Hunting Human - Amanda E. Alvarez [10]
Chase shrugged.
“Dammit, Chase. We’ve had this conversation. I don’t like you staying on the streets. It’s dangerous. What if someone sees you?” Braden applied more pressure to the door in frustration.
“It’ll be easier to track him if I’m out on the streets. The sooner I find him the better.” Chase reached for the doorknob again. “We need to know what he’s doing here, Braden.”
“Fine. But I want you to take a key to my place. You have to sleep eventually.”
Chase sighed. “I have one.”
“Make sure you use it.” Braden studied Chase’s face closely. “I mean it. If you don’t stop by every couple of days to eat, sleep, whatever, I’ll get Dad on your ass.”
“Fine.”
“I’m not kidding. If that doesn’t work, I’ll call Mom.” The fussing would drive him nuts.
“Okay. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“If I’m not there, leave a note.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom. Where are you planning to be anyway? Got a girl on the side?”
“Not yet.” With a wide grin Braden removed his hand, allowing Chase to open the door.
Braden shut the door on Chase’s response. “You mean not likely.”
Chapter Four
Markko rolled over, pulling out of the whore beneath him, her pitiful whimper the only indication she was conscious. It was her own fault. He’d flashed some bills and she’d followed him to a room, eager to score some quick cash. She was in no position to complain—he’d paid her price. It was more than she deserved. No amount of his coaxing had convinced her to rise to the challenge. Oh, she’d pleaded and begged, and finally screamed so he had to push her face into a pillow to keep from drawing attention; but there was no real fight in her. The fatal flaw in whores; they were already resigned to their fate.
The pathetic bitch whimpered again as she started to rise. Boredom and disappointment pushed him to shove her the rest of the way off the bed. He longed for home and the freedom to do as he pleased.
He swung his long body over the edge of the bed, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. He flipped open the lighter and ignited the paper and tobacco. Soft cries echoed through the dark as the whore collected her clothes.
Pathetic.
A deep drag and a satisfying rush of nicotine hit him. It was enough to keep him on the bed. Barely. He couldn’t risk the attention a dead prostitute would generate. He’d learned that lesson in San Francisco.
He took another drag, lazily blowing smoke into the darkness. Back home he’d have kept his hands wrapped around her neck as he’d pistoned in and out of her. He would have gloried in knowing the last thing she ever felt was his absolute ownership. Or, if the mood struck, he could have toyed with her for hours, days, if he had the time and patience. The terror of impending death could be almost as stimulating as the vicious fight for life. His dick began filling again just thinking about the possibilities.
Out of the corner of his eye, he tracked the whore’s movements. Her hands shook as she pulled her shirt over her head, wincing as it brushed against skin. She clutched her shoes to her chest, scanning the room warily for her purse and hesitated when she spotted it on the nightstand.
If she came back to the bed, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.
She left the bag and escaped into the parking lot. Apparently she thought her life was worth more than the five twenties she left behind. Not likely. But just as well—he wasn’t here for her. He lit a new cigarette with the embers of the old one. He wanted the bitch that killed his brother; wanted her on all fours, begging and pleading. Wanted her badly enough to defy his father. His father who’d ordered him to forget about Ivan, abandon his revenge.
The old bastard still believes he controls me. He barely controls the pack.
His father’s authority no longer went unquestioned. The Bolvek name no longer held the same power. Inspired the same fear. The raids on their territories and the continuing interference in their businesses over the last decade had destroyed far more than wealth