Page 124 of Sadistic

I've been staring at it for two hours.

The digital clock on the nightstand blinks 11:47 PM in aggressive red numbers.

In twelve hours, I'm supposed to put on that dress and marry Doran Volkolv.

Become part of his world officially, permanently.

Take vows that mean something, even if the marriage started as an arrangement.

My phone sits silent on the nightstand.

No texts from Doran since earlier.

He's respecting my request for space, which somehow makes everything harder.

It would be easier if he pushed, if he became the controlling asshole I accused him of being.

Then I could hate him cleanly.

Instead, I'm lying here on a mattress that's seen better decades, thinking about the skull charms and Bembe's threats and Njal somewhere out there, sick and spiraling.

The clubhouse is quieter than usual.

Most of the members went home to their families once Dad confirmed the building was secure.

Only a few prospects remain on watch, taking shifts by the doors.

I can hear them occasionally—low voices, the clink of beer bottles, someone's radio playing classic rock.

I need water.

Or air. Or both.

The hallway is dimly lit, emergency lighting creating more shadows than illumination.

My bare feet make no sound on the worn carpet as I navigate toward the kitchen.

The main area is empty, chairs stacked on tables, the bar locked down for the night.

Evidence of Mom's stress baking still lingers—the sweet smell of vanilla and cinnamon.

The kitchen light is already on.

Ingrid sits at the small table, hands wrapped around a mug of what smells like tea.

She's changed clothes since earlier—jeans and an old Raiders of Valhalla t-shirt that probably belonged to Bjorn once upon a time.

Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, face clean of makeup.

She looks younger this way, vulnerable. "Can't sleep either?" she asks without looking up.

"Not a chance." I grab a glass from the drying rack, fill it with water from the tap. "You?"

"I have to do something tonight. Wanted herbal tea first. Calm the nerves." She finally meets my eyes. "I wanted to talk to you before I go."

Something in her tone makes me pull out the chair across from her. "What kind of something?"

"The kind that might save your wedding from becoming a bloodbath." She wraps her hands tighter around the mug. "I'm going to see Njal."

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