Page 28 of Misery (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #7)

She melts into it for a moment, her body knowing mine, fitting against me perfectly.

Then she pulls back. "We should see my father."

Ivar's propped up in bed, looking better but still hurting.

His wrapped hand rests on the blanket, the missing fingers obvious.

He watches us enter, notes the distance between us.

"Oskar," he says.

"Sir."

"You watched my daughter for almost eight months now."

"Yes."

"Without her knowledge."

"Yes."

"And now?"

"Now I… protect her, if she allows it."

He looks at Elfe. "You forgive him?"

"Not yet. Maybe never. But I understand him."

"I see." He turns back to me. "You killed Thiago."

"Yes."

"Your friend who was like a brother to you?"

"He stopped being my friend when he touched her."

"How did it feel? Watching someone you loved die?"

The question surprises me. "Like cutting out cancer. It was painful but necessary."

"And if someone else threatens her?"

"They die."

"Even if it costs you everything?"

"I will protect your daughter at all costs, Ivar. Trust in that."

Ivar nods slowly. "Good. She needs someone willing to burn the world for her. This world, anyway." He reaches out with his good hand, touches Elfe's face. "You're going to the meeting."

"Yes."

"Be careful. Be smart. Don't let your pride get you killed."

"I won't."

"And you." He looks at me. "You keep her safe. Not from her choices, but from others' choices. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now get out. Let an old man rest."

We leave him, but in the hallway, Elfe stops. "The USBs. I need to decide what to do with them."

"Your choice."

"Stop saying that."

"It's true."

"I know, but... help me. What would you do?"

I think about it. "Destroy Thiago's. No good comes from keeping it. Keep mine if you need it for closure, or destroy both and start fresh."

"Start fresh." She laughs. "Like that's possible."

"It's not about the possibility. It's about what you need to move forward."

She's quiet for a long moment. "Get them. Both of them. And something flammable."

We go to the back lot.

She puts both drives in a metal barrel, douses them with lighter fluid, and stands there with matches in her hand.

"This won't erase what happened," I say.

"No. But it's symbolic. Burning the evidence of what we were, or how we started, I suppose." She lights the match. "Question is, what are we now?"

"Whatever you want us to be."

"I want us to be normal, but that's not an option."

"So, what's the second choice?"

She drops the match.

The USBs burn, melting into unrecognizable plastic. "Honest. I want us to be honest. No more secrets. No more watching without permission. No more deciding for me."

"I can do that."

"Can you? Because your instinct is to protect me through controlling me."

"I can learn."

"And if you can't?"

"Then you walk away, and I let you."

I hear what he’s saying, but we both know that’s total bullshit.

She watches the fire burn. "The meeting. You'll back my play?"

"Whatever you decide."

"Even if it's dangerous?"

"Yes, of course, Elfe."

"Why?"

"Because you choosing danger is better than me choosing safety for you."

She looks at me then, really looks. "You mean that."

"Yes."

"Okay." She takes a breath. "Okay. Let's get ready for this meeting."

Two hours later, we're preparing.

Elfe straps the knife to her thigh, concealed but accessible.

I show her how to draw it quickly. If she’s going, I want her to know how to defend herself. "Palm on the handle, thumb releases the catch, straight up pull. Don't twist, don't angle. Straight up."

She practices, over and over, until muscle memory takes over.

"Good. Again."

"I've got it."

"Again."

She does it perfectly. Fast, smooth, lethal.

"If something goes wrong—"

"Nothing will go wrong," she insists.

"But if it does. You run. Don't fight, don't hesitate. Run."

"And leave you all?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Elfe—"

"No. We do this together or not at all."

My hands are on her waist, positioning her for the knife draw. She's warm under my palms, alive, fierce. "You've changed."

"Trauma does that."

"Not just trauma. You're stronger. More certain."

"I had to be. Couldn't stay the victim forever." She practices the draw again, smooth now. "Had to become something else."

"What?"

"Survivor. Fighter. Maybe a killer if necessary."

The thought should disturb me. Instead, it makes me proud. "You'd kill?"

"To protect the people I love? Yes."

"Am I one of those people?"

She's quiet, then, "Yes, Oskar, of course."

Before I can respond, Magnus appears. "Time to go."

The ride to the truck stop is tense.

Elfe rides with me, the first time since learning the truth.

