Chapter Five
Push
McKayla stood in front of my bike with one hand shielding her eyes from the morning sun and the other holding the strap of the helmet.
She looked better than she had when I’d carried her out of the tunnel, but that wasn’t saying much.
She was still pale, still moving a little slower than she probably wanted anyone to notice, and still had that stubborn set to her mouth that told me she’d rather drop dead than admit she didn’t feel great.
I swung my leg over the bike and looked back at her. “You ever ridden before?”
Her eyes moved over the bike like she was trying to decide if it was a vehicle or a death trap. “Motorcycle? No.” She tilted her head. “Dirt bike? Yeah.”
That surprised me. I didn’t know much about McKayla beyond the obvious. She was a private investigator. Her sister was missing. She had a smart mouth. She had a concussion. She also had a real bad habit of walking directly into situations she had no business walking into.
Apparently, she also rode dirt bikes.
“Bet that was fun,” I said.
Her mouth twisted slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. “It was until those foster parents got pregnant with their own baby and booted me and Erin out to the next family.”
Push went quiet after she said it.
Not because she said them dramatically, she didn’t, but because she said them the way some people talked about bad weather or traffic. Like it had happened, like it had sucked, and like there wasn’t any point pretending otherwise.
I stared at her for a second too long.
She looked away first. “That got awkward fast,” she muttered.
“Wasn’t awkward.”
“It was a little awkward.”
“It was shitty.”
Her eyes flicked back to me.
I shrugged. “What they did. Not you saying it.”
For a second, something soft moved across her face. It was there and gone quick, replaced by the same sharp humor she kept using like a shield. “Well, congratulations. You just passed the first level of not being emotionally useless.”
“Do I get a prize?”
“Absolutely not.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
The clubhouse door opened behind us before I could say anything else.
Anchor stepped out first, sunglasses already on, his cut settled over his shoulders.
Pearl followed right behind him, her hair pulled back and a bright look on her face that did not match the fact we were headed to a motel to collect the belongings of a woman who had seen a corpse less than twelve hours ago.
That was Pearl though. She found brightness in the middle of bullshit. It was probably why Anchor looked at her like she was the only damn thing keeping him from burning the island down some days.
“We’ll ride with you,” Anchor said as he headed toward his bike. “After the motel, we’ll stop and see Bob.”
I nodded once. “Works.”
Pearl practically bounced beside him. “I haven’t been on the back of his bike much, so I jump at any chance I can get.”
Anchor glanced at her over his shoulder. “Any excuse to get your hands on me.”
Pearl rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Sure. That’s exactly it.”
“It is.”
“You’re exhausting.”
Anchor swung onto his bike. “You like it.”
Pearl muttered something under her breath as she got on behind him, but the way she wrapped her arms around his waist told the truth.
McKayla watched them for a second, then leaned closer to me. “Are they always like that?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know everyone here has questionable taste.”
Pearl pointed at her. “I heard that.”
McKayla lifted her hand. “I said it with affection.”
“No, you didn’t,” I muttered.
“Okay, fine. Mild judgment.”
Pearl laughed and adjusted behind Anchor.
Anchor looked back at McKayla. “No one rides alone.”
She frowned slightly. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“That means you listen,” he said. “No hopping off. No running. No deciding you can handle something by yourself and think sarcasm is a survival plan.”
McKayla blinked. “Wow. Word travels fast around here.”
“It’s a clubhouse,” Pearl said. “Everything travels fast.”
McKayla sighed. “So I just… get on?”
“Yeah.” I nodded to the helmet in her hand. “Put that on first.”
She studied it like it might explode, then pulled it over her head with a muttered, “This is probably not concussion-approved.”
“It’s better than your head meeting pavement.”
“Again with the comfort.”
“Get on.”
She climbed on behind me carefully, and the second her thighs settled against mine and her hands hovered awkwardly near my waist, my brain went real quiet.
That didn’t happen often.
I didn’t let women on the back of my bike, ever.
It wasn’t a rule I’d made a big deal about. I didn’t announce it or explain it. I just didn’t do it.
A man’s bike was personal, at least mine was. The seat behind me had stayed empty since I bought the damn thing.
Until now.
McKayla shifted, trying to get comfortable, and her knees tucked in against my hips like she’d been made to fit there. That thought was dangerous as hell.
I cleared my throat and reached back, grabbing both of her wrists and pulling her hands around my waist. “Hold on.”
