Page 7

Anchor

The sun wasn’t even all the way up yet, but I was already out in front of the cabins with Skull, Piney, and Lost. A fresh breeze rolled in from the lake and carried that faint metallic scent of water and the bite of damp earth.

The two cabins stood side by side, maybe twenty feet apart. Each was about the size of a small studio apartment and was built from old cedar logs that had gone soft gray with time. A pair of rocking chairs sat on each porch, one with a slouching cushion that looked like it hadn’t been sat in since the Fourth of July three years ago.

“Place looks like something out of a ‘70s horror flick,”

Piney muttered, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Yeah,”

Skull added.

“Maybe we should’ve added cleaning up the cabins to the prep list before we hired the damn painters.”

“Too late for that now,”

I said and looked over the porches. Weather-beaten wood, dirt smudges on the screen doors, and a family of cobwebs staking their claim in the corners.

Inside, each cabin was nothing special. One big room with scuffed hardwood floors, a worn-down couch in the middle, and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall across from it. The kitchen was a short L-shape along one wall with chipped cabinets and a microwave that groaned louder than a banshee. A queen bed sat off-center near the back with a tattered quilt draped over it. Tucked into the back corner was a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in.

Functional. Not pretty. But they’d have a roof over their heads and a short walk to work.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The job at the haunted house was going to take time—a week, maybe two. That depended on how much help the painter brought and if they actually knew what they were doing.

I wasn’t even sure how many of them would be showing up, but I was hoping Pearl would be one of them. She’d made it sound like she’d be hands-on with the work, had ideas and a vision. But maybe she was just the brains of the operation and would let her crew do the dirty work.

A low chime broke through the quiet morning air—the sensor at the bridge.

“Someone’s coming,”

Lost said, straightening up. He always got twitchy around outsiders.

We all turned and started making our way down the gravel path that led toward the haunted house and the parking lot. Boots crunched beneath us, birds chirped somewhere in the pines, and the morning fog still clung to the low places around the island.

The lot was already humming by the time we got there. Five vehicles had pulled in and were slowly parking. A battered pickup, a dented cargo van, an old white sedan, and a silver SUV. The fifth was Pearl’s work truck. Same one from yesterday.

She climbed out of the cab like a vision in worn jeans and a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. A black duffle bag was slung over one shoulder, so stuffed that the seams looked like they were seconds from giving up. Her hair was twisted up in a loose knot, and even from a distance, I could see the steel in her expression.

Yeah. She was here to work.

Next came a short older woman with pure white hair pulled back in a tight bun and wearing paint-speckled clogs. She moved slowly but with purpose, like the kind of woman who didn’t let her age define her.

Then came a tall older guy in spotless white overalls, his arms roped with old man muscle and a cigarette hanging from his lips.

Two middle-aged guys in matching blue Brush Masters shirts climbed out of the van, talking to each other with lazy gestures and morning coffee in hand.

The last out was a woman probably in her early forties, thick-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, hair in a tight ponytail, and a clipboard in hand.

But my eyes went back to Pearl.

“Looks like they brought the whole damn crew,”

Skull muttered beside me.

I grunted in agreement. I didn’t care who was there as long as Pearl was one of them.

“Let’s go greet them.”

We moved as a unit. Four bikers in worn leather and black denim stepping out of the trees and into the morning haze like shadows materializing from the fog.

Pearl spotted us first.

She didn’t flinch, but I saw her shift her bag higher on her shoulder and square her stance a little.

Good. She had guts.

“Morning,”

I called as we neared, directing my words mostly to her but keeping my eyes on the whole group.

Pearl smiled, small and polite.

“Morning. Hope we’re not too early.”

“You’re right on time,”

I said.

“We were just talking about you.”

She arched a brow.

“All good things, I hope.”

“Depends on if you’re here to paint or critique our taste in blood effects.”

She chuckled and stepped forward.

“We’re here to work. Got the sketches, paint samples, and the manpower.”

The woman with the clipboard approached and gave me a tight nod.

