Page 13 of Revenge of the Blood Pack

I push the thoughts aside. Helping people is my forte. That’s all this is. My desire to help her when I can see she badly needs it. If only she'd be more open and let me in, then I could… not fixher, but improve her life. I know for a fact that I can, just like I know that she'll never give me that privilege. She sees me as an enemy, and maybe, that's just what I am.

Damn it. None of this matters. I have a mission. She’s a tool to help me complete that mission. That’s all. It doesn’t have to be complicated.

I hate complicated.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I inhale sharply, trying to decide what I’m reacting to, but all I can scent is beer, greasy food, and sweat. Nothing to alarm me.

Eyes narrowed, I search the bar… and spot him. My brother. And, hell, he’s changed. More than I thought possible. Yes, I’d seen photos of him, but it wasn’t the same as seeing him in person. His black hair, several shades darker than my brown hair, has been left to grow longer for the first time since joining the military. It falls a little over his forehead, drawing attention to the way his face and body have changed.

I was always bigger than him. From the day we were born, he was often mistaken for my little brother, never for my twin. He’d always had narrow shoulders. Had never been able to gain a pound no matter how much he tried to bulk up.

Those problems are long gone. Now, he’s big. Probably bigger than me. Wearing a green t-shirt and jeans, with tattoos covering his arms, he looks like a real soldier. Someone who has done things. Someone who has seen things. Not the little boy who followed me around our whole lives, looking to me for guidance.

And yet, he’s still that boy deep down.

His gaze suddenly meets mine, and the moment he sees me, I break into a wide grin. No matter how much doubt I have about the report I’d read about him, I love him with everything in me and would do anything for him. Even take a chance on him, one that could ruin the career I’ve so carefully built.

His grin is as wide as mine when he reaches me, and I stand up to envelop him in a hug. A hug that proves that while we might still be the same height, he is bigger. Broader at least.

"Yo, bro. You look good, man," he says before he sits down.

I reclaim my seat. "You too, although you didn't tell me that you've gotten more tattoos," I say before I can stop myself and then regret it right after, afraid that I sound judgmental. He knows I’m not big into ink, but I sure as hell don't want us to start off on a rough note.

"C'mon, man, it's just one of those things." That’s all he says with a flash of a smile. If he’s annoyed, he doesn't show it.

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.Why the hell is this so hard?But the answer comes easily.Because he’s starting over, and I’m trying to help him and taking a big risk to do it… but I don’t want to put that on him.And maybe with the rest of the world I’m good at holding back, but not with Braxton. Not ever.

"I've missed you," I tell him honestly as he motions to the waitress to bring him a beer too.

“Same,” he says, leaning back in the booth like we’re just two normal brothers having a casual beer.

Which is probably as far from the truth as it can get.

"So how was your service?Really?" Meaning, don't give me the bullshit answer we gave each other over the phone. Here, between us, we can be honest. He can tell me anything, and he knows it'll stay between us.

Braxton's face changes slightly, taking on an uncomfortable look, like it isn't something he wants to talk about. "You know how it is," he says, giving a little shrug, but I can read the shadows in his face. The ones I can't see over the phone.

Fuck.Something powerful builds in my chest. A protective instinct that makes me have to swallow down a growl. My "baby" brother shouldn't have been in half the shitty positions he wasplaced in in the military. I'd heard it was our aptitude tests that put us onto such different paths. That mine led to the military mostly putting me into safer positions, while his placed him right in the center of the target. I still didn’t know why. The report I’d received on him had more redacted than included, but the basic details spelled out that he’d been in a lot of bad places, and pissed off a lot of powerful people.

Had I known what they did back then when they chose his placement... well, I couldn't have changed a goddamn thing, but I imagine I'd kill every person who threw him to the wolves. Figuratively and literally speaking.

But, unfortunately, I hadn't known most of the hell he'd been through until I read his file just recently. He'd been sent on missions that were excessively dangerous after the military had learned he was a shifter. He had been through hell and back, that was obvious just from his medical records, although his file had enough redacted that I was sure it was worse than I even imagined.

"Braxton." I'm trying like hell to pick my words carefully. "I read your file."

His face actually goes a few shades paler. "How much... what did you read? Anything interesting?"

Man, I've never seen him this guarded. Not with me. Whatever he went through, it was definitely worse than he was letting on. "It was enough. Enough to tell me you'd seen the devil himself."

He nods and glances down. We both do, and I see his hands are clenched so hard his knuckles are white. He relaxes them, then our gazes meet again. "I'm fine."

I'm fine.The most classic words in the world to let someone know you aren't.

And I'm about to say exactly that when the waitress drops off a beer for him. "Thanks, ma’am!" He flashes her those famous dimples, and I can practically see her melt.

"Anything else?" She's fluttering her eyelashes like she's trying to put out the fire on her flushed face.

"Another one would be nice," he tells her, his voice practically a purr.

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