Page 1 of Misery

CHAPTER ONE

Elfe

The glass slips through my fingers and shatters the moment it hits the floor.

The sound makes me jump back like I've been shot.

My heart hammers against my ribs, conversations pause, and heads turn.

There are too many eyes on me.

Too many people watching me fail at the simple task of holding a fucking glass.

"Just a glass, folks," I call out. Force a laugh that sounds hollow. "Happens to the best of us."

But it doesn't happen to me. Not before.

Before, I had steady hands. Easy smiles.

Before, I didn't flinch at sudden movements.

I didn't scan every face that walks through Bubba's door, like they might be here to finish what Los Coyotes started seven months ago.

Seven months.

It should be enough time to heal, to stop jumping at shadows, to stop feeling like prey, right?

Well, it's not.

Kari, one of my regulars, raises her beer from her usual stool. "Hell, I dropped three last week. You're doing better than me, girlie."

A few people laugh. The moment passes. But I feel certain gazes lingering.

The prospects at the corner table who've been babysitting me in shifts, thinking I don't notice.

They rotate every few hours. Bodul until six.

Aren until nine. Then someone else. Always someone watching.

My dad's orders, probably.

Or Emil's, like I'm a child who needs constant supervision.

Magnus at the pool table, cataloging my reaction with those too-observant eyes.

He'll report this to someone.

The shaking hands. The jump. Another sign that Ivar's daughter isn't handling her shit well at all.

And Oskar—always fucking Oskar—at the end of the bar, but honestly, I think he’s here just to have a drink.

I grab the broom and sweep up the pieces.

I’m unable to miss how my hands shake slightly.

The fragments catch the neon light, like ice, like tears, like all the broken things I can't put back together.

Friday night at Bubba's.