plops down in the leather chair next to my bed. “Oh wait, you got into it with the fucking floor.”

“Fuck off.” Even talking hurts my cracked lip and broken nose.

“Damn, you’re so fucking bullheaded. When did you get so stubborn?”

I sit up in the bed and feel relief that the only throbbing pain stems from my nose. “Tired of being walked on.”

“Well, you need to get a grip, kid. I remember being angry at the world and fighting back, but guess who it hurt?”

I don’t even try to answer his question because I know exactly where this is leading to, and he’s going to talk about. I was there and watched him suffer when Challis pushed him away. Hell, I was the glue that held the ranch together by staying home and working my ass off. I don’t need his sob story, or anyone else’s for that matter.

“You’ve got to let go of the anger, Marvel. Does you no good. The agents are on Saint’s ass and will have him nailed for this shit.”

I sit up in bed, swinging my legs over the side, and begin to pick at my gray sweatpants. “Merek, there’ll always be bad guys who always win. I’m sick of it.”

“You need to get a grip and figure out what you want in life.”

“I want to go home, dammit.”

“Well, you are tomorrow.”

I’m still shocked the doctor is releasing me after my little fit and seizure. They chalked it up to extreme exhaustion after my physical therapy session. I’d worked my body to complete and utter exhaustion. All I remember was Clover and then blacking out.

The door to my room swings open with Maverik on the other side and lil’ Mav by his side. “Damn, your face will be perfect for the news conference tomorrow.”

Maverik and Merek look at each other and then bust up laughing, and I know it’s my face that’s the butt of the joke.

“Always knew you weren’t much of a fighter, but to have your ass handed to you by the floor is bad, little brother,” Maverik says.

“Jesus, you two are annoying.”

“Time for meds.” I look up to see Clover standing in the doorway holding up the paper cups filled with my assortment of pills. I offer her a weak smile. I haven’t had the time to talk to her but need to. I cannot and will not blame her again for my situation or make her the center of my hate.

It’s all my fault I went after Saint and have the blood of two innocent men on my hands. She had nothing to do with it. When I came to after my seizure the other night, I realized three things that I need in life. I need to get out of this hospital, get home to my ranch, and apologize to Clover. There just hasn’t been the right opportunity to talk to her, and she’s been fairly scarce since the incident.

“Thanks.” I make eye contact and feel like an even bigger ass when I do. I’ve hurt her for no reason, and it’s not just a normal pain but soul deep because of my own greed.

“You need to take those please. I’m going to remove all your IVs and then wheel you down to see the agents.”

She turns quickly and all of her friendly banter and caring attitude has disappeared courtesy of me.

“Merek and Maverik, can you give us a moment?”

“No.” Clover jumps back from the IV bags and glares at me. “No, if you’re going to fight me or even cause anything, Marvel, I’m going to get another nurse.”

“I’m not.” I slide off the edge of the bed slowly with my hands up—surrendering. “I’m just going to sit here in the wheelchair. I just want to talk to you.”

“No.” Her voice is adamant and way more convincing than I’ve ever seen the meek nurse. “I’m not going to be left alone with you while on duty.”

“Excuse me?” I ask her, tilting my head and running my hand over it.

“See, Marvel, you’re already doing it. I got written up because of you. You do nothing but put me down and cuss me out for saving your life. I don’t want nor deserve this shit from you.”

“Can I talk?” I ask her.

“Fine, Marvel. You already have me cussing at you.” She throws both arms up in the air.

“I’m sorry.”

Clover turns her back to me to continue to work on the IV stands.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah but tomorrow you’ll hate me again.”

“Clover, I’m sorry. I’ve been wrong and you need to know that.”

I look over to my brothers who are trying to flee the room and the uncomfortable situation but shake my head side to side to them. She doesn’t want to be left alone with me and has damn good reason.

“You saved my life. I owe you everything.”

Still she keeps her back to me, not acknowledging a single word.

“The night you found me, I wanted to die. I had prayed for death for several days prior. I tried strangling myself with my own two hands and only passed out. Even tried to slit my wrists but ran out of strength.”

