Chapter 1

Titus

"The next time I see you anywhere near her," I snapped, holding the asshole by the neckband of his shirt. "You'll be breathin' through a tube, you nasty fuck."

"Jesus, Titus," my little sister Myla hissed, pulling on my arm. "Enough."

I ignored her.

"You understand?" I asked the guy, wrinkling my nose as his eyes welled with tears.

"Got it," he rasped, nodding like a bobblehead.

"Good. Get the fuck outta here."

I stood in the middle of the bar and watched him race out like his ass was on fire.

"He won't bother you again," I said cheerfully, turning toward my sister.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she scoffed, stomping toward our friends in the corner.

"What's up your ass now? You're welcome, by the way."

"You know," she grouched, turning to face me. "I liked you a whole lot better when you didn't lose it at every single little thing that pissed you off."

"I didn't lose it," I argued. "He walked out on his own two feet, didn't he?"

"Yeah, this time."

"Dude grabbed your ass!"

"And I was handling it, you moron!" she shouted.

Throwing my hands up in surrender, I took a step backward. "I'm sorry, Rambo. Next time I'll have you escort the creep out. My bad."

Myla's hands fisted at her sides just like they'd done when we were kids, and for a second, anticipation shot through me at the thought of her swinging. She had a solid right hook and I wouldn't mind the split second of adrenaline getting hit in the face would bring me. Of course, it wasn't as if I'd ever hit her back, so the feeling would be short-lived.

"I'm gonna stop inviting you out if you can't control yourself," she growled.

"You didn't invite me," I replied dubiously. "I talked to Cian about it on Thursday."

"Next time I'll tell him to keep his mouth shut."

"All good then?" Cian asked, moving in behind Myla to look at me over her head. "Heard my name."

"Next time, don't tell him where we're going," Myla bitched, pointing her finger at me.

"Oh, alright." He widened his eyes at me.

"Some asshole grabbed her ass at the bar and she's upset about how I took care of it," I mocked.

"He nearly pissed himself!"

"Where is he?" Cian asked, searching the crowd like he'd find the guy.

"He's gone." I couldn't hide the satisfaction in my voice.

"Maybe I liked him grabbing my ass," Myla spit. "Ever think of that?"

"Yeah, that's why you shot straight as an arrow and swung around like you were going to tear his throat out with your teeth—because you liked it," I replied flatly.

"It's not even about me." She shook her head tiredly and crossed her arms over her chest. "You were just looking for someone to hit. That's how it always is. We've already been banned from two bars forever and I'm guessing you're still pissed that guy didn't fight back."

I ground my teeth together, refusing to respond. Was I disappointed that the dude had practically cried instead of standing up for himself? Yeah, a little. But he wouldn't have even been on my radar if I hadn't seen him creep up on Myla at the bar and put his hands on her when she wasn't paying attention.

"He's gone, yeah?" Cian said, throwing his arm over Myla's shoulders. "Forget it."

Myla sighed as she let him turn her back toward the table. "Yeah, until the next guy that looks at Titus wrong."

"I'll be on my best behavior," I promised as we reached the table.

"Yeah right," Myla's best friend Frankie piped up. "When have you ever been on your best behavior?"

"Up until he was seventeen," Myla replied, shooting me a look.

"Shut it, Myla," I warned. We'd been down that particular conversational road about a thousand times.

"Oh, yeah," Frankie said, staring into space. "I remember those days. You used to wear little shortie shorts. It was hot."

"They were running shorts," I shot back as I sat down next to her. "You little freak."

"You still wear those?" she asked teasingly. "'Cause I could come by sometime. Sit outside in my car. Follow behind you. Just to keep you safe, you know."

I watched her for a minute. "You talk a big game but I have a feelin' if I ever so much as looked at you like I wanted you, you'd crawl under the table in horror."

Frankie laughed, her cheeks turning pink. "Hey, maybe I want you to look at me like that."

"Bullshit."

Frankie sighed dramatically and fell back in her seat. "Fine. You're right. But who else am I going to flirt with?"

"That was flirting?" I asked, lifting my beer. "You should probably work on it."

"You're such an asshole," she replied, but she was grinning.

I liked Frankie. Myla'd had a lot of friends growing up, but only two who had gone the distance. Myla, Frankie, and Lou were like the three musketeers. If you saw one of them, you knew the others weren't far away and by their sophomore year in college, they'd moved in together in the house Myla was buying from our dad.

