Page 68 of Property of Bob

I pursed my lips. “I’m taking it as one.”

Eventually, Piney straightened and wiped his hands on a rag. “We need tools.”

“What kind?” Post asked.

“More than I brought out here.”

Anchor nodded toward the clubhouse. “Go get whatever you need.”

I folded my arms. “How long are we talking?”

“Could be an hour,” Prime said.

“Could be all day,” Post added.

I sighed.

Fine.

At least they were looking at it.

And apparently doing it without charging me whatever a mechanic on an island full of fake ghosts would charge.

Then I heard it.

The entire group reacted before I did. Prime turned toward the road. Anchor straightened. Post and Pull looked up.

Two motorcycles appeared first. Then a pickup truck. They rolled into the parking lot together and headed straight toward us.

I put my hands on my hips and watched them get closer. The motorcycles came to a stop.

Vin pulled off his helmet.

Lost parked beside him.

The truck rolled in behind them.

Skull was driving, but I couldn’t tell who was in the passenger seat because of the sun glaring off the windshield.

The passenger door opened, and everything inside me stopped. “No fucking way.”

Skull got out of the truck and went around the back.

I barely noticed. My eyes were locked on the passenger side.

Ashland turned in the seat. One leg came out and then the other. He gripped the doorframe and slowly pushed himself upright.

My heart climbed into my throat.

He stood there for a second, steadying himself. His face was tighter than yesterday—tired and pale—but he was standing.

Ashland took one step. Then another. Then a third. Slow and careful. He reached back and slammed the truck door shut.

I couldn’t speak. For once in my life, I had absolutely nothing to say.

Skull rolled the wheelchair around the back of the truck. “Bob.”

Ashland waved him off without looking. “I got it.”