by Lily Diamond
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
FREE ROMANCE STORY
Click here to get your copy
Subscribe to Lily Diamond’s Newsletter and get a FREE Story.
Exclusive to Subscribers.
Get your Free copy of “The Biker’s Girl”.
“The Biker’s Girl”
(A Single Daddy Next Door Romance)
Kitty
When I bought up the large piece of land beside a biker gang’s home base, I was only thinking about getting a big enough space to open my animal shelter, Second Chance. Lucky for me the biker gang’s full of a harmless bunch of teddy bears—especially when it comes to their dogs. If it weren’t for the dogs, I might never have met Jake, the leader of the gang.
I’ve always had a good relationship with the guys, but I wouldn’t mind a little something more from Jake—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since the moment I met him. But he’s never made a move in all this time, and I’m so inexperienced I wouldn’t even know where to start on my own.
When an early cold snap threatens autumn litters of kittens throughout the area, I’m left scrambling to distribute insulated nesting shelters and rescue mama cats and their babies all over the area. I need help—and I know just where to get it.
The best part of this plan of mine is that I get to spend the next few weeks riding around from town to town spending time with Jake—who can make my toes curl with just a smile.
Click here to get your copy
The Hunter’s Treasure
A Bad Boy MC Romance
By Lily Diamond
©Copyright 2017 by Lily Diamond - All rights
Reserved
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights are reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Amanda
When I stepped into the abandoned Grace Memorial Hospital on Halloween night, meeting a hot guy was the last thing on my mind. I’m here for two reasons: to get over my bumbling ex-boyfriend and ex-cameraman Chad; and to create a new blockbuster video to upload to my ghost-hunting YouTube channel. Instead, just as things are getting good, I have to chase off Chad before he can sabotage my show. And then, out of nowhere, this hot guy practically falls into my lap.
Drake says he’s a scout for an urban exploration team. He seems a little green, but that’s all right—after fourteen episodes shot around Grace Memorial, I know this whole place’s layout like no one else. I’m enjoying the company...a lot. He’s smart, attractive, knows how to flirt, and makes me feel better than I ever did around Chad. Yeah, it’s a little weird meeting a potential lover in a haunted hospital, but no weirder than the rest of my night. Maybe he’ll be interested in giving me a happy ending to the evening....
Drake
I didn’t come to the abandoned hospital where my crew and I stashed two million dollars worth of diamonds to spend the night flirting with a hot young cutie-pie. But here we are. I really like Amanda, and I feel bad about lying to her. But if I can distract her long enough to grab the diamonds, it’ll be time well spent. If I’m very lucky, I’ll end the night in her bed, too.
There’s just one problem. My second-in-command has decided it’s his time to take over the crew, and he’s come with his brother to hunt me through this maze-like complex. Yes, I’ve got a guide; but since they captured Amanda’s old cameraman, Chad, so do they. And unlike me, they have working guns. The world’s hottest ghost hunter and I will have to combine our wits, skills, and resources, and figure out how to trust each other. Otherwise the hot ending to Halloween night that we’re both gunning for will turn into a bloody ending instead.
Chapter One
Amanda
“This is Amanda Moss with Moss Paranormal, coming to you from Grace Memorial Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia. This is the fifteenth episode in my series on the hospital, which was abandoned twenty years ago after a series of tragic events that I cover in the series introduction. Check the link below if you’re new to the series or would like a refresher.”
I beam for the camera as I hold it at arm’s length, still getting used to recording myself with the new rig. But since I fired Chad as both my cameraman and my boyfriend a month ago, I’m stuck handling the whole job by myself. I’ll manage; I always did most of the work even when he was around.
“So anyway, guys, I know I’m way late in pushing out this episode. Thank you so much for staying loyal. I’ve barely lost any followers since this delay started, and as a lot of you already know, things have been pretty crazy in my personal life.”
I give the camera an awkward, ironic look before letting the smile bloom again, letting my viewers know that I’m unsinkable. Sometimes I don't really feel that way, but faking it helps me actually bounce back.
“So, now I’m back to the series—and I promise you, tonight’s Halloween special is guaranteed to be worth the wait.” I wink for the camera. After doing this series for so long, I know exactly how to ham it up for the camera. My little smile is conspiratorial for those who don’t like girls, and just a touch flirty for those who do.
I have to be on point tonight. This is my big comeback. I’ve dressed the part, too—new jeans, my 18-hole Doc Martens, a plum-colored, long-sleeved t-shirt with enough v-neck to show off my ample cleavage, and my leather vest with its reflective ghost hunter patches.
