Page 62 of Misery
I grab her purse, her phone, the jacket she brought.
"This isn't over," Ivar calls after us.
Elfe stops and turns. "It's been over since the night I almost died alone. You just didn't notice. Too busy with the club to notice your daughter was already gone."
We leave them there. Her parents destroyed by truth wrapped in cruelty.
The bar is as silent as a grave.
I catch Magnus' eye on the way out—he'll handle the fallout.
Outside, she collapses against my bike, sobbing so hard she can't breathe.
Great heaving sobs that shake her entire body.
"Hey." I pull her against me. "Breathe."
"I didn't mean— I was just so angry?—"
"I know."
"They hate me now."
"They don't hate you. You said things that needed saying. Just maybe not all at once."
"The flowers. Him acting like I'm property. Everything just—" She breaks off, crying harder. "Did you see his face? When I said he wasn't there? Like I killed him."
"He needed to hear it."
"Did he? Or did I just need to hurt him like I've been hurting?"
I hold her while she falls apart in the parking lot, let her soak my shirt with tears and regret and seven months of suppressed rage.
My phone buzzes.
Text from Magnus.
Magnus:
Got info on the roses. Special order from a shop downtown. Paid cash but they have security footage.
Me:
Send it.
The image loads. Grainy but clear enough.
A figure in dark clothes, hood up, but something familiar about the build.
The way they move.
The particular gait that seems...
Fuck.
"We need to get you back to the compound," I tell her.
"Why? What's wrong?"
