Page 48 of Property of Anchor

And if they thought the Kings of Anarchy weren’t gonna burn down the world to find out who, it was time they remembered who the fuck we were.

Chapter Eighteen

Pearl

The last streaks of orange sunlight were bleeding out across the sky by the time I capped the last paint can and wiped my hands on a rag.My back ached, my knees were stiff, and I was sweating in places I didn’t know could sweat.But the haunted house was coming together.Slowly.Creepily.Perfectly.

Push was still out on the porch, leaning against one of the railings like a watchdog with his arms crossed and his jaw tight.He hadn’t said much all day, just nodded when I passed him and kept his eyes on the woods like the trees might suddenly decide to attack.

I glanced toward the stairs just as Bernice came down from the second floor.She moved slowly, one hand rubbing the small of her back.

“I’m ready to head back to the cabin, girl,” she muttered.

I laughed under my breath.“You want to take tomorrow off?We’re ahead of schedule.”

Bernice arched a brow like I was offering her a diamond tiara.“A day of rest?I’d sell a toe for that.”

“Deal,” I grinned, tossing the rag into the bucket and setting it aside.“Go ahead and start heading back.I’ll just lock up.”

Before she could turn toward the door, it opened, and Anchor stepped inside.

He looked...tired.Worn around the edges.His hair was messy like he’d run his hand through it too many times.His jaw was tight, his eyes shadowed, and the second he saw me, something in his expression softened.Just barely.

“Well, well,” Bernice said, squinting up at him.“Look who decided to show up like a knight in leather armor.”

Anchor didn’t react.“I’m just here to walk you back.”

Bernice snorted.“You gonna tuck us in, too?”

Anchor shifted his eyes to me.Didn’t answer.Bernice rolled hers, muttered something about “kids these days,” and pushed past him, heading out the door and down the steps.

I turned to him slowly, still standing near the doorway.“Are you okay?”I asked softly.

He didn’t speak.

Instead, he stepped forward, threaded his fingers through mine, and tugged me gently out the door behind him.

We didn’t talk.

Bernice walked a few paces ahead, muttering about her hip and the damn cold and how she was gonna sleep in until Wednesday.But all I could think about was the feel of Anchor’s hand wrapped around mine, his warmth against the chill in the air, and the electric buzz between us that hadn’t dulled since that first night.

Bernice veered off to her cabin.“‘Night,” she called over her shoulder.“And don’t bother me until Monday unless the house is on fire.”

We both laughed quietly.

I walked up the steps to my porch.Anchor stayed at the bottom, one hand on the rail.I turned to look at him, the shadows from the porch light wrapping around him in soft amber.His eyes found mine.Serious.Hungry.

I didn’t speak.

I stepped back.Opened the door.And walked inside.

I didn’t close it.

He followed.

I kept my back to him as I crossed to the small kitchen.I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, whether I should offer him food, or whiskey, or just stand here breathing like an idiot.

I heard the door shut behind him.A click that felt far louder than it should have been.