Page 8 of Misery (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #7)

The fluorescent lights in the hallway cast harsh shadows across his scarred face, making him look older, meaner.

"Your trust isn't required." I keep my voice level, but my muscles coil with tension.

The hallway suddenly feels too narrow, too confined for two predators sizing each other up.

"She's my daughter."

The way he says it—possessive, final—makes my jaw clench.

His hands flex at his sides, tattoos rippling across his knuckles.

Old ink, old damage.

A father who's fought for his family before.

"And she's under my protection. Officially now. President's orders, remember?"

His hand goes to his knife. Not drawing. Just resting there. The leather sheath worn smooth from years of the same gesture. A warning that's become a habit. "If anything happens to her—"

"Nothing will on my watch, old man."

The certainty in my voice makes him step closer.

Close enough I can smell the cigarette smoke on his cut, see the red veining his eyes from lack of sleep. "You can't promise that."

"Watch me." The words come out harder than intended.

Emil steps between us, his bulk forcing us apart. "Enough. Both of you. This isn't helping Elfe."

"Your brother thinks he owns my daughter," Ivar spits. Actual spit flies from his mouth, catching the light. His face is flushed now, anger bringing color to his weathered skin.

"I know I can keep her alive," I correct, forcing my shoulders to relax, trying to de-escalate. The hallway feels like it's pressing in, other members giving us a wide berth as they pass. "That's all that matters right now."

Ivar shifts his weight forward, aggressive, and I can see the punch he wants to throw in the way his right shoulder dips slightly. "Is it? Because from where I'm standing—"

"From where you're standing," Runes interrupts, returning, "you see a man who eliminated two threats to your daughter last night. Who got her to safety. Who's volunteering to put himself between her and danger. Maybe try being grateful instead of suspicious."

Ivar's jaw works. But he nods and steps aside.

I head for the main room and find Elfe surrounded by the women—Saga, Starla, Astrid, Meghan.

All of them talking at once. The dogs form a protective circle, Luna pressed against Elfe's leg.

She looks up when I approach.

Something passes between us. Understanding maybe. Or recognition of what's coming.

"We're heading to Emil and Saga’s place," I tell her. "Now."

"Both of us?"

I nod. "Both of us."

Saga looks between us. "Wait. You're staying at our place?"

I don’t stutter, just point out the cold truth. "Until the threat's eliminated."

"That could be weeks."

"Then it's weeks."

Elfe doesn’t argue with me, we just get ready, and she gets back on my bike like she was earlier.

The feeling of her against me does something to me, and I can feel myself slowly breaking.

I’m trying to keep a wall up between us, but I know I’m going to break one way or another.

The ride to Emil's is uneventful, and when we arrive, I get an up close and personal look at the place.

Secured garage, biometric scanners, enough technology to make the place nearly impenetrable.

They did a good job, honestly.

The dogs bound out of Emil's truck, immediately starting their patrol.

"Elfe obviously already has a room," Saga says as we enter. "Oskar, you can take the couch or—"

"He'll take the spare room," Emil interrupts. "Down the hall from Elfe's."

It’s a relief to be sleeping close to her, for security purposes, but also for my own selfish needs.

"I'll help Elfe settle in," Saga offers.

They disappear down the hall, leaving me with my brother.

"Beer?" he offers.

"Yeah."

We sit in his kitchen—modern, expensive, nothing like the safe house in Panacea.

This is a home. Their home. Where they've built something I'm invading.

"I know you. She’s not just some job to you anymore, is she?" Emil observes.

"Never was."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"No."

"Fair enough." He takes a pull of his beer. "You know Ivar's going to be a problem when he figures it out."

"He'll fall in line."

"Are you sure about that? Man's protective of his daughters. Especially after what happened to Elfe."

"Which is why he'll accept what's necessary to keep her safe."

"Even if what's necessary is you?"

"Yeah, he should."

Emil studies me. My older brother, who knows me better than most. "You've been watching her longer than just last night."

Not a question.

