Page 11 of Property of Hayride
“Appreciate that, brother.”
“I’ll come by The Barn later, but I need to talk to you about something else. It’s private. You still outside the bakery?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll come to you.” Boomer clicks off the call as Scythe slips his phone back into the pocket of his cut.
“This is shit timing. We’ve got the largest crowds this year so far, and the Fear Farm’s new attraction opens tonight.”
I nod at Mammoth. “Agreed. Gonna call church, Pres?”
Scythe ticks his chin at Mammoth. “Delegating that to you, VP. Let everyone know.”
“I’m on it.” Mammoth types a message into his phone. A few seconds later, mine dings in my back pocket. I don’t have to check it to know it’s Mammoth informing all the members about church.
We’re not the texting types most of the time, but Scythe got sick of multiple messages blowing up his phone whenever someone forgot the time or ran late, so he created the Church chat. He even named it with the one-word title.
“Worried about this shit, Pres. There’s a chance this is connected to the body we found yesterday.”
“And the witches won’t like it when they hear about it,” I add.
“Don’t I know it.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “We discuss it in church. Keep this shit quiet for now.”
Understood. We don’t want any locals hearing about it and getting spooked. Or tourists leaving because of it.
I snuff out the cigarette I’ve finished and scan the street. There are tourists everywhere, but one stands out. “Who’s that?”
There’s a woman dressed in dark jeans, a plain gray shirt, and black boots. She’s holding a camera, taking snapshots. Normally, that wouldn’t be cause for alarm. But she’s not taking photos of the crowd, the fall decorations, or the grand opening of the Butter Bliss Bakery. She’s not aiming her camera at the changing and colorful foliage.
This stranger is taking pictures of club members. As we watch, she points her camera at our motorcycles lined up on the street. The woman is getting too close to the bikes. She’s not a tourist. They wouldn’t be that enthralled, not with the fall festival happening.
Scythe growls a command. “Go find out what the fuck she’s doing and tell her our bikes and members aren’t allowed to be photographed without permission, Hayride.”
I bob my head in a nod, rushing forward, but as I get closer, I see this isn’t a stranger. It’s the woman I met inside the MayfieldInn last night. The one who thought I was a ghost or tourist during her tour of the thirteenth floor.
“Hey,” I call out, surprised to see her hiding her appearance with a ball cap and baggy clothes.
Something is off. I can sense it.
She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she darts away from the row of bikes. I watch her run, glance at Scythe, and decide to follow her. I’m closing in when I see her lift her hand. She grins at me before flipping her middle finger.
Why the fuck is she pissed at me?
She’s fast, but I have longer legs. I catch her as she tries to outrun me, pressing her up against the exterior wall of the Mystic Emporium. People walk by us, but they don’t even look.“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Fireball.”
She purses her lips. “Let go of me.”
I don’t. Instead, I yank off the ball cap she’s wearing and reveal the beautiful red color of her hair. It’s even more stunning in the daylight. “Don’t ever hide your beauty from the world, gorgeous. It robs us all of the pleasure of seeing that pretty red hair and curls.”
She scoffs.
“Or those fiery green eyes that snap hellfire when you’re riled up.” Like now.
Yep. Fireball is the perfect nickname. It suits her appearanceandpersonality.
“Leave me alone.”
“Can’t. Got orders from my pres to see what you’re up to. No photography without our permission.”
