Page 1 of A Witchy Spell Ride (31 Days of Trick or Treat, Bikers and Mobsters #15)

Chapter One

Selene

Briar is curled upside-down on my couch, wearing rainbow socks and an oversized T-shirt that read Psychic? I Thought You Said Sidekick. Eating cereal straight from the box like it was a damn food group and giving me shit about my love life.

“So,” she says between crunches, “You ever consider maybe you’re cursed?”

I shoot her a look over the rim of my coffee mug. “You’re in my house insulting me before noon. You wanna try again?”

She grins, upside-down, all wild curls and eyeliner like war paint.

“Not cursed, cursed. Just… hexed. Like a romantic voodoo magnet for trash men.”

“Wow,” I say dryly. “It’s so comforting when your best friend calls you a human bad luck charm.”

“You’re welcome. But listen—this psychic I heard about? She’s not just good. She’s weird, good. Off-the-books, tarot-in-the-back-room-of-a-laundromat good.”

I raise a brow. “That’s specific.”

“She did Cross a reading last year.”

I sit up. “Wait—Cross?”

“Yup.”

“Your brother Cross? Raven Kings’ book-burying, body-hiding, terrifying accountant?”

“The one and only.”

I stare at her. “And what? She told him to diversify his portfolio?”

“She told him to ditch a deal he was making with some off-grid gunrunner in Florida.” She points her spoon at me. “And two weeks later, that guy got smoked in a warehouse fire. Coincidence? I think not.”

I blink. “Why the hell didn’t you lead with that?”

“Because you always roll your eyes when I talk about fate. You think my spell jars are just glitter and glue.”

“They are glitter and glue.”

She ignores me and sits up properly, curls sticking out like a mad halo. “So, here’s the deal. We go tonight. It’s in the Quarter. Real low-key. No neon signs or chicken feet.”

“Great, I was hoping for a night of witchcraft and risk.”

Her grin widens. “Admit it. You’re intrigued.”

I was.

But not for the reasons she thought.

I hadn’t told anyone—not her, not Reaper, not even Vex—that lately, I’d been feeling…

Watched.

Not every second.

Not even every day.

But enough that it sat heavy in my bones.

Like a storm in the distance.

Like something was coming.

I stand and pour more coffee into my mug. “You think she does house cleansings?”

“Oh, honey,” she says, sliding off the couch with the grace of a cat in a spin cycle, “she’ll do more than that. She’ll know things.”

And that’s what scares me.

Because deep down… I did too.

Something wasn’t right.

I just didn’t know how to explain it.

The psychic’s place doesn’t look like much. A faded green awning, chipped doorbell, the sign on the window says Palm Readings & Herbal Tonics but the vibe is more haunted antique shop than crystal store.

Inside, it smells like rosewater, dust, and something sharp, like ozone after lightening.

The woman who greets us couldn’t be older than forty. She has a braid down to her waist, eyes the color of storm clouds, and nails painted black with tiny white crescent moons. She doesn’t ask what we are there for, just looks at me and smiles.

“You brought her,” she says to Briar. My stomach tightens.

“I said she needed it,” my friend replies, like they were old acquaintances. “Didn’t tell her anything, swear.”

“Doesn’t matter.” The woman nods toward the back room. “Come.”

We follow her past a velvet curtain and into a cramped room lined with candles, mirrors, and a low round table.

She gestures for me to sit. I do because I can’t seem to not.

She doesn’t touch the cards, doesn’t ask for my birthday or birth time or blood type.

Just stares at me for a long, long time, then she says:

“There’s someone watching you.” My heart jolted.

“Close,” she adds. “But not close enough.” I try to keep my face blank.

She leans in slightly. “You already know, don’t you?” I swallow. “Know what?”

“That someone isn’t who they say they are.” I blink.

The psychic smiles. “You’ll take a ride soon. One that’ll mean more than you expect. One that’ll change everything.” Beside me, Briar leans in, fascinated.

The woman holds my gaze. “But be careful. There is love in your path… and danger. One may wear the face of the other.”

I exhale. “Are you saying love is dangerous?”

She just smiles. “Or that danger looks like love?” Still, she smiles.

“I don’t do riddles,” I mutter.

“You will,” she says. “After the spell.”

Before I can open my mouth to protest, she reaches into a pouch, pulls out a tiny charm wrapped in red thread, and places it in my palm.

“Keep this close. It’s done.”

“What’s done?”

“The spell.”

Briars jaw drops. “You actually, did it?”

The woman says nothing more, just stands. The reading is over.

We walk home under a bruised purple sky, the air heavy with heat and warning.

Briar keeps glancing at me. “You, okay?”

“No.”

“That was… intense.”

“She said someone’s watching me,” I murmur.

My friend stops walking. “Selene.”

I don’t look at her.

“You think it’s true?”

I nod once.

She grabs my hand. “You need to tell Reaper.”

“I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because he’ll overreact. He’ll go nuclear. I’ll be locked inside the clubhouse with a guard at my door and half the club riding around like it’s DEFCON one.”

“Maybe that’s what you need.”

“I need space to figure this out.”

She frowns. “You’re scared.”

I don’t answer.

She tightens her grip. “Selene. What’s going on?”

“I keep finding things,” I whisper. “Weird things. A charm left on my doorstep. A photo from five years ago with my face scratched out. A mark carved under my porch.”

“Oh my god.”

“And now this psychic”

“She knew.”

“I know.” My voice cracks.

She is quiet for a long beat, “Do you think it’s someone in the club?”

I meet her eyes. “I think… I don’t know what I think.”

But deep down, I was starting to fear the truth.

The person watching me wasn’t some outsider.

They were already close.

Maybe closer than I could handle.