Page 12 of Misery (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #7)

Tor's at the front door while Magnus covers the back.

"Where's the delivery guy?" I ask Jaycee.

"Gone. Just some kid. Teenager. Said he was paid cash to deliver them." She's sweating now, realizing she might have fucked up. "I didn't think—"

"You never think," I cut her off. "Security footage?"

"Yeah, I can pull it—"

"Do it. Now."

Black roses. Death. Hatred. Or in some cultures, dark devotion. Obsession.

The kind that ends in blood.

"Get them out of here," I ordered.

A prospect scrambles to comply, using a bar towel to avoid touching them directly.

Elfe's still staring at where the roses were. "How did they know I'd be here?"

Good question.

We didn't announce she was working.

Fuck, she just made the decision a few hours ago.

Which means someone's watching. Still watching. Right now, maybe.

The door slams open hard enough to rattle the windows.

Ivar storms in, Starla behind him.

His face is thunder when he sees Elfe behind the bar.

Sees me positioned as protection.

The rage rolling off him fills the space like smoke.

"What the fuck is she doing here?" He's not talking to her. He's talking to me. Like she's property to be discussed.

"Working," Elfe says. Her voice is steady but I see the tremor in her hands. "Hi, Dad."

"You're supposed to be at Emil's, under lockdown, remember?"

"I am protected." She gestures at me, and something in that gesture—proprietary, intimate—makes Ivar's eyes narrow dangerously. "Oskar's here."

Ivar's eyes narrow further as he takes in how close I am to her.

"You." He points at me. The finger shakes with rage. "Outside. Now."

"Dad—"

"This doesn't concern you."

Something snaps in Elfe's expression.

Weeks of being treated like fragile glass finally crack.

The mask she wears, the good daughter performance, it all falls away. "Doesn't concern me? It's my life! My safety! My choice!"

"You're my daughter—"

"I'm twenty-three fucking years old!" Her voice rises. The bar goes completely silent. Even the jukebox seems quieter. "I'm not a child! I'm not your property! I'm not something to be managed and handled and discussed like I'm not standing right here!"

"You're acting like one. Working when there's a price on your head. Fucking the help from the looks of it and—"

"Careful," I warn.

My voice carries the promise of violence.

I don’t give a flying fuck if he’s my Road Captain.

"The help?" Elfe laughs but it's bitter. Sharp. The sound makes several people step back. "At least 'the help' was there. At least Oskar actually protected me instead of just talking about it."

Ivar's face reddens. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means." She's shaking now but not from fear. From rage. Years of it, finally boiling over. "Where were you that night, Dad? When they broke into my apartment?"

"Elfe—" Starla tries to intervene.

"No, Mom. I'm done being quiet. Done being the good little victim who doesn't make anyone uncomfortable.

" She stares at her father with eyes that could cut glass.

"You were at the clubhouse. Drinking. Playing cards.

Celebrating something, I don't even remember what.

While I was fighting for my life on my kitchen floor. "

"That's not fair—"

"Fair?" She slams her hand on the bar. Several people jump.

Bottles rattle. "Was it fair when they held me down?

When they tried to—" Her voice cracks but she pushes through.

"You promised to protect me my whole life.

Promised nothing would ever hurt me. But when I needed you most, when those animals were tearing at my clothes, where were you? "

"I couldn't have known—"

"Emil saved me that night, not you. And now Oskar's the one protecting me. Killing for me. He eliminated threats at Bubba's before they could touch me." She's crying now. "So yeah, I'm with him. Because he makes me feel safe in a way you never could."

The words hang in the air like a bomb.

Ivar's face goes from red to white.

His hand moves toward his weapon, and I shift, ready.

But Elfe's not done.

The dam has broken and everything's flooding out.

"Maybe if you spent less time at the club and more time at home, you'd have noticed Los Coyotes watching me. Maybe if you paid attention to your family instead of your brotherhood, none of this would have happened."

"Elfe." Starla's voice is sharp. Wounded. "That's enough."

"Is it? Because I'm tired of pretending.

Tired of acting like the club didn't come first. Like it always doesn't come first." She looks between her parents, and the pain in her eyes is devastating.

"I was almost raped—" she forces the word out, "—because the club pissed off Los Coyotes.

And where was my protection then? Where was this great brotherhood that's supposed to protect families? "

"We didn't know—" Ivar starts.