Her arms around my waist are a necessity, not affection, but I'll take it.

Her body pressed against mine, feeling her heartbeat against my back.

Alive. Here. Choosing to be here.

The truck stop is old, mostly abandoned.

Perfect neutral ground.

Los Coyotes are already there—six of them, bikes lined up.

We match their numbers.

Fair fight if it comes to that.

Before we approach, Elfe grabs my arm. "Tell me about the person we’re meeting. Who are we dealing with?"

"Miguel. They call him El Juez—The Judge."

"Why?"

"He settles disputes. Makes binding decisions for the cartel. If he makes a ruling, it stands. No appeals."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Different kind of dangerous than Vargas. Miguel doesn't break bones—he breaks deals, alliances, lives with a word. Been with Los Coyotes for twenty years. Started as muscle, worked his way up from the bottom to be one of their most trusted advisors."

"Will he negotiate fairly?"

"Fair is relative. But he's pragmatic. Bad for business to lose nine soldiers over one man's obsession. He'll want this settled clean."

She nods, squares her shoulders. "Okay, then let's do this."

Miguel stands apart from his men, studying us as we approach.

He's older—maybe fifty—with silver threading through black hair kept short and neat.

The kind of man who'd look at home in a boardroom except for the neck tattoos peeking above his collar and the knife scar that runs from his left ear to his jaw.

He wears his power quietly, doesn't need to posture.

His clothes are expensive but understated—black jeans, grey button-down, leather jacket that probably cost more than most people's bikes.

His eyes find Elfe immediately, cataloging everything.

The way she walks—confident despite everything.

The knife concealed at her thigh he definitely notices.

The way I position myself—protective but not blocking her.

"So, this is the famous little artist I’ve heard so much about," Miguel says. His voice is cultured, educated. Nothing like the street thugs we usually deal with.

She doesn't flinch. "Not so little."

"No. Not anymore." He studies her like she's evidence in a case he's judging. Then his dark eyes turn to me. "I heard Thiago is no longer with us."

"Yes."

"He was one of ours."

"He was using you, using your resources for a personal obsession."

Miguel nods slowly. "True. I warned him twice. Told him the girl was a distraction from business. He didn't listen." He pulls out a cigarette, lights it as calm as ever, like Thiago isn’t a big issue at all. "Still, blood was spilled. That requires an answer."

"Then answer," Elfe says, stepping forward. "But know this—I'm done being hunted. Done being a prize. You want war? We'll give you war. You want peace? Let's talk terms."

Miguel takes a long drag, then laughs—not mocking but genuinely amused. "You've got balls, little girl."

"I've got more than that. I've got the Raiders of Valhalla MC at my back. I've got the Executioner. And I've got nothing left to lose."

"Everyone has something to lose."

"Not me. Not anymore. Thiago took everything. My family hurt, my sense of safety stripped from me. What's left to threaten?"

"Your life."

"Take it. But know they'll hunt you to extinction for it." She gestures to us. "Every last one of you. Your families. Your businesses. Everything burns if I burn."

Miguel considers this, cigarette smoke curling between them.

His men shift restlessly, but he remains perfectly still.

Finally, he drops the cigarette, crushes it under a boot that's more designer than biker.

"I like her," he tells me. "Thiago was a fool. Could have had any woman, chose to obsess over one who'd never want him."

"Yes, he did," I agree.

"His obsession cost us nine soldiers. Bad for business. Bad for morale. The men think we're weak, letting one person's feelings dictate action." He looks back at Elfe. "No offense, but you're not worth nine soldiers."

"None taken. I didn't ask to be worth anything to anyone."

"No. You didn't." Miguel pulls out a flask, takes a sip, offers it to Runes, who declines. "So. Terms. The girl is off limits. No retaliation for Thiago's death. Clean slate."

"And in return?" Runes asks.

"We keep our territory lines. No expansion into your areas. Business as usual, even though you did steal our product in the past. Don’t take what isn’t yours.

I propose a truce, because this back and forth is costing too many resources on both our sides.

" Miguel pauses. "And the girl tells no one about what she knows.

Our operations, our faces, our names. Silence for safety. "

"Agreed," Elfe says before anyone else can speak.

Miguel extends his hand to her, not Runes. "You speak for yourself. I respect that."

