Page 17 of Property of Scythe (Kings of Anarchy MC: Ohio #1)

“ Y ou really should have called me sooner,” Mel complains. “I’ve missed all the juicy gossip about you and your biker.”

“I’ve been busy,” I say defensively. “I teach second grade. Remember?”

“Well, that’s true. Are you saying there’s no juicy gossip to share?”

“No,” I laugh.

“OMG! Stop leaving me in the dark. I need details. Has he kissed you?”

“Yes. He’s got very kissable lips.”

“You slept with him, didn’t you?”

“Mel!”

“Well, did you?”

“Yes.” I swear my cheeks are burning up with this conversation. “He said he claimed me. That I’m his.”

“Is that some dirty biker lingo?”

Sort of. “I guess?”

“Lottie.” She’s laughing. “Tell me you’re happy.”

“I am. Really. I love his little girl, too. She’s adorable.”

“Aw. Mila, right? She’s in your class.”

“That’s right.”

“Wait. You said you love her, too. Does that mean you love Scythe?”

“It’s early to say that.”

“But you feel it, don’t you?”

I can’t lie to my sister. “I do. He’s good to me and protective, and he treats me like I’m special and worthy of love.”

“Then you hold onto him. He sounds perfect.”

“Perfect for me,” I agree.

“I’m happy for you, sis. I gotta run. Call me soon.”

“I will. Love you, Mel.”

She ends the call as I sit back against the cushions of the couch in the panic room, watching over Mila. She fell asleep an hour ago after we watched Frozen. I’m alone now, staring at the computer screen.

The décor inside the panic room is simple. There’s a couch, another couch with a pullout bed that Mila is sleeping on, a fridge, a small table with two chairs, a storage cabinet, and a desk with a PC. The monitor displays several cameras around the property. I can see inside and outdoors.

I can tell Scythe tried to make it feel comfortable inside when he designed it.

There are a couple of lamps, a big rug, and some wall art.

He’s got a stack of blankets, extra clothes, and pillows.

Cases of water sit beside us. He also included a big TV anchored to the wall and a gaming system with controllers.

The panic room has one entry and exit that’s located behind a bookcase. It’s clever. I never would have found it without Scythe telling me about it. Since he’s the president of a motorcycle club, it makes sense that he’s got a secret room to hide his daughter in case of trouble.

It’s growing late and I’m tired. Scythe has kept me up at night, and I’m not complaining about our bedroom activities, but I’m exhausted. I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until my head snaps up. It’s dark in the room, which is the first thing I notice.

No light from the monitor or the cameras. Not even the Elsa princess nightlight that Mila plugged in. The power must be out. That’s the only explanation.

I pick up my phone and notice I’ve missed half a dozen calls from Scythe. He must be panicking and trying to reach me to let me know about the outage.

When I dial him back, the call goes to voicemail.

Well, shit.

I’m tempted to turn on the flashlight for my phone, but I don’t want to wake Mila. It’s too bright. Instead, I click the button on the side. It illuminates the room a little, and I can see her sleeping. She’s safe.

A few minutes pass, and I’m starting to wonder if I should sneak out and find Hangman or Boomer. I know they stayed at The Barn because Scythe asked them. I get up and stretch, growing bored as I check the time.

How late is the festival open? I never thought to ask.

The door creeks open, and I nearly have a heart attack until I see Hangman. He sneaks in and shuts the door behind him. There’s a keypad entry. You can only enter if you have the code. I bet Scythe, Boomer, and Hangman are the only three that know it.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Lottie. I wanted to check on you and Mila.”

“She’s sleeping. Do you know how long the power is going to be out? ”

“No, but there’s a switch in here for the generator. Let me see if I can get power restored to this room.”

Hangman uses his phone flashlight and finds the switch. The power flips back on, and I start the computer, hoping the cameras are still recording. Once it reboots, I can see them as they blink on, resuming their feeds.

“Yay, everything is working again.”

“Yeah. It’s probably the storm. We’re supposed to get a good one tonight.”

As if on cue, I hear the distant rumble of thunder. I can’t see if there’s lightning with it because there aren’t any windows in the safe room.

Hangman joins me on the couch and hands me a bottle of water. “Stay hydrated. Who knows how long we’ll be in here.”

Good idea. I probably need it. I twist the cap and drink half of it, setting it aside. “Scythe told me you used to be the president before you passed the position onto him.”

His laugh is infectious, and I smile. “Well, that’s a gentle way of saying I shoved the gavel into his hand and told him to man up, and he needed to lead his men.”

I can imagine how that went down. “Did he fight you on it?”

“Naw. He wanted the president seat. I just made it official for him because I was ready to step down. Too much goddamn stress.”

“I bet the guys can be a handful.”

“They are,” he pauses, staring at the computer monitor. “What the hell?”

I turn my head and scan the camera feeds, jumping to my feet in shock when I find Emma bound, standing in the rain as a man in jeans and a dark hoodie stands beside her. He’s got a butcher knife, and I recognize it instantly as the knife the killer used when he showed up at my apartment.

