Storm

Chapter Four

CHAPTER 4

Chris couldn't breathe. A hand was clamped over his mouth, pressing his head to the pillow.

Darkness cloaked the room, but other than night, he had no concept of time. He thought of Tyler pinning his arms, holding him down while Seth threw punches. He came out of sleep with fists swinging.

He struck something. His assailant grunted. A hand caught his wrist and trapped it against the bed.

"Jesus Christ, Chris," a voice breathed into his ear. "It's just me, you idiot."

Chris stopped fighting, and the hand came off his mouth.

"Keep quiet," Gabriel said.

Chris stared up at him, trying to make out features in the darkness. The storm still raged outside, rain slamming against the siding, wanting to be part of his panic.

"What the hell are you doing?" he whispered, trying to convince his heart to slow.

Lightning flashed, lighting up Gabriel's expression and making his eyes glow for a moment. "I thought maybe we'd give Tyler a little warning of our own."

Chris felt his heart kick back into action. "You're crazy."

"Am I?"

Said by the brother who'd just woken him by suffocation. Chris glanced at the clock on his dresser. It was half past one. "Just—go back to bed."

Gabriel ruffled his hair. "Aw. Scared?"

Chris knocked his hand away. "No."

"Liar."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm not in any rush to get my ass handed to me again." Chris gave him a shove. "Go ask Nick."

"Forget it." His brother backed off and stepped toward the door.

Chris sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been recruited for trouble. "Wait."

Gabriel waited.

"Why are you asking me?"

Gabriel smiled, sensing—correctly—that Chris was starting to waver. "Thought you might like a little vengeance."

"You mean Nick said no."

"Does it matter?"

Chris hesitated. Did it matter?

Thunder rolled outside, and Gabriel glanced at the window. "It seemed like your kind of night."

It felt like his kind of night. The rain liked this idea. Chris felt it pulling him, drawing his focus.

He hated Tyler. He hated them all.

But he hated his own fear more.

He nodded. "All right."

"Get dressed. Think you can rile the storm if I help?"

Chris threw back his blankets. Rain whipped against the screen, already willing. "Sure," he said, reaching for today's jeans from the pile in the corner. "Why?"

Lightning lit up the room. Gabriel smiled. "Because we need Mike's truck."

Michael's work truck sounded like an orchestra of chainsaws when Gabriel fired up the diesel engine. As soon as the rain touched his skin, Chris called to it, urging it faster, driving drops against the house until the rattle on the siding would be louder than the engine.

He kept the window of the cab open, his hand on the door. Storms liked adventure. Or maybe they liked panic. Whatever, he kept up a litany in his head, begging the rain to mask their departure.