They shake. Her hand disappears in his, but she doesn't flinch from the grip.

"One more thing," Miguel says, not releasing her hand yet. "Thiago kept files. Photos. Videos. Of you."

"I know. They've been destroyed."

"All of them?"

"All of them."

He releases her hand. "Good. Clean endings are best for everyone." He looks at me one more time. "You would have interested Thiago more the way you are now. Fierce. Dangerous. He preferred his women broken, and he would have broken you."

"Good thing he's dead then," Elfe responds.

"Yes. Good thing." Miguel signals his men. "Keep her that way, Executioner. The world has enough broken things."

Before he can mount his bike, Runes steps forward. "One more thing, Miguel."

Miguel pauses, turns back. "Yes?"

"Vargas. El Martillo. He's been pushing about the stolen product from the Culebra cartel."

Miguel's expression darkens. "The shipment your boys hit?"

"Yes," Fenrir corrects, joining the conversation. "That would be the one."

Miguel considers this, lights another cigarette. Takes his time. "Vargas wants blood. Says you cost us a quarter million in product."

"Maybe so," Runes states. "But you weren’t the ones we were trying to hurt. The Culebra cartel needed a message sent, and we did that."

"You still cost us money, and a lot of it, amigo."

"And we've paid for it," Fenrir interjects. "Nine of your soldiers dead. Our people terrorized. My son's woman nearly taken. Seems like the debt's been collected with interest."

Miguel laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Those deaths were not sanctioned. One man's obsession, not cartel business."

"Results are the same. Blood spilled on both sides."

"Vargas won't see it that way. He's... traditional. Old school. An eye for an eye, a shipment for a shipment."

"Then what do you propose?" Runes asks. "We're not paying for it."

Miguel takes a long drag, considering. "The product you hit—it was worth a quarter million wholesale. Street value, maybe half a million, or more."

"So?"

"So Vargas has been pushing to expand into your territory. The industrial district specifically. Says it's payment for losses."

"That's not happening," Runes says flatly.

"I know. Which is why I made the ruling.

" Miguel straightens, and suddenly he looks less like a negotiator and more like the judge he's named for.

"The shipment was lost due to bad intelligence.

Multiple parties share blame. The deaths that followed were unsanctioned, personal, not cartel business.

Therefore, the ledger is balanced. No territory changes. No further retaliation."

"And Vargas will accept that?"

"He'll challenge it. He always does. But I've been El Juez for fifteen years. My rulings stand because they're fair, and because the alternative is chaos that's bad for everyone's business."

"What if he doesn't listen?" Fenrir asks.

Miguel's smile is cold. "Then he'll learn why they call me The Judge. I don't just make rulings, I enforce them. Vargas is valuable, but not irreplaceable. He knows this."

"So it's over?" Runes presses.

"The girl situation is over. The product situation is over. What's in the past is in the past." Miguel flicks his cigarette away. "But understand—this is a one-time ruling. You hit us again, accidentally or not, I will not be kind."

"Understood."

"Good. As long as I'm alive, this truce stands. No retaliation for past grievances. No moves against each other's territory. Los Coyotes will fuck with you no more."

"Your word?" Fenrir asks.

"My word." Miguel extends his hand to Fenrir, then Runes. Both shake. "But remember—peace is maintained through strength. Show weakness, and even my ruling won't protect you. There are always young ones looking to make their names, thinking the old rules don't apply."

"We can handle young ones," Runes says.

"I'm sure you can. But it's easier when they know not to try.

" Miguel finally mounts his bike. "The girl asks questions," he tells me.

"That's smart. Stupid women don't survive this life.

Keep her asking. Keep her thinking. It's the ones who stop questioning who end up obsessed with fantasies instead of dealing with reality. "

They leave in formation, disciplined even in retreat.

We wait until the dust settles, until the engine sounds fade completely.

"It's over?" Elfe asks.

"This part," Runes says. "There's always another threat."

"But not today."

"No. Not today."

The ride back is different.

Elfe's arms around me feel less like necessity, more like she’s calmed down, and she’s making that choice.

When we arrive at the clubhouse, she doesn't immediately let go.

Her face presses against my back, breathing me in.

"Thank you," she says. "For answering my questions. For not treating me like I was too fragile for the truth."

"I will never treat you in a fragile way ever again, Elfe. I promise."