Page 32 of Misery

"Hold tight," he says once I'm seated behind him.

I wrap my arms around his waist, feel his muscles tense, then relax.

We fit together on this bike like we've done this a hundred times before.

The ride back to Tallahassee is different in daylight.

I can see the route he takes—back roads, unexpected turns, always checking mirrors.

Paranoid or practical, I'm not sure there's a difference anymore.

My phone buzzes in the jacket pocket.

I ignore it. Probably Mom again. Or Saga. Or any of the dozen people who are worried about me.

But when it buzzes again, then again, insistent, I pull it out at a red light.

Unknown number. My blood freezes.

Did you really think you could hide, little artist?

Another message appears while I'm staring.

We know you left with him. The Executioner. Funny, we didn't have him pegged as your type.

And another.

Your daddy's been looking for you. So worried about his little girl. Would be a shame if something happened to him while you're playing house with killers.

My hands shake. They know I'm with Oskar. Know who he is. And they're threatening my father.

They were watching. The whole time, someone was watching.

The last message is just words:

You can't hide. You can't run. We see everything. Soon, little artist. Very soon.

"Oskar," I say, but my voice is barely a whisper.

He must feel me tense and pulls over immediately, taking the phone.

His expression goes deadly as he reads the messages.

"They know I'm with you," I breathe. "They're threatening my dad?—"

"Your father's at the clubhouse. Has been all morning. He's safe." His voice is steady, certain. "Magnus has eyes on him and the whole place is locked down, remember?"

The knot in my chest loosens slightly. Dad's safe. For now.

"But they know who you are," I say. "They know you're the Executioner."

"Good." The word is flat. Dangerous. "Let them knowexactlywho's standing between them and you."

Another message appears while he's holding the phone:

You have something we want. We'll take something you want. Fair trade, little artist. You'll hear from us soon.

He pockets my phone and pulls me closer.