Property of Prime Final, page 11
Vin rubbed the back of his neck. “It means the guy’s changing shit up. This isn’t like the other bodies.”
“Nope,” Skull agreed. “This is different. This is deliberate.”
“Pretty sure the four dead bodies before were deliberate, too,” Vin snickered.
Skull flipped him off.
“It’s not a kill,” I said. “It’s a clue.”
Vin’s eyes narrowed. “Almost like he wants us to find out who he is.”
I tapped the note against my palm, and the words stared back at me like a threat carved into bone.
You’ll all pay for the sins of the club just like he did.
“This really is a fucking game to him,” Vin muttered. “Part of me wishes he’d just try to kill us already so we could put a bullet in his head.”
“He’s not trying to kill us,” I said.
Both of them looked at me.
“Not yet, at least. The only one of us he’s hurt was Bob,” I continued. “And that wasn’t even aimed at Bob. Bernice was the target.”
Skull nodded slowly. “So he’s not after us.”
“No,” I said. “He’s after the people we care about.”
Pearl. Shay. Bernice.
The thought made something sharp twist in my gut.
“He’s hurting us,” Skull growled. “Just… not directly.”
“But what about the four dead bodies?” I wondered out loud. “We don’t even know those people.”
“Torturing us,” Vin added. “Dragging shit up. Playing with us. Maybe those bodies he was just using to see what we would do. If we go to the cops or not.” And we hadn’t, so maybe this guy was feeling comfortable enough with us to start showing us exactly what he was doing.
Except even now we had no fucking clue what his game was.
I stared at the skeleton again.
Placed perfectly. Undisturbed and waiting like a message in a bottle.
“What the hell are the ‘sins of the club’ supposed to be?” Vin asked. “We’ve done plenty of questionable shit, but nothing like this.”
Skull tilted his head. “Maybe it’s not our generation.”
The words hit me like a punch.
Old sins. Old secrets. Old enemies.
This island had been around longer than any of us, and the club had switched hands about sixteen years ago.
Razor and the original Kings had history buried deep in the dirt out here. They had feuds, friendships, deals, and grudges that none of us knew about.
Any one of them could’ve done something that invited a ghost back into our world.
So who dug up a skeleton?
Who stuffed a note in its mouth?
Who knew exactly where Piney had swept last night, waited until we were all asleep, and placed a body where we’d find it?
And why leave a message for us?
Why were we supposed to pay for the sins of men who weren’t us?
This wasn’t random. This wasn’t sloppy. This wasn’t a coincidence.
Someone wanted us to dig. Someone wanted us to suffer. Someone wanted us to remember.
I clenched my jaw. “Whoever this guy is,” I said quietly, “he’s not going away.”
Vin nodded. “He wants to be found.”
Skull grunted. “Then let’s fucking find him.”
I stared down at the skeleton one last time. The empty eye sockets and the jaw still hanging open where the note had been hidden.
Playing games. Toying with us. Running around in shadows, he knew better than we did.
The worst part?
He was getting bolder.
And I had no doubt he was watching us even now, somewhere out there on the island, waiting for our next move.
Chapter Eighteen
Shay
Reopening day felt wrong.
Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was the creeping awareness that someone had managed to plant a skeleton on this island without a single camera catching him. Or maybe it was simply that the idea of letting hundreds of strangers wander onto Skull Island when a killer was clearly playing hide-and-seek in the shadows felt like a special brand of madness.
But Anchor said it was happening no matter what.
Because the club needed the money and because everything had already been advertised. Pulling out now would make the cops and the town even more suspicious.
So here we were. Saturday. Almost five in the evening and an hour until sunset.
Pearl and I were stuck in the clubhouse like a pair of grounded teenagers.
Prime called it safety. Pearl called it babysitting. I was secretly okay with it, even though I would have liked to go through the haunted house in the dark.
Pearl lay sprawled across the couch in yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt with one hand clutching the remote like she was channel-surfing for answers to the universe.
I paced near the bar and chewed on my lip. “I was kind of hoping to go through the haunted house in the dark,” I admitted.
Pearl didn’t even look away from the TV. “Girl, they’d chain your ankles to this couch before letting that happen.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I know. Would’ve been crazy.”
Pearl tossed the remote onto the coffee table. “With a killer running around? Crazy doesn’t even cover it.”
Fair enough.
She stretched, groaned dramatically, and then sat up. “The guys hired a whole security team from Detroit. A dozen of them. Plus ten new actors for the haunted house so the club could keep their eyes open instead of pretending to be zombies.”
“Cameras too,” I said. “Prime told me they’re everywhere.”
“Mm-hmm.” Pearl nodded. “Which is adorable, considering our ghost psycho snuck onto this island, buried or unburied a skeleton, and placed it perfectly without being seen.”
A cold shiver ran straight down my spine.
“It’s like he’s a ghost,” I whispered. “How do you move like that without making any noise or leaving tracks?”
Pearl shrugged helplessly. “Anchor said Prime, Push, and Vin watched the surveillance videos for hours. Not a single blip.”
I sighed and slumped onto the barstool.
