“You got to be kidding me, Cairyn.”
“Nope, this is the right address”
“Um, this is not what I expected.”
“I agree with you there, Siren.”
In front of us was a regular two-story house that looked identical to ones in House and Lawn Magazines. A lovely white picket fence, flowerbeds, red mailbox, a tiny windmill decoration, a perfectly paved walkway, and a shiny red front door. It didn’t shout out I am owned by an alcoholic piece of crap. It had more of a I’m owned by an ex-president. Yet, I noticed one thing that stuck out like a sore thumb. An all-black cross-sport motorcycle right there in the driveway. Jacek’s bike.
I pointed to it. “Jacek’s bike, were at the right place.”
“Someh
