Hunting Human by Amanda E. Alvarez Read Free Book Online Page B

elbow.
    “I’m fine.” Chase scowled, wrenching his arm out of Braden’s grip.
    “Oh, yeah, you’re fine.” Braden maneuvered his brother out of the rain and against the wall of the tattoo parlor to gauge the damage. Chase’s hair was damp and plastered against the side of his face, his normally tan skin ashen except for the bluish tinge under his eyes. Judging from the hair along his jaw, he hadn’t shaved since Braden had seen him four days ago.
    He probably hasn’t bothered to change clothes, either.
    To top it off, blood stained the sweatshirt where Chase had his hand pressed against his ribs. Great. Typical Chase: single-minded to the point of self-destruction.
    Braden kept one hand pressing his brother’s shoulder against the brick wall and used the other to try and lift the sweatshirt away from whatever wound his brother was going to insist didn’t exist.
    “Don’t.” Chase barked, tension spiking through his body.
    Braden froze, his wrist caught in Chase’s unyielding grip. It was typical of Chase to laugh off a minor problem or scoff at what he considered his family’s overprotective mothering. But the slight shift in Chase’s stance, the strain coursing through every fiber of his body and the cold defiance in his eyes said Chase felt defensive, cornered. That reaction set Braden’s teeth on edge.
    “I’m not in the mood, Chase.” Braden met his brother’s cold gaze with a steely look of his own. When the grip on his wrist didn’t recede, Braden tightened his hold on Chase’s upper arm and growled, “This isn’t up for discussion. I need to know what we’re dealing with.” The grip on his wrist relaxed.
    Braden slid his arm out of Chase’s grasp and gently took hold of the sweatshirt again. The moment he began lifting the material, Chase shifted his weight further into the wall and dropped his head. For a moment a hunted twelve-year-old stood in place of his brother.
    Braden lifted the shirt and bit back a curse. Chase’s left side, starting above the waistband of his jeans and spreading up through his shoulder, was turning livid shades of blue and black. He’d bet anything the bruising extended along his back as well.
    “Christ. What’d you do? Go ten rounds with a bus?”
    “Actually, I think it was a ’75 Cutlass.”
    “Ouch. Probably would have done better against the bus.” Concentrating, Braden ran his hand gently over his brother’s ribs, none felt broken, thank God, but a six-inch gash wrapped from the underside of his ribs around toward his back. Chase’s sweatshirt had absorbed most of the blood and the cut seemed to be clotting. Still, it looked nasty. “This is gonna need stitches.”
    Chase wrenched his sweatshirt down. “It’s fine. Looks worse than it is.”
    Braden counted backwards from ten. Twice. “Whatever. I’m not having this argument here. I’ll go get the car.”
    “I can walk.” Chase pulled away and started up the alley.
    “Fine.” Braden focused on keeping his mouth shut around his frustration and matching Chase’s pace as they emerged onto the street.
    “I’d have been more fun, sugar.” The blonde from earlier leaned against Braden’s car. She took a long drag from a fresh cigarette and quirked painted lips. “Last chance.”
    “Get in, Chase.” Braden felt his brother’s amusement as he slammed into the car and started up the engine.
    “I could take the car around the block a few times…” Chase offered.
    Braden threw the car into drive and hit the accelerator. “Not a fucking word.”
    “Okay, okay.” Chase shut his mouth and relaxed into the soft leather of the passenger seat.
    Fifteen minutes and two zip codes later, Braden unlocked his jaw enough to speak.
    “What happened?”
    “A ’75 Cutlass Supreme.” A crooked grin pulled at the corner of Chase’s mouth. “I think it was brown.”
    “Watch it, smart-ass. What happened before that? I haven’t seen or heard from you in four days. You’re lucky I haven’t