So, yeah, I liked her. She was cool as fuck. But I wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole and we both knew it.

Seven of us had met up at the bar, but the place was so loud that you could barely hear anyone speak unless they were sitting right next to you. I zoned out as the conversation droned on around me until Cian leaned over. "You get the website for the garage all set up?"

"It's functional," I replied with a nod. "Nothin' pretty yet. Need to get some more photos tomorrow if the weather isn't shit."

"You think it's gonna bring in more work?"

"Fuck, yeah." I scoffed. "Don't know how they've kept the place goin' so long without one."

"Word of mouth," Cian replied, saluting me with his beer. "We're that fuckin' good."

"Why is it so hot when you swear?" Lou asked Cian, raising her voice to be heard across the table.

"It's the accent," Frankie yelled back. "Fookin'." She shivered dramatically, grinning.

"Thanks, darlin'," Cian called back, laying the accent on thick before turning toward me again.

"You grew up here," I said flatly. "It barely even comes out anymore."

"Only when I need it to, yeah?" he joked.

"Careful with who you're tryin' to reel in." My sister was unsurprisingly quiet on the other side of Cian.

"I'd never go there, and you know it. Lou and Frank are just givin' me shit."

I shrugged and leaned back in my chair. Going out with friends was fun, but the bar scene was getting old. The club parties were a little more my scene, but only when the old ladies weren't there and I didn't have to see my mom hanging all over my dad. Patching in to the Aces MC had never been in my plans growing up, but shit changed. After a little snafu that sent me home early from my junior year in college, I'd bowed to the inevitable. I didn't regret it as much as I'd thought I would.

The club gave me an outlet that I hadn't realized I needed and it provided a consistency that I hadn't noticed I'd been missing. As long as I was loyal to the club, they'd be loyal to me. There was something about that knowledge that settled me. I'd had to spend two years as a prospect instead of one because I'd gone back and finished my senior year of college but I hadn't minded. By the time I was done, I was a full-fledged member just like my older brothers.

I could rebuild an engine as well as anyone else in the club and I was pretty fucking great at bodywork, too, but with my degree, the officers decided they needed me in a different capacity. Updating the way the ancient garage functioned hadn't been exactly smooth, but even the old-timers were starting to use their tablets for more than just coasters for their coffee mugs. I kept everything moving more seamlessly than it ever had before and the computers were up to date and running like they were supposed to. It was pretty fucking satisfying work and now that I just had the website to revamp and maintenance on the current systems, I had time for other freelance jobs. I had to listen to the boys giving me shit about my pretty hands because I didn't have permanent grease under my fingernails, but anytime they did I just pointed to my uncle Casper who'd been working behind the scenes for longer than I'd been alive. His hands were pretty fuckin' clean too. Literally, not figuratively.

Neither of us had clean hands if we were speaking metaphorically.

"What do the boys call you?" Frankie asked, butting into our conversation. "It's something funny."

"Oh, I know it." Lou cackled. "Um—"

"Wanker," my little sister called out from behind my best friend's shoulder. "They call him Wanker."

"Fuck's sake, Myla," Cian complained, glancing back at her.

"Hey, I didn't give you the nickname."

"Caught you with your pants down, did they?" Frankie asked, giggling.

"No." Cian glared at me, even though he'd gotten the name years before I'd joined the club.

"What do they call you?" Frankie asked, leaning toward me.

"Titus," I replied dryly.

"Oh, bullshit," she argued. "Everyone has nicknames."

"Road names," Myla corrected quietly.

"Not everyone." I shook my head. A lot of the boys had road names, but not all of them. They came organically from the old-timers. It wasn't as if you could ask them to give you a name—you had to wait for it. Sometimes, it was better not to have one…case in point, Wanker.

"I'm beat," Cian grumbled, stretching his arms above his head. "I'm gonna head out."

"Already? It's early," Myla complained.

"It's fuckin' loud in here."

"So, let's just go back to your place," she replied easily, getting to her feet.

"You mean my place?" I asked with a huff.

"Cian and Bas live there, too." She waved me off. "Bas, you wanna go back to the house? Cian's tired."

