Page 10 of Property of Scythe (Kings of Anarchy MC: Ohio #1)

I t’s opening night for the maze and haunted hayride, and the crowds prove it.

They’ve shown up in overwhelming numbers, eager to check out the newest thrills and scares.

The ticket line is so long it extends beyond the main entrance to our festival, albeit on a much smaller scale than any amusement park, but it’s still impressive.

We don’t do much advertising since word of mouth drives our sales.

Virus keeps the website up to date and handles the online ticket sales, so I don’t get a fucking headache.

This year we’ve bought a few bouncy houses and added ring toss and a few other carnival games to our collection. By keeping our business open only twelve weeks a year, we’ve created demand and excitement. People drive from all over the Midwest to visit.

The best place to park is in town, walking to the festivities instead of trying to battle for a space by the entrance.

I park my Harley behind Tillie’s, away from the tourists, so I don’t end up with my paint scratched.

It’s dark behind the strip mall, and the shadows stretch around us when I shut down the engine .

I lift off my helmet and reach for Lottie’s, storing them both in my saddlebags. Everything should be secure back here since there’s no reason for anyone to go exploring in this section. It’s far from the attractions, and there’s nothing worth checking out.

The second the helmet is off, I inhale, taking in the faint scent of buttered popcorn that will grow stronger as we approach the Fear Farm.

We realized long ago that we needed a gimmick to drive people to our town and tempt them to spend money on our attractions.

It’s not only about income, but making money is a contributing factor.

Plus, the season provides for the townsfolk through the winter, and that means people are fed, warm, and happy when the snow and ice cover the ground.

“Oh, wow. I can smell the popcorn,” Lottie reveals.

“I just thought the same thing.” I reach for her hand, and she takes it, allowing me to lace our fingers. “You hungry?”

“I had a snack, but that doesn’t mean I’ll turn down popcorn or cotton candy. Is there cotton candy?”

“There is,” I confirm, thinking Lottie definitely has a sweet tooth. “It’s not gonna be as good as Granny Jo’s baked goods, but it’ll handle any craving.”

“Then we’re stopping at some point for it.”

“And for hot chocolate,” I add.

“I’m in heaven,” she jokes. Her dazzling smile makes my heart flutter.

“Come on. I want you to see the Fear Farm. The first and last nights are always the busiest, so prepare for the crowd,” I warn.

Once we’re on the street, I can see the crowds lining up, and people have already begun shopping at the Mystic Emporium, the gift shop, and Raven’s Claw Consignment.

The latter has elaborate window displays with spooky themes every week.

Tonight, it’s a ghostly dinner with moving candelabra, dripping blood, and ghosts.

Visitors are snapping photos and taking videos with their phones.

“You need to experience all Raven’s Crest has to offer, Lottie.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“All the rides.” Including me. I think she gets the point as her cheeks grow pink.

The streetlights are on, and most of the businesses have fairy lights in the windows. Raven’s Claw’s window display glows orange and purple, casting the colors onto the sidewalk.

“Okay.”

She’s far too eager to please, and I’m fucking ravenous for it, like the big bad wolf who wants to gobble her up.

“If you feel up to it, I’d like to go on the haunted hayride first.”

“Is it scary?”

“Terrifying,” I admit with a chuckle. “You in?”

“Yes!”

The perks of being the president of the Kings? I don’t have to wait in line. I also never enter through the front. I take the path that zigzags around the entrance, leading Lottie through the trees to a building that squats on its own, half covered by moss and weeping willows.

The old structure was once a barn and is mostly storage, but inside, there’s a main room with a stove, a fridge, several tables with chairs, and chalkboards where we post everyone’s assignments each night.

The employees and actors stop in to get something to drink or take a break whenever they need to.

There’s always at least one patched member of the Kings available in case of trouble.

I pay Tillie to bring in a couple of crockpots, so there’s usually chili or soup set up on the far wall.

She’s already set up and left when we arrive.

I keep cases of water stocked as well as soda.

Sometimes the locals will bring in treats, and I spot brownies and cupcakes decorated with spiders and candy corn.

