Page 1 of Property of Bob

Chapter One

Ramona

I stood in the middle of the parking lot and stared at the ‘Welcome to Skull Island’ sign like it might suddenly give me directions.

It didn’t.

Behind me, the RV gave a soft metallic tick as the engine cooled, which felt slightly insulting after the dramatic way the damn thing had died thirty seconds ago. I turned and looked at it sitting crooked across the lines of the parking spot. One tire was practically touching the gravel shoulder while the back end stuck out farther than it should have.

“Perfect,” I muttered. “Really making a good first impression here.”

I hitched the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder and looked around. The place was a lot busier than I had expected. People wandered through the parking lot in groups, laughing and talking while music drifted from somewhere beyond the trees. Every few seconds, a scream cut through the air, followed by laughter or the loud rev of a chainsaw. Orange lights glowed through the branches, and low fog curled across the ground farther up the path.

I knew Skull Island was some kind of haunted tourist attraction. Clint had mentioned it more than once over the years whenever Ash came up, but hearing about a motorcycle club running a haunted island and actually standing in the middle of one were two completely different things.

Another scream echoed through the trees.

I glanced in that direction. “Normal. This is completely normal.”

A woman wearing a sweatshirt with a skeleton riding a motorcycle walked past me holding a giant cup of something steaming. She gave me a quick smile before continuing toward a row of cars with two teenagers trailing behind her.

Okay.

Apparently, everyone else thought this was normal.

I dug my phone out of my bag and looked at the screen. I had service. That was good. I also had no idea who I was supposed to call, though.

Calling Clint was out. He would ask questions. Lots of questions. Then he’d probably call Ash himself before I had a chance to find him, and the last thing I needed was my big brother announcing my arrival like I was eighteen again and needed someone to come pick me up from a party.

I could figure out how to find one man on an island.

Probably.

I shoved my phone back into my bag and took three steps away from the RV before stopping.

Leaving it sitting there felt wrong. I turned around and stared at it. It wasn’t going anywhere. I knew that because it had just made its opinion on further travel very clear.

Still, almost everything I owned was inside. Granted, everything I owned wasn’t much. Some clothes. Food. A coffee maker I was emotionally attached to. A television that only worked when it felt like it. A collection of magnets from places I’d been. Two lawn chairs, one with a broken arm because I kept forgetting to throw it away.

Not exactly a king’s ransom.

I took another step away from it. Then another.

“Looking for something?”

I jumped hard enough that my bag smacked against my hip. “Jesus Christ.” I spun around and found a man standing about ten feet away from me. “Do people normally sneak up on strangers around here, or is that part of the haunted experience?”

His eyebrows lifted.

He was big. That was my first thought. Not tall in the way where you noticed someone’s height and moved on. Big enough that I immediately had to tip my head back slightly to look at him. Dark jeans, boots, black T-shirt, and a leather vest covered in patches. ‘Kings of Anarchy MC’ was written over his heart.

Well, this seemed promising.

He looked past me toward the RV before bringing his attention back to me. “Didn’t sneak up on you.”

“I didn’t hear you.”

“That doesn’t mean I was sneaking.”