My other best friend turned from where he'd been chatting up some redhead, his eyes soft as they landed on my sister. I cleared my throat as Cian stiffened next to me.

"I'm down," Bas agreed. He turned back to the pouting redhead as the girls started putting on their coats and grabbing their shit.

"Where'd Jamo go?" I asked, looking around for my cousin. Jamison rarely came out with us and always ended up disappearing with some random woman halfway through the night. He sometimes made it back before we left, though.

"He said not to wait on him," Frankie said with a huff, shaking her head. "He took off a while ago."

"Of course he did," I mumbled.

"Don't worry, honey," Frankie joked. "I'll keep you company."

"Lou's ridin' with me," I said, grabbing her by the arm as we headed toward the front.

"We're all going to the same place. You can't avoid Frank for long," Lou joked, bumping me with her hip.

"Watch me."

"Aw, Titus," Frankie called as she followed Bas to his bike. "I'm hurt."

"We gotta stop drivin' your asses around," I grumbled, letting Lou climb onto my bike like she'd been doing it her whole life. "One of these nights, someone's drunk ass is going to fall off the back."

"You could add one of those little backrests," she replied cheerfully as I handed her a helmet.

"Fuck you."

"They're cute!"

By the time we were following Bas out of the parking lot, Lou was all business behind me, holding me tight around my waist. She acted pretty nonchalant, but out of the three musketeers, she was by far the most cautious. While Myla and Frankie were going hell-bent for leather Lou was always the one hanging back a bit, taking everything in and thinking shit over. My parents always said if it wasn't for Lou, they would've been bailing Myla and Frankie out of jail by the time they were sixteen.

My dad had been flipping houses since before I was born and it had become tradition for him to let each of us kids buy one of his fixer-upper houses from him for a steal when we were old enough and settled enough to pay him back. My oldest brothers Mick and Rumi both chose houses in neighborhoods, the next oldest, Otto, had picked an old farmhouse on something like ten acres, and my house was a bit in between. The house was big, way bigger than I needed, and it was on a little over two acres at the end of a paved road. I was close enough to town that it only took a few minutes to get anywhere I needed, the neighbors were far enough away that I couldn't see them from the front porch, and there was a little creek that ran across the back of the property that was a nice swimming hole during the summer.

I could afford the place by myself, considering the terms my dad had set and the side work I was pulling on top of my regular salary but the house was way too big for one person. Thankfully, Cian and Bas had been renting some shitty apartment in town and were more than happy to rent rooms at my place instead. It worked out well for everyone.

Especially since I rarely had to come home to an empty house—which I loathed.

By the time we pulled into the driveway, Frankie had already hopped off Bas's bike and was rolling up the garage door so we could all pull our bikes inside for the night. All of the girls knew the key codes for the garage—just in case—and while sometimes it was annoying when I came home to find them raiding my fridge, more often than not it was helpful that they could get in and out of my place. Like when they opened up that garage for us and none of us had to get off our bikes.

"Myla's still pissed at you," Cian murmured as we followed the girls into the house.

"She'll get over it."

"This about that guy grabbin' her ass?" Bas asked. "He's lucky it was you and not me that got to him first."

"You saw it?" Cian asked, glaring.

"Hard to miss it," Bas replied easily. "I was just down the bar."

Bas was well over six feet tall. I had a feeling he could see pretty much anything in a crowd at any given moment. I glanced over at him and smirked. Between the size of him, the piercings and the tattoos, I had a feeling the asshole who'd groped Myla really would've pissed himself if my friend had stepped in. When I'd first met Bas, he'd had more piercings in his face than any human I'd ever seen. Over the years, after he'd patched in and settled into his place at the club, most of the piercings had disappeared one by one. He still had a ring through his bottom lip, a septum ring, and a little barbell through the skin at the bridge of his nose. I had a feeling those piercings weren't going anywhere. He didn't exactly look warm and cuddly.

"I don't know why she was so worked up about it," I said, walking toward the door to the kitchen. "All I did was scare him."

"Your baby sister doesn't like it when you fight," Bas said with a sigh, his mouth pulled up in a grin.

"It wasn't a fight," I replied as I stepped inside the house.

"Only because I stopped you," Myla said, glaring at me around the refrigerator door. "Do you have any of those frozen gyoza left? I want some."

