Page 137 of Misery
"If something goes wrong?—"
"Nothing will go wrong," she insists.
"But if it does. You run. Don't fight, don't hesitate. Run."
"And leave you all?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Elfe—"
"No. We do this together or not at all."
My hands are on her waist, positioning her for the knife draw. She's warm under my palms, alive, fierce. "You've changed."
"Trauma does that."
"Not just trauma. You're stronger. More certain."
"I had to be. Couldn't stay the victim forever." She practices the draw again, smooth now. "Had to become something else."
"What?"
"Survivor. Fighter. Maybe a killer if necessary."
The thought should disturb me. Instead, it makes me proud. "You'd kill?"
"To protect the people I love? Yes."
"Am I one of those people?"
She's quiet, then, "Yes, Oskar, of course."
Before I can respond, Magnus appears. "Time to go."
The ride to the truck stop is tense.
Elfe rides with me, the first time since learning the truth.
Her arms around my waist are a necessity, not affection, but I'll take it.
Her body pressed against mine, feeling her heartbeat against my back.
Alive. Here. Choosing to be here.
The truck stop is old, mostly abandoned.
Perfect neutral ground.
Los Coyotes are already there—six of them, bikes lined up.
We match their numbers.
Fair fight if it comes to that.
Before we approach, Elfe grabs my arm. "Tell me about the person we’re meeting. Who are we dealing with?"