“Morning. I’m Molly. Scheduling, materials, and logistics.”

The older man in white overalls waved.

“I’m Bert.”

The two guys in matching shirts followed suit.

“Jake and Brian,”

one of them said.

“We paint.”

“Bernice,”

the old woman said with a nod. Her eyes, sharp as ever, scanned each of us like she was sizing us up for paint colors.

“You all can follow us,”

I said and turned.

“We’ll show you the cabins. Get you settled before we talk about the job.”

Pearl fell in beside me as the others trailed behind.

“Thanks for offering the cabins,” she said.

“Figured it beats trying to drive back and forth every day.”

“Some of us are still doing that. But Bernice and I will be staying. Dad, Molly, Brian, and Jake will be heading home every night. Families, you know?”

Pearl said as we started toward the haunted house.

They hadn’t even reached the front steps before their jaws started to drop.

“Whoa,”

one of the guys, Jake, I think, breathed out.

“This place is nuts.”

The haunted house stood tall and proud, its jagged roofline casting shadows even in the daylight. Its weathered siding, crooked shutters, and faux-bloodstained windows looked damn near real.

“Dad?”

I asked, glancing over at the older man in white overalls.

Pearl nodded.

“Bert is my dad. He owns Brush Masters.”

Well, hell. That was interesting.

“Let’s drop your bags off at the cabins first,”

I said, turning to Pearl and Bernice.

“I’ll be going with,”

Bert interjected before either woman could answer. Protective dad mode activated. I could respect that.

“Lost,”

I barked over my shoulder.

“Grab their bags.”

“I got mine,”

Pearl said, shifting her duffle on her shoulder.

“Me too,”

Bernice added, eyeing Lost like she’d arm-wrestle him before he took her bag.

“He’ll take them,”

I said, giving a look that cut through any more arguing.

“Prospects are here to help.”

Lost didn’t complain. Just grabbed the duffles with a grunt and followed behind.

He’d been a prospect for eight months. Still had at least four more before we’d even consider patching him in. Wannabe had longer. The kid didn’t even have the grit to shave properly.

The cabins came into view through the trees, and Bert slowed his pace.

“Pretty secluded,”

he muttered, giving a cautious glance toward the haunted house and the winding trail we’d left behind.

“Perfect for sleep,”

Bernice chimed in.

“I’m not one for late nights.”

Pearl laughed.

“I don’t think anything could keep Bernice from being asleep by seven.”

“Early sleeper,”

I said with a chuckle.

“Haunted house is just getting warmed up by then.”

Bernice gave me a long, hard look.

“Nothing good happens after the sun goes down.”

I didn’t disagree.

She didn’t say anything else. Just pointed at the right-side cabin and walked up the porch.

“Well, that’s the one she’s claimed,”

Pearl said, turning toward the other.

“Guess I’ll take this one.”

Lost followed Bernice into her cabin with her bag, and Bert went in behind them.

Pearl pushed open the door to hers and stepped inside. I followed and leaned against the frame while she took it all in.

She turned in a slow circle as her eyes skated over the old couch, chipped cabinets, and the flickering overhead light.

She pointed at the huge box TV.

“That thing still work?”

“Barely. But you can watch VHS tapes on it.”

I motioned toward the stack near the fireplace.

She moved to them and flipped through titles.

“Are they all scary movies?”

“You’re staying on Skull Island, doll. Scary is what we do here.”

She laughed softly, still crouched by the tapes, flipping through titles with more curiosity than fear.

A knock sounded on the frame behind me.

“Knock knock,”

Bert said and stepped in.

“Bernice was worried she took the bigger cabin, but they’re identical. That old TV and VCR in there too.”

“It’s not much,”

I said.

“But it’s a bed and a roof.”

Pearl smiled.

“That’s all I need. A bed, food, and a place to paint.”

“You’ve got a whole haunted house ready for you to paint,” I said.

“Oh, Pearl paints a hell of a lot more than just houses,”

Bert said. He nodded to her overstuffed bag.

