Page 13 of Misery
Every dark SUV makes my hand twitch toward my weapon.
But nobody follows us to the turnoff for the cottage.
Nobody trails us down the sandy road that leads to my place.
The cottage sits back from the water, hidden behind sea oats and scrub pine.
Single story, weathered cedar siding, wraparound porch that's seen better days.
Looks like nothing special, but that's the point.
Looks can be deceiving.
The windows are reinforced, the doors are steel core, and the crawl space has enough weapons to outfit a small army.
And the sight lines are perfect—nobody can get to my place without being seen first.
I kill the engine.
The silence hits hard after the constant rumble.
Just waves in the distance and wind through the pines.
Elfe pulls off her helmet, hair wild around her face. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere safe." I dismount, help her off. She's unsteady. Adrenaline crash starting. "Come on."
"Whose place is this?"
"Mine."
She stops walking, studies me in the moonlight. "The Executioner has a beach cottage?"
"Everyone needs somewhere to disappear."
"Even you?"
"Especially me."
I unlock the door—key code, then deadbolt, then secondary lock.
Old habits.
Inside smells like salt air and staleness.
It’s been three weeks since I was here.
The furniture's covered in sheets like ghosts.
Evidence of a life I don't really live.
Elfe steps inside carefully, like she's entering a crime scene.
Maybe she is.
This place has seen its share of blood over the years.
Men who thought they could hide from the club's justice.
