Page 5 of Property of Anchor

The walk down to the lower dock took less than two minutes, but it felt like a mile.My boots crunched over gravel as I rounded the corner and spotted Skull, Piney, and Lost huddled near the far edge of the dock.Guests were still moving through the queue like nothing was wrong, but Lost had set up a makeshift barricade using rope and prop barrels.I could hear murmurs and confusion from a few guests nearby.

“Keep them back,” I snapped at the nearest worker.He nodded and started redirecting traffic toward the opposite side of the dock.

Lost looked pale and was shaking.

Skull was crouched over something in the reeds.His body blocked most of it from view.Piney stood behind him with his arms crossed and his jaw set like stone.

I approached slowly.

Skull looked up at me, and his face was unreadable.“He’s real.”

My eyes connected with the body he was kneeling over.

I dropped to a knee beside him.The man in the water was facedown, one arm hooked awkwardly around a broken piling.His shirt was soaked, clinging to his back in tatters.His jeans were half ripped.Swollen hands with bloated fingers.His neck was tilted at an unnatural angle.

Skull reached forward and turned the man over with a careful grip.

That’s when I saw it.

His mouth had been sewn shut.Crude black twine pierced through his lips, jerking them tight together in a grotesque pucker.His face was swollen, and his skin pale and sickly green.But what really grabbed me was the carving.

Five letters, jagged and deep, etched into the man’s bare chest:

KOAMC

Kings of Anarchy Motorcycle Club.

The letters were raw.Carved after death, maybe, or maybe just before.Either way, the message was loud and clear.

Piney swore behind me.Lost turned away and dry-heaved over the edge of the dock.

“Do you recognize him?”Skull asked quietly.

I studied the man’s face.Shaved head.No visible ink.No scars I recognized.Just blank, dead features and a grotesque warning carved into flesh.

“No.He’s not ours.”

Skull stood slowly.“It’s a message.”

“Yeah,” I said, standing too.“But from who?”

Piney stepped closer.“What kind of sick bastard sews a man’s mouth shut like that?”

“One who wants to scare us.”

“Or send a warning,” Skull added.

I looked around.The dock was well lit.Cameras overhead.Guests only just starting to notice the disturbance.I pulled my radio and hit the main channel.

“Push, get Vin.I want a scrub of all dock footage from the last three hours.No excuses.And have Cross get down here.”

“On it.”

“Also,” I added, lowering my voice, “keep it quiet.No cops.Not yet.”

Skull raised an eyebrow.“You sure?”

“We don’t even know who this guy is.We call it in, and they start digging into our business.Not happening.”

---