Page 1 of Branded By Shadow
Chapter 1
Talia
ThefirstthingIlearn about spying on a criminal’s mountain villa is that cute boots are a terrible life choice.
The second thing I learn is that pine needles are loud.
Like, offensively loud.
Every step I take snaps, crunches, or skids beneath me, each tiny sound punching my heart higher in my throat. I freeze behind a pine tree, one hand pressed to the rough bark, the other wrapped around the can of pepper spray I bought at the gas station outside Swoon Peaks.
The cashier had looked at me, then at the pepper spray, then at my outfit and said, “Better than nothing.”
Super comforting.
Exactly the phrase a woman wants echoing in her head while crouching in the dark like a raccoon with poor decision-making skills.
The villa sits above me on the slope, huge and glowing through the trees, while the old service road waits somewhere below my back. Stone walls. Wide black windows. A rear terrace washed in warm golden light. Music pulses from inside, vibrating through the cold mountain air.
I came up from the old service road because the front gate had cameras, guards, and one of those big iron fences that screamed rich people with secrets. Back here, the woods climb right up to the edge of the property. A low stone retaining wall separates the tree line from the landscaped garden wrapping around the side of the house.
Beyond that wall are shrubs, flower beds, a narrow strip of gravel, and a row of tall windows. One smaller service window near the kitchen is cracked open, letting out heat, voices, and the faint smell of cigarette smoke.
That’s my target.
Not that I know what I’m doing, but it’s the only opening I can see, and I am currently running on fear, caffeine, and the fact that my missing stepsister needs me.
Brianna.
Her name tightens around my ribs.
I glance at my phone again even though I already know what it says.
No new messages.
The last text from her came three days ago.
Stop worrying, T. I’m fine.
She added a heart emoji.
Brianna only uses heart emojis when she wants me to stop asking questions.
I should have pushed harder. Should have driven to her apartment the second Landon started answering her phone. Should have listened to the sick little pinch in my stomach when she first walked into the Pie & Pickle with him.
Landon Gillbert. Fake smile. Expensive watch. Hand too tight on the back of her neck.
He works for Salazar Huntington, according to Manny from the diner, who hears things because people forget kitchen staff have ears. Salazar owns clubs, lounges, half the shady nightlife around Blissmont County, and apparently this mountain villa where girls are brought for private parties.
Girls like my stepsister.
A car door slams somewhere near the front of the house.
I duck lower behind the pine.
Men laugh. A woman squeals, too bright and too loud. Another car rolls up the drive, tires crunching over gravel. I can’t see the front entrance from here, only the spill of headlights cutting through gaps in the trees as cars climb the drive.
My phone buzzes with a low battery warning.