I watch as both of her hands fall to her side, yet she remains facing the other way.

“Death is what I yearned and what I deserved, and I still have to fight with myself on a daily basis to remind myself I’m living and safe for now.” I reach out and grab her hand. “You saved me, Clover. Thank you, and please forgive me for everything. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“You know what’s weird, Marvel?” She pulls her hand from mine and raises both of them to her face, and I can only guess she’s wiping away stray tears. “I think I fell in love with you before ever meeting you.”

When she turns around I notice her face is red with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I’ll go get another nurse for you.” Clover doesn’t make any further eye contact with me as she leaves the room. I don’t even try to stop her after witnessing the pain painted on her face.

I hide my face in the palms of my hands, scrubbing them back and forth with regret, not knowing where to begin or how to comprehend the situation. I’ve shattered an innocent person, and not just any person but one who cared for my granddad and me. She saved me, and I’ve destroyed her.

“Hey, I’m Melody and I’m here to transport you down to your interview.” A short, pudgy nurse with gray, frizzy hair stands in the doorway. I give her a nod as I sense how empty my room feels without Clover in it.

“You okay, man?” I look up to Maverik hovering above me and can’t respond. It’s not because I don’t have the energy, rather I don’t know the answer. I know what I need and how to get there, but I’ll have to muster up the courage to make that happen. Now with Clover storming out on me, I’m not sure I have any of the answers.

“You’ll be fine.” Merek pats my shoulder, standing on my other side. “Let’s go get this press conference over with.

The new nurse disappears behind me as I feel the wheelchair begin to move. Once out in the hall the rhythmic sound of my brothers’ boots hitting the tile floor is overwhelming while mingled with slight chatter from nurses and doctors visiting in the hallways. I keep a lookout for a certain brunette nurse, hoping to catch one more glimpse of her and the possibility of talking to her again.

Deep in my gut, I know she’s hurting and done with me. My head spins as I process the fact that I’ve caused more hurt to Clover. The surroundings of the hospital whiz by me as I’m being transported to a fucking press release about my attack. It’s in this moment that I know my life has to change, or everything that has occurred was for nothing. Weston’s death wouldn’t mean anything, and the other man who was slaughtered for helping would vanish into thin air. There has to be justice.

“Maverik.”

My wheelchair stops moving and Maverik steps up next to me.

“Merek.”

My other brother mirrors the actions of Maverik. With both of them huddled around me I let out my biggest fear.

“I’m afraid. I’ve fucked up. Saint will kill all of us, but I won’t go down without a fight. I need you two by my side.” The words catch in my throat, so I pause for a moment, regaining strength. “I need you guys in my life, and I think I’ve really fucked up with Clover.”

“We’re here.” Maverik pats my shoulder. “You’ll never get rid of us.”

“And you’ve always been a fuck up, little brother.” Merek smiles and then pats my back. “We’ve got you.”

I nod, hearing each of their messages.

“There’s no Silver Star without you, Marvel. It would be as good as gone,” Maverik adds.

“I really need to go home.”

“Tomorrow, man, tomorrow.”

The nurse begins wheeling me again toward the agent flagging her down at the end of the hall. The local news is set up and ready to interview me, along with the local sheriff. The speech I’m about to give is rehearsed and very staged and just one of the many baits the FBI has in place to lure Saint in. I don’t have much faith in anything anymore, but if I did, it would be this.

I don’t care for the idea of pissing Saint off again, but it’s all part of the big plan. Me going home tomorrow is also no coincidence, just another piece of bait for Saint to nibble on. The FBI has placed bugs, wires, cameras, and undercover guards acting as employees all over the ranch. It’s the one thing I double and triple checked once agreeing to this wild ass plan, because putting anyone in danger on Silver Star isn’t a choice.

“Ready to go, Marvel?”

I nod to the agent and stand from my wheelchair.

“Oh, we’d like to have you remain in the chair for added effect.”

“I’ll do everything else you’ve asked, but Saint Johnson will see me stand on my own two feet.”

