Chapter Eight #2
“That explains a lot,” she muttered.
“Yeah.”
“That’s why Skull wouldn’t let me go to my RV by myself.”
“Yeah.”
“And why Pull and Wannabe stayed outside.”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes came back to mine. “And why you said I wasn’t sleeping alone anywhere on the island.”
“Exactly.”
Ramona was quiet for a second. “Is whoever did this the same person who attacked you?”
“We think so.” It had to be.
“And Bernice?”
I nodded. “She was murdered.” I touched my neck. “I was there. This happened right before they killed her.”
Her face softened. “Oh, Ash,” she whispered.
“I don’t remember much of what happened that day. It all happened so fast, and then I was suddenly in the hospital. I have big sections that are just blank from that day.”
We sat there for a moment. I would give everything to remember every second of that day. Erin and I were the only survivors so far. If I could remember something that could help us find whoever was doing this, it would all be over.
“What about Erin?” she asked.
“Connected.”
“How?”
“McKayla came here looking for her, found out that Erin worked here for a bit, and then she just disappeared. Turns out Ron, who worked for the haunted house, was helping the guy terrorizing us, killed Bernice, and took Erin.”
Ramona blinked slowly. “And Ron is still on the island?”
I shook my head. “Ron offed himself before we could find out anything else from him. We did manage to get to Erin before anything more happened to her, but you know she’s in the ICU.”
She sat back and batted her eyes. “You have completely blown my mind, Ash. So you found a guy closely connected to this, and then he just kills himself? Did you figure out who he was working with?”
I sighed. “Nope. He didn’t even give us a clue. Just said we deserved everything that was coming our way and then shot himself.” It was a damn whirlwind when Skull and Anchor had told me the story. I could only imagine how crazy this all sounded to Ramona.
She looked toward the trees beyond the yard.
“That’s why you stay with somebody. Why none of us are ever alone.”
She nodded. No argument this time. Then she looked back at me. “And you thought my campground problem was bad.”
“It is.”
“Ash.”
“What?”
“Somebody is leaving bodies around your island. You almost died.” She tipped her head to the side. “My boss being pissed that I found out about him stealing is nothing.”
“Doesn’t make what happened to you disappear.”
She went quiet.
“You didn’t leave Iowa because you were bored,” I continued. “You left because somebody broke into your home twice, followed you, and fucked with your tire.”
“I know.”
“You came here because you were scared.”
Her lips pressed together.
I knew I was right. I leaned forward slightly. “I’m not ignoring that because we’ve got other shit happening.”
Her eyes stayed on mine. “You really meant it.”
“What?”
“When you said you’d help.”
“Of course I fucking meant it.” It didn’t matter what the club was going through. I was going to help Ramona and make sure she was safe.
A small smile touched her lips. “Thank you.” Ramona looked toward the haunted house. “So why is somebody doing this?”
“We don’t know.”
“You have no idea?”
“We’ve got pieces.”
“Like what?”
I rubbed my jaw. “Some of it points toward the club’s past. Before Anchor was president. Before most of us were even here.”
“The old Kings?”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t know what happened?”
“No.”
“Does anyone?”
“That seems to be the fucking question.” There were so many fucking questions.
She thought about that. Then she asked, “What about Bernice?”
My eyes moved to hers. “Pretty sure Bernice knew it all. That’s why—” Everything inside me stopped.
For a second, I didn’t hear anything. Not the birds. Not the noise coming through the clubhouse door. Not Ramona.
Nothing.
Then something flashed through my head.
Blood. Bernice lying on the floor. My hand was pressed against my neck, and pain ripped across it. I closed my eyes.
“Ash?” Ramona called.
I held up my hand. The memory was there, and I needed to catch it. It was like trying to grab something through fucking smoke.
Someone standing near her. I couldn’t see a face, couldn’t make out clothes, but I heard the voice.
Low. Angry. “You should’ve kept your mouth shut.”
My eyes opened.
Ramona had moved closer. “Bob?”
I swallowed. “You should’ve kept your mouth shut.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “What?”
“I remember that.”
She went still. “The night Bernice died?”
I closed my eyes again, trying to pull up more. Nothing. Just blood. That fucking voice.
I opened my eyes. “Someone said it to Bernice.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
“But you’re sure they said it to her?”
I nodded.
Ramona slowly lowered herself into the chair again.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she looked at me. “If they told her she should’ve kept her mouth shut…”
“She knew something.” The words settled between us.
I looked toward the clubhouse. “And she told someone.” But who?
For weeks, we’d been chasing whatever this motherfucker wanted us to see.
Bodies. Pictures. Messages. Clues left specifically for us.
This was different. This hadn’t been left for the club. It was something I’d heard. Something I wasn’t supposed to survive long enough to remember.
I grabbed the wheels of my chair.
Ramona stood. “Going to tell Anchor?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded and moved beside me.
I started toward the door. My whole body was exhausted from the walking, and my throat was starting to ache again. I was probably going to need to pass out later whether I wanted to or not.
But before that, for the first time since I’d woken up in that hospital, I had something useful to give my club.