He’s not wearing the clown costume, but I can tell it’s him. The stranger has the same aggressive stance and height. I bet he wore the hoodie to be intimidating since he resembles the slasher that Scythe ran over with his motorcycle.

None of this is a coincidence.

And now the killer’s brought Emma, Mila’s aunt, to tempt me from hiding. I’m betting he knows where Scythe is, and that he’s not here with me. It’s a ploy to get me to come to him. I know it in my bones.

I can’t stay in the panic room. Mila is safe with Hangman. I know he won’t leave her. The only choice is the one I make without hesitation. I have to help Emma.

Boomer is out there, too. I’ve got backup.

Is it stupid not to leave this to Boomer? Probably. I don’t think the killer is going to be happy with Scythe’s brother. It’s not enough. For some reason, he’s latched onto me. I need to figure that out. Maybe I can pretend to be interested enough to throw him off his murder game.

It’s worth a shot.

Mila can’t lose her aunt. It’ll devastate her.

Boomer is a sheriff and can handle himself.

He’s got a gun. Scythe won’t lose any family members.

It’s only me that’s the wild card. Truth be told, I always am unpredictable.

That’s how I survived Jerald Carter’s brutal attack.

It’s how I didn’t hesitate to throw the Hummer into drive and ram it into the psycho hunting us.

I’m not afraid to stand up to the killer or help save Emma.

I don’t say a word to Hangman because he’ll never let me leave this room. I calmly pull a hair tie from my pocket and twist my long locks into a ponytail. There are sweatshirts with the extra clothes Scythe packed in the room, and I slide from the couch, pull one on, and turn to face Hangman.

“Keep Mila safe.”

“Lottie?” He appears confused, not considering that I’m going to chase down a murderer.

“I’ll save Emma. ”

Before he can react, I rush from the room and close the door behind me, hearing the locks engage. Carefully, I push the bookcase back and disguise the panic room entrance.

It’s so fucking dark in the house, but that works to my advantage. The killer doesn’t know I’m coming. I have the element of surprise.

It’s pouring by the time I reach the front porch. The lights are still out, and I crouch behind the wicker furniture, getting my bearings before I go after Emma.

But that’s where I mess up. The delay gives the killer time to disappear. He’s not there, but Emma is. She’s shivering in the dark as the rain pelts her skin. I couldn’t tell before on the monitor, but her mouth is covered with duct tape.

She’s just standing there in the middle of the lawn. Her ankles and wrists are bound with rope. It’s her eyes that send an icy bucket of fear down my spine. They’re wide, frightened, and keep bouncing around, terrified that the killer will return.

He’s close. I can feel it. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I know as soon as I step off this porch, he’s going to attack me. I have to be smart about this, but I don’t have any weapons. All I’ve got is my wits.

I should have stopped and grabbed a knife while I was in the house. It’s risky, but I decide to head back in, grab one from the butcher block, and return to the porch.

The house feels like a tomb when I enter.

It’s silent and carries a sense of foreboding, like it’s lying in wait for the killer to jump from hiding and stab anyone dumb enough to linger.

Like me. I want to think I’m being brave, that I’m taking back my control and autonomy after Jerald Carter nearly broke me.

I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m not going to be a victim again. I’ll fight. I proved that at my apartment building with the Hummer. Lottie Bishop is no one’s punching bag.

Lightning flashes outside and illuminates everything inside the house for a brief heartbeat. It’s only long enough to ensure I’m alone as I pause beside the window. I wait for another flash before I dash past it and reach the kitchen.

The back door is open.

I know Hangman and Boomer would never leave it unlocked if there’s a threat. Either the killer is inside, opened it, or he’s toying with me. Maybe all three options.

I have to be quick. One glance at the butcher block on the island, and I can see all the knives are missing. I almost curse out loud before I lean against a wall and slide down, breathing through a slight panic attack.

He knows. The fucking killer is counting on me needing a weapon. He doesn’t want a fair fight. That’s obvious from the way he broke into my apartment and waited for me. The sick fuck likes to control every aspect of his hunt and kill.

But I’m resourceful. After all, I’m a second-grade teacher. It comes with the job description. I can make a diorama out of popsicle sticks and form a whole zoo from modeling clay. I’ve got skills.

Scythe has to have kitchen shears. It’s a staple for any cook. With deliberation, I rise to my feet and begin checking drawers. I find the scissors easily. They’re in the second drawer I check.

Armed with my new weapon, I sneak through the house and return to the porch. Emma is still standing in the rain. Alone.

I creep forward and linger at the edge of the porch.

It’s dark and difficult to see in the rain.

The clouds are sparse, though, and the moonlight gives enough illumination that I can scan nearby buildings and both sides of the house.

Wherever the killer went, he’s not close enough to prevent me from cutting Emma’s ropes and setting her free.

That’s the first part of my plan. The rest is sort of up for debate and is more of a Hail Mary. I’ll worry about that when it’s time.

For now, I inhale a deep breath and sprint toward Emma.

I hope we both survive.