My auburn hair is pulled back into a loose, thick braid. My makeup is heavier on the Goth than usual, with kohl around my green eyes and dark red lipstick. I have my usual big bag of ghost hunting gear slung over one shoulder as I walk and record.
The show must go on. Even if I’ve barely gotten out of my post-breakup depression. I’m doing this multi-part Halloween special for my hundreds of thousands of viewers online who support me and help me live my dream of chasing ghosts.
I don’t particularly like doing it alone, but that’s loneliness. Not fear. I don’t miss Chad, but I miss company—and someone to hold my camera.
Chad was pretty good at the job and took direction easily, and despite being dumber than a doornail, he has a good memory—which can come in handy in this business. But he's also one of those guys who tries to fuck every single woman he runs in to. Six months ago, he weaseled his way into my pants and my wallet using a lot of emotional manipulation. I’m not dumb, but I’m kind of inexperienced with relationships, so I didn’t know what warning signs to look for.
Now I do. I wish I could have learned some other way.
Chad didn’t take me for much money, though he did end up living on my couch for a few months. Then he decided that because I have a big heart and trust easily, that I must be an idiot like him as well. But I had already started seeing warning signs even a newbie like me couldn’t ignore.
After Chad fucked my roommate and I caught them both, I went through all the stages of grief in about a week. I took back everything the two of them had borrowed, g
ot my name off the lease, took my stuff and moved into a cute one-bedroom across town. When Chad planted himself in my car and refused to leave until I took him to "our" new home, I threw him out and left.
After that he cried to my voicemail until I blocked him. Not even a week later, his new girlfriend called me to cuss me out about how much I had hurt him and tell me what a bitch I was being. She lasted another week before he slept with somebody else, and she called me again—to apologize this time.
I forgave her. He had manipulated me too. Softboys are the worst.
Chad—that little shit—next tried filing DMCA claims for ownership rights to the channel because of his work as my cameraman, ultimately trying to get it shut down. But poor wording and zero follow-up from his listless stoner ass meant I ended up keeping everything.
And now, finally, I’m back. New special, new gear, new filming format so I can do everything solo. Unsinkable. Fuck you, Chad.
I’m proud of my video channel. I’ve been running it since I was sixteen. For almost five solid years I’ve been doing urban exploration with ghost hunting videos, EVP recordings, and a book with sales that, some months, started paying my rent by itself. I did it alone at first, then with Chad for eighteen months, and now by myself again.
In the meantime, I’ve graduated from making recordings on my phone to using a high-quality video camera. Tonight I’ve brought two cameras, my phone, tripods, a separate voice recorder, and my real baby: a FLIR thermographic camera. No longer do I have to explain cold spots with just the readings on my thermometer gun. I can now show my viewers the cold spots and other weird temperature fluctuations associated with hauntings.
When your medium is video, visual proof is always best.
I shoot some footage of the front entrance of the hospital which has that air of genteel spookiness that all old structures in the South get eventually. It’s five stories tall and three basements deep; a logic-defying maze of additions, subdivisions, retrofits and repairs. But you can’t tell just how bad it is from the front facade.
I speak conversationally to the camera with the stone front gate in the foreground as I head along the tall, black iron fence toward it. “The hospital hasn’t changed a bit since the last time I was here. Aside from some basic groundskeeping and a security guard, this property is pretty much abandoned. Bad for curb appeal. Good,” I undo the big padlock on the gate, which has a broken hasp and opens with a tug, “for us.”
It’s a little white lie; I have standing permission from the property owner to shoot my program on the site. I always get permission; I even explain that in my book and one of my videos. But a little touch of rebellion and risk draws more viewers.
I swing the gate wide and it lets out a dramatic groan as I sweep the camera over to shoot the hospital’s main building against the darkening sky. It’s a perfect shot for my title lettering and channel info.
Great opener. You are officially back in the saddle, Mandie, my girl.
I narrate as I move slowly up the front walk, which is overshadowed by weeping willows. “On October 28, 1987, immediately before the hospital closed for good, the mental health ward became the site of a brutal spree killing. Daniel Lee Carlisle, a patient admitted for depression three months prior and with no criminal record or history of violence at all, suddenly snapped.”
I walk around the corner of the building and pan the camera up to a third-floor window. The glass is shattered, and the heavy iron grating has been pushed outward so hard that it is bent and the two top bolts have been ripped from the stonework. It sticks out at an awkward angle, serving as a perch for a couple of tiny gray birds.
