Page 31 of Misery (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #7)

Elfe

Three Months Later…

The cottage looks different in spring.

Warmer. More alive.

The dead vines Oskar had torn down in winter have been replaced with new growth—clematis that will bloom purple in summer, morning glories just starting to climb, sweet peas that fill the air with perfume.

I've claimed the small deck as my outdoor studio, easel set up to catch the morning light that filters through the trees like nature's spotlight.

The painting I'm working on is nothing like my old work.

Bright, almost aggressive in its joy.

Abstract flowers that might be explosions, or might be souls blooming, or might be my own resurrection painted in cadmium yellow and cerulean blue.

Three months of therapy, three months of building something real with Oskar—it all shows in the brushstrokes.

My therapist says my art is reflecting my healing.

I think it's just nice to paint something that doesn't look like the inside of a scream.

"Coffee," Oskar says, setting a mug beside me.

Two sugars, splash of milk.

He knows everything about me.

The mug is one we bought at a flea market last month—slightly chipped, painted with sunflowers, nothing like the sleek black everything he used to own.

He's been working on his bike all morning, grease under his nails, a smudge of oil on his cheek that I'll probably kiss off later.

Or maybe I'll paint him like this—dangerous man doing domestic things, the contradiction of us made visible.

We've found our rhythm here.

Weekends at the cottage, weekdays at his house in town.

My studio in his spare room is finally set up exactly how I want it—north-facing window, shelves for supplies, even a daybed for when I need to step back and think.

"Helle's coming by," I tell him, checking my phone. "Said she wants to hang out this weekend."

"Good. Haven't seen her in a while."

That's true.

My sister's been distant lately.

Missed three family dinners in a row, claimed she was studying, but I know she dropped out.

The secret sits between us like a wall.

Mom keeps asking about her grades, about graduation plans, and I keep lying, saying she's doing well, just stressed about finals.

Each lie feels like a betrayal, yet a way to keep my sister safe at the same time.

I ended up telling Oskar because I know my secrets are safe with him.

"Maybe she's finally going to tell Mom and Dad," I say, adding a streak of orange to the canvas. "About dropping out."

"Maybe."

But something in his tone makes me look at him.

He's got that careful expression, the one that means he knows something but is deciding whether to share it.

Three months of honesty between us, and I can read him now.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just... Vanir's been digging into some things. Following up on the leak."

"The leak's dead. Thiago's dead." The name still tastes bitter, even now.

"Yeah. But Vanir's thorough. And Fenrir asked him to double-check everything. Make sure there weren't other compromises."

Before I can ask more, we hear Helle's Honda struggling up the dirt road.

Somehow still running.

Still sounding like it's dying with every mile.

She'd bought that car with her own money from a summer job at the mall—independence on four barely-functional wheels.

She parks but doesn't get out immediately.

I can see her through the windshield, hands gripping the steering wheel, shoulders shaking.

Taking deep breaths or crying, I can't tell from here.

When she finally emerges, I notice things that make my stomach clench.

Her car is packed.

Luggage in the back.

Boxes.

Her entire life crammed into a dying Honda.

"Hey," she says, but her voice is wrong. Thick like she's been crying for hours. Hollow like she's already gone.

"What's going on?"

She doesn't answer, just walks up onto the deck and collapses into one of the chairs we bought at a yard sale last month.

Her face is blotchy, eyes so swollen they're nearly shut.

She's wearing yesterday's clothes—the same FSU sweatshirt she's been living in since dropping out.

"Helle, what happened?"

"I'm leaving."

"What do you mean leaving?"

"Leaving. Moving. After dinner with Mom and Dad tonight." She pulls out a tissue, blows her nose. It's already red and raw from crying. "I came to say goodbye."

"What are you talking about?" I set down my brush, not caring that the paint will dry on it, ruining the expensive sable.

I move to sit beside her.

Oskar hovers in the doorway, alert, hand automatically checking for the weapon he's not carrying because we're supposed to be safe here. "You can't just leave."

"Yes, I can. I have to." Fresh tears start, rolling down cheeks already salt-stained.