Prime and Lost had orders to stick so close to me and Pearl tonight while the rest of the club was out on the island.
And as much as I hated the reason for it, at least it meant more time with Prime.
My cheeks warmed at the thought, and I forced myself to focus on Pearl, who was headed toward the bar.
“We’re drinking tonight,” she announced.
Prime scoffed from where he leaned against the wall near the door. “No, you’re not.”
“Oh, I’m game,” I said instantly.
Prime’s head snapped toward me. “Shay.”
“Have you ever had Sex on the Beach?” I asked him innocently.
Prime choked. Actually choked.
Pearl burst out laughing. “God, I needed that.”
Lost, who was perched on a barstool polishing a glass for the third time, said without missing a beat, “I’ve heard you get sand in every crack.”
I rolled my eyes but grinned. “I meant the drink, genius. Vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry juice, orange juice.”
Lost raised an eyebrow. “Sure you did.”
I held up my hand dramatically. “I swear. I’m not the kind of girl who goes around collecting sand.”
Pearl laughed so hard she leaned on the counter for support. “Do you really order it by saying ‘I’ll have a Sex on the Beach?’”
“Yeah,” I said. “Bartenders hear it so often they don’t even blink.”
Pearl grinned like a woman on a mission. “Then it’s decided. We are going to have a Ghostbusters marathon and drink Sexes on the Beach.” She paused, head tilted. “Or is it Sex on the Beaches?”
I burst out laughing. “What?”
“I mean, if we have more than one… what’s the plural?” she insisted.
“Two Sexes on the Beach?” Lost suggested.
“That sounds like a felony,” Prime muttered.
Pearl gasped. “Oh god, it does.”
Prime ran a hand down his face. “How about you two just drink a beer?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Yeah, no thanks. Sex on the Beach for me.”
A slow, dangerous smile tugged at Prime’s lips. “How about Sex on the bed?” he said, voice low.
Pearl groaned. “Oh god. You two need your own room. Lost and I are going to be emotionally damaged.”
Lost raised a hand. “Already am.”
We all laughed.
And for the first time, this felt like a real Saturday night with friends instead of a lockdown.
“Alright,” Lost said, and moved to the row of liquor bottles. “What goes in these things again?”
“Vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry juice, orange juice,” I recited.
Lost nodded and went to work like he actually knew what he was doing.
Two minutes later, he handed Pearl and me two shockingly pretty cocktails in tall glasses.
Pearl clinked hers against mine. “To not dying tonight.”
“Cheers,” I said, and took a sip.
Heaven.
Prime didn’t even try to hide his disapproval. “You two better not get drunk. Just one, okay?”
I held up the glass. “I promise to have just this one glass.”
He glared at Lost.
Lost held up both hands. “How bad can it be if these two loosen up a bit? It’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, fine until we need to get two drunk women to do something other than watch movies. I pray to God nothing bad happens tonight,” Prime grumbled.
Pearl inhaled hers like water and I wasn’t too far behind her.
The movie started, Ghostbusters, the original, because Pearl insisted the reboot was “cute but not allowed on tonight’s holy night.”
We got twenty minutes in before Pearl and I were buzzing like idiots.
“I should have been a Ghostbuster,” Pearl slurred.
“Same,” I agreed. “You’d be the brains. I’d be the muscle.”
Pearl pointed at me. “Hell yeah.”
“Who you gonna call?” Lost sang under his breath.
“Me, bitch!” Pearl yelled.
Prime choked on his water.
Fifteen minutes later, we decided we needed nachos.
“No, like… we NEED them,” Pearl declared, and stumbled into the kitchen.
She opened the fridge and frowned. “Why is there a whole drawer of cheese? Is this normal?”
“We’re Wisconsin adjacent,” I reminded her. “The love of cheese crossed the Great Lakes.”
She gasped. “Right.”
Pearl attempted to chop tomatoes.
Attempted.
The woman really did not have a great natural instinct when it came to cooking. Even being as tipsy as I was, I knew I could make better nachos than she could.
I snatched it from her. “Okay! Okay. I’ll cook. You drink.”
Pearl saluted me with her cocktail. “Yes, chef.”
I assembled nachos like my life depended on it. Chips, cheese, and the meat went into the oven while I finished chopping the tomatoes, onions, and jalapeños.
Pearl downed her second drink and shouted, “THIS. IS. ART!” as I pulled the nachos from the oven and laughed so hard I nearly dropped the tray. I added all of the toppings, and Pearl poured enough salsa on hers that it could possibly qualify as soup.
She sprawled on the couch and ate nachos like she was experiencing a religious event.
Ten minutes later, she passed out. Just toppled sideways onto the couch with the remote still clutched in her hand.
I climbed onto the couch beside Prime and curled against him without thinking.
He froze for a second, then melted right into me, one hand resting on my hip, and the other brushing my hair back.
“I like being next to you,” I whispered.
His thumb traced slow circles on my waist. “I like it too, Shay.”
I tilted my head up and stared at him. “You have a name,” I slurred.
