He didn’t get to make a single step toward the kitchen. A shriek from the porch shivered up his spine. His blood became like ice.
He turned back to the window. The voice was Lyle’s. And Lyle was in trouble. Not just a little, I’ve-come-to-f**k-with-you trouble, either, but my-body-is-breaking kind of trouble.
Drugs? Gangs? Did they even have gangs out there? Was that why Lyle had gone from a seemingly sweet young dude into a borderline crazy little fucker out of the blue? What had they done to him? What had he done to himself?
The pain in Randy’s knee was forgotten. Calling Vaughn for assistance dropped to secondary levels of importance. The only thing that mattered was Lyle. Lyle being hurt. Lyle needing help. Lyle dying…
His mother’s voice tripped through his head. “You always were a
