Chapter 2
Salem
The road stretched out ahead, winding through the countryside like a black ribbon. The sun was long gone, leaving us riding in the heavy twilight. I stayed in formation, the roar of our engines filling the night, but my mind was spinning. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming, something big.
And it wasn’t just the spooky-ass, cursed farmhouse we were riding to. They didn’t call me a witch for nothing. Unlike my sisters, who could explain their moods away, I’d always found my gut feelings came to fruition. That was a curse in itself.
We rode for about an hour before we hit the dirt road that led to the farmhouse. The place was straight out of a horror movie—broken-down fences, overgrown weeds, and a crumbling two-story house sitting all alone at the end of the road. The lights they’d strung up at some point blinked in the distance like some kind of eerie beacon, calling us to the party.
I caught a glimpse of Heresy in my side mirror, still following at a distance. What was his deal? Why was he watching me like that? It pissed me off how much it got under my skin.
“Ready to get spooked?” Pixie called over the roar of her engine, her grin as wide as ever.
I forced a laugh. “Bring it.”
We pulled up in front of the farmhouse, kicking up dust as we parked in a line. As I dismounted, I glanced around at the other girls, all of us decked out in our leathers, ready for a night of mischief and mayhem. It didn’t matter if we were prospects or full-patched members. Tonight we were Hell on Heelz, and we owned this place.
Rage gave the signal, and we headed toward the house, the Slayers hanging back, probably because they didn’t want to admit they were spooked. Heresy lingered behind the others, and I kept my eyes forward, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking back. Whatever his deal was, I wasn’t playing into it.
Inside, the farmhouse smelled of mildew and rot, the wood creaking under our boots as we explored. The decorations they’d set up earlier looked a hell of a lot creepier in the dark—fake cobwebs stretched across the walls, jack-o'-lanterns flickering in the corners, and creepy-ass dolls staring down at us from shelves. Yeah, this was gonna be a wild night.
As we wandered through the rooms, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being watched. I knew it wasn’t the Slayers—they were out back setting up the bonfire—but something about this place felt… off. I shook the thought from my head, telling myself that it was just some old ghost story. Lying to myself.
Then I heard it. A soft creak, like a floorboard shifting under someone’s weight. I froze, listening. The others were ahead of me, their voices muffled by the old walls. I turned slowly, my heart pounding in my chest.
Nothing. Just an empty hallway.
“Salem, you comin’ or what?” Razor’s voice echoed from the next room, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I muttered, shaking off the uneasy feeling. I wasn’t about to get freaked out by some old house. I had enough shit to deal with, like proving myself to the club and earning my patch. Ghosts weren’t on my list of problems.
As I joined the others in the main room, the Slayers finally came in from outside, dragging coolers and kegs with them. Everyone was ready to let loose, but I couldn't stop glancing at Heresy amidst the crowd. He was leaning against the wall, watching me like a predator sizing up his prey. It was unsettling, and I hated that I found it a little thrilling too.
“Yo, Salem,” Razor called, tossing me a beer. “Quit staring off into space and join the party.”
I cracked the can and took a long swig, the cold liquid doing little to settle the unease in my gut. As the night wore on, the bonfire roared outside, casting flickering shadows through the cracked windows. Bikers were laughing, drinking, and telling ghost stories, but my attention eluded all of it. My eyes kept drifting back to Heresy, who was now sitting by the fire, his gaze never leaving me.
Finally, I had enough. I needed answers. I wasn’t going to spend the whole night being weirded out by some Slayer. So, with my beer in hand and determination in my step, I made my way over to him.
“Got something to say, Slayer?” I asked, crossing my arms and giving him my best ‘don’t fuck with me’ look.
Heresy looked up, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “I was wondering when you’d come over.”
“You’ve been staring at me all night. What’s your deal?”
He shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. “Just curious.”
“Curious about what?”
“You,” he said, his dark eyes boring into mine. “You’re different.”
I snorted. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Means you don’t seem like the rest of them,” he said, nodding toward the other Hell on Heelz members. “You’ve got a chip on your shoulder, like you’ve got something to prove.”
“Maybe I do,” I shot back, feeling my blood boil. “But I don’t need your approval, so stop watching me like a damn hawk.”
Heresy chuckled, leaning back against the log he was sitting on. “I ain’t offering approval. Just enjoying the view.”
I glared at him, hating how much his words got under my skin. He was right, though. I did have something to prove. I needed to show the club that I could hold my own, that I wasn’t just some rookie who couldn’t handle the life.
Before I could come up with a snappy comeback, the fire crackled loudly, and a gust of wind blew through the trees, making the flames dance higher. The laughter and conversation around us died down as everyone turned to stare at the fire, the atmosphere shifting from the party to something else entirely.
“Looks like the ghosts are waking up,” Pixie whispered, her eyes wide with excitement.
Heresy stood up, brushing the dirt off his jeans. “Maybe they’re coming for you, Salem,” he teased, a dark edge to his voice.
I rolled my eyes, but inside, I was trembling. “You wish.”
But even as I tried to play it cool, I couldn’t shake off the suspicion that something was watching us from the darkness. Something old, something angry. Maybe the legends about this place weren’t bullshit after all.
And maybe Heresy knew more than he was letting on.