Page 17

Anchor

Saturday rolled in lazy and gray, thick with humidity and the smell of lake water that never really left Skull Island. It was the kind of day where the quiet felt too quiet, as if the whole island was holding its breath. The crew had taken off for the weekend. Only Pearl and Bernice were still around, holed up inside the haunted house with paint rollers and a stack of drop cloths.

Skull had asked if we should close for a few days. Recalibrate. Figure out what the hell was going on with these damn bodies. I’d told him no. Business needed to keep moving. We needed a sense of normalcy, even if it was all just smoke and mirrors.

Still, I hadn’t stopped thinking about Pearl.

Last night, when I went to Pearl’s cabin, I hadn’t planned to touch her. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to, but I was trying to control myself.

Obviously, with Pearl, control was out the damn window.

I needed to see her again. I just needed her.

So around noon, I made my way over to the haunted house. The place was eerily quiet without the sound of tourists screaming their heads off. Just the faint creak of wood and the occasional muffled bang from deeper inside.

I found her in the main corridor, brush in hand, painting one of the peeling baseboards a fresh coat of crimson. She had her hair up in a loose bun, little wisps falling around her neck, and her tank top speckled with paint. The sight of her made my throat go dry.

“Working hard?”

I asked, my voice low and rough.

She looked up, startled for a second before her mouth curved into a small smile. “Always.”

My boots echoed off the floor as I stepped inside, slow and deliberate. I stopped a few feet from her and watched the way she moved. The kind of woman who got things done. The kind of woman who made it hard for me to think straight.

She turned, paintbrush still in hand.

“Just cleaning up the trim. Bernice is upstairs working on the torture room.”

I raised a brow.

“You say that like it’s just another Saturday chore.”

Pearl laughed softly, and the sound tugged at something deep in my chest.

“After this week? Nothing surprises me anymore.”

I let her talk. Let her show me what she’d been doing: fresh coats of paint, patched-up walls, a few details she was proud of. But the whole time, I wasn’t listening.

I was watching her mouth.

Her fingers.

The way her tank top dipped low and exposed the curve of her collarbone.

I stepped in closer, just enough to feel the heat rolling off her. She hesitated, and her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes lifted to mine.

“You done showing me around?”

I asked, my voice low.

Pearl swallowed hard.

“I... guess.”

“Good.”

I reached out and brushed a stray curl from her cheek.

“Because I didn’t come here to check the paint.”

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

Her eyes said it all.

I slid my hand around her waist and pulled her to me. Her breath caught again, but then her lips were on mine, warm and hungry. I kissed her like I’d been starving because I had been.

She melted into me, her hands clutching at my cut, her body pressed flush against mine like she couldn’t get close enough. I ran my hands up her back, one of them gently fisting in her hair as I deepened the kiss. She tasted like mint and heat and everything I shouldn’t want, but did anyway.

We broke apart for a second, both of us panting.

“You sure about this?”

I asked, dragging my thumb along her bottom lip.

“Are you?”

she shot back, eyes flashing.

I grinned and kissed her again. Harder this time.

I tugged at the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head. Her skin was warm and smooth, and I let my hands roam up her sides, down her back, like I needed to memorize every inch beneath the fabric.

I backed her up against the wall, one hand braced above her head, the other on her waist. She tilted her chin up and kissed me again, hungry and fast. Her hands slid under my shirt, nails grazing my skin, and I growled low in my throat.

Just as I dipped my head to kiss down her neck, my radio crackled.

“Anchor, you there?”

Skull’s voice rang out.

I clenched my jaw and ignored it. Pearl’s fingers dug into my arms, and her lips traced my jaw.

“Anchor?”

Skull again, more urgent.

I cursed under my breath and held her tight, lips brushing her ear.

“Don’t move.”

I grabbed the radio from my belt and growled, “What?”

There was a pause.

Then Skull said.

“We’ve got another one.”

I closed my eyes.

Pearl went still in my arms.

The weight of her against me, the heat of what we’d almost had, vanished in an instant. Replaced by something cold and suffocating.

“Where?”

I barked into the radio.

“Boat dock. Push is already there. It’s bad.”

I dropped my forehead against Pearl’s. She didn’t pull away. Her eyes met mine, wide and searching.

“I have to go,”

I said softly.

She nodded, silent.

I stepped back, tugged her tank top off the floor, and handed it to her. Her hands trembled as she pulled it back on.

“Stay here until I come and get you,”

I said.

“Keep Bernice close. You’re safe. We’re always watching.”

She nodded again, but I could see the questions in her eyes.

I didn’t have time to answer them.

I gave her one last look, burned her into my mind, and then I was gone.

I ran toward the dock and wondered how many more bodies were going to show up before this island turned into a fucking graveyard.

We’ve got another one.

Those four damn words punched me straight in the gut. I hadn’t even had time to catch my breath from the last body, and now there was a third.

The dock came into view, and I spotted Push, Skull, Vin, and Wannabe standing in a tight cluster at the edge of the water.

The body floated just a few feet from the edge, face-down, shirtless, and slightly bloated. His arms drifted lifelessly like kelp beneath the murky surface.

“Push, Vin, get him out,”

I barked, skidding to a stop.

They didn’t hesitate. Both men stepped onto the lower dock and leaned out, grabbing hold of the body’s limbs and hauling him out of the water. His skin was pale and puckered from the water, lips sewn shut, but it wasn’t the water that had killed him.

“Anyone know him?”

