He found another burst of speed, ducking under branches, grateful for the agility drills that his coach had made them do. Michael was fast—the fastest on the JV soccer team, even though he’d been the youngest. But he needed to run faster. Please let me be faster.

The flickering light that marked the end of the driveway was closer now, barely visible through the trees. He’d run about halfway. Another quarter mile to go.

He felt the yank on his foot a millisecond before he was pitching forward into the darkness. Airborne.

Joshua.

Michael tilted his body at the last moment, hitting the ground on his shoulder. A burst of pain had him swallowing a grunt, the last-minute tilt giving him enough momentum to continue rolling to his back, then around to rest his elbows on the ground, his arms still clutching Joshua tightly.

He dragged in a breath, blinking as he got his bearings. He hunched over Joshua, in case Brewer had been on their tail. But there were no kicks. No hits.

Nothing.

Michael lifted his head and looked around. No one was behind him. It hadn’t been Brewer grabbing his foot. Must have been a tree root.

Maybe he had knocked Brewer out. The thought filled him with dark satisfaction.

He glanced down at Joshua. Still asleep. Not dead. Just drugged. He wondered what had been in the syringe the bastard had been injecting him with. Michael said a small prayer of thanks for the extra soda he’d had before bed. If he hadn’t needed to pee, he wouldn’t have been awake to see Brewer plunging a needle into his brother’s arm.

He frowned at Joshua’s peaceful little face. Should I take him to the hospital? He wasn’t even sure how to do that. He’d have to figure that out, too, once he’d gotten them away from Brewer’s house.

He took another moment to watch his brother’s chest rise and fall. At least he’s not dead.

When he’d staggered down the stairs—his own sight blurry from the punch Brewer had thrown to the side of his head when he’d tried to grab the syringe—he’d seen Brewer carrying Joshua toward the front door. For a terrible minute, he’d thought Joshua was dead. He hadn’t been moving.

Michael hadn’t hesitated to find out. Whatever Brewer had planned, it wasn’t good. Leaping from the third step onto Brewer’s back, he’d knocked the man down.