Manic (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #1)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Meghan

Two Weeks Ago…

The sweet scent of jasmine drifts on the warm Atlanta breeze as I stride down Peachtree Street, my heels clicking a steady rhythm on the sun-baked sidewalk.

It's late afternoon, and the city thrums with energy around me—car horns blaring, people chattering as they hurry past.

I absently fiddle with the small silver cross hanging at my throat, a nervous habit I can't seem to shake even after all these years.

"Hey sugar, looking good!" a guy calls out as he passes.

I roll my eyes but can't help the small smirk that tugs at my lips. After fifteen years of running Beans & Babes, I'm used to the attention.

I glance down at my outfit—skin-tight jeans and a low-cut tank that shows off my curves.

Professional, but with just enough sex appeal to fit the Beans & Babes brand.

It's a delicate balance, one I've perfected over the years since taking over the once-sleepy coffee shop.

As I near Bloom's Florist, my mind drifts to the mountain of tasks waiting for me back at the shop.

There's the new espresso machine to set up, next week's schedule to finalize, not to mention...

"Shit," I mutter, fishing my phone out of my purse.

I'd meant to text Jessa about covering Alicia's shift tomorrow.

My fingers fly across the screen as I type out a quick message.

The bell above the florist's door chimes as I step inside, a wave of cool air-conditioned air washing over me.

The shop is a riot of color and fragrance—vibrant bouquets and lush greenery everywhere I look.

"Afternoon, Ms. Whittaker!" calls a cheery voice. I look up to see Mabel, the elderly shop owner, smiling at me from behind the counter.

Her snow-white hair is piled atop her head in its usual messy bun, and reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

"Hey Mabel," I reply, returning her warm smile. "How are you doing today?"

"Oh, can't complain, can't complain," she says with a wave of her hand. "Though these old bones aren't what they used to be. Now, what can I get for you today, dear? The usual?"

I nod, moving to lean against the counter. "You got it. Six mixed bouquets, heavy on the pinks and purples if you've got 'em."

As Mabel bustles about gathering flowers, I let my gaze wander around the shop.

It's soothing here, a little oasis of calm in the bustling city.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I'd chosen a different path.

Maybe I'd own a quiet little flower shop like this instead of...

I shake my head, banishing the thought.

No use dwelling on what-ifs.

I made my choices, for better or worse.

"Here we are, dear," Mabel's voice breaks into my inner thoughts.

She's holding out a large box filled with gorgeous bouquets—peonies, lilies, and roses in shades of blush and lavender.

"They're perfect," I say, reaching for my wallet. "Thanks, Mabel. You're a lifesaver."

She waves away my praise with a chuckle. "Oh, stop. It's my pleasure. Though I have to say, I'm curious why a coffee shop needs so many flowers every day."

I flash her a conspiratorial wink as I hand over my credit card. "Trade secret, I'm afraid. Let's just say they help set the mood."

As Mabel rings up my purchase, my phone buzzes with a text.

It's from Jessa:

No prob, I got u covered tomorrow. BTW, did u see the pics from ladies night? We killed it!

I can't help but grin, remembering the raucous crowd from last night's event.

Adding "sexy barista nights" to our weekly lineup was definitely one of my better ideas.

The tips alone...

"Earth to Meghan," Mabel's amused voice breaks into my thoughts.

I look up to see her holding out my card and receipt.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly, tucking everything back into my purse. "Got lost in thought for a second there."

Mabel gives me a knowing look as she hands over the box of flowers. "You work too hard, dear. When's the last time you took a vacation?"

I snort, hefting the box into my arms. "Vacation? What's that?"

She tsks disapprovingly. "All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," I say with a laugh, heading for the door. "I'll keep that in mind. See you tomorrow, Mabel!"

As I step back out onto the sidewalk, I'm hit by a wave of late afternoon heat.

The flowers' fragrance intensifies in the warmth, filling my nose with their sweet perfume.

I take a deep breath, savoring the scent.

My mind drifts as I make my way back toward Beans & Babes, my arms starting to ache from the weight of the flower box.

I think about Mabel's words—when was the last time I took a real break?

Between managing the shop and… being a mom, it feels like I'm always on the go.

She's at a sleepover tonight, thank god.

It might sound bad, but sometimes a single parent needs a break.

I love Tindra.

I love her more than anything else in this whole wide world, but the girl is a chatterbox.

Sometimes I have to remind her to take a breath just so I can get a second of silence.

My heels click against the pavement as I continue back to the coffee shop.

The late afternoon sun warms my face, and I can't help but smile.

It's been a good day so far—busy, but good.

Just like every day for the past fifteen years.

Suddenly, a rough hand grabs me from behind.

I gasp, my body tensing as I'm yanked backward.

The box tumbles from my grasp, hitting the concrete with a sickening crack.

Delicate petals and shattered stems scatter across the sidewalk.

