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

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tor

The stench of piss and stale beer hits me as we roll into Frenchtown.

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.

It's not much, but it's enough to get them off our backs.

I'm the last one in, and I make sure to lock the door behind us.

The interior of the house isn't much better than the outside—peeling wallpaper, stained carpets, and a musty smell that speaks of years of dampness and neglect.

Fenrir wastes no time getting down to business. "So, what the fuck happened out there?" he asks, his voice low and intense.

I lean against the wall, my arms crossed over my chest, waiting to hear what Dwight has to say.

Whatever it is, I have a feeling our day is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Dwight's laughter cuts through the tense atmosphere, a harsh bark that sets my teeth on edge.

I watch him closely, noting the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Fucker came in on my turf trying to sell that trash," Dwight says, puffing out his chest. "So I taught him a thing or two. I remember you said to let you know if I saw it around, and this seemed a bit better. Figured you'd want a piece of this little problem."

My jaw clenches.

This isn't just about territory; it's about keeping people alive.

Tension radiates off Fenrir, his usual calm demeanor giving way to a simmering rage.

"I want to know what this fucker knows," Fenrir growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You get a name?"

Dwight nods, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, calls himself Rio."

The name hits me like a punch to the gut.

I speak up before I can stop myself, "That's the guy me and Emil bought shit from a few weeks back."

Fenrir's eyes snap to mine. "Good to know," he says, nodding. "So he's established."

I think back to that night with Emil, how we'd scoped out Rio's operation.

At the time, it had seemed like just another dealer, but now... now it's clear there's more going on here than we realized.

Dwight chuckles, a sound that sends a chill down my spine. "Oh yeah, that salty fucker is established all right."

As I process this information, I can't help but think about Meghan.

I shouldn’t have walked out the way I did.

It was fucked up and I’m a better man than that, even when my emotions get to me.

"What else can you tell us about this Rio?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

Dwight jerks his head toward a door at the far end of the room. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

My heart rate kicks up a notch as we make our way down a narrow staircase.

The musty smell of damp earth and mold assaults my nostrils, growing stronger with each step.

The basement is dimly lit, shadows dancing on concrete walls as we descend.

And there he is—Rio.

The sight of him sends a jolt through me.

He's tied to a chair, hands bound behind his back, but even in this state, he's trying to maintain his tough guy facade.

His eyes dart between us, a mixture of defiance and fear evident in their depths.

Rio snarls, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. "You'd best let me out of here."

Dwight steps forward, a cruel smile twisting his features. "Rio, you're not gettin' outta here my boy, at least not alive."

I watch as a flash of raw terror crosses Rio's face before he manages to school his expression.

It's gone in an instant, but we all saw it.

The tough act is crumbling.

Rio protests, his voice strained. "I'm just doin' my damn job!"

Fenrir moves closer, his presence filling the cramped space.

When he speaks, his voice is low and menacing. "I know you are, which is why I'm giving you one chance, and if you fuck it up I will hunt you down like a rabid dog and make sure I'm slow as hell killing you. Then, I'll hunt down every man in your family and kill them so your name dies with you. Catch my drift?"

Jesus Christ.

I've seen Fenrir in action before, but the cold brutality in his voice makes even me want to take a step back.

I can only imagine what it's doing to Rio.

Rio swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "Look, I'm not tryin' to die for this fucker. I have a little one, and we have a baby on the way. I gotta be there for my daughter."

The mention of his family hits me harder than I expected.

A smirk plays at the corners of Fenrir's mouth. "Good," he says, his voice deceptively calm. "Then I want you to tell me everything you know."

I watch Rio closely, wondering what he'll do.

Will he crack under the pressure, or will loyalty to his boss win out?

As the tension in the room builds, I can't help but think that whatever happens next is going to change everything.

Rio's eyes dart between us, like a cornered animal searching for an escape.

But there's no way out of this basement, and he knows it.

I can see the moment he makes his decision, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"All right," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "The Patriot's got this rundown house in Betton Hills. It's where he meets all his dealers."

I lean in, my interest piqued. "Go on," I urge, my voice low and steady.

Rio takes a deep breath. "He gives us the product there, tells us how much to charge, how much we gotta move each day. It's... intense."

Ivar, who's been quiet until now, steps forward.

His brow is furrowed in disbelief. "Hold up," he interjects. "He's giving you a quota every day?"

Rio nods, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Yeah, and it ain't no joke. That's why I moved my girl and our daughter outta here. She's pregnant with another little girl, and I wasn't about to let him hurt any of 'em."

I feel a chill run down my spine at his words.

We all know the Patriot is a sick son of a bitch, but Fenrir digs for more information, his voice hard as steel. "Why do you think he'd hurt your family?"

Rio's eyes meet mine for a split second, and I see raw fear there.