I’ve barely been able to walk a quarter of a mile at a snail’s pace on the treadmill before I’m at complete exhaustion, and I’ve fought hard for this progress, so standing during this interview means everything.

“Okay, stick to the script and the story we’ve talked about. The reporter has been given a script to follow. If she gets off topic we will intervene and stop the interview.”

I nod once more, now standing before the news reporter and steadying myself for the talk of my life. Several bodies invade my area, pinning mics to my collar and powdering my face. I hear several warnings in the background to leave all the bruises and scars visible for the public. I hate all of it as each second ticks by and it only leaves me wanting to go home even more.

The local reporter whose face is familiar from nightly newscasts begins introducing my story and recapping the whole situation from the date I went missing, how many days I was gone to the state of my health when I was found.

“Marvel Slatter, some say it’s a miracle you were found.” The blonde female news reporter begins. I’m only able to focus in on her plump breasts pushing up from her tight black dress and full lips coated in a crimson-red lipstick. She’s drop dead gorgeous and it’s the only thing right now I’m able to focus in on.

This is worse than having to swallow glass, but I know it’s my only chance of getting Saint prosecuted. Many nights I’ve lain awake in the hospital bed mulling this plan over after the agents and my brothers proposed it. I processed over and over the different things that could go wrong, or the possibility of Saint or one of his men getting to my family. This could all go wrong in a flash, leaving behind nothing but carnage and heartbreak. But through all those sleepless nights, one thing became evidently clear—nothing is a scarier thought than losing the ranch and my will to live. It’s what I’ll fight for.

If only I could be a fly on the wall when Saint Johnson sees this interview. My scarred and still healing face tells a wild tale of survival. His blood will boil, and vengeance will multiply as I recount a story that never happened. Saint’s greed will become his worst enemy, and this time I have the law on my side.

“Do you remember much from that evening, Marvel?”

All I hear is my name, which snaps me back to the reality of the interview.

“I’d like to thank you for taking time for this interview, ma’am.”

She blushes and flips her hair a bit. “Well, you’re welcome, but now let’s get back to that tragic night. What do you remember happening? If anything. I mean, the extent of your injuries were unreal.”

Just like clockwork she leads right into the questions set up by the FBI. I crack my knuckles one at a time and look over to both of my brothers who nod back to me.

“It was just like any other night. My best friend and I were out on the town looking to wind down after work.”

“Now let me ask you this. Is that why you were pulling a trailer that night?”

“Yes, ma’am. We spent a long day of hauling cattle to the sale yard and didn’t take the time to drop it off back home.”

“Now, your buddy was Weston, the one who didn’t make it out of this horrible scene.”

His name, his face, and all the memories of my best friend is the one thing I’ve avoided this whole fucking time, and now it’s here shoved right in front of my face. My chest tightens with anxiety and my palms become sweaty as the vision of his panicked face resurfaces, then hell surrounds all of us.

Tears sting my eyes as the ever-familiar hate and rage storm within me.

“So, Marvel, what exactly do your remember?”

I have to bite my tongue and hold back the real story. The redheaded FBI agent senses it as she prances back and forth on the sidelines. I take in a deep breath and continue on with this bullshit, knowing it’s the only way Saint will ever pay.

“We pulled over to help someone on the side of the road. He didn’t have a car and was lugging around a large suitcase. He was a nice enough man and just needed a ride.”

“And this was Jose, the second victim that night, who also lost his life.”

I fight the visions of witnessing another man take his last breath and carry on telling the bullshit story. “Yes, unfortunately he did. Once he was in the car he made a phone call from my phone to have a friend come pick him up. We continued driving to town. I’m not sure what kind of trouble Jose was in, but once whoever he called from my phone showed up, that’s when all hell broke loose.”

“There’s lots of speculation about this part of the story, Marvel, with the most popular belief being drugs. Were there drugs involved?”

“I’m not sure. The FBI is tracking down the person who was on the other line and getting prints from what’s left of my truck. All I remember was being beaten and then everything else is very murky.”