Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Tor
I take a long pull from my beer, the cold liquid sliding down my throat as I stare at the Raiders of Valhalla logo painted on the far wall.
The horned helmet with engraved axes and a sword seems to be watching me, judging my every move.
I can't shake this feeling of unease that's been gnawing at me lately.
A heavy hand slaps me on the back, nearly making me choke on my drink.
I turn to see Kraken's weathered face grinning at me.
"You're being awfully quiet," he says, sliding onto the stool next to me at the long, curved bar that Magnus carved with intricate knarrs.
I shrug, wiping foam from my mouth with the back of my hand. "Just got a lot of shit on my mind."
Kraken lets out a deep belly laugh that echoes through the cavernous main room of our clubhouse. "That's the way of the life we live, brother. You want to talk about anything? Let a load off?"
I consider his offer for a moment, my eyes drifting over the scattered tables and pool tables, the lounge area where a few of our brothers are shooting the shit.
The clubhouse has always been a sanctuary, but lately, it feels like the walls are closing in.
"I don't know, man," I admit, running a hand through my dark hair. "It's just... everything, you know? The club, the city, Meghan..."
Kraken nods sagely, signaling the prospect behind the bar for a beer. "Ah, the lady troubles. Thought things were going well with you two?"
"They are. They’re going great," I say quickly, maybe too quickly. "It's not that. It's just..."
I trail off, not sure how to put my jumbled thoughts into words.
How do I explain the constant worry that gnaws at me?
The fear that at any moment, everything I care about could be ripped away?
Kraken doesn't push, he just sips his beer and waits.
That's one thing I've always appreciated about him—he knows when to let the silence do the talking.
"I guess I'm just on edge," I finally continue. "Ever since I got shot, it's like I can't relax. Keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know?"
The memory of searing pain in my chest, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, flashes through my mind.
I absently rub the scar beneath my shirt, feeling the raised flesh that serves as a constant reminder of how close I came to death.
Kraken's expression grows serious. "That's normal, brother. You went through some heavy shit. It takes time to process that kind of trauma."
I nod, grateful for his understanding. "Yeah, I guess. It's not just that, though. It's like... I finally have something good with Meghan, you know? Something outside of all this." I gesture around the clubhouse. "And I'm terrified of losing it."
"Love's a bitch like that." Kraken chuckles. "Makes you vulnerable. But it's worth it, ain't it?"
I can't help but smile, thinking of Meghan's laugh, the way her eyes light up when she sees me. "Yeah, it is."
"Then hold onto that, brother," Kraken says, clapping me on the shoulder. "In this life, we gotta take the good where we can get it."
I nod, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders.
It's good to talk about this shit, even if I can't fully articulate everything that's bothering me.
"Thanks, man," I say, raising my bottle in a toast.
Kraken clinks his against mine.
"Anytime, brother. That's what family's for."
We sit in silence for a few moments, the background noise of the clubhouse washing over us.
The clack of pool balls, the low hum of conversation, the faint strains of rock music from the stereo system—it's all so familiar, yet somehow different now.
I find my gaze drawn to the hallway leading to our private rooms.
Beyond that is another hall, the one for the horas .
I think of Meghan, how she started out as just another clubwhore, and now she's become so much more.
The thought of her past, the rough life she came from, makes my chest tighten.
"You ever wonder about the shit people carry with them?" I ask suddenly, surprising myself.
Kraken raises an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"
I struggle to find the right words. "Like, the baggage from their past. The dark shit they don't want to talk about."
Kraken's face grows thoughtful. "Sure, we all got our demons. Some more than others in this life."
I nod, thinking of my own past, the horrors I endured as a child.
The memories threaten to surface, but I push them back down, focusing on the present.
"I guess I'm just realizing how little I know about some people," I muse. "Even the ones closest to me."
Kraken takes a long pull from his beer before responding. "Sometimes it's better not to know everything, brother. People keep shit buried for a reason."
His words hit home, and I feel a pang of guilt for prying into Meghan's past.
Maybe some things are better left unsaid.
"Yeah, you're right," I concede. "I just... I want to understand her, you know? To be there for her."
