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

Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Tor

The thunder of Harley engines drowns out the pounding of my heart as we roar down the highway.

The vibration of my bike thrums through my body, a warning of the chaos to come.

I glance at my brothers flanking me on either side, their faces grim beneath their helmets.

We're done playing nice.

The Patriot has gotten away with this for far too long.

Fifteen years of his bullshit, encroaching further and further into our territory.

We should have put him down years ago.

But today, that changes.

My old man's gruff voice crackles through the helmet comm. "You ready for this, son?"

I nod, though he can't see it. "Born ready, Pops. Let's show this bastard what happens when you fuck with us."

A chorus of agreement rumbles through the comms.

The anticipation is electric, crackling between us like lightning.

We're going in hot, guns blazing.

No more pussy-footing around.

"Coming up on the turn," Ivar's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Everyone ready?"

A chorus of affirmatives follows.

I take a deep breath, centering myself.

This is it.

There’s no turning back now.

We round the corner, and the dilapidated house comes into view.

A collection of beat-up cars and rusty bicycles litter the overgrown lawn.

This is definitely the place.

"All right, brothers," Runes, my father, barks through the comm. "Let's make this quick and dirty. No prisoners, no mercy. We’re sendin’ a whole damn message to the world that "

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, my mind drifting to Rio.

I told him to stay behind, to keep safe, but now I'm second-guessing that decision.

What if keeping him away just puts a bigger target on his back?

The Patriot might not know he's Colombian yet, but it's only a matter of time.

The house is a dump, paint peeling and shutters hanging crooked.

It's exactly the kind of place you'd expect to find the scum of the earth.

As we dismount our bikes, a surge of adrenaline washes over me.

This is what we've been waiting for, a chance to finally deal with the Patriot once and for all.

With a nod, we move toward the house, weapons at the ready.

We all know how much rides on this, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.

Whatever happens next, there's no going back now.

My heart pounds as we rush the house, kicking in the flimsy door.

The stench of stale beer and cigarettes hits me like a wall.

"Raiders!" someone inside shouts, and all hell breaks loose.

Gunshots explode around us, deafening in the cramped space.

I stay close to my father, watching his back as we push deeper into the chaos.

My finger finds the trigger, squeezing off rounds at any threat that moves.

"Get down!" I yell, shoving my father behind an overturned table as bullets whiz past.

He grunts, "Good eye, son," before popping up to return fire.

My eyes scan the room frantically, searching for our target.

That's when I spot him—an older white male with a shaved head, wearing a shirt emblazoned with the American flag.

The Patriot.

"There!" I shout, but my voice is lost in the mayhem.

As I try to push through the gunfire, a group of the Patriot's men assume my intentions.

They start to hustle him toward a back exit.

"No, you don't," I growl, raising my gun.

One of the guys turns, aiming at me.

I'm faster, dropping him with a clean shot to the chest.

I roar at the Patriot, desperation and rage fueling me. "Stop, you fucker!"

But more of his men are there, forming a human shield.

I can't get a clear shot without risking hitting one of our own in the crossfire.

My mind races.

We can't let him slip away, not now.

Not after everything he's done to Meghan, to our club, to this town.

The thought of him escaping, of having to look Meghan in the eye and tell her we failed... it's unbearable.

"Dad!" I call out, trying to get Runes' attention. "He's getting away!"

But in the chaos of the firefight, there's no way to coordinate.

I can only watch in frustration as the Patriot is shuffled toward freedom, my chance for justice slipping away with every second.

I take aim, squeezing off another shot.

The bullet whizzes past the Patriot's ear, missing by inches.

Suddenly, a searing pain rips through my arm.

I glance down, seeing blood flooding down my arm.

"Fuck," I mutter, gritting my teeth.

It's just a flesh wound, but Meghan's gonna kick my ass for getting shot again.

Her worried face flashes in my mind, those light sage gray eyes filled with concern.

I push the thought away, refocusing on the chaos around me.

The Patriot's men are scattering, fleeing like rats from a sinking ship.

I spot Vanir across the room, his face contorted with rage.

"Tor!" he shouts over the gunfire. "Where is he?"

"They got him out of here!" I yell back, frustration evident in my voice.

Fenrir's voice booms above the commotion. "Let's fuckin' go before they fuck with our shit! Regroup back home."

We waste no time, rushing out to our bikes and the van.

As I swing my leg over my motorcycle, the pain in my arm intensifies.

Blood trickles down to my fingertips, warm and sticky.

The ride back to the clubhouse is a blur of adrenaline and stinging pain.

My mind races, replaying the botched raid.

We were so close.

So damn close to ending this once and for all.

As we pull into the clubhouse parking lot, I can't help but think of Meghan.

How am I going to explain this to her?

She's been through so much already because of her bastard of a father.

We file into the clubhouse, the air thick with tension and the smell of gunpowder.

My arm throbs, a constant reminder of our failure. I clench my jaw, determined not to show weakness in front of the others.

But as the adrenaline fades, I can't help but wonder: What's our next move?

How long can we keep playing this dangerous game before someone gets killed?

I push open the heavy door of the clubhouse.

The pain in my arm is a dull roar now, blood still seeping through my fingers as I try to stem the flow.