“I would bet my life that half of that is paint, paint brushes, and a few rolled-up canvases.”

Pearl shrugged.

“I need something to do when we’re not working, and with the lake right there, I know I’m going to have some amazing sunsets to paint from the shore.”

I wasn’t surprised that Pearl was an artist. Just from the sketches she had shown me for her ideas for the haunted house, I could see how talented she was.

Lost came in then and grumbled under his breath about Bernice before dropping Pearl’s bag on the couch.

Bert clapped his hands together.

“I say you unpack later and we get to work. All we’ve got is daylight, and it’s a burning.”

Lost turned and followed him out.

I glanced back at Pearl.

“You good?”

We locked eyes. Her gaze was steady, lips parted slightly, like she had something she wanted to say but wasn’t sure if she should.

There was a charge in the air, the kind that raised hairs and stirred something low in the gut.

Before either of us could speak, the slam of Bernice’s cabin door broke the silence.

Pearl blinked and smiled.

“Guess that means she’s ready.”

“Let’s go show the crew their canvas,”

I said and motioned for her to follow me.

Pearl stepped through the door of the cabin, and I followed. Outside, the morning sun filtered through the trees, casting uneven shadows across the clearing between the two cabins. Gravel crunched beneath our boots as we stepped off the porch.

Bert was standing nearby with his arms crossed and watched us like a hawk. His eyes narrowed slightly, and I knew what that look was: protective dad mode still fully engaged. Couldn’t blame the guy. If she were mine, I wouldn’t want her alone on an island full of bikers either.

Pearl moved to his side, and together they started down the path toward the haunted house. She walked with an easy sway, completely unaware that her hips were swaying like some kind of damn test. My gaze drifted and locked on the perfect curve of her ass in those tight, paint-smeared jeans. She was more than a handful, more than most men could probably handle, and that drove me crazy in all the right ways.

“Shame,”

Bernice muttered beside me.

I blinked, startled, as she appeared like a ghost at my elbow. I’d forgotten she was still standing there, arms folded over her chest, eyeing me like she could read my thoughts. Hell, maybe she could.

“Shame?” I asked.

“That you think no one notices where your eyes go,”

she huffed.

I didn’t apologize. Just gave her a look that said I wasn’t ashamed, either.

“You always this judgey?” I asked.

“Only when a man thinks with the wrong head,”

she replied.

I tried to hide the grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. She was sharp, I’d give her that.

I cleared my throat.

“So… how long have you been painting?”

Bernice didn’t answer right away. She turned her head slowly, side-eyeing me like I’d just asked how old she was.

“Don’t try sweet-talking me, young buck,”

she said dryly.

“I’ve been around the block a few times before.”

I smirked and muttered under my breath.

“I bet you have.”

She heard me. I knew she did. But instead of snapping back, she just huffed again and started walking.

I fell in beside her, but my eyes drifted ahead to Pearl and Bert. She gestured toward the haunted house as she talked, and her braid swung behind her like a pendulum. Bert nodded at something she said, but I wasn’t listening to their words. I was watching the way she moved. The way she smiled when she talked. The way her hand fluttered in the air like she could already see the paint going on the boards.

She was staying. That part I liked. But I hadn’t calculated Bernice into the equation. Not exactly a cockblock, but close enough. And she was watching me like a hawk. Still, if Pearl was staying here for the duration of the job, it gave me plenty of time to figure out what this thing was between us. If anything.

We reached the edge of the haunted house clearing, and Pearl slowed. She turned back slightly to check on Bernice and me.

“You two good back there?”

she called, her voice teasing.

Bernice rolled her eyes.

“Keep your eyes forward. We’re just admiring the back of your head.”

“Still think this job is just about slapping on some color?”

I asked, stepping up next to her.

She tilted her head, eyes scanning the tall, jagged silhouette of the haunted house in front of us. “No,”

she said softly.

“Now I think it’s the kind of job that could eat you alive… in the best way.”

I nodded.

“Welcome to Skull Island, doll.”