Page 93 of Mortify

Blue in white areas.

Green in between.

"Distribution map," Fenrir says grimly. "Red zones get the fentanyl-laced product. Blue gets clean. Green is mixed."

"He's still targeting minorities," I say, bile rising in my throat. "Specifically poisoning?—"

"Cleaning up the country," a voice says from the doorway. "One dead junkie at a time."

We spin, weapons raised.

The Patriot stands there, hands visible but relaxed, like we're having a casual conversation.

He's smaller than I expected—average height, graying hair, could be anybody's grandfather.

Except for the eyes.

Cold. Dead. Fanatic's eyes.

"Took you long enough to find this place," he continues. "Though I expected more of you. My men took down, what, three of yours already?"

"Bullshit," Dag growls. "We haven't lost anyone."

"Yet." The Patriot smiles. "Night's still young."

"Where are you getting your intel?" Runes demands, stepping forward.

The Patriot shrugs. "Wouldn't you like to know? Let's just say your club has more leaks than a rusty boat."

"Dylan," I growl.

"Among others." His smile widens. "Amazing what people will do for the right price. Or the right threats. Your girlfriend was particularly helpful, even if she didn't know it."

Red floods my vision.

Kraken moves faster than I can, rifle butt crashing into the Patriot's face.

He drops, blood streaming from his nose.

"That's for my son," Kraken snarls. "For Bjorn's leg."

The Patriot spits blood, still smiling. "The bomb was meant to kill them all. I'll have to settle for making one a cripple."

This time I'm the one who hits him, boot to ribs, feeling bones crack.

"Secure him," Runes orders. "Clear the rest of the building. I want every document, every hard drive. Then we burn it all."

We drag the Patriot to a loading dock while the others finish clearing.

Cable ties on wrists and ankles, as rough as we can make them.

He doesn't resist, just watches with those dead eyes.

"You think this changes anything?" he asks as we prop him against a wall. "You think killing me stops what's coming?"

"What's coming?" Fenrir demands.

"The cleansing. The real America fighting back against the parasites." He looks at each of us. "Bikers. Immigrants. Addicts. All the filth that's poisoned our country."

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