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“Titus never showed up at the clubhouse.”
“Shit,” Micky muttered. “Exactly what we fuckin’ need.”
“Esther said he was worried about her sister, that she didn’t show up to school.”
“He went to check on her.” It was what I would’ve done. “Fuck.”
“Could be nothin’,” Rumi continued. “But Mom’s about to lose her fuckin’ mind.”
“Heads up, boys,” Gramps called, his voice cutting through the noise making everyone quiet. “If you don’t got a job fromthis point forward, you’re comin’ with me. Titus is missin’. Long story short, there’s a good chance he’s caught up in this shit.”
“And we’ve got no one left to question,” Micky spat. “Fuck.”
“We’re headin’ back to town. Everyone knows what needs to be done here?”
“This ain’t our first rodeo,” someone called out.
“Come on,” my dad ordered. “Your mom sent me Esther’s parents’ address. We’ll check there first.”
“What was Titus thinkin’?” Rumi grumbled as we reached our bikes. “What a clusterfuck.”
“He was thinkin’ that Esther’s parents are fuckin’ psychotic and if the Calgary boys showed up at my house, they knew that Noel was with him last night,” I shot back. “You woulda rather he left her to the wolves?”
“I’d rather my seventeen-year-old brother wasn’t caught in shit that’s way above his pay grade,” he replied grimly. “Let’s just fuckin’ find him.”
Half of the group pulled off and stopped in a grocery store parking lot to wait while my brothers, dad, and gramps arrived in the small neighborhood where Esther had grown up. I clocked her house instantly. Titus’s car was parked right in front.
“What now?” Micky asked as we parked.
Gramps looked at him like he was an idiot. “Knock on the damn door.”
My dad chuckled as I climbed off my bike and left my helmet on the seat. If this was the only time I would ever see Esther’s house, I was going to take it.
I stood at the door for what felt like a hell of a long time, running my hand through my hair and fidgeting with my clothes before a woman opened it.
“Can I help you?” she asked, looking past me at the bikes.
“Hello, I was wondering if Noel is home?”
“Noel?”
“Your daughter?”
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Noel lives across the street.” She pointed. “Blue house.”
“Crap,” I muttered. “Thanks.”
The look on her face was a bit concerning.
“That’s my brother’s car,” I said, shrugging and smiling in the way I’d seen Rumi use a million times on a million different women. “He skipped school today, and he’s not answering his phone.”
“He must be in trouble,” she said, smiling back. Bingo.
“You could say that,” I agreed ruefully. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem.”
I strode back toward the boys and nodded across the street. “Blue house.”
