Under the Same Sky (The Timberbridge Brothers #2)

Prologue

Nysa

The rain drums steadily against the roof, a rhythmic, familiar sound that usually lulls me into sleep. Maybe I should go to bed, but it’s too early. Instead, I settle deeper into my couch, book in hand, legs tucked under a fleece blanket. The storm rolled in earlier than expected, thick clouds swallowing the last hints of daylight, but I don’t mind. A summer storm is nothing new out here.

Then—thump.

Something isn’t right. I freeze, my heart stuttering. It’s faint—almost swallowed by the rain—but I hear it. A sound. It’s coming from the backyard.

I wait, listening.

Nothing.

Probably a branch falling or some poor raccoon knocking over the trash bins—again. Shaking my head, I return to my book, forcing my shoulders to relax. A few minutes later, the house plunges into darkness.

Damn it.

Power outages aren’t unusual in weather like this, but my generator is supposed to kick in automatically. When it doesn’t, a bad feeling coils in my stomach. I give it a few beats—waiting, hoping—but the silence stretches on.

Looks like I’m doing this the hard way.

With a groan, I put on a sweater and boots and grab my truck keys. It’s time to take care of this, right? So I head for the door. The backup generator is at the far end of the property, tucked behind the barn. Easier to drive than slog through the mud and pouring rain. The engine rumbles to life, headlights cutting through the darkness as I pull down the dirt path. The storm makes everything feel eerie—trees swaying, shadows stretching unnaturally across the ground.

I park near the generator, stepping out into the downpour. Then I hear it.

Rustling.

A shape moves in the distance, barely visible through the sheets of rain. I stiffen, scanning the trees. It’s probably just a deer. Or a black bear. But something gnaws at me, an unease I can’t shake.

I edge forward carefully, boots sinking into wet earth.

That’s when I see them.

Three figures. Hunched near a massive hole in the ground. A burlap sack lies beside it, dark. I duck behind a tree, breath shallow, listening.

Their voices cut through the rain, loud and urgent. Pieces of their argument drift toward me, snapping into place like puzzle pieces I don’t want to complete.

It’s a body.

I press a hand over my mouth, stifling the gasp clawing up my throat.

I need to get out of here. Now.

Backing away slowly, I keep my eyes locked on them. My boot crunches against something—a twig snaps.

The voices stop.

My stomach plummets.

“Did you hear that?” one of them mutters.

Flashlights click on, beams slicing through the dark.

I press myself against the tree, but it’s no use. One of them sees me.

“Hey, you.”

Before I can run, a rough hand clamps around my throat, shoving me against the bark. I claw at his grip, my pulse hammering.

“Who the hell are you?” His breath is hot, reeking of cigarettes and something metallic. His fingers tighten. “You spying on us?”

“Let me go—” I gasp, choking.

Recognition flares in his eyes. “I’ve seen you around.”

The other men exchange looks, a silent, sinister conversation passing between them.

“Let’s just get rid of her. We already have a hole,” one says, stepping closer.

Panic surges through me, adrenaline screaming at me to move.

I drive my knee up, hard. The man howls in pain, releasing me, and I stumble back, sucking in a desperate breath. Then I run. I run as fast as I can. The storm blurs everything—the ground slick, my vision obscured by rain. Behind me, shouting. Footsteps pounding.

Then—gunshots.

Sparks fly off my truck as bullets tear through the metal. I throw myself into the driver’s seat, slam the door shut, and floor the accelerator. The tires skid, mud spraying, but I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

They know where I live. They saw my face.

I have no idea where to go.

But I know one thing for sure.

I can’t stay home.