"You didn't care enough to know!" The words explode out of her. "You were too busy playing biker to notice your daughter was being hunted! Too busy with your runs and your votes and your brotherhood to see I was falling apart!"

Ivar staggers like she hit him.

Starla has tears running down her face.

"I protected this family," Ivar says quietly. Deadly. "Everything I did was for you."

"No. Everything you did was for the club. We just got the scraps of attention left over."

"You don't mean that."

"Don't I?" She wipes her face angrily, black mascara streaking. "I've been in therapy for seven months. You know how many sessions you've asked about? Zero. You know what my therapist's name is? What medications I'm on? How many nights I still wake up screaming?"

Silence stretches between them.

"But you know every detail about club business. Every run, every meeting, every vote." Her voice breaks completely. "I needed my father. Not the Road Captain. Just my dad. And you weren't there. You're never there when it actually matters."

Ivar looks at me, desperate to deflect. "This is your doing. Putting ideas in her head."

"No," Elfe says before I can respond. "This is years of built-up resentment finally coming out. Years of being second to the club. Oskar just made me feel safe enough to say it."

"He's using you—"

"He's protecting me! Which is more than you ever did!"

The slap of those words is almost physical.

Ivar actually steps back, hand over his chest like she shot him.

"Baby," Starla tries, reaching for her daughter.

"Don't." Elfe backs away. "I can't. I can't do this anymore. Pretend we're this perfect club family when we're broken. When I'm broken because of choices you made."

She turns to me. "Get me out of here. Please."

I don't hesitate.

I move behind the bar, take her arm gently.

She's shaking so hard she can barely walk.

I grab her purse, her phone, the jacket she brought.

"This isn't over," Ivar calls after us.

Elfe stops and turns. "It's been over since the night I almost died alone. You just didn't notice. Too busy with the club to notice your daughter was already gone."

We leave them there. Her parents destroyed by truth wrapped in cruelty.

The bar is as silent as a grave.

I catch Magnus' eye on the way out—he'll handle the fallout.

Outside, she collapses against my bike, sobbing so hard she can't breathe.

Great heaving sobs that shake her entire body.

"Hey." I pull her against me. "Breathe."

"I didn't mean— I was just so angry—"

"I know."

"They hate me now."

"They don't hate you. You said things that needed saying. Just maybe not all at once."

"The flowers. Him acting like I'm property. Everything just—" She breaks off, crying harder. "Did you see his face? When I said he wasn't there? Like I killed him."

"He needed to hear it."

"Did he? Or did I just need to hurt him like I've been hurting?"

I hold her while she falls apart in the parking lot, let her soak my shirt with tears and regret and seven months of suppressed rage.

My phone buzzes.

Text from Magnus.

Magnus:

Got info on the roses. Special order from a shop downtown. Paid cash but they have security footage.

Me:

Send it.

The image loads. Grainy but clear enough.

A figure in dark clothes, hood up, but something familiar about the build.

The way they move.

The particular gait that seems...

Fuck.

"We need to get you back to the compound," I tell her.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Those roses. They're not from Los Coyotes."

"Then who?"

I stare at the image.

At the familiar stance.

The height that matches someone I know.

Someone who shouldn't be here.

Someone who was supposed to be gone.

"I don't know," I lie. "But we're going to find out."

She nods, trusting me even as she falls apart.

Even after destroying her family, she trusts me to keep her safe.

I get her on the bike, driving carefully back to the compound. Her arms around me are the only thing keeping her upright. She cries the entire ride, body shaking with sobs I feel through my jacket.

The roses weren't from Los Coyotes.

They were from whoever's been killing for her. And I think I finally know who.

But that revelation will have to wait.

Right now, I need to get her safe.

Need to figure out how to fix what just broke between her and her family.

Need to prepare for what's coming.

Because if I'm right about who sent those roses, things are about to get much more complicated.

And Elfe's already broken enough for one night.

The compound's lights are a relief when we pull in.

Safety. Security. Walls between her and everything trying to hurt her.

Including the person who thinks killing for her is love.

Including the truth I'm still hiding about how long I've been watching.

Including her father, who might never forgive what she said tonight.

Tomorrow brings whatever it brings. But tonight, I hold her while she breaks.

And I plan how to kill the bastard who sent those roses.