Fern's eyes widen as she spots me. "Jesus Christ, Tor! Gwen, Vail, we need one of you stat!"

I wave her off with my good arm. "It's not as bad as it looks, Fern. Just a scratch."

But Fern's already in motion, her voice echoing through the clubhouse.

Vail emerges from the back, med kit in hand, making a beeline for me.

Meghan's voice carries from the kitchen, worry evident in her tone. "What's going on?"

Before I can respond, Tindra's panicked voice cuts through the air. "Dad, did you get shot!?"

Shit.

I didn't want her to see this.

I open my mouth to reassure her, but I'm cut short by the sight of Meghan bursting out of the kitchen.

She's a vision in her Beans and Babes uniform—those high-cut shorts showing off her long legs, the crop top hugging her curves in all the right places.

But it's the fear in her eyes that captures my attention.

"What the hell happened?" she demands, rushing toward me.

Her hands, still damp from whatever she was doing in the kitchen, reach for my injured arm.

I wince, both from the pain and the knowledge that I've worried her again. "It's nothing, babe. Just a little misunderstanding with some unfriendly folks."

Meghan's eyes narrow, not buying my casual tone for a second. "A little misunderstanding that ended with you getting shot? Torsten, I swear to God..."

I can see the mix of anger and concern warring on her face, and guilt twists in my gut.

I promised her I'd be more careful, that I'd always come home to her.

And here I am, bleeding all over the clubhouse floor.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, reaching out to cup her cheek with my good hand. "I didn't mean to scare you. Or Tindra."

Meghan leans into my touch for a moment before pulling back, her expression hardening. "We're not done talking about this," she warns, but there's a tremor in her voice that betrays her fear.

As Vail starts to examine my wound, I can't help but wonder how many more close calls we can handle before our luck runs out.

And what it might cost us in the end.

Vail's gentle hands probe the wound, her touch clinical and efficient. "Fern, hold his hand up for me, will you?" she asks, her eyes never leaving my arm. Fern complies, lifting my hand above my head.

I grit my teeth against the sharp sting as Vail cleans the area.

The antiseptic's bite is almost worse than the bullet's. Almost.

"Range of motion looks good," Vail mutters, more to herself than anyone else. She glances up at me, a wry smile on her face. "You're in luck, Tor. It's a clean through-and-through. Flesh wound only."

"See?" I say, forcing a grin despite the pain. "Not a big deal. Told you it was nothing to worry about."

Meghan's eyes flash dangerously. "I want to know what the fuck happened. No bullshit answer either." she snaps, her voice low and tight with barely contained emotion.

I sigh, knowing I can't dodge this conversation. "We were out on a run," I begin, trying to keep my tone casual. "Things got a little heated, and there was a shootout. I caught a stray, but it's fine. Really."

Meghan's face contorts, a mix of anger and fear that twists my insides. "You were lucky is what you were," she hisses, her hands clenching at her sides.

I can see she's fighting the urge to either hit me or hug me—maybe both.

From the corner of my eye, I spot Tindra.

She's pale, her eyes wide with worry. "Dad," she says, her voice small, "does this happen every time?"

Guilt crashes over me like a wave.

I never wanted her to see this side of club life, to worry about whether her old man was coming home in one piece.

"No, baby," I say softly, trying to infuse my voice with a confidence I don't entirely feel. "This was a one-time thing, I promise. Nothing like this will ever happen again."

The words taste like ash in my mouth even as I say them.

I know better than to make promises I can't keep in this life, but seeing the fear in my daughter's eyes, I can't help myself.

Tindra's shoulders slump in relief, and I hate myself a little for the lie.

"Okay," she breathes, a tentative smile crossing her face.

Just then, Rev calls out from across the room. "Hey, Tindra! Come check this out!"

As Tindra moves away, I catch Meghan's eye.

I think she might fucking kill me.

The worry lines etched across her forehead soften as she leans in, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that's equal parts relief and desperation. I can taste the lingering flavor of coffee on her lips, a reminder of her shift at Beans & Babes.

When she pulls back, her hands frame my face, her fingers trembling slightly against my skin.

"I love you," she whispers, her voice husky with emotion. "And I'm glad you're okay, but..." Her eyes harden, a flash of steel in those green depths. "Don't you dare make promises to our daughter that you can't keep."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Meghan, I?—"

She cuts me off with a shake of her head. "No, Tor. You know better than this. We both do."

I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of her words.

She's right, of course.

In our world, promises are as fragile as glass, easily shattered by the harsh realities of life.

"I just... I couldn't bear to see her scared," I admit, my voice low. "I wanted to protect her."

Meghan's expression softens slightly. "I know, babe. But lying to her isn't protection. It's setting her up for heartbreak."

I nod, knowing she's right.

The clubhouse bustles around us, but in this moment, it's just me and Meghan, navigating the treacherous waters of parenthood in a world that's anything but safe.

"What do we tell her then?" I ask, genuinely at a loss. "How do we prepare her for... this?" I gesture vaguely at my bandaged arm, at the chaos that surrounds us.

Meghan's fingers intertwine with mine, her touch grounding me. "We tell her the truth, Tor. As much as we can. We teach her to be strong, to be smart. And we show her that no matter what happens, we can count on this together."