Page 4 of Misery
Anyone watching too closely.
But it's too crowded.
Too many faces.
Too many eyes that could be tracking me.
The prospects are arguing over darts. Magnus is lining up a shot.
Even Oskar's looking away now, focused on the UFC fight on TV.
But that doesn't mean anything. Could be anyone. Could be someone I've served tonight. Someone I smiled at.
I delete the message and try to focus.
It’s probably nothing, probably some drunk who got my number.
Maybe that creep from last week who wouldn't take no for an answer until Bodul escorted him out.
Had to be that. Random asshole, not... notthem.
Tommy's still waiting.
I finish his order, paste on a smile that feels like broken glass. Move on. Next customer. Next drink. Next fake laugh at a shit joke.
Keep moving. Keep breathing. Don't let them see you're scared.
Another buzz.
My stomach drops before I even look.
Your daddy's not here tonight. Noticed that too.
My throat closes.
Whoever this is has been watching. Knows my patterns. Knows when I'm vulnerable.
I look toward the back entrance.
The one that leads to the clubhouse.
Requires a member's card. Security cameras. Armed members on the other side.
Dad's at home with Mom and Helle.
Family dinner.
I lied to them and said I was short on cash, that I needed the money.
What I really needed was just to feel useful.
Normal.
Like, I wasn't still broken from what almost happened in that apartment.
The apartment I can't go back to.
Will never go back to.
