Page 4 of Misery (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #7)

Because you recognize something in me.

The darkness. The violence. The broken pieces that don't quite fit back together.

"Sometimes certain people are just easier," I say instead.

"You're not a stranger. You're..." She trails off. Looks at me like she's seeing me for the first time. "Why do I feel safe with you? You're literally called the Executioner. You just told me you killed two men tonight. I should be terrified."

"Are you?"

"No. That's the weird part. It’s the first time since the attack where I don't feel like prey." She shifts closer on the couch. Not touching, but almost. "You make me feel protected. Like nothing can touch me when you're around."

If only she knew how true that is.

How many threats I've eliminated before they could reach her.

How many nights I've sat outside her window, making sure she slept safely.

"You are protected," I tell her. "Nobody touches you while I'm breathing."

"Why do you care so much? I'm just Ivar's daughter. Just another job for the club."

"You're not just anything."

The words hang between us. Too honest. Too revealing. But the wine and the firelight and the way she's looking at me make it impossible to lie.

"Oskar...I’m just a girl from the club."

"You're not," I continue, can't stop now. "Haven't been for a while."

"How long is a while?"

Since the moment I saw you painting in the middle of the night, tears streaming down your face.

Since I watched you rebuild yourself piece by piece.

Since I realized you were the strongest broken thing I'd ever seen.

"Long enough."

She sets down her glass. Turns to face me fully. "That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting tonight."

"Why?"

"Because you're scared and a little drunk and this isn't the time for us to talk about complicated things."

"When is?"

"When you're not running on adrenaline and wine. When you can think clearly about what you want."

"What if I know what I want?"

The air changes.

Charges.

She moves closer.

Close enough, I can feel her warmth.

"Elfe—"

"I'm not that drunk. Not that scared. I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

"No," she admits. "But I'm tired of being careful. Of being afraid. Of feeling like a victim. You make me feel something else."

"What?"

"Alive. Dangerous. Like maybe I'm not just something to be protected, but someone worth protecting."

"You are—"

She kisses me.

Soft. Tentative. A question more than a statement.

Everything in me screams to take what she's offering.

To claim her mouth, her body, her soul.

Make her mine in every way that matters.

I've wanted this for months.

Dreamed about it.

Planned for it.

But not like this.

I pull back gently. "Not tonight."

"You don't want—"

"I want. Trust me, I fucking want you. But not because you're scared. Not because you're grateful. When I kiss you—when we actually do this—it's going to be right, not because you’re running."

She stares at me. Something shifting in her expression. "You're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"A monster. The Executioner. Someone who takes what he wants." She touches my split knuckles. Gentle. Careful. "But you're not, are you? You're something else."

"I'm both. The monster and the man. That's what you need to understand before this goes further."

"Show me."

"What?"

"Show me the monster. I've seen him in glimpses. The blood on your hands. The death in your eyes when you read those messages. But you keep holding back. Stop."

"You don't know what you're asking."

"Yes, I do." She's fierce now. Wine and fear burned away by something else. "I need to see who's protecting me. All of him. Not just the parts you think I can handle."

I stand. Move to the window. Safer with distance between us. "You want to know who I am? I'm the man who breaks fingers for information. Who burns down houses with people inside. Who makes others disappear so completely their families never find the bodies."

"I know."

"I've killed more men than I can count. Some deserved it. Some were just in the way." I turn to face her. Let her see the truth in my eyes. "I don't feel guilt. Don't lose sleep. Don't dream about their faces. That's the monster, Elfe. That's what's protecting you right now."

She should run. Should grab her phone and call someone, anyone, to come get her.

Instead, she rises. Walks to me slowly. Deliberately.

"Good," she says simply.

"Good?"

"I don't want someone with a conscience protecting me. I want someone who'll do whatever it takes. Someone who won't hesitate. Who won't feel bad about it later." She stops just out of reach. "I want the monster."

"Why?"

"Because monsters recognize each other." Her smile is sharp.

Beautiful. Dangerous. "You think I don't have darkness too?

You think surviving didn't change me? I dream about killing them.

The men who attacked me. Dream about it in detail.

