Page 36 of Property of Crypt Keeper

And that mark.

After I pulled out of the narrow dirt road, I gunned the throttle. Every time I rode alone, I was extra cautious because I knew if anything went wrong, Boomslang would lose his shit.

The road blurred beneath me, black asphalt cutting through the swamp like a scar. I didn’t slow down. Didn’t think too hard either. Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d like where my head was going.

My jaw tightened as the bike ate up the distance as I hurried into town.

Fuck… that mark. The one that matched mine. I could still feel it. All along my spine. Faint now, but not gone. Like something living had burned itself into me and decided it belonged there.

Didn’t take a genius to guess what it meant. Didn’t take one to know I didn’t have time to ignore it either.

Full moon was coming. And when it did—that cell? That cage I built to keep everyone else safe? I was going to need it.

Which meant I had a problem. Because right now—Katalina Kingston was in it.

My grip tightened on the handlebars.

Yeah. That wasn’t going to work.

I made a quick pit stop by Dalton’s and then was back on the road, heading back toward the KOAMC compound.

The clubhouse came into view through the trees, the late afternoon sunlight glinting off the chrome of motorcycles like little beacons.

Home. Or as close as I got to one. My brother’s house had a room I used, but that was Dalton and Ryian’s home. Most often, I stayed in my room at the clubhouse. Since Zara’s appearance, I’d decided to stay at Dalton’s because I didn’t think the clubhouse at night was any place for a young kid. Soon, they’d be home. If we hadn’t figured out what to do with her, I’d have another problem to deal with. Finding somewhere suitable for her. For some reason, that didn’t sit well with me either.

Maybe that was because of the seed Katalina had planted in my head. What if Zara was mine? I would be the first to admit that I’d been with a lot of women—most of whom I never exchanged names with or saw again.

I rolled through the gate and cut the engine, letting the silence settle for half a second before heading inside. The place was louder than it had been earlier.

Not chaos. But close. Voices low, tense. Energy tight. Something was off.

Everyone was there, which was odd. I didn’t stop to ask questions. Not yet. I was on a mission at the moment. I went straight for Hack’s room.

The door was half open. He was inside, hunched over his setup, screens casting blue light across his face. He didn’t look up when I stepped in.

“Tell me you didn’t come back with another problem,” he muttered, eyes never leaving his screens.

“I need something,” I admitted.

That got his attention. Hack turned slowly in his chair, brow already furrowing.

“That tone never leads anywhere good,” he muttered. “What do you need now?”

I reached into my cut and pulled out the baggie I’d grabbed from the house. Inside, a small, plastic hairbrush. Zara’s. Hack stared at it. Then at me. Then back at the bag.

“Uhh… Why do you have a kid’s hairbrush?” he asked slowly.

“I need to know where I can get a paternity test,” I replied.

Silence.

Hack blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then he leaned back in his chair like I’d just punched him. He choked out, “You’re joking.”