"That's need-to-know."

"I need to know. This is my house. My security. If you've been—"

"What? Doing my job? Following orders?"

"Whose orders?"

I don't answer. Let him draw his own conclusions.

"Jesus, Oskar. How long has Runes had you doing this?"

"Long enough."

"That's not—"

"Emil." Saga appears in the doorway. "Elfe's asking for Oskar."

I stand immediately following Saga down the hall to a room that's been transformed into an art studio slash bedroom.

Canvases everywhere. Paintings of flowers mixed with skulls. Beauty and death intertwined.

Elfe's standing by the window, arms wrapped around herself.

"Hey," I say softly.

"Hey." She doesn't turn. "This is really happening, isn't it? They're coming for me."

"They can try."

"What if—"

"No what-ifs. They try, they die. It’s as simple as that."

She turns then, looks at me with those pale eyes that see too much. "Nothing's simple with you."

"This is."

"Why? Why do you care so much about what happens to me?"

Because I've been watching you for seven months.

Because I know you paint in the middle of the night when your nightmares win.

Because you're mine even if you don't know it yet.

But I can't say that. Not yet.

"Because you matter."

"To the club?"

"To me."

She crosses the room. Stops just out of reach. "How long have I mattered?"

"Longer than you know."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you get today."

"Why?"

"Because the truth would scare you more than Los Coyotes."

Something flickers in her eyes. Not fear. Something else. "Try me."

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes.

It’s Magnus.

"What?" I answer.

"We have a problem. Three more bodies just dropped. But Oskar... one of them had a message. Carved into his chest."

"What kind of message?"

"'For the little artist.' Someone else is killing for her."

I look at Elfe, who's watching my expression change.

"Where?"

"Warehouse district. Runes wants you there. Now."

"Can't. I'm on protection."

"Bring her. She needs to see this."

"That's not—"

"It's not a request. Someone's sending her a message. She needs to understand what's happening."

I hang up and look at Elfe.

I don’t want to take her there.

She doesn’t need to see this shit because it’ll only scare her more.

"What's wrong?"

I take a deep breath and sigh. "We need to go."

"Where?"

"To see something you're not going to like."

She doesn't argue, doesn't even question me, just nods and follows me out.

"We're heading out," I tell Emil. "Club business."

"Taking Elfe?"

"Orders from Runes."

He doesn't like it but doesn't argue. Knows better than to question the president.

Elfe and I head downstairs, mount my bike, and then we’re off.

The ride to the warehouse district is tense. Twenty minutes of pure hell.

Elfe's pressed against my back like she's trying to meld into me.

Her arms around my waist are tight enough to bruise. Good. Let her mark me. Let her hold on like I'm the only solid thing in a world gone sideways.

She knows something's wrong.

She has to feel it in how rigid I'm holding myself.

Every muscle locked. Ready for an attack that could come from anywhere.

My shoulders are concrete, spine steel.

Nothing like the relaxed ride to Panacea last night when we were just running from texts.

This is different. Heavier.

Bodies with messages. Someone killing for her. I’m the only bastard who should be killing for her.

The words keep spinning in my head—'For the little artist.'

Who the fuck knows to call her that? Los Coyotes, sure, but this is someone hunting them.

Someone on our side. Maybe. Or is it one of them?

Every red light makes me want to run it. Too exposed. Too many windows. Too many angles, someone could take a shot.

But I force myself to wait. Can't draw attention. Can't look like we're running scared, even though my every instinct screams to get her behind walls. Behind steel. Behind me.

Her breath is warm through my cut. Quick little pants that tell me she's fighting panic.

Fighting hard and winning, but barely.

Her thighs squeeze the bike, knees pressed tight against mine.

I can feel her heartbeat against my back. Too fast. Hummingbird quick.

"Almost there," I tell her at a light, turning my head slightly.

She nods against my shoulder blade. Doesn't speak. Maybe she can't.

The warehouse district at night is a different beast than during the day.