People take care of one another here. It’s one of the things I want Lottie to see.

Emma is watching Mila for me tonight so I can focus on the Fear Farm’s opening night and my date. It’s fucking weird to think about it. I haven’t taken a woman out purely for showing her a good time, without my cock, since before Mila was born.

I’m pumped with excitement and restless energy.

Lottie seems to sense it and squeezes my hand.

I return the gesture, hoping she’ll have a good time.

There’s a chance I can get pulled away if anything happens.

The logistics of running this kind of endeavor means shit gets messy and people are unpredictable.

Phantom approaches us wearing his Art the Clown costume. “Hey, Pres.”

“This is Lottie.” I gesture to my woman. Yeah, she’s mine. “Lottie, this is my Sergeant at Arms, Phantom.”

She winks at him. “Spooky costume.”

He pouts, clearly disappointed in her reaction. “Not creepy or frightening?”

She giggles at his expression. “Okay. Creepy and frightening too.”

He pumps his fist. “Yes!”

I snicker as Phantom picks up a chainsaw and dashes out the door.

He loves scaring people as they wait in line.

There’s a whole group of actors I employ just to walk through the festival and put on a show, chasing and stalking the visitors.

We post warning signs about our content, and since we serve alcohol, it’s more for adults than kids during the evenings.

Our actors aren’t permitted to touch anyone, but they do give them a fright.

Families usually stick to daylight hours, enjoying the hayride, maze, games, and taking pictures with the cardboard cutouts close to the entrance. One of the locals has a petting zoo, but the animals aren’t out at night.

I introduce Lottie to all the members I can find and a few of the locals she hasn’t met yet.

Everything is running smoothly, so I don’t hesitate to lead her back outdoors and over to the hayride.

We run five 20-ft. wagons on a rotation through the forty-five-minute ride, allowing a ten-minute gap between them so they don’t stumble upon one another.

The haunted hayride is only operable after sunset, so it has to be dark for the strobe lights, fog machines, and pop-up scares to function correctly.

Otherwise, it’s just not very terrifying.

There are actors who walk through the forest and the cornfields as we pass through, taunting the tours and approaching the wagons, adding to the thrill factor. I can’t wait for Lottie to experience it.

I hop onto the wagon and then reach for her, gripping her waist as I haul her up beside me.

I’m purposely taking one of the rear seats, which are the scariest and most vulnerable spots.

Some people already know that and avoid them.

Others are just as eager for a scare and opt to sit in similar seats to us.

The hay bales we’re seated on are situated so that everyone has their backs to the outside of the wagon since the bales are arranged in a classic U-shape.

I see Fred sitting on the tractor ahead of us. He’s a local and helps every year. It’s his tractor we’re using, and he insists on being the driver. I don’t mind. He’s friendly, and since he operates it often, he knows how to handle it if it acts up.

The wagon jostles as the tractor lunges forward. I slide my arm around Lottie’s shoulders, kicking my feet out as I lean back against the wooden rail. If I give the impression that I’m relaxed, then everyone else might let down their guard, and it’ll amp up the scares even more.

Is it devious? Maybe.

Lottie glances upward, taking in the cloudy sky. “The moon is hiding.”

“Maybe she’s scared.”

Lottie’s lips twitch. “I think she likes spooky nights.”

The wagon rumbles over uneven ground, pushing through the mud as we bounce up and down on the hay.

There’s a spooky soundtrack playing through the speakers we have lined up, posted at specific intervals so there’s a continual echo of chains dragging and clinking, screams, ghostly wails, and sinister laughter.

Lottie jumps, along with half the people on the wagon, at the first jump scare. It’s a pop-up of a deranged doctor wielding a bloody knife. The wagon trips the mechanism as we ride over it, forcing the props to release and snap up on both sides of the wagon. A few of the women scream.

“You okay, darlin’?” I ask, humored by her reaction.

She’s clutching my hand, glancing over her shoulder as we hear a chainsaw. It’s getting closer, and I know one of the actors will approach us soon, revving it as he swipes at the wagon rails. He won’t come close enough to harm anyone, but it should frighten everyone.

Lottie swallows as I tilt her face upward.

