Page 37 of Property of Crypt Keeper

I didn’t answer. Because I wasn’t.

His eyes sharpened. “Wait… You think she’s yours?”

With a heaved sigh, I ran a hand down my face.

“I don’t know what the hell I think, brother,” I admitted.

That was the truth. Didn’t happen often.

Hack stared at me for a long moment, then swore under his breath.

“Jesus Christ, Crypt,” he muttered. “You don’t do things halfway, do you?”

“Do you know a place or not?” I asked.

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, thinking.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I know a place. Quiet. No questions. They won’t log anything official.”

“Location?”

“I’ll text it to you,” he murmured as he pulled out his phone and his thumb rapid-fire tapped out a message. “Downtown. Looks like a dump, but it’s legit.”

My phone buzzed, and I nodded when I saw it was the message from him with the address. I also saw the message from about thirty minutes ago when Killswitch asked everyone to report to the clubhouse. Shit. I’d been so wrapped up in what I’d been dealing with that I’d missed it.

“Good.” I turned to leave.

“Crypt,” Hack called.

I paused.

“You sure you want to know?” he asked.

No. Not even a little.

“Yeah,” I said anyway. Because I needed to know. Not because I wanted to know. Because I needed answers more than I needed comfort at that moment.

As I walked down the hall back toward the common area, I heard Boomslang’s voice cut through the clubhouse like a gunshot.

“Church!”

Everything stopped.

Chairs scraped. Conversations died. The brothers moved without question, forming up in the chapel. I stepped in beside Mako, arms crossed as I leaned against the wall.

Boomslang stood at the head of the table, his expression hard.

“I got a call,” he announced without preamble. “From a contact I don’t hear from often.”

That alone tightened the room. Boomslang didn’t deal with unknown variables unless they were worth it.

“He was in the French Quarter,” Boomslang continued. “Bar down near Decatur. Said he overheard something… interesting.”

No one spoke. No one interrupted.

“He heard someone making a deal,” Boomslang said. “For the delivery of a supernatural.”

A few low murmurs broke out.