Chapter Twenty-Two
McKayla
Half an hour ago, Vin had radioed in that Ron had rolled up to the island and headed straight for his office.
Anchor hadn’t moved immediately.
That surprised me at first because Anchor didn’t exactly strike me as a patient man. He was more of a point, growl, destroy kind of personality, but apparently there was strategy buried under all that permanent irritation.
“Let him settle,” Anchor had said while standing near the bar with his coffee mug in one hand and the radio in the other. “If he thinks we’re coming, he’ll lock up.”
That had made sense.
It had also made the next twenty minutes feel approximately six years long.
I paced the common room until Push finally hooked one arm around my waist and pulled me back against his chest. “You’re gonna wear a path in the floor.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re spiraling.”
“That feels irritating.”
“Feels accurate.”
I had glared at him over my shoulder, but I hadn’t pulled away. Mainly because having Push behind me with his arm around me made it easier to breathe.
Now, we were walking toward Ron’s office.
Me, Push, Anchor, Prime, and Cross.
The island had that strange midday quiet going on, the kind that felt almost peaceful if you forgot there had been bodies dumped around it and wanted posters with my sister’s face showing up like party favors from hell.
The haunted house wasn’t open yet, but staff moved around getting things ready. Someone tested a chainsaw from inside the attraction, and the sudden roar ripped through the air hard enough to make me flinch.
Push’s hand landed at the small of my back instantly. “Okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I blew out a breath. “Still hate that sound.”
“Most people do.”
Anchor walked ahead of us with Cross beside him, both of them looking casual in that not casual at all biker way. Prime followed a step behind, scanning everything around us like he expected a threat to climb out of a concession stand.
We reached the concession building and headed around the side toward the staircase leading upstairs.
My stomach twisted. I wasn’t even sure my hunch was right, and that was the part bothering me most.
Ron could’ve genuinely misremembered what Erin said. He could’ve thrown out Tennessee because people said random things all the time. Maybe Erin really had mentioned it because she wanted to mislead him, or maybe he’d heard it from someone else and got his wires crossed.
But something about his answer still felt wrong.
Too easy.
Too neat.
Too weirdly specific.
And if my gut was right, Ron knew a hell of a lot more than he was saying.
The stairs creaked beneath our boots as we climbed to the second floor. Anchor didn’t knock this time. He just opened the door and stepped inside like he owned the place.
Which, technically, he did.
Ron was standing by the printer when we walked in. His hand hovered near the machine, and his shoulders jumped slightly when we entered. It was small, barely noticeable, but I noticed anyway.
The printer hummed behind him, still printing something.
Ron blinked at all of us, then laughed too loudly. “Well, damn. What do I owe the pleasure of two visits from Anchor in one week?”
Anchor chuckled like this was casual. Like we’d just stopped by for coffee and a complaint about ticket sales. “Starting to miss your face, Ron.”
Ron smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s a terrifying thing to hear from you.”
Prime closed the door behind us. Click.
Ron’s eyes flicked toward the sound. There. Another little tell.
My skin prickled.
Push stayed close beside me, but he didn’t touch me.
Anchor moved slowly toward the nearest desk and rested one hip against it. “Wanted to ask you something else about Erin.”
Ron’s mouth tightened for half a second. “Sure. I told you what I knew yesterday, though.”
“Yeah.” Anchor nodded. “You did.”
The printer hummed again.
A sheet of paper shifted somewhere inside the machine.
My gaze flicked toward it.
Ron noticed, and he stepped slightly in front of the printer.
My pulse picked up.
Cross leaned against the file cabinets with his arms crossed. “You sure Erin said Tennessee?”
Ron blinked. “What?”
Anchor watched him closely. “Yesterday, you said Erin mentioned Tennessee. You sure that’s what she said?”
Ron adjusted his glasses with shaky fingers. “Yeah. I mean, pretty sure.”
“Pretty sure?” Prime asked.
Ron cleared his throat. “It was weeks ago. I don’t remember every little conversation I had with a part-time worker.”
“That’s understandable,” I said softly.
Ron’s gaze snapped to me.
I smiled.
Not friendly exactly.
Just enough.
“But Tennessee stuck with you.”
He swallowed. “Well, yeah. I guess.”
“Why?” Anchor asked.
Ron frowned. “Why what?”
“Why did it stick with you?”
He looked between me and Anchor. “I don’t know. She said it. I remembered it.”
“Did she say she was going there?” I asked.
His tongue darted over his bottom lip. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
He shifted his weight. “She might’ve said Iowa.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It burst out of me sharp and humorless, cutting through the office like a slap.
Ron looked at me.
Cross pushed away from the file cabinet. “You got forty-eight other states you could try, Ron. Maybe one of them will sit right with McKayla.”
Ron’s face paled.
Anchor’s expression changed just slightly.
That was when the room shifted. Ron looked toward the door. Then the window. Then back at Anchor. “I don’t really know why you’re so worried about where this woman is,” Ron said quickly. “She quit. People quit all the time. Seasonal workers come and go.”
Push’s voice dropped. “That woman is McKayla’s sister.”
Something cracked in Ron’s face.
It was small, but it was there. For one second, all the nervous fake confusion fell away and something ugly slipped through.
Anchor saw it too. “Where is Erin?” Anchor asked.
Ron shook his head immediately. “I don’t know.”
Lie.
It was written all over him now.
His breathing had gone too fast. His eyes moved too much. His hands flexed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I don’t know,” he repeated louder.
I stepped closer before Push’s hand caught my wrist gently.
Not stopping me, just warning me. I stayed where I was.
