Page 73 of Manic

"Tor's got a point," Ivar grunts, his expression dark. "We've tried the honorable route. Time we got our hands a little dirty."

The others exchange looks, but no one disagrees.

We’re all thinking the same thing.

"All right," My father speaks, slamming his fist on the table. "We move tonight. We'll hit his stash houses, take what we can, and torch the rest. Then we go after his family."

A coldness settles over the room, but I know there’s no turning back now.

Logi leans forward, his weathered hands gripping the edge of Magnus's intricately carved table. "It'll be the DEA hanging around soon enough," he growls, his eyes darting from face to face. "And when they do, they're gonna start fucking up the shit we're running for Liam."

I feel my jaw clench at the mention of our Irish connection.

Liam's shipments are a significant part of our income, and any disruption could spell disaster for the club.

Kraken nods, his massive frame seeming to fill half the room. "Logi's right," he rumbles. "We can't afford that kind of heat."

Dag, speaks up yet again. "Agreed. It's time we deal with this Patriot problem once and for all."

I scan the room, taking in the determined faces of my brothers.

The wooden sculptures of our Norse gods seem to watch us, their silent judgment weighing heavily on my shoulders.

My fingers absently trace the skull tattoo on my chest, a reminder of the oaths I've sworn to this club.

Fenrir's voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and decisive. "We know a good bit about him, and now is the time to strike."

I'm about to voice my agreement when a sudden pounding on the door makes us all jump.

My father bellows, "We're busy in here!"

"I know, but–" Ulf's voice is cut off abruptly.

"For fuck's sake!" The familiar sound of Starla's irritation precedes the door flying open.

Her eyes sweep the room, landing on me with an intensity that makes my blood run cold.

"Meghan's hurt," she says, and my world stops spinning.

I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved, my heart pounding in my chest.

"What happened?" I demand, my voice a low growl that barely contains the panic rising within me.

But Starla's already turning, gesturing for me to follow.

As I move toward the door, I catch glimpses of my brothers' faces—concern, confusion, and in some cases, a hint of knowing.

They've seen how I look at Meghan, how I've changed since she came back into my life.

I push those thoughts aside, focusing only on getting to her.

My boots echo on the wooden floor as I follow Starla, each step feeling like an eternity.

All I can think about is Meghan—her light sage green eyes, the way she tries to hide her vulnerability behind sarcasm and toughness.

And now she's hurt, and I wasn't there to protect her.

The guilt and fear threaten to overwhelm me, but I force them down.

---