"That pussy wasn't goin' to fight me and they're on the bottom shelf." I pointed. "Why are you always eating my food?"

"Because you always buy the good shit."

"For me."

"Oh, zip it," she replied, her head inside the freezer. "Found them!"

"Make some for me, yeah?" Bas asked. "I'm gonna turn on some music."

"None of that moany bullshit you like," Frankie called to him as she danced back into the kitchen. "Play something good." She turned to me. "I swear to God, Titus, I almost get lost in your house every time I try to find a bathroom."

"It's not that big," I argued. I needed a drink. Whenever the girls went out with us, we inevitably became their designated drivers. Now that I was in for the night, I was cracking open the bottle of whiskey I'd grabbed on the way home from work.

"Me too," Lou said excitedly when she saw where I was headed. "On ice, please." Her legs swung from side to side from her perch on the edge of the counter.

"Your house is that big," Myla said with a laugh as she bustled around the kitchen, getting her supplies. "I don't know why you bought this place."

"It was the best one he had at the time."

"Bullshit," she shot back. "Mine was the best and we both know it."

"Maybe I was lettin' you take the good one," I joked, making her roll her eyes. We'd both bought our houses around the same time, I'd just graduated from college and Myla had been in her sophomore year. She'd had a steady job as a barista since she was sixteen and easily convinced my parents that she could afford it before she graduated.

"What are you going to do when the boys grow up and get places of their own?" she asked seriously, pouring oil into a pan on the stove. "You'll be bouncing around in here like a pinball. All alone."

"Who's movin' out?" Bas asked.

"I'm not," Cian replied from his spot at our old kitchen table. "Must be you."

"Fuck that," Bas grumbled. He leaned over my shoulder and picked up one of the glasses I'd just filled, throwing it back.

"That was Lou's."

"Hey!" Lou griped.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, grinning at her. He poured more whiskey into the glass and handed it to her. "I was wonderin' why he put ice in it."

"I like ice."

"Well, there you go."

"You already drank out of it," she complained.

Bas watched her for a long moment, then softly said, "That a problem, Louisa?"

I shook my head and turned away from them. I didn't want to be in the middle of whatever the hell was going on there. With the amount of time we all spent together, if any of them decided to screw the entire group was going to be royally fucked. Best to just pretend I didn't see shit.

"I know why you bought a big house," Myla sang quietly. She was just drunk enough to be hungry and irritating, but not quite stumbling around yet as she swayed from side to side along with the music Bas had playing through the living room speakers.

"It's a nice house," I replied, my voice firm. Every single time my sister and I drank together, she brought up shit I'd rather not discuss. It was as if she was hoping that after a few drinks I'd spill my guts and start spewing my feelings or something. Well, that, or the liquid courage was making her brave.

Neither of those things were going to bring about the outcome she was hoping for. She'd seen firsthand how completely wrecked I'd been when Noel moved up to Seattle and I'd never heard from her again. We didn't need to discuss it. Ever.

"I'm goin' up to my room," I announced, grabbing the bottle of whiskey. "You guys know where your room is."

"We should really each have our own rooms," Lou joked.

"You do—at Myla's house."

"I kinda like the bunk bed," Frankie said, smiling. "It makes me feel like I'm at summer camp."

"You're welcome," Cian said, saluting her with his beer. He'd been the one to find it at a garage sale.

"You sure you don't want company, handsome?" Frankie called as I walked out of the room.

I flipped her off over my shoulder.

Frankie had been exaggerating about getting lost, but my house was pretty big. My brother Rumi liked to call it a McMansion and I couldn't really argue with him. There were five bedrooms and four bathrooms. I'd taken the largest bedroom. It had its own bathroom and was built over the garage, so it was a bit removed from the rest of the house. The other bedrooms were set up on the second floor with Jack and Jill bathrooms. Cian and Bas had chosen bedrooms on opposite sides of the hall so they each had their own bathrooms, too, except when the girls stayed and shared with Bas.

Everyone had been surprised when I'd chosen the place. My dad had gotten it for a steal after the previous owners had defaulted on their mortgage and the bank had put it up for auction. It hadn't been like his usual flip houses because it hadn't had any major issues. It had barely taken me any time to fix the cosmetic shit after I'd moved in. Myla might tease that she got the best house, but if we were comparing, I'd gotten the killer deal on my house. It was worth quite a bit more than hers—even if it didn't really fit me.