“Ron,” Anchor said calmly. “You helped her get hired. You were the one who handled her schedule. You told us she quit, but nobody else knew she even worked here.”
Ron laughed once, high and wrong. “That’s not my fault. You guys never know half the people working here.”
Prime’s jaw tightened.
“That’s true,” Anchor admitted. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”
Ron backed up until his hip hit the edge of the printer table.
The machine hummed again behind him.
Still printing.
God, what was it printing?
Anchor pushed off the desk slowly. “Does the name Caleb Token mean anything to you?”
Ron froze.
My stomach dropped.
Anchor’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Thought so.”
Ron shook his head hard. “No.”
“Ron,” Anchor deadpanned.
“No!” His voice cracked.
Prime took one step forward.
Ron jerked like he’d been shocked.
Anchor didn’t move closer, but his voice sharpened. “What about Bernice?”
Ron screamed, “Stop!” The sound tore out of him so violently, I flinched.
Push moved immediately, stepping slightly in front of me.
Ron’s eyes were wild now. Sweat had gathered at his temples, and his hands shook so hard I could see it from across the room.
“Don’t say her name,” Ron snapped. “You don’t know anything.”
Anchor’s voice stayed calm. Too calm. “Then tell us.”
Ron laughed.
Not normal. Not amused. It was cracked right down the middle.
Push’s whole body went rigid beside me. “Why are you killing people and dumping them on the island?”
Ron’s head snapped toward him.
Then he cackled. The sound scraped down my spine. “Me?” Ron’s eyes went wide and manic. “You think I’m the one doing this?”
Nobody answered.
Ron laughed harder. “Jesus Christ. You guys aren’t smart enough to figure this one out.”
Anchor’s mouth tightened. “I thought we were pals, Ron.”
Ron sneered. “You thought a lot of things.”
Prime moved another step. “You’re gonna tell us everything you know.”
The entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Ron’s eyes darted to his desk.
“No,” I whispered.
Too late.
Ron lunged and everything exploded into motion.
Push shoved me behind him while Anchor and Prime moved forward, but Ron was already yanking open the desk drawer. He came up with a gun.
“Back up!” Ron screamed.
Every man in the room stopped.
Anchor lifted both hands slowly. “Easy.”
My heart slammed so hard against my ribs I thought it might crack them.
The gun shook in Ron’s hand as he pointed it at Anchor.
Cross had one hand hovering near his side, but he didn’t draw.
Nobody wanted to make Ron twitchy. He was already twitchy enough.
“Ron,” Anchor said carefully, “calm down. We can talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“We don’t want you.” Anchor’s voice stayed low. Controlled. “We want the guy killing people.”
Ron smiled then. A horrible, broken smile. “You’ll never get him.”
My blood went cold. Ron really wasn’t the killer. He was helping him, though.
“Who?” I demanded before I could stop myself.
Push’s arm tightened across me immediately.
Ron’s eyes found mine. And for one horrible second, he looked almost sorry. “I’ll never tell you anything,” he whispered. “You deserve everything you’re gonna get.”
Then Ron moved the gun.
Not toward Anchor.
Not toward Push.
Toward himself.
“No!” I screamed.
The gunshot cracked through the office.
Ron crumpled instantly.
One second he was standing there, and the next, he was on the floor, blood spreading beneath him while the smell of gunpowder filled the room.
I couldn’t move and couldn’t breathe.
The sound rang in my ears, loud and high, while my brain refused to process what I’d just seen.
Ron had shot himself.
Right in front of us.
Right in front of me.
Anchor cursed viciously. “Son of a bitch.”
Prime moved to Ron, but the second he knelt, I knew there was no saving him.
Push turned toward me immediately, blocking most of my view with his body. “Baby.”
I stared past him anyway.
My hands were shaking.
My whole body was shaking.
“He-” My voice didn’t work. “He just-”
“I know.” Push’s hands came to my face, forcing my eyes to his. “Look at me.”
I tried. God, I tried. “He knew where Erin was,” I whispered.
Push’s jaw tightened.
“We got zero fucking information from him,” he said.
Anchor swore again.
Cross kicked the side of the desk hard enough to make papers scatter.
The printer hummed.
I blinked. The printer. It finished with a final mechanical whirr, and a piece of paper slid into the tray.
My gaze locked onto it.
Nobody else moved toward it. Everyone was focused on Ron. On the fact our only lead had just blown a hole through his own head.
But I stepped around Push. “McKayla,” he warned.
I ignored him.
Not because I wanted to see Ron, but because that printer had been going when we walked in.
Because Ron had moved in front of it so that meant whatever he’d been waiting for mattered.
I crossed the room on shaky legs and reached for the paper.
My fingers trembled as I pulled it from the tray and turned it over.
The world stopped. “Oh my God,” I gasped.
Push was beside me instantly. “What?”
I couldn’t speak.
I just stared.
Another wanted poster. Another picture of Erin, but this one was different. This one wasn’t just her face.
It was a full-body photo.
Erin was tied to a bed with her hands bound, ankles tied, and her head turned limply to the side.
The motel bed.
And then I saw the clock.
A little digital clock on the nightstand beside the bed.
12:20.
My eyes snapped to the clock on the office wall.
12:45.
Twenty-five minutes ago.
Twenty-five minutes.
The killer had just taken this picture.
My voice ripped out of me. “She’s at the motel!”
Everyone turned toward me.
I held the poster up, my hands shaking so hard the paper rattled. “She’s at the motel right now.” My voice cracked into a scream. “We need to go now!”