Shadows are everywhere. Empty loading docks that could hide armies. Windows like dead eyes watching us pass.

A perfect killing ground if someone wanted to make a statement.

But the only statement being made tonight is inside that warehouse.

Three bodies arranged for her. Gift wrapped in death.

The bike's engine echoes off brick and concrete, announcing us to the rest of the brothers.

It can't be helped.

Magnus meets us at the door of the warehouse. "You sure about this?" he asks, looking at Elfe.

She nods.

Inside smells like blood and death. Three bodies arranged almost artistically.

Los Coyotes members, clearly. But the one in the center...

"Oh god," Elfe breathes.

Carved into his chest, deep and deliberate: FOR THE LITTLE ARTIST.

"Someone's killing for you," Magnus says quietly. "Hunting Los Coyotes and leaving messages."

"Who?" Her voice is small. Scared.

"Don't know yet. But they're escalating. This is the third set of bodies with messages."

"Third?" I turn on him. "Why wasn't I told?"

"First two were subtle. A paint brush left at one scene. An easel at another. This is the first direct message that correlates to Elfe."

Elfe moves closer to the body. I want to stop her, but don't. She needs to process this.

"I don't understand. Who would do this? For me?"

"Someone who knows you're being threatened. Someone with skills and resources to hunt cartel members." Magnus looks at me. "Someone with a vested interest in keeping you safe."

"Or someone trying to send a different message," I counter. "This could be a threat disguised as protection."

"Either way, we have another player in the game." Runes appears from the shadows where he'd been observing. "And we need to know who."

"I'll find out," I promise.

"We'll find out," Elfe says quietly. Her voice shakes, but there's something determined underneath. Not strong exactly, but she’s trying to be.

"No." The word comes out harsh. "You don't need to be involved in this."

"But it's about me." Her hands twist together, a nervous gesture I've noticed before. "These people are dying with my name carved into them. I... I need to understand why."

"You need to stay safe."

"I know." She wraps her arms around herself, that self-protective gesture that makes her look smaller. "But hiding doesn't make it stop. I tried that for seven months. The nightmares don't go away just because you lock the doors."

The broken honesty in her voice hits harder than defiance would have.

"Elfe—"

"I'm not saying I want to hunt them." She looks at the bodies, then away quickly. Can't handle the sight for long. "I can't do that. But I need to know who's doing this. Why someone thinks killing for me is... is some kind of gift."

"Fine," Runes decides after a long moment. "We’ll figure it all out."

She nods, arms still wrapped around herself, can't stop the small tremor in her shoulders.

"We need to go," I tell her. "Now."

I guide her toward the exit, hand on her lower back.

She's shaking harder now that she's moving away from the bodies.

Adrenaline crash hitting. I've seen it before in soldiers—holding it together during the crisis, falling apart after.

The moment we're outside, she doubles over. Hands on her knees. Gasping.

"Hey." I move in front of her, blocking the view from the other brothers. "Breathe."

"I can't—they were—someone did that for me." Her voice cracks. "Cut a person open and carved that saying like it was romantic."

"Look at me." I crouch down, forcing her to meet my eyes. "This isn't your fault."

"Isn't it? If I wasn't—if Los Coyotes didn't want me—"

"Then they'd want someone else. This is what they do, Elfe. Create chaos. Fear." My hands find her shoulders, steadying. "Someone's fighting back. We don't know why yet, but we'll find out."

She straightens slowly. Her face is pale in the warehouse lighting. "What if it's someone worse? What if whoever's doing this wants something from me too?"

That's the question, isn't it? But I can't tell her my suspicions. Not yet. Not until I'm sure.

"Then they'll have to go through me," I say simply. "Just like everyone else."

Something shifts in her expression. She studies my face like she's seeing something new. "You mean that."

"Every word."

Magnus appears in the doorway. "Problem. Ivar's on his way. Someone called him."

Fuck. The last thing we need is her hot-headed father.

"Get on the bike," I tell Elfe. "We're leaving before he gets here and makes this worse."