How I'd make them suffer. How I'd make them beg.

That's my monster, Oskar. The one that wants blood for blood. "

"That's not the same—"

"Isn't it? You kill to protect. I want to kill for revenge. Which one of us is really darker?"

My phone buzzes before I can answer. Then again. Insistent.

"You should check that," she says.

I pull it out. Magnus calling.

That's never good.

"Yeah?"

"We have a problem," Magnus says without preamble. "Los Coyotes killed two more scouts tonight. Found them behind Rosie's bar on the south side."

"Mine?"

"No. These were fresh kills. Still warm when the patrol found them." He pauses. "Someone else is hunting them. Someone not affiliated with us."

I frown. "Who else would—"

"That's what we need to find out. Could be a rival cartel. Could be freelance. Either way, it's escalating. Runes wants everyone back. Full lockdown until we know what we're dealing with."

"I've got Elfe secure."

"Bring her back."

"Tomorrow. Tonight she needs to decompress."

"Oskar—"

"Tomorrow, Magnus. She's safe. That's all that matters right now."

I hang up before he can argue, then look at Elfe, who's watching me with those pale eyes.

"What's happening?"

"Los Coyotes are getting hit from multiple sides. Someone else is hunting them, too."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Don't know yet." I sit back down, closer than before. "But you're not going anywhere near it until we figure it out."

"I can't hide forever."

"You can hide tonight. Tomorrow we'll deal with whatever comes."

She nods. Shifts closer. Not touching, but almost. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"Why do you care what happens to me? Really. Not whatever obligation you feel toward me because I’m Ivar’s daughter. The real reason."

I could lie. Should lie.

Keep the professional distance that's kept me functional for seven months.

But the wine and the firelight and the way she kissed me earlier makes the truth slip out.

"Because you matter."

"To the club?"

"To me."

She absorbs this. Doesn't run. Doesn't pull back. "How long?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Months. That's all you get tonight."

"Months," she repeats softly. "And you never said anything."

"Wasn't my place."

"What changed?"

"Los Coyotes forced my hand. Can't protect you from the shadows when they're dragging you into the light."

She reaches over and takes my damaged hand, studying the split knuckles. "These men tonight. You killed them for me."

Not a question. "Yes."

"Would you do it again?"

"Every time."

"Even if I didn't ask you to?"

"You will never have to ask me to kill for you, Elfe."

She traces the wounds gently. "My monster."

"If that's what you want to call it."

"It's what you are. What I need." She looks up. "Stay with me tonight?"

"I'm not leaving."

"No, I mean... stay. In the bed. Not for sex. Just... I don't want to be alone. Haven't felt safe enough to really sleep in months. But with you..."

"Yeah," I agree before she can finish. "Yeah, okay."

We bank the fire, and I double check everything again, because I can't not.

She changes into one of my old t-shirts I dig out of a drawer.

It swallows her, hanging to mid-thigh.

She looks young. Vulnerable. Nothing like the woman who kissed me earlier.

Nothing like the survivor who wants a monster to protect her.

We lie in the dark, not touching but aware of every inch between us.

Her breathing evens out slowly.

Just when I think she's asleep, she speaks.

"Oskar?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For tonight. For the blood on your hands. For not taking advantage when I kissed you. For all of it."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know. That's why I am."

She shifts closer. Not quite touching, but I feel her warmth. Smell her shampoo.

"Tomorrow we go back," she says. "Face whatever's coming."

"Tomorrow."

"But tonight, I'm safe."

"You're always safe with me."

She falls asleep like that, inches away but miles from where we started the night.

I lie awake, listening to her breathe.

Thinking about Los Coyotes.

About whoever else is hunting them.

About the war that's coming.

But mostly thinking about her.

This broken artist who paints her nightmares.

Who wants a monster to keep her safe.

Who kissed me like salvation and damnation combined.

She doesn't know I've been watching her for seven months.

Doesn't know how deep this obsession runs.

How many men I've already killed to keep her breathing.

But she will. Eventually, the truth always comes out.

When it does, she'll either run or she'll understand that she’s mine.