I asked, eyes sweeping over the body, then to my brothers.

Heads shook slowly, one by one. Skull, silent and grim. Wannabe, pale as ever. Vin let out a breath through his nose.

Same as the others.

Mouth sewn shut with thick black twine.

KOAMC carved deep across his stomach, letters jagged and violent, done with the same hand as before.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Same deal,”

Skull muttered.

“Yeah,”

I rasped.

“Exactly the same.”

The patchwork of unease that had been building in my chest all week threatened to snap wide open. The Kings of Anarchy weren’t strangers to death. Hell, we’d put more than a few men in the ground ourselves, but this… this was something else.

This was becoming routine.

Three bodies in a week. All dumped here, like some sick bastard was sending us a damn message.

We took the same route through the woods as before. The guys moved quickly with the body, already working like muscle memory. That chilled me more than the actual corpse.

“You get Lost to grab Doc?”

I asked Skull.

“Yeah. He’s on his way,”

Skull said.

“At this point, Doc oughta have a fucking guest room in the clubhouse.”

I snorted despite the knot in my gut.

“You read my mind.”

The scent of damp leaves and soil followed us into the hidden shed. Skull opened the hidden panel, the wall of crates shifting with practiced ease. I watched Vin glance around warily as if expecting eyes in the shadows. I didn’t blame him.

We made it down into the tunnel. Cold, stale air hugged the walls like a warning. I hated how normal this path was becoming.

Doc was right behind us, his bag slung over his shoulder and his coat flapping around his knees. He looked more irritated than disturbed, which said a hell of a lot about how many corpses he’d looked at lately.

“What’d I miss?”

he asked dryly.

I jerked my chin toward the table.

“Third one. Same M.O.”

Doc approached and let out a low whistle.

“You fuckers are gonna run out of whiskey.”

Post was already down there when we arrived, arms crossed and eyes locked on the three slabs lined up like some morbid gallery.

“We gotta do something with the first one,”

he muttered.

“It’s been down here almost a week.”

Doc pulled on gloves and started checking over the new body.

“Only reason it doesn’t smell worse is ‘cause it’s cool down here. That, and your boy Skull brought down a couple industrial fans.”

“We’re not in the corpse storage business,”

I growled.

“Could’ve fooled me,”

Doc muttered.

I turned to Wannabe and Lost, who had just come stumbling down the tunnel, clearly winded.

“You two,”

I said, pointing.

“When it gets dark, you’re digging graves.”

Wannabe paled.

“What, where?”

“Piney’ll show you.”

“I’ll point,”

Piney said from the back corner.

“But the prospects are doing the damn work.”

Doc glanced up, tugging the twine gently at the corners of the man’s mouth.

“Same technique. Same material. Whoever’s doing this… they’ve done it before. No hesitation.”

“What about the wounds?” I asked.

Doc peeled the man’s shirt back farther.

“Same carving as the last two. KOAMC, neat and fresh. Carved after he was dead.”

Doc reached for the crate Bob had brought down earlier and cracked open a bottle.

“I haven’t even made it halfway through the last case of whiskey,”

he grumbled.

“I’ll get you a case of tequila next time,” I said.

Doc smirked.

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

He went back to his work while the rest of us drifted to the far side of the cellar.

Skull crossed his arms.

“We can’t keep reacting. We need to figure out who the hell is doing this before another one floats in.”

Vin let out a frustrated grunt.

“It’s gotta be Venom. It has to be. No one else would go this far and try to pin it on us.”

Skull nodded.

“We need to reach out to a few of his old contacts. See if he’s surfaced recently.”

“What about Razor?”

Skull asked.

All eyes turned to me.

“I’ll get in touch,”

I said.

“If anyone knows where Venom is, or what the hell this means, it’s Razor.”

“Think he’ll even answer your call?”

Push asked.

I shrugged.

“He owes me.”

Silence fell for a beat.

Then Piney muttered.

“This isn’t random. Someone’s targeting us.”

“They’re sending a message,”

Vin agreed.

“And I don’t think it’s just for us.”

I didn’t like the way that sounded.

I also didn’t like the look Skull shot me.

“Think it’s time to tell the others?” he asked.

“Yeah,”

I said.

“Push, you let them know. Tell Post, Prime, and Bob to keep their eyes sharp. No one moves around this island alone. Not even to take a piss.”

Skull grunted.

“We need eyes everywhere. Surveillance, patrol, inside the house, everything.”

I nodded.

“After this, I’m going through every inch of footage we’ve got. Someone’s on this island without our say-so. And I’m gonna find out who.”

Doc stood up, wiped his hands, and stretched his back.

“Same story as before. You got yourself a serial killer with a grudge.”

“Yeah,”

I muttered.

“I just need to know who the grudge is against.”

He packed his bag and looked at me.

“I’ll be at the bar. Again.”

“Make room at the counter,”

Skull grumbled.

Lost followed Doc out, while Vin stayed back, his jaw tight. Skull went with them to secure the path back up to the surface.

I turned to Push.

“Go stand guard at the haunted house.”

“You got it, Prez.”

He took off, and I was left alone in the cold silence of the cellar, three bodies lined up behind me like grim reminders of what I’d failed to see coming.

I didn’t like this feeling. It had my gut twisted and my fists clenched.

I left the morgue and headed out into the woods.

Time to walk the island.

Time to see what the hell I was missing.

And after that?

I’d be tearing through every frame of surveillance we had because someone was walking our land and leaving corpses in their wake.

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.