Page 24

Pearl

I adjusted the moon pendant necklace around my neck and frowned at my reflection in the cabin mirror.

“And this is when I regret not bringing more clothes,”

I muttered.

My options were limited, but I finally settled on a black skirt with a strip of animal print down the sides that hit mid-thigh, a light blue fitted crop top, and my trusty black Converse. Not exactly haute couture, but I figured it was cute enough for a haunted house and a ghost boat ride.

I pulled my damp curls into a high ponytail and gave myself one last look. Cute. A little nervous. Definitely excited.

A knock sounded at the door just as I was adjusting the clasp of my necklace. I turned to see Anchor through the screen, broad and dark against the golden haze of sunset.

“Hey,” I called.

“Hey yourself, doll,”

he said, his voice low and warm.

“Lost told me you sent him out here.”

Uh oh. I might’ve just gotten Lost in trouble.

“I was getting dressed and couldn’t figure out what to wear,”

I explained quickly.

“Didn’t want him to be an audience to my indecisiveness.”

Anchor tsked and pushed the door open.

“Take off, Lost,”

he barked.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

Yup. Definitely in trouble.

I rushed to Anchor and wrapped my arms around his waist.

“Don’t be mad at him. He was doing what I told him to do.”

“He’s a prospect, Pearl. He didn’t do what I told him to do.”

“But he did what I told him,”

I countered, looking up at him.

“And since you think I belong to you…”

I trailed off, blinking up at him innocently.

“...that technically means he did listen to you, since I’m me. Or something like that.”

Anchor let out a low chuckle and gently cupped my face.

“I get what you’re saying, but his ass is still washing all the bikes.”

I frowned.

“Can I at least help him?”

He smirked.

“Only if you put a bikini on, and I’m the only one around within a mile.”

I batted my lashes.

“Is that a fantasy?”

“Oh, fuck yeah, doll.”

Mental note: bikini. Bike wash. Anchor. Got it.

“You ready?”

he asked, threading his fingers through mine.

“Yeah. Do I need my purse?”

He shook his head.

“One of the perks of belonging to the Prez, you don’t pay for shit.”

I grabbed the sweatshirt off the couch and followed him out. The island had changed back to being alive at night. People were everywhere, laughing, chattering, screaming in delight as they filtered in and out of the haunted house. Lights glowed in the trees and along the path. The scent of kettle corn hung in the air.

“Haunted house or boat first?”

Anchor asked.

I thought for a second.

“Haunted house. Let’s do it.”

We joined the line, and within a few minutes, we were inside. Even though I’d spent two weeks painting every inch of the place, everything looked completely different in the dark. Fog curled along the floor. Red lights pulsed in time with eerie music. And when a werewolf lunged from the shadows, I shrieked and grabbed Anchor’s arm.

He laughed and pulled me close.

“You know it’s all fake, right?”

“Says the guy who didn’t just have a furry man jump out at him!”

We made our way through bloodied dentist offices, a creepy Victorian nursery, and a swamp scene with real water I was pretty sure had bugs in it. The guys really took what we had painted and brought it to life. By the time we stumbled out, I was panting with laughter and gripping Anchor like a life raft.

“Popcorn?”

he offered.

“Yes, please. Emotional support popcorn.”

We grabbed a bag and walked toward the dock. The lake shimmered in the dark as soft waves lapped against the pier. The double-decker ghost boat was approaching, dimly lit, with skull lanterns flickering along the railing.

“Is it weird to be doing this like you’re a tourist?” I asked.

Anchor shook his head.

“No. Because I’m doing it with you. I’d do anything as long as you’re with me.”

God. That was going in the mental vault forever.

Skull called from the far end of the dock.

“Hey lovebirds! Hands where we can see them!”

I blushed. Anchor just flipped him off.

We boarded the boat and climbed to the upper deck. The lake stretched out like black glass around us. Eerie music played from the speakers, and a low, gravelly voice narrated the story of a woman who waited on the cliffs for her lover who died in a boat wreck.

I leaned into Anchor’s side and whispered.

“Is that true?”

He shrugged.

“Maybe. Sounds like the kind of story that sticks to a place like this,”

he said with a wink.

The boat docked at the far end of the island, and we followed the group onto a path lit by dim lanterns. Chainsaws revved. People screamed. Costumed actors leapt out from behind trees. I shrieked at least three more times, clinging to Anchor the whole way.

Eventually, we broke off from the crowd, walking the narrow path back to the haunted house. The night had gone from fun to cozy. His arm was around my shoulders, and I was finally starting to feel safe.

Then Anchor stopped.

One of the lights ahead was out. He frowned, letting go of me and crouching beside it.

I moved to stand beside him just as he pulled out a flashlight.

The beam cut through the darkness and landed on a foot.

A human foot.

My breath caught.

Anchor followed the foot up a dirt-smudged leg, over a torn shirt. The letters KOAMC were carved into the stomach. I barely had time to process that before his light hit the face.

The mouth was sewn shut with thick black twine.

“Oh no,”

I whispered, my hand flying to my mouth.

“Son of a bitch,”

Anchor growled. He pulled his walkie-talkie from his back pocket.

“Skull,”

he barked into it.

“We’ve got another one.”