Page 19 of Property of Anchor

Anchor

The energy on the island was low but steady.The kind that buzzed under your skin but never broke the surface.Most of the big crowds came through Friday to Sunday.Mondays and Tuesdays, we were closed.The smart play was we shut it down to save on payroll and electricity, give the guys a break.We should have done the same on Wednesdays, but I’d learned a long time ago that some money was always better than no money.

The haunted house still had a line, maybe twenty deep.The next boat tour was prepping, a skeleton crew on deck to keep the illusion alive: half-dead sailors, long-lost fishermen, Victorian ghosts with white contact lenses and prosthetic wounds.All show, all craft.The kind of fear you could package and sell.

The kind of fear we controlled.

Inside the surveillance office, it was just me and Skull.The room was tucked behind the haunted house, hidden between walls, accessible through a disguised maintenance door no guest would ever find.It smelled faintly of stale popcorn, fog machine residue, and dust.Eight monitors lined the far wall, each displaying black-and-white feeds from cameras planted all over the island: the docks, the trails, the house interior, even the path down to the ghost town ruins.

Skull leaned back in the creaky folding chair beside me, one boot propped on the desk as he stared at the screens.

“You ever think about what’d happen if one of these idiots actually saw a ghost?”he asked.

“Depends,” I muttered, flipping through the camera views with a few taps.“If they screamed and ran, we’d probably make it part of the tour.”

He huffed a laugh.“You’re not wrong.”

We watched in silence for a while.One of the monitors showed Prime and Lost hammering something back into place near the guest queue, looked like one of the wooden skeleton signs had come loose.Vin crossed the frame, arms full of chains.Another screen flickered and caught the flash of a strobe light going off too early in the dining room scare zone.I made a mental note to have Push check the timer.

“Painting crew’s settling in,” Skull said casually.“That Pearl chick’s hot.”

I didn’t say anything right away.

I just stared at the screen, slowly blinking, then shifted to glance at him.

“Don’t.”

He raised a brow.“Don’t what?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Shit,” he said, letting out a low whistle.“Didn’t know she was off-limits.”

“She’s not—” I stopped myself, jaw tightening.“She’s just not club.She doesn’t strike me as the type.”

Skull turned in his chair, both feet planted on the ground now, and leaned forward like a wolf catching the scent of a fresh trail.“You saying that like you’re doing her a favor,” he said.“Or like maybe you’ve got something else in mind?”

I didn’t take the bait.

Just flicked through more cameras.Boat dock.Concession stands.Entryway of the haunted house.All clear.

“No,” I said flatly.“She’s just here to paint.Let’s keep it clean.”

Skull studied me for another second, then grinned.“Sure,” he said, drawing the word out.“Clean.”

I didn’t respond.Couldn’t.Not without giving away more than I wanted to.

The truth?

I’d been thinking about her since she walked back across the island with that duffel bag on her shoulder.Since she’d stood in that tiny cabin and asked about the VCR.Since she looked up at me like she wasn’t afraid of anything, including me.

I knew what this was.

I wasn’t interested in small talk.I wasn’t built for long walks or promises.But Pearl?She stirred something.Something sharp.Something hot.Maybe I wanted a taste.Maybe I wanted more than I should.

I flicked the camera feed again, switching to the long-view angle of the cabins.

Both were dark, but the floodlight on the side of the clubhouse cast a soft glow through the trees.Then, motion.The infrared picked up a blur of movement in the cabin on the left.

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