Page 87 of Manic

I can see the hurt in Meghan's eyes, the regret in Starla's, but right now, I can't bring myself to care.

The betrayal cuts too deep, reopening wounds I thought had long since healed.

This is bullshit.

I should have known about my daughter before Starla.

It doesn’t matter if she’s Meghan’s best friend or not.

Just as the tension in the kitchen reaches its breaking point, Fenrir comes straight up to us, his imposing frame filling the doorway.

His eyes dart between Ivar and me, sensing the crackling atmosphere.

"You two busy?" he asks, his gruff voice cutting through the silence.

I shake my head, grateful for the interruption. "Not anymore," I mutter, my fingers still wrapped tightly around the whiskey glass.

Fenrir nods, his expression grave. "Good. I need you both. Come with me."

"Thank the Gods," I breathe, setting the glass down with more force than necessary.

As I turn to follow Fenrir, Meghan's voice stops me.

"Tor, wait," she calls, her tone laced with desperation.

I look back at her, my chest tightening at the sight of her worried face.

Despite everything, the love I feel for her burns bright and fierce.

But right now, it's tangled up with anger and hurt.

"I love you," I say, my voice rough with emotion, "but I need some fuckin' space right now."

Without waiting for a response, I stride out of the kitchen, following Fenrir and Ivar to the garage.

The cool air hits my face as we step outside, a welcome relief from the stifling room we've left behind.

As soon as the heavy door slams shut behind us, Fenrir turns, his eyes narrowing. "Do I want to know what that was about?"

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. "No, you really don't. What's going on?"

Fenrir studies me for a moment, then nods, apparently deciding to let it go. "One of our distributors on the streets got into it with someone who deals the Patriot's shit," he explains, his voice low and urgent. "He's got the guy held up in his basement."

My pulse quickens at the mention of the Patriot.

After everything that's happened with Meghan, the thought of getting our hands on one of their dealers is almost too good to be true.

For a moment, I push aside the turmoil of the last few minutes, focusing on the task at hand.

"Shit," I breathe, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through me. "This could be our chance to get some real intel on that fucker."

Ivar nods, his earlier shock giving way to determination. "How long has he been holding him?"

"Not long," Fenrir replies. "Maybe an hour. We need to move fast before the Patriot realizes one of his guys is missing."

I crack my knuckles, a grim smile spreading across my face. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go pay this asshole a visit."

As we head toward our bikes, I can't help but glance back at the clubhouse.

---