Page 3 of Misery
At first, I thought maybe he had a thing for me.
Wouldn't be the first biker to think Ivar's daughter might be fun to chase.
But he never flirts.
Never makes a move.
Never even smiles.
Just watches with this intensity that makes my skin prickle.
Like he's waiting for something.
"Elfe! Two Buds and a whiskey neat!" Tommy calls from the other end.
I nod, grateful for the distraction.
Pull beers. Pour whiskey. Take money. Make change. Smile. Pretend my hands aren't trembling.
Pretend I don't feel like I'm drowning in a room full of air.
The routine helps.
This I can do.
This I know.
Pull the tap. Watch the foam. Wipe the bar.
Keep moving. Don't think about how the crowd feels too close. How the exit seems too far. How every laugh sounds like a threat.
My phone buzzes on the bar back, right next to the register.
Probably Saga checking in.
She and Emil have been mother-henning me since I moved into their fortress.
Their loft that's more secure than Fort Knox.
Three dogs that look like they eat people.
Enough weapons to arm a small country.
Safe, they keep telling me. You're safe there.
But safety is relative when you've already been broken once.
Something makes me check the phone.
Unknown number.
You look beautiful when you're scared.
Ice floods my veins.
The whiskey bottle slips. I barely catch it. The near-miss makes my hands shake worse.
I glance around, trying to spot anyone on their phone.
