Page 57 of Manic

A shiver runs through Meghan's body, and I feel a sense of masculine pride at her reaction.

She turns her head, her sage green eyes meeting mine.

There's a glint of mischief in them that makes my heart race.

"Maybe," she teases, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. "Depends on how good you are."

I growl playfully, tightening my grip on her waist. "Oh, I can be very good, darlin'. You know that."

Meghan's laugh is cut short as Magnus approaches, his imposing figure casting a shadow over us. "Sorry to interrupt," he rumbles, his voice as deep and solid as the wood he works with. "Tor, we've got a situation that needs your attention."

I suppress a sigh, already feeling the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders.

This is the downside of being in the club—you can never just clock out.

"Can it wait?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

Magnus shakes his head, his expression grim. "Afraid not, brother. It's about the shipment coming in tonight."

Fuck.

I'd almost forgotten about that.

I look at Meghan apologetically, but she's already sliding off my lap.

"Go," she says, understanding in her eyes. "I'll make sure Tindra gets to your parents' safely."

I stand up, cupping Meghan's face in my hands. "I'll make it up to you later," I promise, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

She smiles against my mouth. "You better."

As I follow Magnus toward the room where we holdkirkja, I can't help but throw one last glance over my shoulder.

Meghan's watching me go, a mixture of love and concern on her face.

It hits me how lucky I am to have her by my side through all of this.

Kirkjais already filled with the officers and full patches when Magnus and I enter.

The air is thick with tension, and I can see the worry etched on every face.

"What's the situation?" I ask, taking my place at the table.

Logi, our Sergeant at Arms, speaks up first. "Got word from our contact at the docks. There's been a change in security personnel tonight. New guys, not on our payroll."

"Shit," I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

This complicates things.

The club has spent months setting up this shipment, greasing all the right palms to ensure smooth sailing.

A last-minute change could blow the whole operation.

"That's not all," Ivar, our road captain, chimes in. "There's been chatter about increased police presence in the area. Could be routine, but..."

"But it could also mean someone's tipped them off," I finish for him.

Now that is too dangerous to ignore.

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