Kraken's expression softens. "That's admirable, Tor. But sometimes being there just means being present. You don't gotta know every detail of someone's past to love them in the present."
His words resonate with me, and I feel some of the weight lift from my shoulders.
Maybe I've been overthinking things, trying too hard to unravel every mystery.
I take a long pull from my beer, the cold liquid doing little to ease the tension in my shoulders.
Kraken takes a sip and looks right in my eyes, “Whatever it is, it’s really fuckin’ with ya. I can see that clear as day, so you might as well spill.”
I might as well get it off my chest. "There was this thing a couple of weeks back," I start, my voice low. "Meghan and I were at that diner just down the road, you know the one."
Kraken nods, leaning in closer.
"We ran into her cousin there. Meghan got all weird, man. Like, shut down completely." I can still see the way her face had drained of color, how her hand had trembled slightly around her coffee mug.
"She immediately got defensive, acted like a completely different person. When I asked her about it, she just muttered something about her family being bad news. As soon as we were done eating she practically dragged me out of there."
I pause, running a hand through my hair. "I've never seen her like that before. It was like... like she was scared, you know?"
Kraken's brow furrows, his expression thoughtful.
He takes a swig of his own beer before responding. "Look, Tor, when Meghan first came to us as a hora , we knew she had a rough go of it. But the details? That shit's always been hazy."
I nod, remembering how guarded Meghan had been when we first met.
How long it took for her to even crack a genuine smile around me.
"Thing is," Kraken continues, his voice gruff but not unkind, "a lot of these women, they don't want to dig up the past. It's like picking at a scab—sometimes it's best to just let it heal over."
His words hit me hard, making me think of the pain I've seen in Meghan's eyes when she thinks no one's looking.
"Take Starla, for instance," Kraken says, gesturing vaguely toward the other end of the clubhouse.
"You ever hear her going on about her childhood? Fuck no. Some shit's just too dark to drag into the light."
I let out a heavy sigh, conflicted. "I get that, I do. But I care about her, man. I want to help, to understand..."
Kraken cuts me off with a gentle shake of his head. "Sometimes understanding ain't about knowing every gory detail, brother. It's about being there, letting her know she's safe now."
I grip my beer bottle tighter, feeling the cold glass against my palm.
Kraken's words resonate deep within me, stirring up memories I'd rather forget.
"Yeah," I say, my voice low.
"I know a thing or two about that. I just need to fuckin’ drop it."
The weight of my past settles on my shoulders, heavy and suffocating.
I can still feel the ghost of hands on me, hear the voices of those sick fucks who saw me as nothing more than a breeding tool.
My stomach churns, and I take a long pull from my beer to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth.
"When I was a kid," I start, surprised to hear myself speaking, "I went through some seriously fucked up shit. Sex trafficking, being used as a... as a breeder." The words taste like ash on my tongue.
"You know all about it. Hell, you were there. It's not something I like talking about either. I just hope whatever she went through wasn’t nearly as horrific."
Kraken's eyes widen, a flicker of understanding passing between us.
He just nods, a silent acknowledgment of shared pain.
"Guess that's why I get it with Meghan," I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. "That need to keep some things buried."
Before Kraken can respond, the clubhouse door swings open with a bang.
My father, Runes, strides in, his presence commanding attention as always.
His eyes lock onto me, and I can tell by the set of his jaw that something's up.
"Tor," he calls out, his voice gruff. "Take a ride with me."
I exchange a quick glance with Kraken, who shrugs and tilts his head toward my old man.
"Duty calls, brother," he says with a wry smile.
Setting down my beer, I push away from the bar and follow my father out to the parking lot.
The night air is cool against my skin, a welcome relief from the stuffy clubhouse.
He heads straight for his massive truck, a behemoth that always makes me feel like a kid again when I climb into the passenger seat.
As I buckle up, I can't help but ask, "What's going on, Dad?"
He doesn't answer right away, just starts the engine and pulls out of the lot.
The streets of Tallahassee roll by, familiar yet somehow ominous in the gathering darkness.
Finally, he speaks, his voice low and serious. "Things are about to heat up again, son. We've got trouble brewing."
My muscles tense instinctively.
"What kind of trouble?"
Runes keeps his eyes on the road, but I can see the worry lines deepening around his mouth.
