Hunting Human - Amanda E. Alvarez [51]
Braden stared, wide-eyed and flabbergasted. “That was Chase!”
“Regardless, you pulled her out of the trunk of your car. You’ll not be leaving her here alone. Am I understood?”
“Fine,” Braden muttered.
Mike strode into the room in gym shorts and a T-shirt, dropping the small bag of medical supplies he always kept handy on the counter. “You know, one of these days, it’d be nice if you called me for a normal reason. It’s always come wrap my ribs, Mike, or come sew up my head, Mike. Just once do you think you could call with something like, Hey, Mike, I got courtside seats for the game tonight, or hey Mike, I’m going camping for the weekend, care to join?”
“Hi, honey. Stay for dinner tonight.” Braden’s mother wrapped Mike into a big hug before stepping back to pull dishes out of the dishwasher.
“Now, see? That’s what I like to hear.” Mike tilted Braden’s head right and left, then let out a long, low whistle. “What the hell she hit you with?” Amusement tinted his voice, alerting Braden to the fact that Lucy had filled him in on what she no doubt thought were the funny parts.
“Car jack.”
“Must have been a glancing blow, or it would’ve done more damage.”
“Yeah. Lucky me.”
Braden put off the trip down to the basement for as long as he could, lounging on the couch with a towel-wrapped ice pack pressed to his head. Unfortunately, the moment he and Chase started arguing over what to watch on television, his mother pronounced him fit enough to take the linens, a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of water down to Beth. No amount of protesting had dissuaded her and now he found himself outside the locked door, wishing for all the world to be brave enough to hide the sheets, wolf down the sandwiches and water, and tell his mother he’d done as she asked.
Loath as he was to deal with Beth, Braden knew his mother would know if he didn’t. Then there would be shouting from his mother, laughing from his brother and sister and a stern admonishment to just do what your mother wants from his father. And he’d be right back down here.
Best to just get it over with.
The locks sounded unnaturally loud as he flicked them open and the creak of the door filled his ears as he stepped into the small room. Shoulders he hadn’t realized were tense for another assault—God only knew what she’d found in here to wield at his head—relaxed when he realized she hadn’t moved. Was she unconscious? Asleep? Braden stepped closer. Every line of her body was pulled taut, though whether due to anger or fear he wasn’t certain.
The silence surged uncomfortably between them. Even though she kept her back to him, he was certain she tracked every move he made.
“My mother insisted I bring you down some clean sheets and towels. There’s a shower through the door across from you.”
No response.
Fine.
He dropped the stack of linens on the end of the bed. “I also brought you some sandwiches and a bottle of water.” Frustrated, he slammed the plate down on the nightstand. Satisfaction surged through him when her shoulders jumped.
Braden couldn’t help but goad another reaction out of her. “Nothing to say?”
“Did you expect a thank you?”
He latched onto the rage in her choked response. “No. I think we’ve established common decency is beyond your grasp,” he snarled.
She jerked up and twisted around, throwing a hateful glare in his direction. “Beyond my grasp?”
That got her moving.
She looked like an angry cat after a bath, hair matted to her forehead, eyes narrowed, ready to hiss and spit in his direction. He forced himself to ignore the tear tracks that stained her cheeks. Refocusing on his anger, Braden sneered, “I’d hardly expect a thank-you from a woman who lied her way into my bed. Tell me, Beth, did you enjoy it? Spreading your legs for me, then trotting back to Markko? Did he reward you like a well-trained bitch?” As the words crossed his lips, he reached to pull them back.
Confusion crossed her face first, then anger mottled her