Page 107 of Mortify

"Be careful," I call after him. "He's dangerous."

He pauses at the door, looks back with a smile that's all predator. "He's not nearly as dangerous as I am."

Then he's gone, leaving Mom and me in tense silence.

"He'll be fine," she says, settling into the chair beside my bed. "They all will."

"Dylan's desperate," I say. "Desperate people do stupid things."

"Good thing our boys specialize in handling stupid."

I know I shouldn’t smile at that, but I am.

We wait in silence, straining to hear what's happening outside.

Occasional shouts, engines revving, but nothing clear.

"This is killing me," I admit after twenty minutes. "Not knowing."

"Welcome to being an ol’ lady," Mom says. "Half our lives are spent waiting while they handle the dangerous stuff."

"How do you stand it?"

"By remembering that they'reverygood at what they do." She takes my hand. "And by keeping each other company while we wait."

"What do you think Dylan wants?"

"Probably trying to save his hide. Offer information in exchange for protection." She shrugs. "Won't work. Not after everything he's done."

"He knows things," I say quietly. "About the club, about operations. He could cause real damage if he goes to the cops."

"You think Runes hasn't thought of that?" Mom's smile is sharp. "Your father and the others aren't amateurs, honey. They've been doing this longer than you've been alive."

CHAPTER TEN

Regnor

Dylan Mitchell looks like shit.

That's my first thought as I approach the gate where he's standing, hands visible but twitchy, like a junkie needing a fix.

His usual pretty-boy appearance is gone—hair greasy, clothes wrinkled, three days of stubble making him look homeless rather than rugged.

Dark circles under his eyes tell me he hasn't been sleeping.

Good. Fear should make a man ugly.

"Regnor," he says when he spots me, trying for confidence but landing on desperation. "Figured you'd show up."

"The fuck you want, Mitchell?"

Runes and Fenrir walk beside me, with Kraken, Emil, and Dag spreading out in a loose semicircle.

More brothers hang back—Rio leaning against the fence, Oskar perched on his bike, Magnus and Tor standing ready.

No one's armed—visibly—but the threat radiates from every brother present.

"To talk," Dylan says, eyes darting between us like a cornered animal. "To make a deal."

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