Page 38 of Monstrosity

The water runs pink down the drain, carrying away Carlos's blood but not the satisfaction of getting the job done.

"Get what you needed?" Runes asks when I return to the chapel.

"Intel and a message delivered. Carlos won't be watching anyone anymore."

"Good. Meghan's already at the coffee shop, preparing Dasha for tonight. You should head over there."

"She's not going to like this."

"She'll like being dead even less," Fenrir points out. "Sometimes protecting the people we love means making choices they won't like."

He's right, but that doesn't make it easier.

I stop by the family quarters to check what supplies we have—the room I'm planning for us is decent-sized, with its own bathroom and enough space for the girls.

It's not home, but it'll do.

Some of the old ladies have already started preparing it, adding feminine touches that will make the transition easier.

The drive to the coffee shop feels longer than usual.

Every car could be surveillance, every pedestrian a threat.

This is what war does—makes you see enemies everywhere.

I find them at the coffee shop, huddled together behind the counter.

The place is empty except for them—Meghan closed it down early.

Dasha looks up when I enter, and her smile is like sunshine until she sees my expression. "What's wrong?"

"We need to pack some things," I say gently. "Us and the girls are staying at the clubhouse for a while."

"Rio—"

"It's not negotiable, baby." I move closer, needing to touch her. "Things are escalating. The house isn't safe."

She studies my face, and her eyes catch on something.

Her hand comes up to touch my neck, fingers coming away with blood I missed.

"Is this yours?" Her voice is carefully neutral.

"No."

"Whose?"

"Someone who was watching you. Taking pictures of you and the girls."

Her face pales, but she doesn't pull away. "What did you do?"

"What I needed to." I catch her hand, link our fingers. "What I'll always do to protect you."

She's quiet for a long moment, processing this. Meghan watches us nervously, probably ready to jump in if Dasha balks.

"He had photos," I continue. "Detailed surveillance. Your routines, the girls' schedules. They were planning something, Dasha."

"Planning what?"