Page 6 of Misery (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #7)

"Among other places. Eyes. Throat. Instep. Knee from the side." His hand guides my elbow. "Drive back hard into the center. Here."

I try it, gently.

"Harder."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Harder."

I drive back. He grunts but doesn't release me. "Good. Again. Multiple strikes, fast as you can."

We practice until I'm breathless, not from how I’m exerting myself, but from how close I am to him.

His body against mine, hands positioning me, voice in my ear giving instructions.

I'm hyperaware of everywhere we touch.

The heat of him through clothes.

The way he smells.

"Now front-facing attack," he says, turning me. We're chest to chest. "Someone comes at you straight on."

"Run?"

"If you can. But if you can't?"

"Fight."

"Smart girl." His hands go to my wrists, holding them. "Break my hold."

I try twisting. Pulling. Nothing works.

"You're fighting force with force again. Circle out and down." He guides the motion. "Use momentum, not strength."

We practice the movement until it's smooth. Natural.

His hands on my wrists, my attempts to break free.

Each time brings us closer.

Each success means his hands find me again.

"Good," he says after I break his hold quickly. "You're learning."

"I have a good teacher."

"You're a good student."

We're so close, close enough to count the scars on his jaw, close enough that when I breathe deep, our chests almost touch.

"Elfe."

"Yeah?"

"You need to step back."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, I'm going to kiss you."

"What if I want you to?"

His hands tighten on my wrists. Not painful. But possessive. "You don't know what you're asking for."

"Then show me."

He pulls me against him. Hard. Fast.

His mouth crashes into mine with none of last night's gentleness.

I gasp against his lips.

He takes advantage, deepening the kiss.

His tongue against mine.

His teeth are nipping my bottom lip.

One hand releases my wrist to tangle in my wet hair, angling my head where he wants it.

I'm drowning, burning.

Every nerve ending firing at once.

I press closer, needing more, not sure what more is but knowing he can give it to me.

His other hand drops to my waist.

Slides under the shirt to find bare skin.

I shiver at the contact, and he groans into my mouth.

"Fuck," he mutters against my lips. "Elfe, we need to stop."

"Why?"

"Because you're not ready for where this goes."

"What if I am?"

He pulls back enough to look at me.

His pupils are blown wide, breathing harsh. "You're not wearing anything under my clothes."

It's not a question. Heat floods my face. "My underwear was wet, remember? You hung them out to dry."

"Fuck," he repeats. His hand tightens on my waist. "You can't say things like that."

"Why?"

"Because my control has limits." But his thumb strokes bare skin under the shirt. Small circles that make me want things I can't name. "And you push every one of them."

"Good."

"Elfe—"

My phone rings and I tune it out for a second until I realize it’s my mom.

We break apart. I'm shaking. He looks wrecked.

"Answer it," he says roughly.

I do, trying to steady my voice. "Hey, Mom."

"Are you coming home? Your father's about to send a search party. You know how impatient he can be."

"We're leaving soon."

"Good. Saga wants to see you too. Make sure you're okay."

I sigh. "I'm okay."

"You don't sound okay. You sound... breathy."

My face burns. "We were just training. Self-defense moves."

"Uh huh." She doesn't believe me. "Just get here safely."

I hang up and look at Oskar, who's put distance between us. Smart. Necessary. But I hate it.

"We should go," he says.

"Yeah."

But neither of us moves. The kiss hangs between us. What it means. Where it leads.

"This is complicated," he says finally.

"Everything in my life is complicated."

"This would be more complicated. I'm not... I don't do relationships, Elfe. I'm not a good man. I kill people for the club. I've done things that would make you run if you knew."

"I'm not running now."

"Because you don't know me. Not like that, not really."

"Then let me know."

He looks at me for a long moment. Something shifts in his expression. Decision maybe. Or surrender.

"Get your things," he says. "We need to go."

I gather my clothes from yesterday. My phone. The few things that made it here with me.

When I return, he's packed. Armed too, I notice. Gun at his hip. Knife in his boot. Ready for war.

"You think there'll be trouble?"

"I always think there'll be trouble." He hands me a jacket. Leather. Women's cut. "Wear this."

"Why?"

"Because it's got Kevlar lining. And because anyone who sees you in it will know you're under protection."

I put it on. It fits perfectly. Like it was made for me.

Like he's been preparing for this moment longer than just last night.

We head for his bike.

The morning sun is bright, peaceful.

You'd never know there's a war starting.

That bodies are piling up across the city.

That I'm being hunted by a cartel.

"Hold tight," he says once I'm seated behind him.

I wrap my arms around his waist, feel his muscles tense, then relax.

We fit together on this bike like we've done this a hundred times before.

The ride back to Tallahassee is different in daylight.

I can see the route he takes—back roads, unexpected turns, always checking mirrors.

Paranoid or practical, I'm not sure there's a difference anymore.

My phone buzzes in the jacket pocket.

I ignore it. Probably Mom again. Or Saga. Or any of the dozen people who are worried about me.

But when it buzzes again, then again, insistent, I pull it out at a red light.

Unknown number. My blood freezes.

Did you really think you could hide, little artist?

Another message appears while I'm staring.

We know you left with him. The Executioner. Funny, we didn't have him pegged as your type.

And another.

Your daddy's been looking for you. So worried about his little girl. Would be a shame if something happened to him while you're playing house with killers.

My hands shake. They know I'm with Oskar. Know who he is. And they're threatening my father.

They were watching. The whole time, someone was watching.

The last message is just words:

You can't hide. You can't run. We see everything. Soon, little artist. Very soon.

"Oskar," I say, but my voice is barely a whisper.

He must feel me tense and pulls over immediately, taking the phone.

His expression goes deadly as he reads the messages.

"They know I'm with you," I breathe. "They're threatening my dad—"

"Your father's at the clubhouse. Has been all morning. He's safe." His voice is steady, certain. "Magnus has eyes on him and the whole place is locked down, remember?"

The knot in my chest loosens slightly. Dad's safe. For now.

"But they know who you are," I say. "They know you're the Executioner."

"Good." The word is flat. Dangerous. "Let them know exactly who's standing between them and you."

Another message appears while he's holding the phone:

You have something we want. We'll take something you want. Fair trade, little artist. You'll hear from us soon.

He pockets my phone and pulls me closer.

Not a hug exactly, more like he's shielding me with his body from threats that might be anywhere.

His hand rests on his weapon. "We need to move. Now." He guides me back to the bike. "They're getting bold. Making threats in broad daylight. Means they're either desperate or confident. Neither's good."

"What do we do?"

"We get you behind the gates. Then we go hunting." He helps me onto the bike, and I catch the promise in his voice. "They want to threaten what's mine? They'll learn why that's a mistake."

What's mine. He keeps saying that. Like I belong to him. Like there's no question.

Maybe there isn't anymore.

"Hold on," he says. "This is going to be fast."

He wasn't lying.

We fly through traffic, weaving between cars, taking turns that make my stomach drop.

But I don't care.

I press closer to him, arms tight around his waist, feeling the controlled tension in his body.

He's ready for war, ready to kill anyone who tries to stop us.

We screech into the Raiders' compound twenty minutes later. The gates close behind us with finality.

Home. Safe. Except, I don't feel safe anywhere now.

Oskar helps me off the bike.

His hands stay on my waist, grounding me.

I can see members already moving around, like everyone is on high alert since we’re back.

"We're going to find them," he says quietly. "Every last one who's threatening you. And I'm going to kill them."

The crazy thing is, I believe him.

The monster's awake now.

And he's mine.