Kallum hated looking into people. That was the most boring office job imaginable. Each time he was forced to go into the public records, data brokers, family history research, and shady underground folks, he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Everyone always thought this was easy work, but a lot went into finding accurate, reliable, and sourced information.
"Two bottles." Noah impatiently tapped his feet and crossed his arms, refusing to bulge from his negotiation. "Two bottles and no rehab."
"You're already pushing your luck with one." Kallum glared at his younger brother.
Cruden and Kallum thought they had lucked out when Noah didn't have a rebellious age. No terrible twos or fussy fives. He was a good boy who learned to stop crying when no one acknowledged it. He didn't throw a lot of temper tantrums and his only problems were his old panic attacks.
