Page 2 of Misery

The place is packed with leather and denim.

Classic rock on the jukebox—AC/DC bleeding into Metallica bleeding into whatever else the bikers think makes them look tough.

The air's thick with smoke even though we're not supposed to allow it anymore.

Nobody's going to tell a room full of Raiders they can't light up.

This should feel safe. My territory. My people. The club owns this place, and I'm the Road Captain’s daughter.

I’m protected.

Instead, every shadow could hide a threat.

Every unfamiliar face makes my chest tight.

My body remembers what my mind tries to forget—the weight of them.

The smell of their breath. The sound of fabric tearing.

Stop.

"You good, Elfe?"

Oskar's watching me.

Those dark eyes tracking every movement.

Emil's brother has been around a lot lately.

I can't figure out why, and a normal person would think maybe he’s on my detail, but I don’t think so.

Dad sends the prospects for that, not Oskar.

He nurses the same beer for hours. Barely talks to anyone. Just watches.

Specifically watches me, though he tries to make it seem casual.

Like he just happens to be looking my way every time I glance over.

They call him the Executioner.

I've never asked why.

Honestly, I don't want to know.

Some knowledge comes with a price I'm not willing to pay.

"Fine," I lied. Dump the glass into the trash. Watch the pieces fall. "Just butterfingers tonight."

He nods, but his gaze doesn't leave me as I move back behind the bar.

There's something unsettling about him beyond the nickname.

It's how he always knows where I am in a room.

How he tenses when someone approaches me.

How he's there—always fucking there—whenever I work.