Prologue

Brad's stomach knotted to the point bile rose in his esophagus, burning his throat. His skin felt cold and clammy. The physical part of addiction scared him more than the mental side. It drove every decision he made. The next drink was the thing he thought about when he woke in the morning and every minute after until he passed out.

He knew he had a deeper problem, but damned if he knew how to fix it or where to start. His fucked-up childhood had grown roots inside him until there wasn't anything left but hiding in the dark. Every bottle helped him stay out of the light.

Stopping without help was a fucking joke. It would have been laughable if he weren't so desperate. He could get the alcohol easier than he could rehab. And the fact was, he'd face his problems and sign up tomorrow if it meant not having to feel like shit every time his body absorbed the alcohol enough for withdrawal symptoms to set in.

He pulled his truck into the closest parking spot outside the liquor store and shut off the engine, wrapping his fingers around his set of keys. The big window had advertisements, mostly for beer and cigarettes. The big, colorful posters made both addictions cool. No worries. Just come in and spend money so he ruined his whole fucking life.

It was all bullshit.

Maybe some people drank because the ads made it appear like a party. Brad didn't buy into it and never really had. Not even in high school when he had snitched bottles from his old man and drank in the clearing with Travis and Jackson. As good a time as those were, he hadn't done it to feel good. What he wanted was to forget for just a couple of hours. If he could do that, then maybe he'd find enough peace to fulfill all the roles he needed to play for his brothers.

The second he let his guard down his father would hurt one of them. Brad couldn't let it happen. Not the way the old man hurt him. Not any way at all, if he could help it.

He had money hidden in his truck. It was almost enough to get them a place of their own. Another couple of weeks' pay and they were all set. He just had to find a place and keep his father away from them.

Lord knows, his father would blow a gasket if he found out what Brad had planned. He'd come after them, and Brad wasn't sure he would have the law on his side. The government wouldn't give him custody. He was a nineteen-year-old alcoholic who made just a few dollars over minimum wage, making piston rings for cars at the factory in Harbor Shire. He had a job, though, which was more than the old man could say.

The law hadn't protected Brad from that asshole, so why would they bother with Luis and Caden. No one cared about the local drunk's kids. People in Pickleville saw what they wanted to see—a troublemaker.

It wasn't far off from the truth anyway, so Brad rarely disappointed as far as that was concerned. He'd drink and fight until people were good and properly scared. That way they wouldn't ask him why.

When he saw Brian Stockwell come out of the liquor store carrying a bottle of Jarritos and a bag of chips, he opened his car door and stepped out. Brian barely glanced at Brad. It seemed when Jaron McAllister left town last year, Brian had taken his spot as the token gay in Pickleville. The attraction made him feel a little bit more like his father and he wasn't.

No fucking way would he ever be like that man.

"Fucking faggot." He would have had a few more things to say if the withdrawals weren't as bad.

Brian flipped him off even as he walked to his car. The gesture surprised Brad. Brian standing up for himself was an interesting change from the norm. It made him respect the little shit a bit more, not that he'd tell him that.

"It's your lucky day, asshole. I'm in a hurry. Next time I'll break your finger." Brad had his hand on the liquor store door.

Brian smirked. "Go get your bottle and fuck off. We both know you need to do both."

Brad took a deep breath and held it. He took a step in Brian's direction, letting go of the door handle. His head filled with his own truth spoken from someone else's mouth.

He expected Brian to scramble into his car when he took a step in his direction, but he got the exact opposite reaction. "Try it, asshole. You might beat me up and it will hurt, but we both know you'll go to fucking jail. It's where you belong, and I won't be the only one in this town happy to see you go."

Brad let out the breath he'd held. Brian was right. He couldn't protect his brothers from jail.

He let his physical needs take over, so he left Brian alone, turning and walking into the store, and went right to the counter. His hands shook so badly he couldn't think straight. The liquor store owner, Gus, didn't care that Brad's identification was fake. He only cared that he had one at all. Everyone knew the police chief would protect Gus because the two had been friends for as long as anyone could remember. The only one who would get into trouble was Brad, and Gus wasn't talking for fear of a beat-down.

Gus wasn't as smart as Brian and didn't know threatening Brad with jail would make him back off. But then, Brian was smarter than most people.

"The usual." Brad grabbed a twenty out of his wallet and slapped it onto the counter. If he could shake the addiction, he would have a lot more money and he could get his brothers out from under his father's roof a lot faster. "Make it the smaller bottle." It was cheaper, and maybe he would try to cut back a little.

Gus didn't move from behind the cash register. "I can't sell to you until noon."

"You're not supposed to sell to me at all, dumbass. I'm underage. But you don't have a fucking problem with that, so why would selling to me now be over the top?" Brad leaned over the counter, puffing up his chest. "Give me the fucking bottle of Jack and I won't hurt you, old man."

Gus swallowed and turned, facing the bottles of liquor behind him. He grabbed what Brad had requested and put it next to the twenty. He rolled his eyes when Gus took his time putting the bottle into a brown paper sack and handing him his change.

Brad grabbed it and headed out of the door. He had the bottle open, and took a swig before he turned the truck engine over.

He hated the trailer where he lived. Every time he pulled his truck behind his dad's old Cutlass, which sat on blocks and didn't have tires, he wanted to pull right back out of the driveway and never come back. If it weren't for Luis and Caden, he would have.