I stare into her eyes, not intending to kiss her for the first time on this ride, but it happens.

My mouth fuses to hers, and she tastes like cherry candy.

I don’t know if it’s her lip gloss, but it’s delicious.

I can’t help deepening the kiss before I reluctantly pull away.

Lottie appears dazed. She smiles with a faraway look in her eyes. But damn, that mouth of hers is tempting. I want to lean in again, but I hear the thud of heavy boots approaching.

Screams of terror burst from the group as an actor dressed like Leatherface runs up to us, cutting his chainsaw through the air. Lottie nearly climbs into my lap, and I wrap my arms around her, laughing as we pull away from the actor.

By the time we finish the hayride, Lottie has jumped several times, and she’s clinging to me. I can’t say I’m sorry she’s scared. It’s been too fucking fun.

I’m proud of our haunted hayride. It’s bigger and better than ever. As we pull to a stop and exit the wagon, I help Lottie down. “Ready for some hot chocolate?”

“Yes, please.”

We walk around and play a few carnival games before I lead her toward an empty bench.

There’s not a lot of seating inside the Fear Farm.

We’ve erected several spots with hay bales where people can rest, or kids can play, and there are sporadic benches, but the picnic tables are at the pavilion.

It’s close to the corn maze and outside the main entrance.

It’s a better idea to direct the crowds outward instead of trying to stuff everyone inside a crowded space.

That’s when I spot Art the Clown. He’s not interacting with anyone, just standing still, facing me and Lottie.

I guess Phantom is trying to scare her, but something about him seems off.

The more I stare at him, the more I notice he’s got something dark and wet splattered all over his clothes.

It’s probably fake blood, but I don’t remember seeing it on his costume earlier.

The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I know something is wrong. I feel it. It’s a sudden tightness in my chest, followed by a feeling of nauseating evil. It’s intensified as I sit across from this costumed man, causing me to slip my arm around Lottie and draw her closer.

Art’s mouth curls into a snarl. Even from here, it’s clear that it’s not a fake emotion. He takes a step in our direction, rage distorting his features. I feel the sudden urge to hide Lottie from his sight.

Before I can, he suddenly turns, disappearing into the crowd.

My phone buzzes in my cut, and I pull it free, glancing at the screen. It’s Phantom.

“Pres,” he says in a shaky voice. “You need to come to the shack.”

The shack is what we call that old barn where all the employees meet up each night. “What is it?”

“Just come. Now.”

He hangs up, and I pop to my feet, undecided what to tell Lottie.

“Is everything okay? ”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I can wait here while you check.”

No. That’s a terrible fucking idea. What if Art the Clown returns? “I’d feel better if you came with me.”

“Okay.” She tosses her empty cup since she finished her hot cocoa. “I need to use the restroom.”

Shit. The porta-pot line is atrocious. It’ll take forever.

“You might stand in line a long time.”

“It’s okay. I’ll wait here for you once I’m through. Go ahead.” She’s walking away from me toward the women forming the line before I can talk her out of it.

I’m torn. I don’t want to leave her, but I also need to respond to Phantom and find out what’s going on.

She’s safe in this line. She has to be.

I rush toward the shack and find one of the prospects, ordering him to find Lottie and stay with her. He’s seen her a couple of times in town, so he knows who I’m talking about. I find Phantom waiting for me outside the shack.

“You need to see this,” he says in lieu of a greeting, leading me around the back.

Blood and arterial spray are staining the side of the building, but that’s not what makes me curse. It’s the severed arm lying on the ground. This isn’t a prop.

One look at Phantom’s clean costume, and I know we’ve got a problem. The Art I saw wasn’t my Sergeant at Arms. I know that now.

The Terrifier who found me and Lottie isn’t one of my club brothers or any of the townspeople. Hell, it’s not even a tourist.

This fucking clown is a killer .

Fall is ushering in something dangerous this year. It’s not pumpkins, apples, or hayrides. Or even pop-up scares .

This season is bloody, frightening, and sinister.

It’s murderous .

I need to go back to Lottie. She’s in danger.

Fuck. I never should have left her alone.