“I was going to.”
“You were hovering like you were afraid I’d bite.”
“I don’t know what you people do for fun around here.”
Pearl laughed from behind Anchor.
I felt McKayla’s fingers tighten slightly against my stomach, but not enough. I covered one of her hands with mine and pressed it flat against me. “Tighter.”
She hesitated, then wrapped both arms more securely around my waist.
Too damn good, actually.
Anchor started his bike, and the low rumble filled the morning air. I followed, engine vibrating beneath us as McKayla stiffened behind me for the first second, then settled in once she got used to it.
Anchor pulled out first with Pearl behind him, and I followed down the gravel drive away from the clubhouse.
Without the chainsaws and screaming tourists, Skull Island almost looked normal. Less haunted and more quiet.
The fake blood, fog machines, and screaming tourists were gone, leaving behind sun filtering through trees, dew on the grass, and the lake glittering through breaks in the woods. If a person didn’t know better, they might think Skull Island was peaceful.
I knew better. So did the woman sitting behind me.
We passed the haunted house, dark and still now with its front doors closed and the props waiting for another night of scaring people who paid for fake fear.
Last night, McKayla had gotten the real thing for free.
Her arms tightened slightly around me as we headed over the bridge.
I didn’t know if it was because of the bike, the height over the water, or the fact she was leaving the island while knowing damn well she was being brought right back.
Maybe all three.
The bridge stretched across the water beneath a pale morning sky. Anchor rode ahead of us, Pearl tucked close behind him, and I kept enough distance to avoid dust and gravel kicking back.
Once we hit the mainland, the ride smoothed out.
McKayla relaxed little by little behind me. Enough that her body moved with mine instead of fighting every curve.
Good, I liked that. Didn’t need to like it, but there it was.
We rode for a few miles toward the edge of town where the motel sat just off the highway. It was one of those places that looked like it had been built thirty years ago and updated exactly never. Faded sign. Cracked parking lot. Two vending machines humming outside the office.
Classy.
Anchor pulled in first, and McKayla leaned slightly to my left.
“Door eleven,” she said near my ear.
Her voice was muffled by the helmet, but I heard her just fine.
I parked in front of the room and killed the engine. Anchor pulled in beside us, Pearl climbing off behind him and smoothing her hands over her jeans.
McKayla slid off my bike carefully. She was steadier than she had been last night, but I still watched every move she made.
She pulled the helmet off and held it out to me. “I’ll just go in and grab my stuff.”
I took the helmet and set it on the seat. “I’ll go with.”
She gave me a look. “Of course you will.”
“Need to make sure you’re okay.”
“I survived sleeping in that room for four nights. Pretty sure the danger has already passed.”
“Door,” I said.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Fine. If you want to see the glamorous life of a PI living on the road, more power to you.”
Anchor and Pearl followed us across the cracked sidewalk.
McKayla looked back at them. “Oh good. It’s a party.”
Pearl smiled. “I was curious.”
“About my motel room?”
“About you.”
McKayla paused for half a second, like she didn’t know what to do with that answer. Then she turned back around and dug a key card out of her purse. “Well, prepare to be underwhelmed.”
She unlocked the door, pushed it open, and flipped on the light.
The room smelled like old carpet, stale air, and cheap lemon cleaner.
A queen bed sat against one wall with the blanket half pulled back from where she must’ve left in a hurry.
A small table by the window held an open notebook, a disposable coffee cup, and a stack of papers.
The curtains were stiff and ugly, patterned in a way that made me think someone had designed them out of spite.
The carpet had seen things. Probably crimes.
McKayla walked in and waved one hand around. “Welcome to luxury.”
Pearl stepped inside behind her and glanced around. “I’ve seen worse.”
McKayla looked over her shoulder. “That is the saddest reassurance I’ve ever heard.”
Anchor stayed near the door while I moved in behind McKayla, scanning automatically.
No signs anyone had come in after her. No forced entry. No obvious disturbance beyond her own chaos.
McKayla grabbed a black duffle bag from the chair and started shoving clothes into it from the open dresser drawers.
“You always live out of one bag?” Pearl asked.
“Pretty much.” McKayla folded a pair of jeans badly, gave up halfway, and shoved them in. “Being a PI means I’m on the go a lot, and I learned pretty fast what I actually need versus what I think I need.”
Pearl watched her pack. “That sounds useful.”