Page 16

Pearl

The steam still clung to the air and curled around the edges of the mirror above the tiny sink. I ran my fingers through my damp hair and worked out the knots while my reflection stared back at me with flushed cheeks and tired eyes.

The last few days had blurred together—long hours, late nights, and enough paint fumes to make a person dizzy. But the haunted house looked incredible now. The exterior was done, a patchwork of dark reds, sludgy greens, and eerie purples that made it look like it had clawed its way out of a nightmare. My crew had knocked it out of the park.

Anchor had been a ghost.

I’d catch glimpses of him on the far end of the lot, sometimes standing near the dock or up on the wraparound porch of the clubhouse. Watching. Not hiding, but not exactly making an effort to come talk to me either. It was almost like he wanted me to know he was watching, that he was still keeping an eye on me, but didn’t want to get too close.

And dammit, I wanted him close.

It hadn’t escaped my notice when Brian asked me if I was okay two days ago and Anchor stepped in between us like some kind of brooding guard dog. There was nothing going on with Brian; he was happily married and had a toddler who called me Auntie Pearl, but Anchor didn’t know that.

He didn’t ask either. He just made his silent claim and walked off like he hadn’t just short-circuited my brain.

Now I stood in my towel, the night air pressing through the cracked window. I padded into the main room of the cabin, grabbed an old tee and a pair of soft shorts from my duffel bag. My skin still tingled from the hot water, and I was halfway into the shirt when I heard it—a knock. Not loud. Just… confident.

My heart jumped. Only one person knocked like that on this island.

I didn’t even bother with socks. I padded barefoot to the door and opened it.

Anchor stood there, backlit by the moonlight, the edge of a cigarette glowing between two fingers. His hair was a little wild, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His cut stretched across his shoulders like it belonged there, which it did. His gaze dropped over me slowly, deliberately, and settled on my face.

“Evenin’, doll.”

My mouth went dry. “Hey.”

“You busy?”

I leaned against the doorframe, pretending like I didn’t want to pull him inside and wrap myself around him.

“You’re lucky I’m decent.”

He smirked.

“That’s debatable.”

I stepped back, letting the screen door swing open. He didn’t come in right away. He stepped up to the threshold and stubbed out his cigarette on the porch rail, then snuffed it out with the toe of his boot. Only then did he walk in.

His eyes scanned the small space, like he was checking for danger or maybe just buying time.

“You smell like coconut,” he said.

“Shampoo,”

I replied, pushing a damp strand of hair behind my ear.

“Do you want something? Water? Beer?”

“I want you.”

The words dropped between us like a match in dry brush.

My breath caught.

He stepped closer, his boots making almost no sound on the wood floor.

“I’ve tried to keep my distance. I really have, Pearl.”

His voice was low, rough.

“But I can’t stop thinking about you. And seeing you every day—working, laughing with your crew, making this place something special—fuck, it’s killing me.”

I stood frozen as he lifted his hand and traced a single finger along my jaw.

“I know you’re not part of this life. And I know I’m dragging you into shit you don’t deserve. But if you’ll let me…”

His eyes searched mine.

“I want to be close to you.”

I didn’t say anything.

Instead, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his.

He didn’t hesitate. His hands came to my waist, gripping tightly, and pulled me in. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as I kissed him like I’d been starving for it, because I had been. It was hungry, messy, and completely unprofessional.

His tongue slid against mine, slow and teasing at first, but when I nipped his bottom lip, he growled and walked me backward until I hit the wall. His hands roamed up my back, down my sides, and then across my hips. My legs wobbled, and I clutched him tighter, trying to ground myself in the feel of him.

“You sure about this?”

he murmured against my mouth.

“Anchor,”

I whispered.

“I’ve been sure.”

That was all it took. His mouth crashed back to mine as he lifted me, and my legs wrapped around his waist. He carried me to the couch. He sat down with me wrapped around him like I was something breakable. His hands never stopped moving, exploring, mapping me out like he’d been waiting a lifetime to learn my curves.

We barely came up for air, and when we did, he looked at me like I was the most dangerous thing he’d ever faced.

Anchor’s hands slid under my shirt with rough fingertips grazing over my skin like they belonged there. My legs were still wrapped around his waist, and I could feel every inch of him pressed against me. Every muscle. Every bit of want.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman,”

he muttered against my neck.

“You’re doing a terrible job,”

I whispered back and tipped my head so he could kiss the spot under my jaw.

He groaned low in his throat.

“Not gonna lie, doll. I’m okay with failing right now.”

I grinned, and my eyes fluttered shut.

Knock knock knock.

The sharp rap on the door snapped me out of the moment like a bucket of ice water. My eyes flew open, and I practically shoved Anchor off of me.

