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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."

"We don't make deals with rats," Kraken spits.

"You will when you hear what I have." Dylan reaches slowly into his jacket, freezes when several hands move to weapons. "Just papers. Proof of what I know."

"Careful," Fenrir warns. "Twitchy movements make my brothers nervous."

He pulls out a manila folder, holds it up like a shield.

"Go ahead," Runes says, voice deceptively calm. "Show us what you think you've got."

Dylan opens the folder with shaking hands, revealing photographs.

The compound raid from last month.

Clear shots of faces, bikes, license plates.

Even some of the weapons we were carrying, serial numbers potentially visible.

My blood runs cold, but I keep my expression neutral.

"I've got hundreds more," he says, gaining confidence from our silence. "Digital copies stored in multiple locations. Cloud servers you'll never find. Enough evidence to bury your whole club."

"Evidence of what?" Fenrir asks. "Some bikes at a warehouse? Could be anywhere."

"Don't play stupid." Dylan flips to another photo—this one showing Tor carrying computer equipment out of the burning building. "I know what you did. Who you killed. I've got recordings too. Conversations. Plans."

In my mind, I'm already dismissing everything he's saying.

He's a rat, a liar, an abuser.

No one with half a brain would trust a word from his mouth.

But I let him talk, let him dig his own grave deeper with every word.

"Recordings?" Tor steps forward, genuinely interested. "What kind of recordings?"

Dylan's chest puffs out a little. "Phone conversations. Some of your boys aren't as careful as they think. Especially after a few beers at Bubba's."

"Bullshit," Oskar calls out. "We don't talk business at Bubba's."

"No?" Dylan pulls out his phone, scrolls through it. "How about November third? Magnus and Emil discussing a shipment that needed to be moved before the cops got wind?"

Magnus goes still.

I remember that night—the Patriot had compromised one of our routes.

We had to scramble.

"Or October twenty-first?" Dylan continues. "Dag talking about needing more supplies for 'pest control'?"

"You've been recording us for months," Runes says, no longer sounding calm.

"Over a year, actually." Dylan's gaining confidence, mistaking their attention for fear. "Ever since I started dating Everly. I bugged your club, and your fucking bar. Also, it didn't hurt that Everly got chatty after sex."

Red floods my vision.

My fists clench so tight my knuckles crack.

"Careful." Dylan notices my reaction, takes a step back. "I'm not done yet."

"Here's the deal," he continues, trying to regain any sense of control. "I want safe passage out of state. Fifty grand to start over. And a guarantee that none of you come after me."

"Fifty grand?" Dag laughs. "That's it? That's your price?"

"It's fair. You get to keep operating. I disappear. Everyone wins."

"Except for all the people you killed with your fentanyl," Rio says quietly from behind me.

I hadn't heard him get closer, but his presence makes Dylan step back further.

"That wasn't—I was just following orders. The Patriot?—"

"Is dead," Rio finishes. "Which makes you the last loose end."

Dylan's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. "If anything happens to me, everything gets released. I've got it set up. Automated. Dead man's switch."

"Bullshit," Tor says, studying him. "You don't have the technical knowledge for that kind of setup."

"I paid someone who does." But the uncertainty in his voice gives him away. "Some kid from the college. Computer science major. Set the whole thing up."

"What's his name?" Tor presses.

"Like I'd tell you that."

"Because he doesn't exist," Tor concludes. "You're lying."

"Look, I'm trying to be reasonable here. I could have gone straight to the feds?—"

"But you didn't," Runes observes. "Because you know they'd arrest you too. Distribution. Conspiracy. Murder. You're looking at life, Mitchell."

"Only if they catch me." Some of his cockiness returns. "Which is why I need that money. That guarantee."

"You know what your problem is?" I finally speak, unable to stay quiet any longer. "You're negotiating like you have leverage."

"I do have?—"

"You have shit," I cut him off. "You have some photos that prove nothing. Some recordings that implicate you as much as us. And a half-assed threat about a dead man's switch you probably set up on fucking Google Drive."

His face flushes. "You don't know?—"

"I know you're desperate. I know the Patriot's death cut off your protection and your income. I know you're standing here begging for your life from the people whose families you helped destroy."

"I never meant?—"

"You targeted Everly specifically." My voice drops, dangerous. "Spent over a year gathering intel through her. Used her. Hurt her."

"That's not—she came onto me!"

The lie is so blatant, so pathetic, that several brothers actually laugh.

"Right," Emil says. "Kraken's daughter just threw herself at a piece of shit drug dealer. That's believable."

"It's true! She was all over me at that party. Practically begged?—"

I'm moving before I realize it, but Fenrir's hand on my chest stops me.

"He's trying to provoke you," he murmurs. "Don't give him what he wants."

Dylan mistakes the intervention for weakness. "See? Even your boys know I'm telling the truth. Everly's nothing but a?—"

"Choose your next words very carefully," Kraken warns, and there's death in his voice.

