They scrambled down the steps to the living room, where three suitcases and two duffel bags sat packed for the new life their mother wanted for them. There’d been a time when she’d been fully supportive of the Diablos—after all, she’d married the man who became the club vice president. But that was before Kyle had been forced to kill two men—his first kills—as a way of proving his loyalty to an outlaw motorcycle club that viewed jail time as a badge of honor. When Mom found out what her seventeen-year-old son, the youngest Diablos prospect, had done, she’d been angry, then terrified, then resolved—she wanted her boys as far away from Arizona as they could get. Kyle might not have gone along with it if their father’s alcohol-induced rages hadn’t been getting worse and worse—landing both Dare and their mom in the ER in pretty quick succession.
Kyle shoved a duffel bag onto Dare’s shoulder and a suitcase into his hand. “Gotta get these outta here,” he said, grabbing the rest. Raised voices outside said their parents were close to the front porch of the old split-level. He and Kyle had just reached the top of the stairs when the front door crashed against the wall in the small foyer.
Yelling. Arguing. Crying.
Kyle all but shoved them into their parents’ room and raced to the window which faced the backyard. He lifted the sash and squeezed the releases to lift the screen, too. “Climb out. I’ll drop the bags down to you. Just make sure you catch them so they don’t make noise,” Kyle whispered.
Willing to follow his older brother to the ends of the earth, Dare was already half out the window. The house’s split-level style meant that the drop wasn’t as high as a regular second-story would be, but it was still enough that Dare’s ankles, knees, and elbows took a beating when he hit the ground. One by one, Kyle dropped the bags out of the window, both of them trying like hell to be quiet and ignore the escalating noise coming from the living room.
Yelling. Arguing. Crying. Crashes.
Gunshot.
Dare got dizzy as all the blood rushed down to his feet. “Mom!” he cried, looking up at his brother.
Kyle’s eyes were wild with anger and fear. “Get out of here, now,” he rasped. “We’ll meet you. You know where.”
“No, Kyle,” Dare said. “I’m not going without you.” They could disappear together into the woods surrounding their house. That’s what their mom would want them to do. She’d catch up when she could. If she could. God, the thought tore through him as hotly as any bullet would.
“Kyle! Dean! Get your asses down here!” Their dad’s voice. “Dare” had been Kyle’s nickname for him, one Dare had used without exception since that day. Dean Kenyon didn’t exist. And hadn’t for over twenty years.
Kyle’s expression was livid. “Get the fuck out, Dare. Now!” Then he disappeared from the window.
Seconds later, a new round of chaos erupted. More yelling. More arguing. A scream.
Then nothing. The silence hung heavy and suffocating over Dare as if it had a physical form.
More screams.
Another gunshot.
Dare gasped awake.
For one heartbeat, his brain remained unaware enough to hope it’d all been a dream. And then reality came crashing back down. Kyle and Mom were dead. And Dare hadn’t done a single thing to save them.
CHAPTER 4
When the horror of the dream faded away and his heart finally stopped hammering, Dare became aware of the silence. No music or voices came from the direction of the rec room, which probably meant the party had finally wrapped up. He woke up his phone to see that it was nearly 2:30 A.M.
At this rate, he might as well just spend the night right where he was.
He settled back into his chair, but the second he closed his eyes, another silence suddenly loomed large. Haven’s humming. Gone.
Dare shifted his boots to the floor and leaned toward the window, but he couldn’t tell if she remained out there. Probably not, given the late hour, but not knowing was going to bug his ass until he found out for sure. On a weary sigh, he hauled himself up and made his way through the mostly dark clubhouse. Brothers had passed out here and there, but Dare was the only one vertical.
Just as he stepped out onto the back porch, thunder rumbled in the distance and golden flashes of lightning lit up the night sky. And in the next light show, he spotted Haven. Curled up in a ball in one of the cushioned lounge chairs.
Should he wake her? Or should he just leave her alone?
Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. Rain fell, softly at first, then in a steadier downpour that drummed against the aluminum roof. A gust of wind whipped warm, humid air through the porch and the rain started blowing at an angle, wetting the railing and chairs along it.
Well, hell. Dare couldn’t leave her out there in this.
He leaned over the chair, using a hand on her shoulder to shake her. “Hey, Haven.”
Thunder boomed so loud it shook the porch floor under Dare’s boots.
Haven’s eyelids flew open and her eyes went wide with terror. She screamed and scrabbled backward, but the reclined back of the chaise lounge kept her from getting very far away from him. “No, no, no!” she yelled, her arms and legs striking out.
“Shit. Whoa, Haven. It’s okay,” he said, reeling back. “It’s just me. Dare. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her breathing was nearly hoarse it was so labored. Her gaze darted around. “Dare,” she finally managed, looking up at him.
“Yeah,” he said, gesturing to the rain. “Just thought we should get you inside.”
Thunder crashed and lightning lanced the sky.