"Dad and Fenrir cornered me Friday. At the house.

Mom was at the store. They... they interrogated me.

About everyone I've ever dated, talked to, been friends with.

Every person I've ever brought home or mentioned. "

My stomach drops like I'm in free fall. "Why?"

"They were looking for connections. To Los Coyotes. To the leak." She laughs but it's bitter, broken, the sound of something dying. "And they found one."

"That's impossible. You don't know anyone from—"

"Andrew." The name comes out like broken glass, each syllable cutting. "Remember Andrew? From my sociology class last year? Brown eyes, nice smile, always brought me coffee?"

I do remember.

Clean-cut guy, not MC type at all.

Wore button-downs and khakis.

Asked a lot of questions about the club life, but in that academic way, like he was studying us for anthropology.

Helle dated him for maybe two months before it fizzled out. Before Justin. Before everything went to hell.

"He was fascinated by the club," she continues, words tumbling out faster now.

"Always asking questions. How things worked, who was in charge, what the dynamics were.

How we moved money, how we decided on territories.

I thought he was just interested in how I grew up.

Like curiosity or something. Some people are fascinated by different lifestyles, right? "

"Helle..."

"I told him things. Not secrets, I didn't think they were secrets.

Just... life stuff. That Dad was Road Captain.

That there was tension with another group.

Where we lived. Our routines." She's sobbing now, huge gulping sobs that shake her whole body.

"Talked about shipment schedules because he asked about how often people traveled.

I even... God, I even told him about the security at the compound.

Thought I was being clever, showing how protected we were. "

"You didn't know," I say, but my voice sounds hollow even to me.

"Vanir traced him. Andrew Martinez. Except that's not his real name.

It's Andrés Medina. Los Coyotes prospect.

Was specifically sent to the college to gather information.

To find weak points." She looks at me, eyes devastated, drowning in guilt.

"I'm the leak, Elfe. I'm the reason they knew about you.

The reason they could track our patterns. The reason Thiago could get so close."

The weight of it crashes over me like a wave.

My sister.

My own sister inadvertently fed information to the people who wanted to hurt me. Every casual conversation over coffee was intelligence gathering. Every date was reconnaissance.

"It's not your fault," Oskar says quietly. "You were targeted. Manipulated. He was trained for this."

"Dad doesn't see it that way." Her voice goes even smaller, like she's trying to disappear into herself. "He said I'm a disappointment. A failure. Said I betrayed the family worse than any enemy could. Said at least you were attacked, but I chose to give information to enemies."

"He said that?" Rage floods through me, hot and immediate. "He actually said that to you?"

"Said I'm the reason you almost died. The reason his fingers are gone.

The reason Mom got hurt. The reason the club lost members.

" She wraps her arms around herself, trying to hold her pieces together.

"And he's right. If I hadn't been so stupid, so desperate for attention from some guy who seemed normal—"

"Stop." I grab her hands, feel them shaking. "Stop. This isn't your fault."

"Isn't it? I gave them information. I practically drew them a map to our lives. Every weak point, every vulnerability."

"You didn't know—"

"I should have! I grew up in this life. I know to be careful.

But he was cute and smart and interested in me, and I just..

. I wanted to be normal. To date a normal college guy.

To talk about my life without watching every word.

" She pulls her hands free, wipes at her face uselessly.

"Do you know what it's like? Being the 'normal' daughter?

The one who isn't traumatized, who isn't special, who's just..

. there? Andrew made me feel seen. Interesting.

And I was so pathetically grateful that I told him everything. "

I pull her into a hug.

She collapses against me, crying so hard she can't breathe.

I can feel her ribs through the sweatshirt—she’s not eating well.

Guilt eating her from the inside.

"Where are you going?" I ask when she calms slightly.

"Texas. Austin. I have a friend from high school there, Katie, remember her? She said I can crash with her while I figure things out. Maybe get a job. Start over."

Texas.

Far enough to start over. Far enough to escape the weight of this. Far enough that she might be able to breathe again.

"You don't have to run," Oskar says. "The club will understand. Your father will calm down."