Page 34 of Sadistic

The front door rattles, someone trying the handle.

Elfe ignores it—bar's closed—but then a key turns in the lock.

"Shit," Elfe mutters. "That's either my dad or?—"

Ingrid walks in like she owns the place, which I mean, I guess we all do when we think about it—it belongs to our fathers, to the club.

She's flawless as always—long red hair, perfectly put together outfit that compliments her alabaster skin.

Sometimes I think she’s some biker version of the Stepford Wives.

She spots us immediately, pauses, then walks over with deliberate casualness.

"Heard about the engagement," she says without missing a beat. "Two weeks, right?"

"Ingrid." I keep my voice neutral. "How's your dad?"

"Fine. Yours?" She doesn't wait for an answer, just slides into the booth beside Elfe without invitation. "Whiskey. Good choice for the occasion."

Elfe pours her a shot because what else can you do when the woman your almost boyfriend is trying to move on with invites herself to your pity party?

"Congratulations, by the way," Ingrid continues. "Doran's quite the catch. Rich, powerful, only slightly psychotic. Every girl's dream."

"Did you need something?" I ask.

"Just wanted to see how you're doing." She downs her shot, sets the glass down with a decisive click. "And maybe warn you about something."

"Warn me?"

"You know, he told me he was trying to move on." Her smile is sharp as glass. "But he'll never get over you, Revna. I heard you were at his apartment earlier today."

It takes me a moment to realize she's talking about Njal. "Ingrid?—"

"We've been sleeping together for four months. Did you know that? Four months of him calling me by your name when he's drunk. Four months of being compared to the perfect Revna who was too good to go public with him."

The words hit me hard.

Four months.

While I was agonizing over our relationship, he was already moving on. Or trying to.

"I didn't know," I say quietly.

"Of course you didn't. Too busy playing secret lovers to notice he had one foot out the door." She pours herself another shot. "But here's the thing—your Russian might have warned him off, but Njal's not the type to give up."

"He has to."

Her laugh is bitter. "You think it's that easy? He's been drinking himself stupid for weeks, talking about winning you back. Keeps saying if it wasn't for the deal, you'd choose him."

"But there is a deal. Has been since before I was born."

"Exactly. Which is why I'm warning you." She leans forward. "He's planning something. I don't know what, but he's beentalking to some of the younger guys. The ones who think tradition is bullshit and love should win."

"Love," I repeat. "Is that what he told you we had?"

"Isn't it?"

Elfe shifts beside her. "Maybe you should go, Ingrid."