Danger (A Stetson Stormers Novel #2)

Prologue

DANGER

THIRTEEN YEARS OLD

Thunder ain’t got a prayer against my daddy when he’s pissed, and tonight, even the sky knows to keep its mouth shut.

The front door slams against the frame so hard you can hear wood splinter. Heavy boots follow—four steps, a stumble, and the slow, ugly scrape of a barstool being dragged across hardwood.

Then voices. Mama’s first, a tone she only uses when she’s so scared she can’t hide it, then his, all gravel and noise like an old rigid chainsaw.

My little brother, Tristan, sits up in the twin bed next to mine. He doesn’t say anything, just hugs his knees. I squeeze his shoulder.

“Hey,” I whisper. “You wanna play a game?” He nods reluctantly.

I roll out of bed, sock feet soft on carpet, and open the bedroom door just enough to peek.

Across the hall, my other two little brothers—Ryder and Cole have their door cracked, faces stacked.

Ryder’s arm is stretched across Cole’s chest—either to protect him or to keep him from bolting, I can’t tell. Both are shaking.

“Y’all get over here,” I whisper, barely moving my lips. “C’mon, quick.”

They sprint across the short hallway so fast they nearly knock me backwards. I drag them inside and shut the door so we’re all nose to nose in the dark.

“Okay,” I say, pulling Bluebell—my favorite blue stuffed cow from Granddaddy—off the shelf. “Tonight, we’re gonna play Bluebell's favorite game, but you gotta be real quiet. Like ninja quiet. Can you do that?”

Cole nods, eyes huge. Ryder swallows hard and says, “Is this a scary game?”

“Nah,” I lie. “It’s sorta like hide and seek. Just gotta stay outta sight. And if you get scared, you squeeze Bluebell here, and he’ll make it all better.”

I hand the cow to Cole. He squeezes it tight.

Another crash downstairs, this one sharp—ceramic, maybe the kitchen lamp. The house shakes like it’s trying to take us down with it. Tristan flinches but doesn’t make a sound.

“Listen,” I say, “we’re gonna use the window, just like we practiced last time.” I shoot them a wink. “We’re on a mission, and the first step is getting to the barn without being seen. Think you can make it?”

Cole nods. “You comin’ too?”

“Hell yeah,” I say, even though I know I shouldn’t cuss. Ryder smiles a little. I tilt my head at the window, motioning them over. “Let’s go.”

I crack the window, and the chill smacks me in the teeth.

I haul myself over until my feet are on the ground outside.

Then, I motion for Tristan to help Cole down, then Ryder.

They come one at a time, little silent shadows, gripping my hand so hard it hurts.

On the ground, we run. Fast, quietly. The moon is fat and swollen tonight—pretty, but not so good for escapees.

Once we’re in the barn, I get them huddled behind the old tractor. “Listen close,” I say, pulling them in tight. “Bluebell’s got magic in him. Like, real magic. He’ll keep you safe if you get scared out here, but only if you feed him good jokes. The more you laugh, the stronger he gets.”

Cole hugs Bluebell so hard he might pop. “What if I run out of jokes?”

“You won’t,” I promise, ruffling his hair. “You’re the funniest guy in the family.”

“Even funnier than Uncle Jim?”

“Especially him,” I say. I look at Tristan. He’s got his game face on, hazel eyes wide and fierce.

“Okay,” I say, “I’ll go count. You stay in here and find your favorite spot to hide. Don’t let go of Bluebell for nothing, and don’t open the barn door. If you get scared, just tell him a joke, and he’ll fix it.”

I can almost see it in their eyes—that quiet understanding kids aren’t supposed to have yet. Too young to really get what I’m about to do, but old enough to know it’s bad. Old enough to nod anyway, just to make me feel like I’m not breaking them.

I squeeze each of them, then haul ass to the barn door. I look back, checking on them one last time under the bare bulb. They’re trying so hard to be brave for me.

Then I shut them in.

I push the old lawnmower against the door and pray it’s enough.

I sprint back to my window and haul myself through it, scraping skin and swallowing pain.

Inside, I hear the crash of furniture. I kneel down in my closet and fish out the aluminum bat I left there.

It feels heavier than usual, but I’m not sure if it’s just my hands shaking or something warnin’ me not to do it.

I hear Mama scream. Not loud, but the worst kind. It’s a sound that means she’s given up on anyone coming to help.

I’m done. I’m done hiding, done listening to her in pain, done being scared and lettin’ him be the weather that ruins every goddamn day of our lives.

I grip the bat and step into the hallway, feeling something strange fill my chest—like hope, but different. Like the edge of a secret I’ve been waiting my whole life to say out loud.

There’s two ways this ends.

And the only way he’s makin’ it out the front door is if he’s never coming back.