He’s looking for us. Oh God. What do I do? Pulse rocketing, Michael tightened his hold on his brother. He’ll kill me. And then he’ll take Joshua. To where, he had no idea. But it would be bad.

And then . . . another set of headlights pulled into the driveway from the main road. The vehicle was barely visible in the flickering light, but Michael could make out a dark SUV. Maybe black.

The SUV stopped and a man got out. A big man. A big bald man. The flickering light reflected off his head as he strode from the SUV to Brewer’s BMW, now at a complete stop.

Because the SUV had blocked its exit.

The man crossed around to Brewer’s door and yanked it open. A second later he was pulling Brewer from his car by the shirt collar and dragging him to the SUV. Once they were on the driver’s side, Michael could see that Brewer was oddly limp.

If Michael hadn’t been so scared, he would have cheered. Finally someone was bigger than Brewer and giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Michael frowned when Brewer twisted in the man’s grip, because he looked like he was moving in slo-mo. Brewer reached into his pocket, but the man threw him to the ground and grabbed something from his hand.

Oh my God. It was a gun. Brewer had brought one of his guns. He would have killed me with it.

But now Brewer’s gun was in the big man’s hand. Michael held his breath, waiting for the man to shoot the monster who’d made their lives a living hell for nearly five years—ever since the day he’d married their mother, Stella.

Who was as useless as spit.

But the man didn’t shoot Brewer. He pocketed the gun, then yanked Brewer to his feet and pinned him against the SUV. Then he put his big hands around Brewer’s throat.

Brewer struggled.

Until he didn’t anymore.

Michael’s mouth fell open as Brewer’s body went limp once again, falling to the ground in a crumpled heap. The big man took a step back, fists on his hips as he stared down, shaking his head.

Oh my God. He’d killed him. The big bald man had killed him.

Abruptly aware that he was breathing hard, Michael clenched his jaw closed so that the man wouldn’t hear him.

Luckily the man was focused on Brewer. He opened the hatch of the SUV and tossed Brewer in, as if he weighed no more than one of Joshua’s action figures.

Slamming the hatch closed, he walked to the BMW’s driver’s side and leaned in. When he straightened, he tossed something in the air and caught it one-handed.

The keys. He’d taken Brewer’s car keys.