Page 45 of Manic

Emil?

Fenrir's oldest son?

It's an odd pairing, and I can't help but wonder about the reasoning behind it.

"Why Emil?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. "Why not one of the prospects?"

He fixes me with a stern look, his blue eyes as unyielding as steel. "Because I said so," he growls, his voice low and authoritative.

I feel a familiar tension creep into my shoulders, a reflexive response to that tone.

But I push it down, reminding myself that I'm not a kid anymore.

I'm a man now, with a daughter of my own.

The thought of Tindra brings a small smile to my face, even as I nod at my father.

"Fair enough," I say with a light chuckle, hoping to ease the sudden tension in the air.

Inside, though, my mind is racing.

What's so important about this job that it requires Emil specifically?

And why the secrecy?

He leans in close, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "I need you deep in the bad side of the city tonight. No cuts, nothing identifying. Take one of the beater cars and rough yourselves up a bit. We need more of those drugs with the Eagle on 'em."

My stomach tightens.

This isn't our usual territory, and shit could go sideways if we’re made.

We're stepping into dangerous waters.

"Got it," I nod, already mentally preparing for the role I'll need to play. "I'll make sure we look the part."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. "Here's three hundred. Get it done tonight." His eyes bore into mine, conveying the gravity of the situation.

I pocket the money, my mind already racing through the logistics. "Consider it handled," I assure him, turning to leave.

The main room of the club is filled with laughter and clinking bottles as I scan for Emil.

I spot him by the bar, Lexi still draped over him like a second skin.

God, I hope he’s not fucking plastered.

Her long, manicured nail traces a path down his chest as she purrs, "Why don't we take this upstairs, handsome?"

I roll my eyes.

We don't have time for this shit.

"Uh-uh," I interject, stepping between them. "Emil's coming with me."

Emil's face falls, a grunt of annoyance escaping him. "Sorry, sweet cheeks," he mutters to Lexi, who pouts dramatically.

As we round the corner, I fill Emil in on the basics. "We're going fishing for Eagles," I explain, keeping my voice low. "No cuts, no colors. We're playing addicts tonight."

Emil nods, his earlier disappointment replaced by focus.

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