"Liam Mackenzie is on the warpath, hunting down the Culebra cartel."
I nod, remembering the Irish psychopath who'd nearly taken everything from us. "Good. Let him wipe those fuckers out."
"It's not that simple," Runes growls. "We owe the Irish now, and we’re workin’ with them. There's been some talk around here... whispers that another big player moved into Tallahassee."
My blood runs cold. "Another player? Who?"
Runes shakes his head, frustration evident in every line of his body. "That's what we need to find out. And fast."
I frown, my mind racing. "The only big player here is us. We run this city."
His grip tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "Not anymore, son. Rati overheard a business owner talking about a group that came in, demanding money to keep the owner 'safe'."
My jaw clenches. "Isn't that extortion?"
"Damn straight it is," he growls. "And it shows these fuckers aren't afraid of the club. But they need to be, 'cause this shit isn't gonna happen in my city."
I lean back in my seat, processing this information.
The thought of someone challenging our authority makes my blood boil.
We've fought too hard, sacrificed too much to let some newcomers waltz in and take over.
"Why are we out here alone, Dad?" I ask, suddenly realizing the strangeness of the situation. "Why aren't we discussing this at the club?"
Runes takes a sharp turn, his eyes scanning the streets. "Being on bikes would draw too much attention. This truck doesn't have the club logo. We can ride around, see if we spot anything suspicious."
It makes sense, but I can't shake the feeling that there's more to it.
My father's always been strategic, always thinking three steps ahead.
But, I wonder what he's not telling me.
As we drive through a lower-class area of Tallahassee, my eyes are drawn to a commotion near a taco stand.
A group of men are roughing up two others, their angry shouts carrying through the night air.
"Dad," I say, nodding toward the scene.
His eyes narrow as he slows the truck. "Looks like we might have found our new players."
My heart rate picks up, a mix of anticipation and anger coursing through me.
I've been itching for some action since getting out of the hospital, and it looks like I might just get my wish.
Dad slams on the brakes, the truck screeching to a halt right in front of the taco stand.
He yanks the keys from the ignition and leaps out in one fluid motion.
I'm right behind him, my body thrumming with adrenaline.
"Stay sharp," he growls, his eyes fixed on the group of six thugs beating on the two men.
I nod, pushing aside the twinge in my chest where the bullet wound is still healing.
There's no time for weakness now.
These assholes need to learn who really runs this town.
We charge in, fists flying.
I connect with the jaw of the nearest attacker, feeling the satisfying crunch beneath my knuckles.
The guy staggers back, shock written all over his face.
"What the fu—" he starts, but I don't let him finish.
My knee drives into his stomach, doubling him over.
To my left, my dad is a force of nature, taking on two of them at once.
I’m damn proud of him.
He’s showing these punks what real power looks like.
I duck a wild swing from another thug, countering with a sharp uppercut that sends him reeling.
"That all you got?" I taunt, feeling alive for the first time in weeks.
Suddenly, a group of Latino men join the fray, helping us take down the remaining attackers.
I nod my thanks to one of them as we stand back to back, facing off against the last two fuckers.
"Looks like you picked the wrong taco stand, pendejo ," the man beside me spits out before we lunge forward together.
As the fight winds down, I can't help but grin.
This is what I've been missing—the rush, the brotherhood, the feeling of doing something that matters.
It's not just about violence.
It's about protecting our territory, our people.
Dad grabs the last man standing, slamming him against the side of the taco truck.
"Who the fuck sent you here?" he demands, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
The guy, despite his bloodied face, has the audacity to snicker. "My boss is the Patriot," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. "And you just put a target on your back."
I see something flicker across my father's face—recognition, maybe even a hint of fear.
It's gone in an instant, but it's enough to set off alarm bells in my head.
Who is the Patriot, and why does his name seem to mean something to my father?
His grip on the man tightens. "Run back to your boss," he snarls, "and tell him that Tallahassee belongs to the Raiders of Valhalla. If the Patriot knows what's good for him, he'll get the fuck out of here."
As he shoves the man away, I can't help but wonder what we've just stumbled into.
This isn't just some random group trying to muscle in on our territory.
There's history here, something my father isn't telling me.