Prime smiled, slow and warm. “Yeah. Prime.”
I rolled my eyes. “No. I mean the name your mama gave you.”
His expression softened instantly. “My mama died a long time ago, babe.”
My heart squeezed. “I’m sorry.”
He kissed the top of my head. “It’s okay.”
I reached up and stroked his cheek. “What did she call you?”
He hesitated, just for a moment. “A name I haven’t been called in years,” he said quietly.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“Are you even going to remember this in the morning?”
I shrugged against him. “Time will tell.”
He shook his head, smiling faintly. “It’s Marshal.”
I traced my thumb along his cheekbone. “Marshal,” I repeated softly. “I like it.”
“It’s just the name on my license,” he muttered. “And the one the cops use when they wanna piss me off.”
I laughed, warm and loose. “I’m glad you told me. But I’ll probably still call you Prime.”
“Because you’re drunk and not gonna remember it?” he teased.
I smiled, my eyelids growing heavy. “I mean… you might not be wrong…”
His arms tightened around me, steady and sure, as my body relaxed into sleep.
And just before the world went fuzzy, I heard him whisper into my hair, “Goodnight, Shay.”
Chapter Nineteen
Prime
Sheriff Banks showing up on Skull Island wasn’t on my bingo card for the day, but the second Lost said his name, I knew nothing good was gonna follow.
Anchor didn’t even have to speak. We all filed out onto the porch with him. Vin leaned one shoulder against the rail, Push crossed his arms, and I planted myself right next to Anchor, making damn sure Banks couldn’t see inside the clubhouse where Pearl and Shay were tucked in with Lost, Wannabe, and Piney.
Banks stepped up onto the porch with that casual-but-not-really-casual sheriff stroll. Friendly enough to keep the peace. Not friendly enough to forget he wore a badge.
“Boys,” he said with a nod.
“Sheriff,” Anchor answered.
Banks shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket as his gaze moved over each of us like he was sizing up a lineup. “Got something for you, Vin. Not much, but something.”
Vin straightened just a hair. “You look at Caleb Token’s file?”
Banks snorted. “If you can call it a file. Thin as hell. Just the basics. Same stuff from the article. Suspicious drowning, never confirmed. No witnesses, no statements. Nothing weird noted, and nothing new added. Case died the same week he did.”
My jaw clenched. “There had to be something.”
Banks shook his head. “If there was, I’d tell you. But that folder looked like it hadn’t been touched since the year it opened.”
Push muttered a curse under his breath. “So basically, nothing.”
“Basically,” Banks agreed.
Anchor glanced at Vin, then back at the sheriff. “Appreciate you checking.”
Banks tipped his hat like it didn’t matter either way. “Figured I’d bring it out myself.”
He turned like he was about to leave, took one step down the porch… then paused. He pivoted back around. “There is one more thing,” he said.
We all went still.
Banks shifted his weight. “Got a private investigator poking around. Woman outta Lansing. Said she’s looking for her missing sister.”
I looked at Vin. Vin looked at me. Push looked at Anchor.
Lots of looking. No talking.
Banks kept going. “Says the last time she heard from the girl, she was headed out here. Haunted house date with her boyfriend.”
Anchor didn’t so much as blink. “Thousands of people have been through that haunted house in the last decade.”
“Yeah,” Banks agreed, nodding once. “That’s exactly what I told her. But she’s got that stubborn thing going on. One of those who won’t believe a damn thing until she sees it with her own two eyes.”
“Great,” Push muttered. “Just what we need.”
Banks didn’t acknowledge it. “Figured you boys might wanna keep an eye out. I told her not to jump to conclusions, but you know how people get when family’s involved.”
Anchor’s voice stayed steady. “What’s her name?”
“McKayla Ward.” Banks stepped off the porch. “If she shows up, don’t be surprised.”
He walked a few steps and looked back at us again. “And don’t make me come out here because she ends up causing trouble. Keep it clean.”
Anchor lifted his chin. “Always.”
Banks casually walked the path back to the parking lot like he hadn’t just dumped a gallon of gasoline on a bonfire.
We waited until we heard his car start and roll off the island.
Push blew out a breath. “A nosy PI sniffing around while we’ve got a psycho killing people digging up skeletons. Perfect.”
Vin shook his head. “A missing sister?”
“Maybe her sister is one of the four bodies we got buried,” Push finished.
“Maybe,” I said quietly. “Or maybe her missing sister doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
Anchor scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “We don’t know shit yet. What we do know is this: if a PI starts poking around the island, we need to control it. Redirect her. Don’t let her wander.”
Vin nodded. “We can handle her.”
Push cracked his knuckles. “Hell, I prefer a PI over a cop. At least she won’t show up with backup.”
I stared down the path Banks had taken. Something about the timing scraped wrong. PI shows up right after the skeleton, after the notes, after the killer ramped up his game.
“We keep our guard up,” Anchor said. “That’s all we can do.”
Vin scoffed. “Been what we’re doing, but shit still keeps happening.”
We stayed there another minute and let the information settle into the cracks of everything we were already juggling.
Bodies.
