Page 18 of Misery (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #7)

"Thank you for a lovely evening," he says. "I had no idea my little artist would be so... luminous up close. Worth the wait. Worth everything, really. All the watching. All the waiting. All the bodies I've left in your name."

The words hit me like a slap in the face.

My little artist.

The smirk that follows.

The deliberate emphasis.

The way he watches the realization dawn on my face like a sunrise.

Like art. Like he's painting my fear with his words.

"You—" I can't finish. Can't breathe.

"Goodbye, Elfe," he says.

My name sounds like a caress.

Like ownership.

Like a promise and threat combined. "For now. We'll see each other again soon. When there are fewer dogs around."

He walks out casually, unhurried.

Aren moves to follow but I grab his arm with both hands, nails digging in.

"Don't," I managed. "Don't leave me alone."

Then my knees give out.

Aren catches me before I hit the ground.

The broken glass crunches under his boots as he holds me up. "Hey, hey, you're okay—"

"I'm not okay!" The words rip out of me. "That was him. The one leaving bodies. The one who—oh God, he's been in my apartment. He has my paintings. He knows—"

"Everyone out!" Aren's voice booms across the bar. Authority from nowhere. "Medical emergency! Bar's closed! NOW!"

People grumble but move.

Aren's got his prospect patch but something in his voice makes it so no one even argues with him.

Maybe it's the way he's holding me like I might shatter.

Maybe it's the broken glass and blood—when did I start bleeding?

My palm was cut, but I didn't feel it.

Within minutes, the bar's empty except for us.

Aren locks the door, flips the sign to closed, drags me behind the bar where we can't be seen from the windows.

"Talk to me," he says, pulling off his flannel to wrap around my bleeding hand. "What happened? Who was that?"

"The stalker. The one killing Los Coyotes and leaving me messages." My whole body shakes. Can't stop. Can't control it. "He was right there. Drinking whiskey. Talking to me. He could have—he could have killed me. Killed everyone."

"But he didn't. You're safe. Door's locked. I'm here." Aren's got his phone out, calling someone. It rings. Rings. No answer. "Fuck. I need to reach Oskar—"

"He knew things." The words tumble out like broken glass. "About my painting. My sleep schedule. My scar. He's been watching me. This whole time, watching. He's been in my apartment. He has my paintings. The ones I never showed anyone."

Aren tries another number.

Magnus this time.

It connects.

"Magnus? Yeah, we have a fucking problem. The guy who's been—yeah, him. He was just here. Talked to her. She's—no, she's not hurt but—what do you mean where's Oskar?"

I watch Aren's expression shift from concern to confusion to something like fear.

"What do you mean Ivar's missing?" He looks at me, then away quickly. Too quickly. "Fuck. Yeah. No, I'll tell her. Just—send someone. Rio, Tor, someone. Yeah. Now."

He hangs up. Won't meet my eyes.

"Aren?"

"Your dad's missing," he says quietly. "That's where Oskar went. He’s been trying to find him since your mom was attacked."

The world tilts. Spins. I grab the bar to stay upright. "What?"

"Oskar didn't want to worry you. Thought he could find him before—"

"Before what? Before I found out my father's been kidnapped?" I'm standing now, anger overriding fear. Anger's easier. Anger doesn't paralyze. "He knew and didn't tell me?"

"He was trying to protect you—"

"From the truth? My father is missing and my stalker just bought drinks from me and Oskar thought protecting me meant lying?"

The man's words echo:

Make sure everyone's where they're supposed to be. Especially fathers who don't pay enough attention.

He knew. He knew my father was taken.

Maybe he did it. Maybe he's working with Los Coyotes. Maybe—

My phone rings. Oskar's name on the screen. I answer with shaking hands.

"Elfe—"

"My father's been taken and you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't want to—"

"And the stalker was here. In the bar. Talking to me. He knew my name, knew everything. Has my paintings from my apartment."

Silence. Then, "What did he look like?"

I describe him.

Every detail burned into my memory.

The dark hair.

The expensive clothes.

The way he moved like violence in a tailored suit.

The silence on the other end gets heavier with each word.

"I'm coming back," Oskar says finally. "Don't move. Don't leave. Aren stays with you."

"You know who he is." Not a question. I can hear it in his voice. "You know him."

"Elfe—"

"Stop lying to me!" The scream tears from my throat. "Everyone's lying! Everyone's keeping secrets! My father's gone and a killer knows my name and you're still not telling me the truth!"

"I'll explain when I get there—"

I hang up and throw my phone across the room.

It hits the wall, screen shattering into a spiderweb of cracks.

