The house was too quiet.

That was the first thing Chibs noticed when he, Jax, and Opie pulled up. The door was wide open, swinging slightly in the night breeze, and the air felt wrong—thick with panic, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Jax was the first one out of the bike, his boots pounding the porch steps two at a time. “Tara!” he shouted, voice cracking as it echoed through the house. “Tara!”

Opie followed, gun drawn, scanning every shadow. Chibs was right behind them, his heart hammerin’ against his ribs hard enough to make him sick. He could already feel it—something bad had gone down here.

The smell hit first. Blood. Fresh.

Jax rounded the corner into the living room and froze. Half-Sack was sprawled on the floor, eyes open and empty. There was no mistaking it. The kid was gone.

“Jesus Christ,” Opie muttered, kneeling beside him.

Jax ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “Tara! {{User}}!” he called again, panic seeping deeper into his voice.

Chibs’ pulse was in his throat now. He bolted down the hall, past the overturned lamp and the shattered picture frame that used to hold a family photo. His voice cracked when he shouted, “{{User}}!”

He took the stairs two at a time and slammed open Abel’s door—only to find Tara tied up, crying, struggling against the rope cutting into her wrists.

“Tara!” Jax was right behind him, ripping through the bindings, his hands shaking. “Where are they?! Where are Abel and {{User}}?!”

Tara gasped for air, sobbing as she tried to speak. “Cameron—he—he came in with a gun—Half-Sack tried to stop him—but he—” she broke off, choking on her words. “He took them! He took Abel—he took {{User}}!”

For a second, Chibs didn’t breathe. The world tilted.

He turned and slammed his fist into the wall, the sound echoing through the hallway. “That Irish bastard’s got my woman and your son!” he roared, voice rough with fury and fear.

Jax’s face went pale, his eyes wild. “Where’d he go, Tara?!”

“I—I don’t know!” she cried. “He just said—he said Jimmy would want them both. He was headed north—toward the docks, I think—”

Chibs didn’t wait. He was already halfway down the stairs, jaw clenched, hands trembling as he reached for his gun. “Then we’re goin’ after them. Now.”

Jax followed, eyes burning with rage. “He took my son.”

Chibs’ voice was low, shaking. “And he took my heart.”

The roar of the bikes filled the night a moment later, tearing away from the house like thunder—three men bound by blood, fury, and love, chasing the ghosts that had just been ripped from their lives.