He swallows hard before answering. "The Patriot... he ain't a kind person. You all know what kind of man he is. A racist who hides his targeted deaths behind overdoses."

The words hang in the air, heavy and ominous.

I clench my fists, anger bubbling up inside me.

He’s a sick son of a bitch who deserves to die.

I find myself respecting Rio, despite everything.

He knows Fenrir isn't fucking around, and he's chosen to talk.

It takes guts to flip on someone like the Patriot.

I've seen tougher men break under less pressure.

As I process this new information, my mind races.

How many innocent lives has the Patriot taken?

How many families has he torn apart?

And how the hell are we going to stop him?

I lean forward, curiosity and suspicion mingling in my gut. "A name like Rio, he has to know you're not white, right?"

Rio's laugh is sharp and bitter, echoing in the dank basement. "Yeah, but I'm white enough to pass for white."

His eyes, dark and haunted, meet mine. "He asked about my name and I lied, told him I got it because I'd go to Rio for vacation every summer. Fucker believed it, thank God."

I nod, impressed despite myself.

Quick thinking under pressure—that's a valuable trait in our world.

But it's also yet another reminder of the danger Rio's been living with.

The constant fear of being found out, of one wrong move costing him everything.

Rio shifts his gaze to Fenrir, his bound hands flexing behind his back. "So, what you want me to do?"

Fenrir's voice is cool, calculating. "I want you to play along. Make it seem like things are fine." He pauses, his eyes narrowing. "And I want intel. The address where the Patriot meets these dealers, and?—"

"Hold up," Rio cuts him off, and I tense, ready for trouble. "What's in it for me?"

Fenrir's lip curls. "You don't get popped."

Rio barks out a laugh, but there's no humor in it. "After I do this shit, people are gonna find out. I won't be safe." His eyes dart between us, desperation edging into his voice. "I won't have a crew, and I'll be needing one."

I watch Fenrir carefully, seeing the wheels turning behind his eyes.

This could be an opportunity—or a massive risk.

Rio's proven he can think on his feet, but can we trust him?

Fenrir leans in, his voice low and dangerous. "What are you saying?"

Rio takes a deep breath, and I can see him steeling himself. "I want to be one of you."

The words hang in the air.

I fight to keep my face neutral, but my mind is racing.

Another prospect for the club?

It could work out well, give us an inside man.

But it's a hell of a risk.

I catch Fenrir's eye, seeing my own uncertainty mirrored there.

Whatever we decide, it's going to change everything.

The game just got a whole lot more complicated.

Fenrir's eyes narrow as he considers Rio's ballsy request.

The tension in the room is palpable, and I can practically hear the gears turning in Fenrir's head.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks.

"I'll need to talk to the Prez about that," Fenrir says, his voice carefully neutral.

I can't help but shake my head slightly.

The balls on this fucker.

Here he is, tied up in a basement after getting caught dealing on our turf, and he's asking to join the club?

Part of me wants to laugh, but another part... well, I can't help but admire his nerve.

"You understand what you're asking, right?" I find myself saying, leaning forward to catch Rio's eye. "This isn't just some gang you can join for protection. We're a brotherhood. When you’re in, you’re in… and if you’re out, it means you’re six feet under."

Rio nods, his face set in determination. "I get it. And I'm ready for whatever that means."

I exchange a glance with Fenrir, seeing the same mix of skepticism and intrigue I'm feeling reflected in his eyes.

Having a prospect with insider knowledge of the Patriot's operation could be invaluable.

But bringing in an outsider, especially under these circumstances, is risky as hell.

"If—and that's a big if—this happens," Fenrir says slowly, "you'd be starting at the very bottom. Prospect status. No guarantees."

"I understand," Rio says quickly. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep my family safe."

I can't help but picture how this might play out.

Rio as a prospect, learning our ways, proving himself.

It could work out in our favor, give us an edge we desperately need against the Patriot.

But if he's playing us...

"Tor," Fenrir's voice cuts through my thoughts. "What's your take on this?"

I take a deep breath, weighing my words carefully.

"It's a risk," I say finally. "But one that could pay off big time if he's legit."

I turn to Rio, fixing him with a hard stare. "You betray us, and what the Patriot would do to you will seem like a picnic compared to what we'll do. You get me?"

Rio swallows hard but meets my gaze steadily. "I understand. I'm all in."

As I look at him, I can't shake the feeling that this moment, right here in this dingy basement, could be the turning point in our war against the Patriot.

It's a hell of a gamble, but then again, that's what our life is all about.

"All right," Fenrir says, his tone final. "We'll take it to the Prez. For now, you keep playing along with the Patriot. We'll be in touch."

As we prepare to leave, I can't help but wonder if we've just made a brilliant move or a catastrophic mistake.

Only time will tell, and I pray we have enough time on our side.