Aren looks terrified. "Maybe we should—"

"What? Call someone? Who? My missing father? My lying boyfriend? The club that can't protect anyone?" I'm spiraling, know I'm spiraling, but I can't stop. "He was right here. Could have killed me. He didn't. Why didn't he?"

"I don't know—"

"Because he's playing with me. Like a cat with a mouse. And everyone knew. Everyone knew except me."

I slide down the wall, knees to my chest.

The broken glass glitters in the bar light like stars, like diamonds, like all the shattered pieces of my life.

The door rattles. Someone's trying to get in.

Aren's on his feet, hand on his weapon.

"It's me." Oskar's voice. "Open the fucking door."

Aren lets him in.

I don't look up.

I can't face him, can't face another person who claims to protect me while keeping me in the dark.

"Elfe." He's in front of me now.

I can smell him—leather and gunpowder and that cologne I used to find comforting.

He reaches for me, but I slap his hand away. "Don't touch me."

"I can explain—"

"Can you? Can you explain why you didn't tell me my father was taken? Can you explain how you know my stalker? Because you do know him. I could hear it in your voice."

He's quiet for too long.

Silent proof that I’m right on the money.

"His name is Thiago," he says finally. "We grew up together."

The words land like bombs.

Grew up together. Friends. Maybe as close as brothers. And now—

"He's been watching you," Oskar continues. "Maybe longer than I have. He's... complicated. Dangerous. But I'm handling it."

"Handling it?" I laugh but it's hysterical. Broken. "My father's missing. Your childhood friend is stalking me. Breaking into my apartment. Stealing my art. Nothing's handled. Nothing's safe. Nothing's—"

"I'll find your father. I'll stop Thiago. I promise—"

"Your promises mean nothing." I finally look at him and see the hurt flash across his face.

I don't care because I can't care. "You promised to protect me but you can't even tell me the truth. You're just like him. Just like my father. Keeping secrets. Making decisions for me. Treating me like I'm too fragile for reality."

"That's not—"

"Get out."

"Elfe—"

"Get out!"

He doesn't move.

Just stares at me with those dark eyes full of things I don't want to see.

Love. Pain. Guilt.

The same eyes that watched me without me knowing.

That kept secrets while holding me through panic attacks.

"I'm not leaving you unprotected."

"Then send someone else. Anyone else. Just not you."

"You don't mean that."

"I do." I stand, use the wall for support. My legs shake but hold. "I can't look at you right now. Can't pretend everything's fine when you've been lying since—how long? How long have you known it was him?"

His silence is damning.

"Since the beginning?" My voice breaks. "You've known this whole time?"

"Not the whole time. But... recently. Yes."

"And you didn't tell me."

"I was trying to—"

"Protect me. I know. That's all anyone does. Protect me from the truth. Protect me from choices. Protect me from everything except the actual danger that keeps finding me anyway."

Rio arrives and takes in the scene—broken glass, broken phone, me looking like I'm about to shatter too.

His face careful, neutral.

The face of someone walking into a domestic dispute with weapons involved.

"I'll stay with her," he tells Oskar. "You go find Ivar."

Oskar doesn't want to leave.

I can see it in every line of his body.

The way he leans toward me even now.

The way his hands flex like he wants to reach for me.

But finally, he nods. Turns to go. Pauses at the door.

"I love you," he says quietly. "That's not a lie."

Then he's gone.

I sink back to the floor.

Rio starts cleaning up the glass, giving me space to fall apart.

He hums something under his breath—an old song, something calming.

Treating me like a spooked horse.

My broken phone buzzes from where it landed.

Cracked but still working.

The screen flickers, damaged but readable and there’s a text from unknown number.

I shouldn't look, know I shouldn't, but I look anyway:

Your father's alive. For now. Oskar's looking in the wrong places. But don't worry, little artist. I'll take care of everything. Like I always have. Like I always will.

Sweet dreams. We'll talk again at 3:17.

- T

3:17. The exact time I wake up from nightmares.

The exact time I paint my demons.

I show Rio and watch his face pale.

"We need to—"

"I know," he says, already calling for backup. "We're moving you. Safe house. Now."

But I also know it won't matter.

Thiago—now I have a name for the monster—is ahead of us.

He has been all along, playing chess while we're playing checkers.

Watching me paint at 3:17.

Going through my things.

Learning me like a subject to master.

And somewhere, my father is bleeding.

Somewhere, Oskar is chasing ghosts from his past.

And I'm sitting in broken glass, finally understanding that every person who claims to protect me is just another cage with prettier bars.