The trailer could have used a power wash. It sat on five acres of mostly wooded and overgrown land except for the yard. His parents had bought the land and trailer in the 1970s, when they had first married.

His father loved collecting junk, and also threw nothing away. The hoarding had gotten worse since Mom's death. Car parts sat in the yard along with an old, rusted plow with weeds and grass growing tall around it. Their old, broken-down dryer sat against the west side of the trailer. In the last couple of years, the white metal had developed blotchy rust spots.

When Luis came out of the front door, Brad capped his liquor bottle and put it under the seat. Luis looked as if he had seen a ghost. He covered one of his cheeks shielding it from view. Blood leaked through his fingers. He staggered down the steps and across the yard, heading toward Brad.

Panic tightened Brad's chest muscles, restricting his breathing. He didn't bother shutting off the truck engine but rushed over to Luis.

Luis fell against him, and that was when Brad saw the back of Luis's shirt. The material was blue-and-white-striped and fit loosely on his thin thirteen-year-old frame. Despite that, blood covered the back of the shirt in dark red lines.

Brad's instinct was to wrap his arms around him and pull him close, but he didn't know where to touch without hurting him. Instead, he leaned over Luis, which wasn't hard given their size difference, and pulled the bottom of his shirt up with shaky hands.

"Fuck." The whip marks were deep. Deeper than Brad had ever experienced. Luis needed the hospital. "Did he…did he get all the way up?"

Luis shook his head, not moving from where he pressed his face into Brad's chest. "Just the lower part of my back." His voice shook when he spoke, as if he were fighting tears and pain in equal measure.

"I'm gonna carry you to my truck, okay?"

When Luis nodded, Brad lifted him as gently as he could, careful not to touch his injuries.

"Where's Caden?" God, if his littlest brother was inside with their father, he would commit murder. He could already feel numbness clear his mind. His body relaxed in ways that had nothing to do with the alcohol he had drunk on the way home.

"Playdate with Adam Ellis, remember?" Pain laced Luis's words.

"Right." Opening his truck's door wasn't a simple task with Luis in his arms, but he managed. His primary concern was the door bumping against Luis's injuries, but he lay Luis on the seat without causing him any more pain. "He's never hurt you before?"

Luis shook his head.

"Did he touch you?" Brad hoped he didn't have to explain what he meant because he didn't know if he could and come out whole on the other side of those sentences.

Hell, he didn't know if he could even live through Luis's answer, but he had to ask, anyway.

"He-he tried. I-I kicked him in the…down there." Luis's chin wobbled. He buried his face where he lay on the seat, shutting his eyes.

Before Brad could respond, their dad came out of the house. His enormous belly hung over his sweatpants, his T-shirt not quite covering him. He stumbled a little as he walked.

Brad pushed the lock down on the truck's door while he still stood in the open space. "Keep the door locked until you see me again."

Their gazes met. Luis had gained a few years' worth of trauma with one experience. It lay in the depths of his blue eyes, taking up the space where his innocence had been.

"Don't look. Okay, Luis?"

Luis brought his legs up to his chest, lying like a fetus in the womb. If only they could've gone back to infancy, maybe they could have had a different life.

Brad turned, shutting the door behind him. His dad had stopped in the middle of the yard. At some point he had closed his eyes and looked as if he were sleeping while standing there.

Jesus Christ, if that was Brad's future, he needed to do something. He didn't want to be like his dad, a drunk pervert who preyed on children.

A calm emptiness washed over him, leading his every action. The first punch landed directly on Samuel Flynn's nose. The crunch it made upon impact was unmistakable.

Samuel's eyes snapped open, and he blinked in surprise. He swayed on his feet before touching his wound. His delayed reaction spoke of how much alcohol he had consumed.

Brad punched him once again, his fist sending Samuel's hand back into his nose.

Samuel cried out, stumbling before falling with a grace no fat man should have had. He sat on his ass, shaking his head as if trying to figure out what had happened. When their gazes met, Brad saw real fear cross Samuel's face for the first time.

Brad moved in on him, gripping his hair until he had the man's full attention. "I'll kill you the next time you try to hurt either of them." Brad punched Samuel in the face again and his nose gushed blood with the second hit, breaking under Brad's power. His head would have snapped to the side if not for Brad still fisting his hair. "And when we leave, you won't come near us."

Samuel growled and tried to speak, but Brad made sure their gazes met, holding up a finger. "Breathe in their direction one time and I'll kill you. Once is all it will take."

Samuel's eyes widened. The whites had turned yellow in recent years, speaking of an illness he would probably never get treated. He tried to nod, but Brad's grip on his hair kept it from being comfortable.

When he let go, Samuel fell onto his back, lying in the dirt next to a concrete block. He held a hand to his broken nose, covering the blood.

Brad turned toward the truck, knocking on the window until Luis opened the door. Luis struggled to sit up before pulling the lock. When Brad was behind the wheel, he glanced Samuel's way.

His dirty T-shirt lifted, revealing even more of his round belly. His chest rose and fell with effort.

Samuel had done his damnedest to make Brad into his image. Leaving felt as if he were taking his life back. And then the bottle of whiskey slid from under the seat as he pulled out of the driveway.