The window in the small eating area off the kitchen gave Rich a view right into the kitchen of the townhouse behind where he stayed. He leaned forward and pressed his hand against the glass. The two houses shared a twenty-foot common space on the ground. He wouldn't even call that a yard.

He fingered the altered latch. It was the third window where he'd found a screw drilled into the metal flip-closure and a piece of dowel in the track, keeping him from opening the window. The double deadbolts on the front door and the entry into the garage seemed extreme for the neighborhood. But, it was the bigger and heavier locks in the bedrooms and bathroom that piqued his curiosity, and he'd gone looking for more security measures.

A rumble of a motorcycle outside irritated him. He flipped the latch, breaking the head of the screw off. It wasn't his Harley being returned. He'd recognize the sound of his own bike anywhere.

If a fire broke out, the woman living here would have a hell of a time getting out of the house while battling the frantic adrenaline rush. He worked out the rest of the screw and pocketed the pieces, relocking the window. At least now, there was an escape route.

The doorbell rang. Some door upstairs opened and soft footsteps padded through the house. Rich stayed in the kitchen. The less time he had to be around Wayne, Thad, Chuck, and Glen, the easier it'd be to slip out of St. John's when they gave back his Harley.

The first thing he'd do when he had his wheels was find a bar and spend the night on a stool until someone bought him a drink. Maybe find a woman's bed afterward. Then, he'd be good to go.

He had to stay ahead of Komoon Motorcycle Club.

Maybe he'd head east and go in a different direction, start over and find somewhere deep to lay low, and sink back into not giving a fuck.

Komoon MC had been a breeding ground for brothers turning their backs on each other, dealing with chopped bikes. It fit his life until they'd discovered his Notus tattoo. Now he had a death mark on him.

Closing his eyes, he rubbed his hand over his forehead. He'd lost track of the days he'd been here, and the last time he'd had a drink. One second he had his stash in the bedroom, the next, he couldn't find a bottle with a drop left in the bottom.

He remembered getting sick.

He remembered wanting to die.

He remembered waking up and finding the Notus members gone and a woman hiding in her bedroom. Since then, the woman had made fleeting appearances to run through the house for various things—laundry, food, to answer the door, but she always returned to her room.

Notus never used women. That was the rule twenty-five years ago, and he suspected that was still the rule today. But, he had no idea where the woman fit in with them.

She rarely spoke.

He refused to ask.

He couldn't even remember her name, but she had a twin sister. He remembered that.

The sound of a door opening changed the air in the house. He turned around to wait for a confrontation with whichever member came over. His irritation escalated. If the club believed having a woman here to keep him from running would stop him from walking out the door, they were more fucked up than he'd thought.

He wasn't going anywhere until he had his Harley back and the guys damn well knew it. The bike was the only thing he'd kept in his life. From the time he was sixteen years old, he'd rode that sweet fucker over more miles of asphalt than he could count. His softtail had saved his ass more times than anyone else.

The front door closed. Several seconds later, the elusive woman staying here peeked around the corner as she stepped softly toward the stairs. When she noticed she was caught, she stopped and straightened her shoulders.

"I..." She glanced over her shoulder to the living room and back to him. "That was Wayne at the door. He's out on the front step waiting for Clara and Ingrid to show up from the grocery store. They bought food for the house."

She stood on the balls of her feet, prepared to move at any moment. He walked toward her. She stepped back, closer to the front door. Staying away from her, he headed to the stairs. He had no desire to see Wayne.

Halfway up the steps, he stopped and turned around. "Who is Clara and Ingrid?"

She frowned. "Clara's my twin sister. She lives with Wayne. Ingrid is married to Glen."

He lowered his chin. "Who are you?"

"I'm Gracie."

"Which member do you belong to? Chuck or Thad?"

She schooled her facial features. "None of them."

He walked to the second floor of the house and went into the bedroom, getting enough information out of her to understand the situation. The fact that Wayne would throw a single woman, related to a woman belonging to the club, at him pissed him off, and he stepped back into the hallway, out of sight from anyone climbing the stairs

Though, he stood close enough to hear what was going on downstairs. The only way he was going to find out what Notus planned to do with him was if he figured out their motives first. If there were any abuse or manipulation of the woman from their end, he'd be disappointed in how the club had changed since he'd left.

The disrespectful treatment of women had been his one grievance he'd struggled with since joining Komoon Motorcycle Club. One he kept silent about because he needed a roof over his head and he preferred to have a place away from society.

"I bought you two blocks of cheese since I know you like to add cheese to all your dishes you cook." The feminine voice wafted upstairs to Rich. "Also, double the Steak-um packages. Those will be easy and fast to cook."

"Did you get more toilet paper?" He recognized Gracie's voice. "Oh, and I left my runners at your house."

"Got them." A clunk came from downstairs. "Also, bought this."

"Thanks. I never thought of that."

"Figured."

"Did you...?"

"Yes."

"What about—?"

"Bread? Yep."

Rich stepped closer to the top of the staircase. The two sisters sounded a lot alike, or maybe it was their habit of finishing each other's sentences that meshed them together.

"How are you doing?" asked Wayne.

Rich cocked his head to hear better. Which one of the women was he talking to?

"Fine."

He squatted, trying to look past the bottom of the stairs. Only Wayne's boots came into view.

"Glen said he'll come over Wednesday evening and you can go to the bar." A soft, almost timid, female voice came into the conversation. "If you need anything, give me a call, and I can send a bag with him."

"Thanks. I should be okay with everything you guys brought over, but I'll let you know if anything comes up when I throw away everything from the fridge that expired."

"We're having a meeting Tuesday night. Call me with a list, and I can pass it on while we're all together." Wayne stepped back until Rich had to stand and move away from the top of the stairs to stay out of sight. "We've got an active missing person case happening, so the more organized we can stay between us, we can keep things from falling through the cracks."

Rich's chest constricted. Missing person? In St. John's?

Sweat broke out on his forehead. He wiped his face, pushing back his hair. The need to get out of the house, out of town, and far away sent him back into the bedroom. He couldn't hear anymore. The less he knew, the better it was in case things turned south.

He'd already been a suspect in a missing person case when Thalia disappeared. What the hell was Notus doing getting involved in another one?