Dylan's mouth snaps shut, but the damage is done.

Any chance he had—not that there was much—just evaporated.

"You want to know what I think?" Magnus steps forward. "I think you're a pathetic little man who got in over his head. Thought you were smart, playing all sides. But you're just another rat who got fat off other people's misery."

"I did what I had to do to survive," Dylan protests.

"No," Runes says calmly. "You did what was easy. What was profitable. And now you're here, trying to profit again off the pain you caused."

"Here's what's going to happen," Fenrir announces. "You're going to turn around. You're going to run. And you're going to pray we don't catch you."

"But my deal?—"

"There is no deal. There was never going to be a deal." Runes steps closer. "You think we'd trust the word of a rat? A man who betrayed his own woman? Who sold poison to kids?"

"I had no choice! The Patriot?—"

"Always a choice," Rio says. "You chose wrong."

Dylan's eyes dart between us, finally understanding.

He came here thinking he held cards, but the game was over before he showed up.

"This is a mistake," Dylan says, backing toward his car. "You're making a huge mistake. When those photos hit the news?—"

"Twenty-four hours," Fenrir interrupts. "That's what you've got. Use them wisely."

"Twenty-four hours for what?"

"To disappear. To run. To find a hole so deep we might not bother digging you out of it."

"And if I don't?"

Silence answers him.

Heavy, promising silence that says everything.

"You're bluffing," Dylan tries one more time. "You wouldn't risk the exposure. Your families, your businesses?—"

"Our families are exactly why we would," Kraken says. "You threatened my son. Terrorized my daughter. You think some photos mean shit compared to that?"

"I wasn't going to actually hurt the kid," Dylan backpedals. "It was just talk, trying to keep Everly in line?—"

"Keep talking," Emil suggests. "Keep admitting to threatening children. See how that works out for you."

Dylan's face goes through several expressions—fear, anger, desperation—before settling on ugly defiance.

"You're all going to regret this," he spits. "When the cops come knocking, when your businesses get shut down, when your kids?—"

"Our kids what?" Oskar asks, voice deadly quiet.

"Nothing. I just meant?—"

"You just meant to threaten children again," Magnus observes. "Real smart, Mitchell. Real fuckin’ smart."

"Fuck all of you," Dylan explodes, the mask finally dropping completely. "Especially that whore Everly. I should have?—"

The tranquilizer dart catches him mid-sentence.

One second he's ranting, the next he's looking down at his chest in confusion.

"What—"

His knees buckle.

He hits the ground hard, eyes rolling back, folder spilling photos across the pavement.

"Jesus," Emil says, staring at the collapsed form. "Did he just have a fucking heart attack?"

"Look at his ass, dumbass," Ivar points out.

Sure enough, a bright orange dart sticks out of Dylan's right cheek.

We all turn to look at Dag, who's casually holstering a tranq gun.

"What?" he says. "Seemed like he was done talking."

"Could've warned us," Oskar mutters, but he's grinning.

"Where's the fun in that?" Dag prods Dylan with his boot. "Out cold."

"How long's he out?" Runes asks.

"Four hours, maybe five. Depends on his tolerance. Gave him enough to drop a bear."

"Perfect." Fenrir's already moving. "Ivar, bring the van around. We need to move him before someone sees."

"On it." Ivar jogs toward the garage.

"Tor, gather up those photos and documents," Runes orders. "Every last one."

"Where we taking him?" Emil asks, helping Dag lift Dylan's dead weight.

"The cabin," Runes decides. "The one up north. Nice and isolated."

I know the place—forty miles into the woods, no neighbors for miles, perfect for handling a situation just like this.

"I'll drive," I volunteer.

"No," Runes says firmly. "You stay here. Keep up appearances for a little while. Last thing we need is Everly worrying about where you've gone."

He's right, but it chafes.

I want to be there for whatever comes next.

Want to look Dylan in the eyes when he realizes exactly how badly he fucked up.

"I've got this," Dag assures me. "Been waiting to have a conversation with this piece of shit."

"Take Emil and Magnus," Runes adds. "Oskar, you follow in another vehicle in case there's trouble. Actually… Regnor, come over in about two hours. Spend some time with your girl first, calm her down."

The van appears, and we load Dylan's unconscious form into the back like luggage.

No ceremony, no care.

Just dead weight heading for judgment.

"What about his car?" someone asks.

"Tor, can you handle it?" Runes asks.

"Already on it. I'll dump it at the bus station. Make it look like he rabbited."

"His phone?"

"Got it," Emil says, holding up the device. "Turned off. Battery out."

"Check it for tracking apps first," Tor suggests. "This asshole might actually have been smart about something."

They're efficient, practiced.

This isn't their first rodeo, won't be their last.

In ten minutes, all evidence of Dylan's visit has vanished.

Photos collected, car being moved, body on its way to the woods.

Like he was never here at all.