"What the hell?" I snarl, whirling around to face my attacker.

My heart stops cold in my chest.

Standing before me, a cruel smirk twisting his lips, is a face I never thought I'd see again.

My father—the Patriot.

He laughs, the sound grating against my ears like nails on a chalkboard. "Well, well. If it isn't my little girl. I knew I'd find you one of these days."

I clench my fists at my sides, willing my voice not to shake. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet your old man?" He takes a step closer, and I fight the urge to back away. "Now that I know where you are, I'll be sure to stop by more often. We have so much catching up to do."

My blood runs cold at his words, but I refuse to let him see how much he affects me.

I've spent too many years running, too many years looking over my shoulder.

Not anymore.

I meet his gaze, injecting as much venom into my voice as I can muster. "Over my dead body."

Before I can react, I feel the sting of his saliva hitting my cheek. “You ungrateful bitch.”

I wipe it away with the back of my hand, disgust and fury warring within me.

How dare he.

After everything he's done, after all these years, he thinks he can just waltz back into my life?

I grit. “I can see you haven’t changed one bit.”

"Is that how it's going to be?" he asks, his tone deceptively light.

But I know better.

I can see the danger lurking in his eyes, the promise of violence simmering just beneath the surface.

I stand my ground, even as every instinct screams at me to run. "That's exactly how it's going to be. I want nothing to do with you. Leave me alone."

He takes another step forward, invading my personal space.

I can smell the stale cigarette smoke on his breath, see the flecks of gray in his beard. "You ungrateful little shit. After everything I've done for you?—"

"Everything you've done for me?" I cut him off, my voice rising. "You mean using me? Hurting me? Treating me like I was nothing more than a piece of property?"

A few passersby slow down, casting curious glances our way.

I know I should lower my voice, should try to de-escalate the situation.

But years of pent-up anger and pain are bubbling to the surface, and I can't seem to stop.

I left Tallahassee to get away from him.

I left so much behind.

"You're making a scene, kiddo," he says, his eyes darting around. "Why don't we go somewhere more private and talk this out?"

A chill runs down my spine at the thought of being alone with him. "Not a chance in hell. I'm done talking to you. I'm done with you, period. Now get out of my way."

I try to push past him, but he grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. "You listen to me, you little?—"

"Let. Go. Of. Me." I enunciate each word clearly, staring him down.

I won't let him see how terrified I am, how my heart is pounding so hard I think it might burst out of my chest.

For a long moment, we stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills.

Then, slowly, he releases his grip on my arm.

But it’s only for a split second.

The sting of his slap burns across my cheek, the sound echoing in my ears as I stumble backward.

My hand instinctively rises to my face, feeling the heat radiating from where he struck me.

Passersby gasp and murmur, their shocked faces a blur in my peripheral vision.

I straighten my spine, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

"Go to hell," I spit out, tasting blood where my teeth cut into my cheek.

My mind races, memories flooding back of all the reasons I fled Tallahassee, all the nightmares that kept me from returning to Tor.

Fifteen years of running, of building a life far from my father’s reach, all undone in a single moment.

"Now, now." He chuckles, stepping closer. "Is that any way to talk to your father?"

I flinch involuntarily, hating myself for the weakness. "You're not my father," I hiss. "You're nothing to me."

But even as I say the words, I realize the lie in them.

He's still everything—every fear, every sleepless night, every reason I kept my daughter from knowing her real family.

And now he's here, in Atlanta, shattering the illusion of safety I've carefully constructed.

I try to mask the panic rising in my chest. "Leave me alone," I spit out, turning on my heel. "And stay the hell away from me."

I walk away quickly, my heart pounding.

The image of my daughter's face flashes through my mind, and I feel sick at the thought of my father anywhere near her.

I need to get home, need to get far away from him.

But as I hurry down the sidewalk, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps follows me.

An awful feeling settles in the pit of my stomach, cold and heavy.

I turn back, hoping I'm wrong, praying it's just my imagination.

It's not.

There he is, following me closely.

His eyes locked on me like a predator stalking its prey.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, quickening my pace.

My mind races, searching for options. Where can I go? Who can help me?

The coffee shop.

It's the only place I can think of that might be safe.

I break into a run, my feet pounding against the pavement.

I can hear him behind me, getting closer.

"You can't run from me, Meghan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of amusement and threat that sends chills down my spine.

I reach Beans & Babes, relief flooding through me as I grab the door handle.

But as I push, my heart sinks.

The door doesn't budge.

"No, no, no," I whisper frantically, yanking at the handle.

It's locked.

I locked up before I went to the flower shop, and the keys... the keys were in the box of flowers I dropped.

"Fuck!" I curse, slamming my palm against the door.

I turn around, my back pressed against the locked entrance, and face my approaching nightmare.

My father slows his pace, a triumphant smirk on his face as he realizes I'm cornered. "Nowhere to run now, kiddo," he says, closing the distance between us.