I hadn't said anything to anyone, but lately, I'd been considering selling. I'd paid off more than half of the place already and it was a seller's market, according to my sister-in-law. I really didn't need so much space and even if I moved to a smaller place, Bas and Cian could still rent from me. It would be the smart thing to do. I had so much equity that I could probably buy a house for myself and a small rental property.

Locking the bedroom door behind me, I set the whiskey and my glass on top of my dresser and started stripping off my clothes as I walked toward the windows along the front wall. The houses down the road were all dark, most of the neighbors were older couples who were in bed pretty early. Grabbing my whiskey from the dresser, I stood there, staring at the property.

The old owners had left behind a swing set that I'd fixed up for any nephews and nieces that came over and it looked like some kind of futuristic alien in the dark. My first spring in the house, I'd planted two long rows of raspberry bushes on the north side of the property that were filling out. I'd probably have a pretty good crop for my sister-in-law Esther to come take during the summer. She traded me for homemade jam, so I got the better end of that deal. The rest of the property was mostly grass. I hadn't touched any of the trees along the property lines, so everything stayed somewhat secluded.

I'd get a pretty penny if I decided to sell.

My stomach twisted at the thought so I took another sip of my whiskey. So fucking stupid.

I was sure my family suspected why I'd bought my monstrosity of a house, but not a single one of them had broached the topic. It was too ludicrous to say out loud. Of course I hadn't bought a house for the girl I'd been obsessed with as a teenager—the one I hadn't seen or spoke to in six years. I hadn't been planning for the family that we'd never have four years after I'd lost contact with her. That would be so fucking idiotic, none of them would ever accuse me of it.

I finished my whiskey and strode to the bottle to refill.

Most days, I could pretend that I hadn't been so delusional that I'd seen this house and pictured her inside it. That I'd known instantly that this was the one I'd wanted because it had enough bedrooms for all the kids she'd wanted when she was fifteen. That I hadn't planted those raspberries because they were her favorite.

It had been six fucking years. I'd gone to college, started a career, fucked more women than I could remember. I was a full ass adult. I paid taxes when I had to. I did my own laundry, woke up to an alarm and dragged my ass to work, took care of my shit. Who the fuck knew what Noel had been doing all those years? By now she probably had a bunch of kids with some other schmuck. My brother Otto was married to Noel's older sister and they hadn't heard from her either. Not a word in six years. She probably didn't even remember the kid she'd snuck around with for a few months before everything had gone to shit.

Setting my glass down on the nightstand, I climbed into bed as laughter roared downstairs. Usually, I could pretend that I hadn't bought the house for her, but as I laid in bed looking at the ceiling I realized for some reason, it was inescapable that night.

Four hours later, when my phone rang, I was instantly awake.

My heart pounded as I answered it.

"Otto?"

"Hey little brother, get your ass up."

"What's goin' on?"

"She called," he said, his voice grim. He didn't have to tell me who she was. "Leavin' my place in half an hour. Get here quick, we're not waitin' on you."

Fifteen minutes later, I was climbing off my bike outside Otto's old farmhouse.

"It's a family matter," my dad said into his phone nodding at me as I strode up the porch steps. The house was well lit as I stepped inside, Bas and Cian following behind me.

"Hey, keep it down," my sister-in-law Esther told us as she met us in the living room. "Flora's still sleeping."

"Noel called you?" I asked, pulling her into a hug.

Her arms wrapped around my waist and squeezed. "About an hour ago," she confirmed, pulling away with a worried frown. "I'm not sure what's happening, she was pretty worked up. I have an address, though."

"You ready?" Otto asked, leading my other brothers into the room.

I let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a snort. Otto shook his head as Rumi laughed quietly. Was I ready? Jesus Christ. I'd gone to bed calling myself every kind of idiot for still thinking about Noel and woke up to news of her for the first time since I was seventeen. We'd been waiting for Esther's little sister to call for my entire adult life. Even if I hadn't been head over heels in love with her back when we were kids, she was still Esther's baby sister and I would've done anything for Esther no questions asked. She was one of my favorite people in the entire world.

