Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(80)

Heath’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. It’s time to run.”

Ryker nodded. They’d get Denver and the new kid, and they’d head south through the hills. He’d stashed boots and supplies in a gully behind a bunch of bushes, so they’d be all right. The key was getting out of the state as soon as possible, because the sheriff had a long reach. The dickhead.

Ryker led the way around several bunkhouses to the main house, where they slid through the side door and entered the quiet kitchen. He silently moved for the back stairs, his odd senses keeping track of Heath right behind him.

They crept down the wood stairs to the dirt-packed floor and turned into a storage area complete with several freezers and shelves of canned goods.

Ryker’s head ached, and his ribs pounded, but he kept going through a narrow hallway to a room at the rear. The room. His gut clenched.

“I’ll go first,” Heath whispered, his voice shaking.

“No.” Ryker was a year older than Heath, so that meant he went first. “Just get Denver and Ralph out of here if Ned grabs me.”

“We all get out of here,” Heath said, his voice losing the shake. “We’ve got this.”

Ryker reached the wooden door with the white peeling paint. No loud sounds came from within, but he could hear heartbeats. Two of them. He nudged open the door and stepped inside, his grip tightening on the handle of the bat. Then he froze.

Ned leaned over Ralph, pressing on his chest, nearly pounding. The kid lay in the dirt, his eyes open, and with no color in his face.

Denver leaned against the far brick wall, bruises and blood mottling his head, and tears streaming down his face. A metal folding chair was tipped over near him, and blood flowed from a cut in his arm.

Ned stood, his hands shaking. The owner of the boys home was tall and thin with thick blond hair and angry brown eyes. At about thirty years old, he still had pimples, and his teeth always seemed yellow. He spun around and looked at them, his narrow mouth opening and closing. Blood covered his knuckles.

He did like to punch.

Ryker looked down at the dead kid and then up at Ned again.

Ned sucked in air and tugged his button-down shirt into order over his khaki pants. “Denver killed Ralph. You saw him.”

Ryker slowly shook his head. “No.”

Ned’s thin chin went down. “You both saw him. Or maybe you did it? Who do you think my brother will believe, me or you?”

Heath turned so pale he looked like he might pass out.

Ryker swallowed down what tasted like acid. His hands shook. “Denver, get behind me and get out.”

Denver took a step forward and then stumbled. Heath hustled for him and shoved a shoulder beneath his arm.

“We’re leaving,” Ryker said, forcing words through his clogging throat. He didn’t know Ralph, but the small dark-haired kid didn’t deserve to die like that. Nobody did.

Heath propped Denver against the wall and blocked him, looking toward the dead boy. “We didn’t even get to cut his hand, Ryker.”

Ryker’s eyes filled. “He’s still a brother, Heath. I promise.”

Heath caught his breath on a sob.

Anger and fear rushed through Ryker so fast he swayed. What if they didn’t get out? They were all dead. Terror felt like sharp spikes inside his skin. “Ned, don’t try to stop us and don’t come after us. We’ll tell everyone what you’ve done if you do.”

Ned rushed him.

He reacted and swung the bat at the same time Heath rushed forward and did the same. The bats hit the man in the head, and the sound exploded through the air.

Ryker shot up in bed, breathing so hard his head spun. His heart pounded, and his chest compressed. Okay. He was fine. Just fine. Yeah, he’d failed Ralph, but he could protect everyone in the house now. He wasn’t a scared kid any longer.

Zara rolled over, her eyelids opening. “Bad dream.”

He nodded, suddenly freezing. Thunder ripped the sky apart outside, and wind barreled against the window. Hell of a storm. Slowly, he slid back under the covers.

She rolled right up against him, her hand flattening on his chest. “Tell me about it.”

Part of him wanted to tell her everything, but the other part wanted her to remain unaware of his past and of the pain they’d endured. She’d hurt for them, and the woman had hurt enough.

Yet he needed her to trust him, and she was so damn strong, she could handle it. “When Heath, Denver, and I were kids, we lived at a shitty home for boys where the proprietor liked to hit. He was a prick, and sometimes I have nightmares.” Ryker ran a hand down her hair and over her sweet back. “Sorry I woke you up.”

She caressed his chest. “I’m sorry about the boys home. Did the proprietor ever get caught?”

“Not really.” Ryker kissed the top of her head. “He died in a fire at the home, so he never really faced justice.” In fact, it had been way too swift. Either his bat or Heath’s had hit the guy’s temple, and it was suddenly over. Neither of them had meant to kill Ned, but he’d been dead before he hit the dirt floor. Denver had been the one to set the place on fire to cover their tracks long enough for them to get away.

They’d been running ever since. He figured the haunting nightmares were karma or penance or whatever.

“I’m so sorry, Ryker,” Zara said, leaning up to kiss his chin.