“Carlisle, a religious fanatic who had been rescued as a child from an extremist cult, had believed for years that he was under what he termed ‘demonic oppression.’ He described nightmares, visitations from shadowy figures, and an increasing feeling of doom. Two days before he was scheduled for release to a halfway house, his rampage began.”
“You can see the window through which Carlisle pushed a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound metal desk with enough force to shatter the glass, bend the metal bars, and send nurse Wendy Olsen to the emergency room with a broken femur. Witnesses stated that besides displaying superhuman strength, Carlisle shouted at them in an unknown language and claimed to know what the staff and his fellow patients were thinking.”
I pan down to the front steps again as I start walking up them. “Carlisle—or whatever inhabited him—took advantage of a blackout that struck the facility during a severe thunderstorm. He strangled three restrained patients to death, and beat an orderly with a chair leg before the rest of the staff managed to restrain him. It took a near overdose of sedatives to end his violence.”
“Despite the staff following all possible procedures to contain the threat, and the fact that he had only sustained bruising to his face and arms, Carlisle would not last the night. Near dawn, while still safely sedated in his restraints, he suffered a massive heart attack and died in less than five minutes.”
I pan back down to the ground level and walk around to the front entrance. I keep my voice as grave as possible. “According to photos of his official autopsy, his entire neck was covered in red finger marks, and he had burst blood vessels in his eyes, making it appear as though he had been strangled, despite the heart attack. The police investigated the remaining staff, but none had hands large enough to match the bruises.”
It takes a hard shove to get the door open after months of rain. The heavy metal hinges screech, and I put my shoulder against the oak and shove again. The door swings aside, revealing a great shot of the dark and cavernous entry beyond.
“To this day, no one can explain Carlisle’s sudden attack. Four people died that day and two more were badly injured. Was a demon involved? You be the judge.”
“I’m going to play a clip for you now of Carlisle’s attack immediately before the lights went out. Security cameras captured about three minutes of violence before everything suddenly went black.” I walk inside as I talk, planning to use the transition into the semi-dark as the transition to the shocking footage. Then I stop, and let things run for a few seconds as I glance around.
There really hasn’t been anyone in here since the last time I came by. I remember it with painful clarity—Chad got high as balls before the shoot. I spent the better part of the night trying to get halfway decent shots out of him, and ended up using the tripod most of the time because he was so useless.
Once the introduction has been filmed, I hurry back out to my battered subcompact for the duffel with my pad, food, water, sleeping bag, and a change of clothes. If it weren’t for all the ghost-hunting gear, it would look like I could be doing an ordinary campout.
I double check that my car’s locked up and the alarm is set before I go back inside. This isn’t the best area of Atlanta, and I don’t feel like taking any chances at all. I’ve had a good amount of success so far, but not enough that I can replace a whole car.
Once I’m back in and the duffel is tucked out of sight, I grab the camera and start back in with my backstory as I walk down the hall toward the old ER facility. “Carlisle was brought down here to the emergency room, where his bloody clothes were removed. Underneath, he was covered in long, fresh scratches.”
I step through the door of the emergency room. It’s one of the creepiest sections, outside of the mental hospital itself. Ragged curtains hanging in front of every alcove, the dusty nurses’ counters, a crash cart lying on its side just under one of the curtains.
I sweep the camera around slowly, settling on details just long enough to make them look like they’re leaping out of the shadows at viewers. “Emergency room staff labored over Carlisle and the two injured staff members whose wounds were not life threatening. Both were sent home within a few days, one of them on crutches. But Carlisle would never leave this emergency room alive.”
I’m walking as I talk, and at the end of my sentence I step into one of the empty booths and let the camer
a’s vision settle on the gurney dominating the small space.
It moves.
I let out a disbelieving squeak and leap back, only to laugh a little. I’ve somehow managed to keep my camera on the gurney as it rolls to a stop almost instantly, leaving six-inch-long streaks in the dust behind its wheels. “Oh wow. Did you guys see that? This is promising to be our best show yet!”
Little things can be just as scary as big ones when there’s no ready explanation, and I’m pretty spooked myself. I put my hand over my heart and catch my breath before lifting my chin and smiling for the camera again.
“Tonight, I will be covering both the emergency room and the site of Carlisle’s rampage using both EVP audio recording and a continuous video feed. In addition, I now have this.” Grinning, I heft the FLIR camera.
“This is the infrared camera I was talking about in my last video! Tonight, I’m going to fire this baby up and give you a look at what was left behind in the aftermath of one of the most frightening incidents in Atlanta’s paranormal history!”
