Page 15 of Monstrosity (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #5)

Runes leans forward. "We hit Bembe's shipment together. The drugs go to you for distribution through your networks. We split the profits and eliminate a common enemy."

"You want me to help you steal from the cartel we already destroyed?" Liam's laugh is sharp and humorless. "What the fuck. I guess it doesn’t matter. It might be dangerous, but?—"

"More dangerous than letting Bembe succeed?" I counter. "If his plan works, we go to war. Both our organizations get weakened. And he moves his product while we're distracted."

"The boy has a point," one of Liam's lieutenants says.

He's older, with the look of a man who's survived by being smart rather than brutal.

"Shut it, Connor," Liam snaps, but I can see he's thinking.

Doran clears his throat. "Uncle, if I may?"

Liam waves a hand, granting permission.

"The Raiders have always been straight with us," Doran says carefully. "When there was trouble, they came to us first. When the feds were sniffing around our gambling operations, they gave us warning. They've earned some trust."

"Trust," Liam repeats the word like it tastes bad. "Trust doesn't bring back three million in inventory."

"No," Runes agrees. "But taking Bembe's shipment would, plus more. Street value on that much product? We're talking twenty, thirty million. Your usual cut would more than cover the warehouse loss."

I watch Liam process this, can see the exact moment his rage transforms into greed. "Thirty million, you say?"

"Conservative estimate," I confirm. "Could be more, depending on purity."

"And you need us why?"

"Distribution," Ivar says bluntly. "We can take the shipment, but moving that much product isn't our specialty. It's yours. We can move a small amount of it, but, if we got rid of that shit fast, it’d tip off the feds."

It's a calculated compliment, acknowledging the Irish's superior smuggling networks.

Liam's ego accepts it readily. "What's your plan?" he asks.

Runes smiles for the first time. "Rio?"

I pull up the next set of files. "The shipment comes in by boat to a private dock in two nights. Bembe will have security, but he's expecting to be dealing with locals, not us. We hit them hard and fast, take the product, leave bodies."

"How many men?"

"Our surveillance says twenty, maybe twenty-five. But they won't be expecting the both of us working together. We think Bembe might have thought that you’d believe we were behind his warehouse attack."

Liam looks at Connor, some silent communication passing between them.

Then he turns back to us. "If we do this—if—I want sixty percent."

"Fifty," Runes counters immediately. "Even split, even risk."

"Sixty," Liam insists. "My networks, my risk once the product is in play."

"Fifty-five," Ivar offers. "And the Raiders owe you a favor."

Now that's interesting. Ivar doesn't offer favors lightly.

Liam considers this. "A favor from the Raiders. To be called in at my discretion."

"Within reason," Runes adds. "We won't move against allies or harm innocents."

"Fair enough." Liam stands, and we all tense. Then he extends his hand to Runes. "You've got a deal, Runes. But if this goes sideways, if this is some elaborate setup..."

"It's not," Runes says, shaking his hand firmly. "You’re our family now, Mackenzie. We want Bembe gone as much as you want your money."

"More," I add quietly. "He threatened our families. This is personal."

Liam studies me with those cold green eyes. "I heard about your wife. And now he's after your new woman?"

"And others," I confirm, not bothering to ask how he knows about Dasha.

Information is currency in our world.

"Family is everything," Liam says finally. "A man who threatens women and children deserves whatever comes to him."

"On that, we agree completely."

The rest of the meeting is logistical bullshit.

We coordinate timing, communication channels, division of forces.

Doran acts as liaison, his position in both organizations making him the perfect go-between.

By the time we're done, I'm cautiously optimistic.

Liam's still a volatile bastard, but his greed outweighs his anger.

"One more thing," Liam says as we're preparing to leave. "I want Bembe alive."

"Why?" Ivar asks.

"Because I want to have a conversation with him about trying to use me as a tool." His smile is sharp and predatory. "A long, detailed conversation."

"After we get what we need from him," Runes agrees. "He might have information about other operations."

"Of course. I'm patient when it serves me."

We shake hands again, the deal sealed.

As we're walking out, Doran falls into step beside me.

"That went better than expected," he says quietly.

"Your uncle was reasonable."

"My uncle was greedy," Doran corrects. "But it works in our favor. Just... watch your backs. He'll honor the deal, but he's always looking for angles."

"Aren't we all?"

"True enough." He pauses at his SUV. "Revna’s asked me how everyone is doing, with the club on lockdown? I have her and Dalla being taken care of, no one will fuck with them."

"Everyone is tougher than they look, even the kids," I remind him.

"I know. Doesn't stop her from worrying."

I understand the sentiment completely.

The ride back to the clubhouse is lighter, the success of the meeting lifting the weight from our shoulders.

We've got allies, we've got a plan, and in two days, Bembe Reyes will learn what happens when you threaten the Raiders' families.

"That was smooth," Ivar says over the comms. "Thought for sure Liam was going to start shooting when you pulled out that tablet."

"He's smarter than he looks," Runes replies. "Knew there was profit to be made."

We pull into the clubhouse lot to find an unexpected scene.

In the fenced area, Dasha has both girls suited up in protective gear, teaching them basic self-defense moves.

Several other women and kids are participating, turning it into a class.

"Is that your woman teaching our daughters to throw punches?" Ivar asks, amusement clear in his voice.

"Looks like." I can't help but smile as I watch Cali practice a palm strike on a practice pad.

Her form is terrible, but her determination is fierce.

"She's a keeper," Runes observes. "Not many women would think to turn a lockdown into training time."

We park and head over to watch.

Dasha sees us coming and smiles, but doesn't stop her instruction.

"Remember, ladies, the goal isn't to win a fight," she's saying. "It's to create an opportunity to run. Hit and run. Always run."

"What if they chase us?" one of the older girls asks.

