Page 39 of Whisper

While I wait at a stop light, I glance at my phone, finding a notification for the alerts I set up. Chase Browning just posted on his social media. I swipe my phone open to see a pic of the man smiling at the camera with hazy, drunk-looking eyes. There’s a girl under his arm and he’s holding a beer in his other hand. The caption says, “Grabbing a cold one with the crew at Lucky Bird. Come by and say hi.”

I think I will.

Reminded of my mission, I speed down the freeway from Crestvale to Mistone, taking the exit for the university. Lucky Bird is a well-known college hangout. The only problem now is how to confront Chase without being seen by the hundreds of students still out.

I find a spot in the lot where I can see the door and keep my phone open to his social media page in case he posts again.

More than an hour passes before he finally stumbles out of the bar. He’s alone, which is ideal. I watch him walk through the lot then continue down the sidewalk on foot. Perfect.

Putting my car in drive, I silently follow him, keeping my distance until we get a little farther from the bar. Chase is whistling to himself, his hands tucked into his pockets. He turns down a much quieter and darker street, heading away from the campus dorms and toward the separate apartments.

He never looks back, never seems aware that he’s being followed. He’s not a predator. He’s a bully, but he fucked with the wrong guy. No one touches my family and gets away with it.

I speed up and pull up to the curb, lowering my passenger side window to get his attention.

“Hey. Excuse me.”

He stops on the sidewalk and turns towards me, his gaze a little unfocused as he sways a little.

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking for someone. Chase Browning. Heard of him?”

Chase’s brow furrows as his expression hardens. “Who’s asking?”

“Someone I know has a message for him.”

“Yeah?” He puffs his chest. “Well, you’re looking at him.”

“You’re Chase?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Huh. I figured you’d be jacked or something. You’re pretty small for a bully.”

“What?” He pulls his head back, then when his gaze lands on the passenger seat where my gloves and mask are, he backs away and takes off running down the sidewalk.

I park the car and sprint after him, tugging on my mask and gloves as I do in case anyone sees us. He unwisely chooses to go through a park where no one will be this time of night other than dealers and the occasional sex worker. And they won’t care.

I’m faster than Chase, so I catch up pretty quickly, tackling him to the ground. He makes a loud grunting sound as he tries to scramble away, but I press my weight into him before I flip him onto his back and slam my fist into his face.

Chase tries to block my punches, screaming and asking me why. I grip his neck, squeezing to the point where he’s gasping.

“You fucked with my brother, Chase,” I growl. “Were you planning to hate-crime him? Rape him? Kill him?”

“N-n-no,” he groans. “I was just fucking around. I swear.”

“You assaulted him, asshole. That’s not fucking around.”

“I wasn’t gonna hurt him. Not really.”

“I don’t believe you. You already hurt him. He didn’t give himself a black eye.”

“The guys…” He practically sobs as his voice cracks. “They were egging me on. Calling him a fag and stuff, but I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I swear, man.”

“What you meant and what happened are two different things, and your intentions mean fuck all to me.”

Reaching down, I pull my gun from my ankle strap, then I press the muzzle to his forehead. I yank his tank top to the side to confirm the tattoo. It’s him.