He blinked, caught himself on the arm of the couch, and growled something very unkind under his breath.

Knock knock knock.

“Pearl?”

Bernice’s voice drifted in, muffled through the door but still distinct.

“I brought over that book I told you about. The one with the woman who ends up sleeping with a criminal.”

I blinked at Anchor.

He blinked back.

I scrambled off his lap, yanked my shirt down, and brushed my hair with my fingers as I darted to the door. I cracked it open just enough to peer out.

Bernice stood on the porch, clutching a paperback that looked like it had been rescued from a dumpster and then dragged through a windstorm. She wore her usual blue muumuu, yellow slippers, and a knitted scarf even though it was sixty-five degrees out.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“You’re flushed.”

“I was… showering. Still hot.”

Her gaze drifted past my shoulder, and I was painfully aware that Anchor hadn’t moved or made a single sound.

“Mm-hmm,”

Bernice said.

“Your voice sounds suspiciously winded for someone who just took a relaxing rinse.”

I offered a smile that I hoped screamed please don’t keep digging and reached for the book.

“Thanks for the, uh, smut.”

She didn’t hand it over. Instead, she leaned on her cane and stared me down like she had x-ray vision and fully intended to use it.

“You know, Pearl, I may be old, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I know the look of a woman who’s been thoroughly kissed.”

Behind me, Anchor cleared his throat.

I stiffened.

Bernice’s eyebrows shot up.

“Well, well.”

“Bernice…”

She waved me off with one hand and finally shoved the book at me.

“Do whatever you want. Just don’t get yourself killed. Men like him don’t come with warnings on the packaging, but they should.”

I gripped the book.

“Thanks… I think?”

She was already turning around.

“You’ll figure it out. Or you won’t. But if you find a dead body on this island, I’m blaming hormones.”

The door shut with a soft thud, and I stood there staring at it for a long second before turning back to Anchor.

He hadn’t moved. Still leaned back against the couch, one arm draped over the back like he was king of the world and not regretting anything.

“She’s subtle, huh?”

he smirked.

“Subtle like a sledgehammer.”

I padded back toward him, curling my fingers around the book.

“She’s not wrong, though. You don’t come with warning labels.”

“No,”

he agreed.

“But maybe I should come with a promise.”

I raised a brow.

“Yeah? What kind of promise?”

He stood up and walked toward me slowly.

“The kind that says I won’t let anything happen to you. Not while you’re here. Not while I’m around.”

The words lodged in my chest.

“I know this shit has gotten heavy. And I know I dragged you into it.”

“I found the body,”

I whispered.

“You didn’t drag me anywhere.”

He nodded.

“Still. I’ve got your back, Pearl. I mean it.”

For a moment, I forgot about the dead bodies, the suspicion in Bernice’s voice, and the weight of what we were tangled up in. All I could think about was the way Anchor looked at me like I was something more than just another person caught in the chaos.

I stepped closer with the book still clutched in my hand.

“I’d like you to kiss me again. Now would be a good time before Bernice decides to come back with popcorn.”

Anchor grinned, and then he kissed me—slow, sure, and unhurried.

Anchor pulled back just enough for his breath to ghost across my lips. His eyes searched mine like he was trying to memorize everything I was thinking.

“I should go,”

he said quietly, like the words pained him as much as they did me.

I didn’t move. “I know.”

His hand cupped my jaw, and his thumb brushed just under my cheekbone.

“If I stay, I won’t stop.”

I swallowed hard.

“Would that be so bad?”

“No, but maybe we both need to get a breather before this thing between us burns the whole damn place down.”

My heart pounded—thudded like it wanted to leap into his chest instead of staying in mine.

He stepped back slowly like his body didn’t actually want to obey his mind.

“You’re safe in here, Pearl.”

I nodded.

“Because you’ve got cameras everywhere?”

A small smile played on his lips.

“Yeah. That, and… we always keep watch. You’re not alone here, even if it feels like it sometimes.”

He took one last look at me. Something deep and unreadable flickering in his expression, then turned and opened the cabin door. Cool air drifted in behind him, and I followed him to the porch like I didn’t trust the floor not to disappear under my feet the second he left.

Anchor paused at the edge of the porch, the dim moonlight brushing the edge of his shoulders.

“Get some sleep.”

I leaned on the doorframe.

“You too, biker man.”

He glanced back with a smirk and then walked off into the night.

I watched him go. Step by step until he disappeared into the shadows between the trees and the faint glow of the haunted house lights.

The air felt different once he was gone—still full of tension… but empty too. Like he’d taken something from me when he left but also left something behind.

I sat down in the porch chair, tucked my legs up under the blanket, and stared out at the darkened island.

I didn’t know what came next.

But I knew I was right where I needed to be.

And someone was always watching.

Even when I wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or a warning.