"Then you run faster," Dasha says simply. "And you scream. Make noise, draw attention. Bad guys don't like witnesses."

"My daddy says I should go for the balls," Runa pipes up.

Several mothers laugh, and Dasha grins. "Your daddy's not wrong. But only if you can reach them safely. Otherwise, eyes, throat, knees. Vulnerable points."

"Daddy!" Cali spots me and abandons her stance to run over. "Look! I'm learning to fight!"

I scoop her up, protective gear and all. "I see that. You look very fierce."

"Dasha says I'm a natural," she announces proudly.

"I said you have natural enthusiasm," Dasha corrects, joining us.

She's slightly flushed from the workout, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she looks absolutely beautiful. "How did the meeting go?"

"Good. We have an agreement."

"Thank the Gods." The relief on her face is palpable. "I was worried... well, I was worried."

"Daddy, are you going to teach us to fight too?" Florencia asks, having followed her sister over.

"Maybe when you're older," I offer.

"Dasha says knowing how to protect ourselves is important," she counters with her eight-year-old logic.

"Dasha's right," I agree, shooting my woman a look that promises we'll discuss this later. "But let's start with the basics she's teaching you, okay?"

"Fine," Florencia sighs, clearly hoping for more advanced lessons.

"Inside, girls," Starla calls out. "Lunch in twenty minutes."

The crowd disperses, kids chattering excitedly about their new moves.

I wait until we're relatively alone before pulling Dasha close.

"Self-defense classes?" I ask.

"They need to know how to protect themselves," she says firmly. "I won't have them be victims."

"Our girls know about stranger danger?—"

"It's not enough," she interrupts. "Not in this life. They need practical skills, muscle memory. Even if they never use it, they need to know they can."

I study her face, seeing the determination there. "This is about more than just general safety."

She nods. "Carlos had photos of them, Rio. Detailed surveillance of our babies. I can't... I won't let them be helpless if someone tries something."

"Hey." I tilt her chin up. "No one's going to touch them. I promise you that."

"You can't be everywhere," she says softly. "And neither can I. But we can give them tools, teach them to be smart and strong."

She's right, of course.

In our world, knowledge and preparation can mean the difference between life and death.

"Okay," I agree. "We'll teach them."

She stretches up to kiss me. "Now, tell me about the meeting. Are the Irish in?"

I fill her in on the basics as we walk back to the clubhouse, my arm around her waist.

She listens intently, asking smart questions about logistics and backup plans.

"Two days," she muses. "And then this is over?"

"This immediate threat is over," I correct. "There will always be others."

"I know. But we'll handle them."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Because that's what we do. We protect our family."

Inside, lunch is another chaotic family affair.

I end up at a table with Runes, Ivar, and several other brothers, discussing plans for the raid while trying to keep the conversation kid-friendly.

"Uncle Rio, is it true you killed a man with a spoon once?" Zayder asks, eyes wide.

I nearly choke on my sandwich. "Where did you hear that?"

"Daddy said you did," the kid replies, pointing at Aesir.

I shoot Aesir a look. "Your daddy exaggerates."

"So you didn't?" The kid looks disappointed.

"It was a spork," I deadpan, which gets laughs from the adults.

"Rio's kidding," Dasha says firmly. "There was no spoon or spork."

"But there was something else?" Florencia asks, too perceptive as always.

"Eat your lunch," I deflect.

The afternoon passes quickly.

We spend hours in the chapel, planning every detail of the raid.

Maps are studied, contingencies discussed, roles assigned.

By the time we break for dinner, I'm confident in our plan but exhausted from the mental gymnastics.

I find my family in our room, the girls playing quietly while Dasha reads.

It's such a normal scene, it makes my chest tight.

"Daddy!" Cali abandons her dolls to launch herself at me. "We learned more fighting moves after lunch!"

"Did you?" I settle on the floor with them. "Show me."

What follows is an enthusiastic but highly inaccurate demonstration of self-defense techniques.

I correct their form gently, turning it into a game.

Dasha watches from the bed, that soft smile on her face that never fails to warm me.

"Bath time," she announces eventually, which triggers the usual protests.

"But we're not dirty!" Cali argues.

"You're covered in marker," Dasha points out. "How did you even get it on your elbow?"

"Art is messy," Cali says seriously, which cracks me up.

"Can't argue with that," I say, earning a glare from Dasha. "But you still need a bath."

The bedtime routine is becoming familiar—baths, pajamas, stories.

I take story duty tonight, making up tales about brave princesses who ride motorcycles and fight dragons.

Both girls are asleep before I finish, worn out from their busy day.

"They're getting comfortable here," Dasha observes as we settle into our own bed.

"Kids are adaptable," I agree. "How are you doing with all this?"

"Honestly? Better than expected. The women here are incredible, the kids all play together well, and I feel safe." She curls into my side. "I just want it to be over so we can go home."

"Soon," I promise. "Two more days."

"And then?"

"Then we go home. We live our lives. We be happy."

"That sounds perfect."

We're quiet for a while, just holding each other in the dark.

Finally, Dasha speaks again. "Rio? Whatever happens with this raid, promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise."

"I mean it. I don’t want to lose you. Just get the job done and come home."

"Yes, ma'am."

She props herself up to look at me. "I'm serious."

"So am I." I cup her face. "I've got too much to live for now. You, the girls, our future. I'm not throwing that away for anything."

"Good." She kisses me softly. "Because we have plans, remember?"

"Oh, I remember." I roll her beneath me. "Want to practice for those plans?"

Her laugh is quickly muffled by my kiss, and for a while, I forget about Irish alliances and cartel threats.

There's just us, here and now, stealing moments of peace in the chaos.

Two more days.

Two more days and we’re able to go home.

I can't wait.