Page 112 of Manic

Tor turns to her, his bottle-green eyes twinkling with amusement. "Is that the only reason?" he asks, his voice carrying that gentle teasing tone he reserves for Tindra. "And to think I was gonna start giving you a chore list with an allowance, or talk to yourmummoabout a receptionist job at her spa."

I watch as Tindra's eyes widen, her interest piqued. "She has a spa?" she asks, her voice rising with excitement.

Tor nods, but then puts on an exaggerated look of consideration. "But if I'm only good for all the manly stuff, I don't know..."

I can't help but admire how easily Tor navigates this conversation, deflecting attention from our near-miss and engaging with Tindra.

It's moments like these that remind me why I fell for him in the first place.

Tindra grabs onto Tor's hand, her pale skin a stark contrast against his tanned, tattooed arm. "Come on, Dad!" she pleads, her sage green eyes wide and imploring. "I'm only playing around, and Ineeda job. It's not like mom's gonna let me work at Beans & Babes!"

At the mention of the coffee shop, I feel a surge of protectiveness.

Beans & Babes, while I love what I’ve developed, it’s definitely not a place I want my daughter working.

Before I can say anything, Tor's voice rings out, firm and unyielding. "Damn straight, and neither am I."

I nod in agreement, relieved that we're on the same page about this. "Absolutely not," I add, my voice equally firm. "But we can definitely talk about other job options, sweetheart."

As I watch Tor and Tindra interact, a warmth spreads through my chest.

This is our new normal, and it’s amazing.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Tor

The thunder of Harley engines drowns out the pounding of my heart as we roar down the highway.

The vibration of my bike thrums through my body, a warning of the chaos to come.

I glance at my brothers flanking me on either side, their faces grim beneath their helmets.

We're done playing nice.

The Patriot has gotten away with this for far too long.

Fifteen years of his bullshit, encroaching further and further into our territory.

We should have put him down years ago.

But today, that changes.

My old man's gruff voice crackles through the helmet comm. "You ready for this, son?"

I nod, though he can't see it. "Born ready, Pops. Let's show this bastard what happens when you fuck with us."

A chorus of agreement rumbles through the comms.

The anticipation is electric, crackling between us like lightning.

We're going in hot, guns blazing.

No more pussy-footing around.

"Coming up on the turn," Ivar's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Everyone ready?"

A chorus of affirmatives follows.

---