Page 37 of Property of Anchor

“You don’t think he’s handsome?”

“Of course I do.That doesn’t mean I trust him.”

“Why not?”

She sat back with a sigh.“Because men like that usually come with stories written in blood, not ink.”

That sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the cool morning air.

“I’m just saying,” she added, “be careful.There’s something about this place.About those boys.”

My heart was already ahead of me, racing off with every warning I’d been trying to ignore since I set foot on this island.

“Not ominous at all,” I muttered.

Bernice gave me a sharp smile.“Didn’t say it to scare you, Pearl.Just… don’t forget who you are, that’s all.You’re not some doe-eyed girl who gets swept away by danger.”

“Who said anything about being swept away?”

“I saw how you looked at him.”

I groaned and flopped back on the bed, mug held up in the air.“Shut up.”

Bernice chuckled.“I’m just saying… keep your wits about you.You’ve got talent, drive, and good instincts.Don’t lose any of that for some guy with scars and secrets.”

“I won’t,” I promised.But even as I said it, I wasn’t sure if I meant it.

Because Anchor wasn’t just some guy.And last night, when everything had gone sideways, he’d been the one to hold me up.

I’d felt safer in his arms than I’d ever expected to feel on a haunted island surrounded by bikers and dead bodies.

Bernice stood and stretched, groaning softly.“You better get dressed.I imagine today’s gonna be a long one.”

I nodded, still staring up at the ceiling.

She was halfway to the door before I called after her.“Hey, Bernice?”

She looked over her shoulder.

“Thanks for the coffee.”

She winked.“Anytime, kiddo.Don’t forget to lock the door this time.”

Then she was gone, leaving me with a warm mug and a head full of thoughts.

Chapter Fifteen

Anchor

The lake was quiet in that way it only got when the wind died down and the tourists were gone.Just the lapping of water against the rocky shore and the occasional creak of the old dock.I needed the quiet.I needed the space.That’s why I’d been circling the island’s perimeter for the past hour, boots crunching on gravel and cracked leaves, and a cigarette burning low in my hand.

The haunted house was a couple of hours from opening.The paint crew was making progress until then.

I rounded the far north bend, near where the land curved out into a peninsula.It was overgrown out here.The kind of place even the club didn’t mess with often.We had some junk storage and a few rusting barrels tucked out of sight.That’s when I saw it.

Just peeking out from a patch of loose earth near the base of an old tree.A tattered scrap of black cloth.I squatted down, and my gut went tight.

It was a Kings of Anarchy patch.Not a full rocker, just the crest.Faded skull.Twisted crown.No name.No chapter.But I knew the make.Knew the thread.

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