Page 2 of Adam's Rising

Jeff, tall and menacing as ever, filled the narrow space between the bedrooms and the living area. “There’s no time to explain, Tom. Get these kids out of here! I’ll drive them to Anchorage.”

“No, I need you.” Thomas shoved a hand into his pocket. “Plus, they’ll need a vehicle.” He pulled out the keys to Dad’s old truck and smacked them into Adam’s palm, closing his fingers tightly around his hand. “I’m sorry, Adam. I tried.”

Adam shook his head. “You kept us together…”

Thomas pulled one of his hands free, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have to go, Adam. You have to take care of Peter. Don’t look back. We Midnight Sons always forge forward, right?”

At the mention of his mother’s endearment for the three of them, Adam used his free hand to swipe tears from his eyes.

“Don’t!” Thomas’s voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “Belgardes don’t cry. You’re a man now, Adam. Not sure why Dad thought we both needed a part of granddad’s name, but I’m glad he did. Use my IDs. Tell everyone you go by your middle name now.”

Adam’s breath came shallow. “No. No way. I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to.” Thomas’s voice was steady, but his eyes — his eyes told a different story. Fear. Regret. Love. “It’ll work.”

“What’ll work?” Peter asked.

Thomas stooped down in front of Peter. “You listen to Adam, you hear me?”

Peter worried his bottom lip, looking as though he might cry. In many ways, Thomas was tougher on him than Dad had ever been. Then again, Peter had only started acting out since he entered high school in the fall.

Thomas grabbed their coats off the hooks by the door. He threw Adam’s to him but held Peter’s open, waiting as Peter threaded one arm, then the other, without a word. Pulling a knit hat over Peter’s head, Thomas gave him a firm slap on the back. “Be good!”

Thomas didn’t give Adam any more direction — he didn’t need to. Instead, he held his eyes and gave him a subtle lift of his head, the silent signal they’d used for years when hunting with their father. A silent question:You good?

Adam gave his head a hard shake but then nodded, even though he didn’t feelgood.

You good? used to mean,Hungry? Warm enough? Need me to take you home?

Now it meant:You ready to be a man?Take care of Peter?Leave the only home you’ve ever known? Leave the brother who was like a father to you?

Before Adam could say that he’d lied, that he wasn’tgood, Jeff seized his hand then Peter’s, dragging them out the front door into the icy darkness. “Get ready, Tom.” Moonlight penetrated the cloud cover, casting a pale glow over Dad’s truck. In seconds, the large dude hoofed the three of them through several inches of thick packed snow, then shoved Peter through the driver’s side of the truck, pushing him across the bench seat. He held the door open for Adam. “You’re gonna be fine, kid. Drive. Fast. Don’t look back! Your brother and I will handle this, okay?”

Adam hopped up into the driver’s seat, doing his best to maneuver the silver key into the ignition with shaky frozen fingers.

* * *

Not even a half-miledown the sloshy snow-covered dirt road, the snowfall thickened, driving heavy wet flakes into the windshield. Stupid weatherman was wrong again — he hadn’t called for a blizzard. Adam reached for the lever that turned on the wipers but hit the turn-signal control instead.

“What are we doing, Adam?” Peter’s voice was low and croaky, the first words he’d spoken since Thomas told him to be good.

WhatamI doing?I can’t leave Thomas to deal with whoever is coming. Adam yanked the wheel to the left, but instead of turning around, the tires lost traction. The truck fishtailed, then skidded sideways off the road into a low snowbank.

He slammed his fists against the steering wheel. “UGHHHHHH!” He shifted the gear into reverse, but the truck didn’t move. The tires only spun in place, sending up dirt and snow.

“We’re stuck!” Peter grumbled.

Adam sighed and switched off the headlights to save the battery. Not that his father had ever run into a snowbank, but the truck had gotten stuck in the mud when they’d gone hunting and a storm crept up on them. In those situations, his father had wedged a piece of wood under the tires.

Thankfully, the north side of the road got more sun, so the snow mound barely passed the bottom of the door. Adam shoved the door hard, edging his way through the small gap — until bright lights flooded the road. A massive black truck barreled toward them, its high beams cutting through the snowfall, reflecting off the icy ground. He barely had time to scramble back inside before it roared past, spraying slush and dirt over the truck.

“What the hell?” Peter twisted on the bench seat, peering out the rear window. “Is that truck going to our —”

Another set of lights pierced through the darkness. Adam squinted against the glare. The faint moonlight from earlier had vanished, swallowed by the dead of night. Another truck tore by them, rattling their own like a toy in its wake.

Yeah, the trucks are going toourhouse, along with the killers inside.

What chance did Thomas and Jeff have?

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