Chapter Five #2
“It is until you realize you own exactly three decent bras and one of them is currently missing.”
Anchor made a noise that sounded like he wanted to be anywhere else.
Pearl laughed.
I looked at the ceiling because apparently that was safer than thinking about McKayla’s bras.
She glanced at me and smirked like she knew exactly what she’d done.
Pain in the ass.
McKayla moved to the table next, gathering papers and stuffing them into a folder.
My eyes caught one. A printed photo of a woman with similar dark hair and the same eyes.
Erin.
McKayla noticed where I was looking and snatched the photo up a little too quickly. “My sister,” she said.
“I figured.”
Her jaw tightened, but she carefully tucked the photo into the inside pocket of the bag instead of shoving it with the rest.
That told me enough.
Everything else got crammed into the bag, but Erin’s picture went into the inside pocket by itself.
She disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a toiletry bag, toothbrush sticking out of the top.
“Finally,” she muttered. “The real victim here was my breath.”
Pearl laughed. “You’re concussed and worried about your breath?”
“I woke up in a clubhouse full of attractive people with motorcycle cuts. I have standards.”
Pearl’s eyebrows lifted.
McKayla froze for a second. Then pointed at all of us. “That was a general statement.”
“Sure,” Pearl said.
I kept my face blank.
Barely.
McKayla shoved the toiletry bag into the duffle and zipped it hard. “I hate all of you.”
“You just met us,” Pearl said.
“I’m efficient.”
I grabbed the duffle before she could lift it.
“I can carry my own bag,” she said.
“I know.”
“And yet?”
I slung it over my shoulder. “And yet.”
She stared at me, clearly annoyed, but there was less heat behind it this time. Maybe she was too tired or maybe she was starting to figure out arguing with me didn’t always get her anywhere.
Either one worked.
“We need to check you out,” I said.
She made a face. “Can’t we just leave?”
“No.”
“I paid cash through the week.”
“Then check out and get your money back.”
“That sounds responsible and annoying.”
“Office.”
She sighed dramatically. “Bossy biker hostage escort. Great.”
Anchor opened the door wider. “Let’s move.”
We headed across the parking lot toward the motel office. Pearl and Anchor stayed near the bikes while I went in with McKayla.
A bell jingled above the door when we stepped inside.
The office was small with a fake plant in the corner and a front desk that had probably been refinished with hope and cheap varnish. A woman maybe in her mid-twenties sat behind the counter scrolling on her phone.
She didn’t look up right away.
McKayla cleared her throat.
Nothing.
McKayla glanced at me, then back at the woman. “Hi. I need to check out.”
The woman sighed like customers were an unfortunate part of working at a motel and finally looked up. Her eyes moved to McKayla for half a second and then landed on me.
And stayed there.
Of course.
Her entire expression shifted so fast it was almost impressive. “Oh,” she said, sitting up straighter. “Hi.”
McKayla blinked.
I didn’t.
“Checking out of room eleven,” McKayla said.
The woman kept looking at me. “Sure. Was everything okay with the room?”
“It was a motel room,” McKayla answered. “So… technically yes.”
The woman smiled at me like McKayla hadn’t spoken. “Need a receipt?”
“No,” I said.
McKayla looked at me. “I might.”
I glanced down at her.
She shrugged. “Taxes.”
The woman finally brought her attention to McKayla again, but not for long. “Right. I can print one.”
She typed slowly. Very slowly. Then looked at me again. “You from around here?”
“No.”
McKayla made a tiny choking sound beside me that she tried to cover with a cough.
The woman smiled wider. “Passing through?”
“No.”
McKayla muttered, “Riveting.”
I bit back a smile. The woman printed the receipt and slid it across the counter, but she angled it closer to me even though McKayla was the one checking out.
McKayla took it and folded it into her purse. “Thanks so much.”
The woman leaned forward slightly. “If you need anything else while you’re in town—”
“We don’t,” I said.
McKayla headed for the door immediately and I followed.
The bell jingled behind us, and as soon as we stepped into the parking lot, McKayla sucked in a breath.
“Well. That was subtle.”
“What?”
She looked at me. “Really?”
I shrugged.
“She was basically one eyelash flutter away from climbing over the desk.”
“She checked you out.”
“She checked you out.”
“She printed your receipt.”
“She wanted to print it on your abs.”
I stopped walking for half a second.
Pearl burst out laughing near the bikes. Anchor looked like he was trying not to.
McKayla lifted both hands. “What? I’m concussed, not blind.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept walking and set her duffle across the back of my bike.
“You done?”
“With the motel? Yes. With judging her technique? Also yes. It was terrible.”
Pearl wiped under one eye like she’d laughed too hard. “I really like her.”
“Everybody keeps saying that like I’m not being held against my will,” McKayla said.
Anchor swung onto his bike. “You’re not being held against your will.”
McKayla stared at him.
Anchor stared back.
She sighed. “Fine. I’m being strongly discouraged from leaving.”
“Better,” Pearl said.
I handed McKayla the helmet. She pulled it on but didn’t immediately get on the bike. Instead, she cupped a hand over her eyes to block the sun and looked between me and Anchor.
“So who’s Bob?”
Anchor’s expression flattened immediately. Anchor looked at me and I looked back at him.
There wasn’t an easy way to answer that question.
Bob was a brother.
Bob was in the hospital because of this mess.
Bob was alive, but not by much.
And McKayla needed to understand that whatever was happening on Skull Island wasn’t just about dead strangers washing up on shore anymore.
I looked back at her.
“He’s part of the shit going on with the island, too.”