Biker Boo (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #7)

Chapter 1

Becki

T he whole damn town is out celebrating like it ain’t haunted by regrets.

Pumpkins glow on porches. Drunk laughter echoes down the hollers.

And I’m here in a double-wide that smells like old smoke and my pumpkin spice body spray, watching a horror marathon on the grainy screen of a secondhand tube TV.

Happy fucking Halloween.

Well, it’s nearly Halloween, the weekend before. Trick or treat and parties are happening while some folks are off work, leaving me and the actual day completely the fuck out of it.

Kinda kills the thrill, if you ask me.

I stretch out on the worn-out couch in my trailer, one leg draped over the side, toes brushing the dusty carpet. My toes are painted black, last week’s attempt to feel something, maybe look cute, maybe get noticed.

But he didn’t notice. Not like that.

Legend looked right through me, like I was a damn puddle of piss on the floor of his precious clubhouse, something to step around on his way to another warm cunt. The biker Prez didn’t just ignore me. He humiliated me.

“Crazy Becki ain’t my ol’ lady. Never will be. She’s just a party favor. Used one at that.”

Those words hit harder than any slap, and he said them with a smile on his face like they didn’t mean a damn thing. But they meant everything to me. Because I’m not just some random club bunny he found along the way. I’m supposed to be his. I was his, once.

I gave up everything for him.

My father runs the Pearly Gates church, the whole community, a cult, really. Preaching fire, brimstone, and end times. We used to run drills for the Rapture. We stockpiled gas masks and canned beans. And we got beat if we asked questions.

I was raised to be obedient, silent, ready to serve God or die trying. Ready to serve a man, too, like a God.

And then came Hudson Welles. Called Legend now.

Back then we were just teens, hiding out behind the church, whispering dreams under cover of darkness. When his daddy came back and created Hell, Kentucky, starting the Kings of Anarchy MC, I followed Legend out of that compound without a second thought.

I didn’t want a throne or a crown, to be his Anarchy Queen .

I just wanted to belong somewhere .

To someone .

To Hudson before he became Legend .

But what I got was a trailer on the edge of nowhere and a heart full of false hope.

Legend handed me the keys like he was doing me a favor. Said I needed space. Said I deserved it. But I knew what it was. He was buying me off. Paying me in roof and plumbing to be okay with not being his. Not really.

He didn’t say it, but I heard it anyway. “Stay here. Be quiet. Don’t cause trouble.”

He forgot all the promises we made. All the nights he pulled me close and whispered that one day I’d wear his patch. That I’d be his queen.

Instead, I’m a ghost in this town, haunting my own life while the party roars on without me.

Outside, the wind whistles through the broken swing on the porch, making it creak like a ghost with unfinished business. I sip on a flat Coke and pretend I don’t want to pour bourbon in it.

I promised Royal I’d try to stay out of trouble tonight.

Royal. Now he … that biker worries too much.

Royal always looks at me like I’m made of dynamite. Pretty, dangerous, unpredictable. He’s the only one who sees the pieces I keep hidden. The ones still loyal to the church in some backwards, twisted way. The girl who wants to sin and be saved at the same time.

He told me to lay low tonight. Said Halloween brought out the worst in this place.

Maybe he’s right.

Hell, Kentucky ain’t big, but it’s loud on Halloween. The costume party at the clubhouse is probably raging by now. Club bunnies dressed like slutty angels and devils. Bikers trying to look dangerous when the only thing dangerous about ’em is their credit score.

Legend would’ve gone. Of course he would’ve.

A man like him can’t stay holed up too long. Not when the whole county’s daughters throw themselves in front of his boots.

But me?

I can’t face that crowd. Not after the way Prez looked at me like I was a problem to be solved, or worse, just a stupid girl with a crush she should’ve outgrown.

Wiping my tears, I pull the afghan tighter around my shoulders, even though I’m sweating.

Brown and pink, my mama made it outta whatever leftover yarn she had, so no one cared when I took it after she died.

Just like this trailer’s second hand, full of whatever no one else wanted from the thrift store. Fitting for a girl nobody wants.

The movie blares some high-pitched scream, a girl running barefoot through the woods. I’ve seen this one before.

Doesn’t end well for her.

I shift on the couch, eyes flicking to the dark window.

The woods behind the trailer are thick, tangled vines, thorn bushes, trees so tall and crooked they block out the waxing moon. There’s no reason to be scared. Not really.

I’ve lived here long enough to know it’s not ghost stories. And certainly not the ghost story of Crooked Creek Hollow. It’s raccoons or possums or horny teenagers sneaking off for a grope.

But tonight… something feels different.

Something primal.

Something interested .

I pause the movie. Dead silence wraps around the trailer like a noose.

Then it comes.

The faintest crunch.

A footstep close enough that I can hear it.

I freeze, heart thudding. Slowly, I sit up, my pulse racing against my ribs like it wants out. I know better than to spook easy, not after growing up around my father’s lot. But this ain’t the same fear.

This is something older. Wilder.

Something that slinks in the dark and knows your name.

I grab the Louisville Slugger from beside the door. Royal gave it to me last year, all sarcastic like. “To bash some heads or hit a home run with that attitude.”

I’d laughed. Tossed him the finger.

Now my knuckles whiten around it.

I peek out the curtain.

Nothing.

Just woods and shadows and the rustle of dried leaves blowing across the gravel lot.

Turning the movie back on, I tell myself I’m being paranoid. Too many horror movies, too much heartbreak. But the feeling don’t leave. It lingers.

Crawls up my spine like cold sweat.

Getting up, I twist the deadbolt even though I already locked it twice.

Still not enough.

So, I check the back door. Double-check the windows are locked. Pour myself another flat Coke from the 2-liter. Pretend I’m fine.

But every time I glance at the tree line, it’s like something’s waiting.

And that something?

Feels like it’s waiting for me.

The air feels thicker than it should. Like I’m breathing fog through a straw. Kentucky humidity, I tell myself. Folks say it never used to be this hot in October in Kentucky, but I’ve never known it any other way. Too bad, I already took the window air conditioner out for the season.

Back at the couch, I mute the TV. The scream that was building in the film cuts off mid-wail, replaced by the low hum of silence pressing against my ears. The kind that don’t feel empty, just waiting. And out of the corner of my eye, I see a shadow move across the floor.

That’s when I know.

I’m not alone.

Something’s outside the window. It’s not just a hunch. It ain’t nerves. And it’s sure as hell not the sugar crash from the four mini Snickers I stress-ate while the babysitter in the movie got chopped up on screen.

Somebody’s out there.

Watching.

I sit frozen, trying to breathe slow, trying not to let it show I know. Like if I don’t flinch, I’ll disappear into the couch. But I am aware of him.

There’s no mistaking it. That low burn under my skin? That whisper of a shiver that doesn’t belong to the cold?

Someone’s eyes are crawling over me, licking across my skin from the outside in, like he’s memorizing the curve of my body through the window. Like I’m some twisted Halloween treat behind glass.

My thighs press together before I can stop them.

God help me, I’m thrilled .