Page 138 of Misery
"Miguel. They call him El Juez—The Judge."
"Why?"
"He settles disputes. Makes binding decisions for the cartel. If he makes a ruling, it stands. No appeals."
"Is he dangerous?"
"Different kind of dangerous than Vargas. Miguel doesn't break bones—he breaks deals, alliances, lives with a word. Been with Los Coyotes for twenty years. Started as muscle, worked his way up from the bottom to be one of their most trusted advisors."
"Will he negotiate fairly?"
"Fair is relative. But he's pragmatic. Bad for business to lose nine soldiers over one man's obsession. He'll want this settled clean."
She nods, squares her shoulders. "Okay, then let's do this."
Miguel stands apart from his men, studying us as we approach.
He's older—maybe fifty—with silver threading through black hair kept short and neat.
The kind of man who'd look at home in a boardroom except for the neck tattoos peeking above his collar and the knife scar that runs from his left ear to his jaw.
He wears his power quietly, doesn't need to posture.
His clothes are expensive but understated—black jeans, grey button-down, leather jacket that probably cost more than most people's bikes.
His eyes find Elfe immediately, cataloging everything.
The way she walks—confident despite everything.
The knife concealed at her thigh he definitely notices.
The way I position myself—protective but not blocking her.
"So, this is the famous little artist I’ve heard so much about," Miguel says. His voice is cultured, educated. Nothing like the street thugs we usually deal with.
She doesn't flinch. "Not so little."
"No. Not anymore." He studies her like she's evidence in a case he's judging. Then his dark eyes turn to me. "I heard Thiago is no longer with us."
"Yes."
"He was one of ours."
"He was using you, using your resources for a personal obsession."
Miguel nods slowly. "True. I warned him twice. Told him the girl was a distraction from business. He didn't listen." He pulls out a cigarette, lights it as calm as ever, like Thiago isn’t a big issue at all. "Still, blood was spilled. That requires an answer."
"Then answer," Elfe says, stepping forward. "But know this—I'm done being hunted. Done being a prize. You want war? We'll give you war. You want peace? Let's talk terms."
Miguel takes a long drag, then laughs—not mocking but genuinely amused. "You've got balls, little girl."
"I've got more than that. I've got the Raiders of Valhalla MC at my back. I've got the Executioner. And I've got nothing left to lose."
"Everyone has something to lose."
"Not me. Not anymore. Thiago took everything. My family hurt, my sense of safety stripped from me. What's left to threaten?"
"Your life."