I scan the street desperately, looking for anyone who might help, but it's deserted.

My mind races, searching for a way out of this situation.

"Stay back," I warn, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm not that scared little girl anymore. You can't hurt me."

But even as I say the words, I know they're not entirely true.

The fear is there, clawing at my insides, threatening to paralyze me.

His laugh is cold and mirthless. "Oh, Meghan. You never learn, do you?"

His fist connects with my jaw before I can react.

Pain explodes across my face, and I stumble, tasting blood.

I try to fight back, throwing a wild punch, but he easily deflects it.

"Still got some fire in you, huh?" he sneers, grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back.

I cry out, tears of pain and fury stinging my eyes. "Let go of me, you bastard!"

He slams me against the door, my cheek scraping against the rough wood. "Watch your mouth, girl. I'm still your father."

"You don’t remember? You're nothing to me," I spit out, struggling against his grip.

His response is another blow, this time to my ribs.

I double over, gasping for air.

As I'm bent over, trying to catch my breath, a voice cuts through the haze of pain and fear.

"Yo! What the fuck she do to you?"

My father’s grip on me loosens slightly as he turns to address the newcomer. "Mind your own fucking business," he snarls.

I take advantage of his distraction, attempting to wrench free, but he anticipates my move.

His elbow connects with my temple, and my vision blurs.

Suddenly, there's a scuffle, and the pressure on my arm disappears.

I slump to the ground, disoriented, my head pounding.

When my vision clears, I see a man standing between me and my father, a gun pointed directly at his head. "Get the fuck outta here before I blow your mother fuckin' brains out," the stranger growls.

My father’s eyes narrow, darting between me and the gun.

For a moment, I think he might try to fight, but then he takes a step back.

"This isn't over," he says, his gaze boring into me.

I watch him walk away, my heart hammering in my chest.

Only when he's out of sight do I let out a shaky breath.

The stranger holsters his gun and kneels beside me. "You all right, darlin'?"

I nod, wincing at the movement. "I'll be fine," I manage. "I know how to take a punch."

But even as I say the words, I can feel myself trembling.

The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me rattled and terrified.

I think of my daughter, safely at her sleepover, blissfully unaware of how close danger had come.

"Thank you," I whisper to the man, my voice cracking. "I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't shown up."

The man extends his hand, a mix of concern and wariness in his dark eyes. "I'm Darius," he says, his voice gentler now.

I hesitate for a moment before taking his hand.

"Meghan," I reply, wincing as I try to stand.

Darius helps me up, his grip firm but careful.

As he steadies me, my gaze falls on the emblem on his shirt: Purgatory.

A chill runs down my spine.

I've heard whispers about them before—not quite a biker club, not quite a street crew, but something in between.

I remember they’re affiliated with the Skulls Renegade MC.

"You got a safe place to stay?" Darius asks, his eyes scanning the street as if expecting my father to reappear.

I nod, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "Yeah, I'll head home now. I'll be fine."

"Watch your back," he warns, his tone serious. "Guys like that don't usually give up easy."

Don't I know it , I think bitterly.

Fifteen years of running, and here I am, right back where I started.

Darius studies my face, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "I might be crazy, but you look a lot like a woman who used to ride around with the Raiders of Valhalla."

My breath catches in my throat.

How does he know?

"I did," I admit softly, memories of my old life flooding back.

"Thought so." Darius nods. "Look, if trouble like this is following you around, maybe you should consider going back to your roots. There's safety in numbers, you know?"

I want to laugh.

Safety?

In the MC world?

But then again, hadn't I just been reminded of how dangerous the "normal" world could be?

At least with the club, I knew what I was dealing with.

"I'll... think about it," I say, my mind already racing with possibilities and fears.

I beeline it back to where I dropped the box and get my keys.

I can't stay in Atlanta.

Not now.

Not with him knowing where I am.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next.

As I make my way to my car, parked just around the corner of the coffee shop, I pull out my phone.

My thumb hovers over Starla's contact for a moment before I hit call.

The familiar ringtone feels like a lifeline to the past I've tried so hard to forget.

"Hey, girl!" Starla's voice chirps through the speaker, "What's shakin'?"

I lean against my car, scanning the street nervously. "Star, I... I'm coming back home."

There's a pause, heavy with unspoken questions. "Home? As in...?"

"Tallahassee," I confirm, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't stay here anymore. It's not safe."

The concern in her voice is evident. "Shit, Meg. What happened?"

I close my eyes, fighting back tears. "It's a long story. I'll explain everything when I get there. But Star... there's something else."

"What is it?"

I take a deep breath, my hand unconsciously drifting to my stomach, remembering the secret I've carried for so long. "I'm going to tell Tor. About... about our daughter."

The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. Finally, Starla speaks, her voice soft. "Are you sure? After all this time?"

"I have to," I say, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. "He deserves to know. I just... I don't know how I'm going to do it."