"Not sure what we're walkin' into," Otto said as we huddled up in the living room. My mom came in from the kitchen as he spoke, wrapping her arms around my waist as I listened. "We're gonna pick her up, bring her back here. Not gonna cause problems up there if we can help it. Noel's an adult. She wants to leave, that's her prerogative, and even if they call the cops they can't stop her."

"Those idiots won't call the cops," Rumi muttered, his hand sliding under his cut like he was reassuring himself that he'd remembered to put on his holster.

"Not goin' up to start shit," Otto said firmly, looking over at Esther. "Just gettin' Noel and getting the fuck back here."

"How are we gettin' her back here?" Bas asked quietly. "If she's got shit, can't bring her on one of the bikes."

"I'll follow you up," my mom said instantly, glancing down at Esther's round belly.

"You're not gettin' near any of those motherfuckers," my dad shut her down almost as instantly. "Wait with Esther."

"The fuck you say?" my mom replied, her voice level. I grimaced.

"I'll drive your rig," I said, glancing around the group.

"You should take mine," Esther replied.

"I'm drawin' the line at that go-kart you drive." I shook my head. No way in hell was I driving her car. It was tiny. The one time I was a passenger, I'd practically been resting my chin on my knees the entire ride.

"You can take your mother's," Dad said.

"You're on thin ice, Cody," my mom snapped. She turned to me and her tone softened. "You can take mine, baby."

"Thanks, Ma."

"Need to go," Otto said, looking at the clock.

We filtered out of the house as quietly as possible as he turned to Esther, his hands on her belly as he leaned down to whisper to her.

"Didn't think this would ever happen," my oldest brother Mick said as we stopped in the driveway. "Not after all these years."

"You knew they told her to call if she needed them," my mom pointed out.

"Just been a while," he replied.

"Must be bad if she's finally callin'," Rumi said, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. He looked at me. "You sure you don't wanna sit this one out?"

"Right." I scoffed.

"He might be right," my mom said softly. "If you don't think you can keep your cool—"

"Enough," my dad said, his voice sharp. He looked at each of them and then back to me. "Titus is fine."

I nodded at him in thanks as Bas slapped me on the back. "I'll ride with ya, kid."

"You don't need to—"

"While I'd love to ride my bike because I'm a fuckin' powerhouse and I love the wind in my face," he boasted, glancing at my dad who was grinning. "I would be lyin' if I said that my stomach wasn't churnin' like a fuckin' washin' machine."

"Sebastian," my mom growled. "If you puke in my car I'll kill you."

"No, ma'am," Bas said quickly. "Hangovers give me the shits, I won't puke."

"That does not give me comfort," she replied in exasperation as the boys laughed.

"Alright, let's go," Otto said, jogging down the porch steps. "The address she gave Esther is an hour south of Seattle so we've got a bit of a ride."

"At least the weather's decent," Rumi grumbled, looking up at the sky.

"We're listenin' to my music," Bas announced as he strode toward my mom's rig.

"You good?" my mom asked quietly, setting her keys in my palm.

"Fine."

"Titus."

"Glad she's reachin' out," I replied, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "Esther's gonna be glad to have her back."

"That's what you're going with?"

"Nothin' else to say, Ma."

"Drive careful," she ordered, rolling her eyes.

My heart was thumping in my ears as I climbed into my mom's SUV and shoved the seat back until I was comfortable. My dad must've driven it the day before because the gas tank was actually full and the windshield was clean. I turned the car around and pulled up behind my dad and brothers, waiting for them to pull onto the pavement at the end of the driveway.

"Fuck me," I mumbled under my breath, flexing my clammy hands against the steering wheel.

"No shit," Bas replied as he fucked with the stereo. "Don't worry, brother, I got you."

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are." He chuckled.

The entire drive was a fucking blur. The few times Bas tried to talk to me, he gave up when I barely answered. Afterward I couldn't even remember anything I'd seen or any turns we'd taken. I followed the pack of bikes on autopilot.

What did she look like? Was her hair still long? Had she changed? Of course she had. She wasn't a kid anymore. We'd both grown up while she was gone. Did she still wear her hair the same? Was she in trouble or did she just finally decide she was done with the bullshit she and Esther had grown up with? What were we walking into? Was she expecting Otto and Esther? Would she freak out when all of us showed up? Thoughts raced through my head one after the other, never ending.

When we finally found the address Noel had given Esther, Bas wasn't the only one with a churning gut.