Page 95 of Manic

I wrinkle my nose, tightening my grip on the handlebars of my Harley.

The streets are littered with trash, broken bottles glinting in the afternoon sun like shattered dreams.

Houses with peeling paint and sagging roofs line the cracked sidewalks.

This place has seen better days, but then again, maybe it hasn't.

Fenrir leads our small pack, his broad shoulders tense as we navigate the pothole-ridden streets.

Ivar brings up the rear, his eyes constantly scanning our surroundings.

I can't shake the feeling we're being watched, unseen eyes tracking our every move from behind ratty curtains and boarded-up windows.

We slow to a stop outside a particularly rundown house.

The front yard is overgrown, weeds choking out what might have once been a lawn.

An old shopping cart lies on its side near the porch, rusted and forgotten.

I cut the engine and swing my leg over the bike. "This the place?"

Fenrir nods, his jaw set in a hard line. "Yeah. Dwight's home sweet home."

I snort.

Sweet isn't exactly the word I'd use.

The place looks like it's one strong breeze away from collapsing.

I catch sight of a group of young guys eyeing us from the corner.

Their gazes are hard, challenging, but there's a flicker of recognition in their eyes.

Fenrir speaks up. His voice carries across the cracked sidewalk, clear and authoritative. "Remember who the fuck you work for, boys."

I watch as a few of them start muttering amongst themselves, their postures shifting uneasily.

My hand instinctively moves closer to my waistband, ready for any sign of trouble.

But before things can escalate, the front door of the house flies open with a bang.

Dwight, one of our distributors, steps out onto the porch.

His weathered face is set in a scowl as he barks, "What the fuck you waitin' for? Come on."

As we start moving toward the house, I can feel the weight of the neighborhood boys' stares on our backs.

They're fixated on our Harleys, and I know exactly what they're thinking.

A bike like that could set them up for months, maybe even a year.

Fenrir must've caught their looks too because he turns to Dwight with a raised eyebrow.

Dwight gets the message loud and clear.

"Ain't nobody gonna fuck with their shit," he announces, his voice echoing down the street.

I watch as the guys hanging around give Dwight a reluctant nod.

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