Page 11 of Manic

She turns to me, relief evident in her eyes. "Oh, Tor, thank goodness. Maybe you can talk some sense into your sister."

I bite back a groan.

Whatever's going on with Rev, I have a feeling I'm woefully unprepared to handle it.

But as I look at Fern's worried face, I know I have to try.

For her, and for the family we've built together.

"Rev?" I call out, rapping my knuckles gently on the door. "It's Tor. Want to tell me what's going on?"

A muffled sob comes from behind the door, followed by Rev's trembling voice. "No, Mom! I'm so freaking embarrassed."

I'm about to respond when my other little sister, Dalla, comes rushing up, a hoodie clutched in her hands. "Got it, Mom," she says breathlessly.

I raise an eyebrow, looking between Fern and Dalla. "What the hell's goin' on?"

Dalla giggles, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Rev just got her period and had a gusher. Now she needs a hoodie to cover up so we can go back to the house and get her some clean clothes."

I shake my head, feeling a mixture of discomfort and amusement. "God, Dal. Descriptive enough?"

Internally, I can't help but smirk.

My little sisters love to get a rise out of me, and Dalla's particularly skilled at it.

I can practically see the glee in her eyes as she watches for my reaction.

Turning to Fern, I clear my throat. "So, uh, my assistance isn't needed?"

She shakes her head, laughing softly. "I guess not, but thank you, Tor. We've got this handled."

I nod, relieved to be excused from this particular woman problem.

As I walk away, I can hear Fern coaxing Rev out of the bathroom, her voice soft and reassuring.

My mind drifts back to the impending visit from Liam and Aleksandr, and I decide to check on the prospects.

They're lounging at the bar, drinks in hand, laughing like they don't have a care in the world.

These fuckers were supposed to be cleaning up the clubhouse.

I sidle up to the end of the bar, joining in their laughter for a moment before dropping my bombshell. "Oh, god, that's so funny," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you know what's even funnier? All those smudge marks on the bikes in the garage, and the shitty cleaning job the lot of you have done."

Their laughter dies instantly, replaced by looks of panic and guilt.

Hakon, one of the prospects, speaks up. “But we just cleaned them up twice today.”

"Did I stutter? Get to fuckin' work," I order, my voice hard as steel.

They scramble off their stools, practically falling over each other in their haste to get to the garage.

As they disappear, Geirolf appears at my side, cackling. "We're having too much fun with this lot of prospects," he says, clapping me on the shoulder.

I nod, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. "If they're tough enough, they'll end up staying instead of bowing out like the last pussies we had in here."

As I watch them go, I can't help but think of my own prospect days.

It feels like a lifetime ago, before the shooting, before Meghan... I push the thought away, focusing on the present.

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