Page 75 of Manic

The words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut.

I reel back, my mind struggling to process what she's just said. "Your father?"

The question comes out harsher than I intended, disbelief and anger warring inside me.

Meghan nods, but the movement causes her to wince again.

Gwen, who's been silently working beside us, speaks up. "Take it easy, honey. Try not to move too much."

I watch as Gwen gently removes the gauze, revealing the full extent of Meghan's injuries.

The sight of her battered face, the split lip, makes my blood boil.

How could anyone do this to their own daughter?

As Gwen carefully cleans the wounds, Meghan's eyes never leave mine. "My father," she continues, her voice stronger now, tinged with a mix of fear and determination, "is a very bad man, Tor."

She pauses, and I can see her steeling herself for what comes next. "He's the Patriot."

The revelation hits me like a freight train.

The Patriot—the very man we were just discussing inkirkja, the one causing havoc in our territory.

He's Meghan's father?

My mind races, connecting dots I never knew existed.

The way Meghan always seemed guarded, her reluctance to talk about her past—it all makes a sick kind of sense now.

Meghan's eyes widen, a mixture of fear and gratitude swirling in those sage green depths.

My father approaches, his heavy footsteps echoing in the suddenly quiet room.

His eyes are narrowed, jaw set tight. "Did I just hear you correctly?" he asks, voice low and dangerous.

Meghan nods, wincing slightly at the movement. "Yes," she confirms, her voice barely above a whisper.

She looks up at him, her light sage green eyes filled with a mix of fear and determination. "I take it you've heard of him?"

I watch as his expression darkens further.

He runs a hand over his face, letting out a long, frustrated breath. "Heard of him? Sweetheart, the Patriot is fucking up shit for us right now. He's selling drugs in our territory, filled with fentanyl and causing a bunch of overdoses. He’s been a pain in our asses for years."

Meghan's brow furrows, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind.

She bites her lower lip, then winces at the pain it causes. "Can I ask... have a majority of these deaths been people of color? Black, Latino?"

Runes exchanges a look with me, surprise evident on his face. "In fact, they have," he confirms slowly. "How did you know?"

A bitter laugh escapes Meghan's lips, quickly followed by a grimace of pain. "That wasn't an oversight," she says, her voice laced with disgust. "My father planned it that way. It's how he kills the people he hates without getting all the heat for it."

The revelation hits me like a punch to the gut.

I've known some evil bastards in my time, but this... this is a whole new level of fucked up.

I feel my fists clenching at my sides, the urge to find this man and make him pay growing stronger by the second.

Gwen's voice cuts through the tension, all business. "Meghan, I think you might need stitches above your lip. Let me take a closer look."

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