Page 16 of Monstrosity (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #5)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dasha

The familiar smell of coffee grounds and fresh pastries should be comforting, but this morning it just reminds me how much I miss my normal life.

It's been three days since we moved into the clubhouse, and while I understand the necessity, I’m starting to go stir-crazy.

Which is why I convinced Rio to let me work the morning shift.

"You're insane," Meghan says, pulling shots for a customer's latte. "We're in lockdown because psycho cartel members want to kill us, and you volunteer to come to work?"

"I need some normalcy," I tell her, wiping down the counter. "Even if it's just for a few hours. Plus, we need the money. Lockdown doesn't pay the bills."

"Rio wasn't happy about it," Tindra comments from where she's arranging pastries in the display case.

At twenty, she's the newest addition to our coffee crew, having started just a month ago.

Her purple-streaked hair and piercings might look intimidating, but she's got a smile that puts customers at ease.

"Rio's never happy when he can't control every aspect of something," I reply. "But he agreed to let us open today, with conditions."

"Let me guess," Meghan counts on her fingers. "Prospects outside, check-ins every hour, and back to the clubhouse by one?"

"Pretty much." I glance toward the door where I know Gorm is stationed, trying to look casual while being obviously armed. "At least business is good this morning."

It's true—the morning rush has been steady, almost normal.

Regular customers ordering their usual drinks, complaining about traffic and weather like the world isn't dangerous and unpredictable.

It's exactly what I needed.

"Order up," Tindra calls, sliding a completed drink across the counter. "Vanilla latte with an extra shot."

I grab it and head to the pickup area, calling out the order.

The customer, a middle-aged woman I don't recognize, thanks me with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

Something about her makes me uneasy, but I push the feeling aside.

I'm being paranoid.

"Dasha, can you handle the register while I grab more milk?" Meghan asks.

"Got it."

I move to the register just as the door chimes.

A man approaches—thirties, average height, nothing remarkable about him except the way he's looking at me.

Not like a customer looks at a barista.

Like a predator studying prey.

"What can I get you?" I ask, hand hovering near the panic button Rio insisted we install under the counter.

"Coffee. Black." His voice is flat, emotionless. "And a message delivered."

Before I can react, his hand shoots out, grabbing me by the throat.

His grip is iron, cutting off my air as he yanks me partially over the counter.

"Bembe sends his regards," he hisses.

I can't breathe. Can't scream.

My vision starts to blur as I claw at his hand.

Dimly, I hear Meghan screaming, Tindra dropping something that shatters.

Then I see movement from the corner of my eye—another man coming around the counter, moving toward Meghan.

The front door explodes open.

Gorm charges in like a battering ram, not even slowing as he body-checks the second man.

The attacker goes flying, crashing over the counter in a tangle of limbs and coffee supplies.

"Get the fuck out of here," Gorm roars, already moving toward the man holding me. "And tell Bembe to fuck off!"

The pressure on my throat releases suddenly as my attacker shoves me backward.

I fall, gasping, as he and his partner scramble for the exit.

Gorm pursues them to the door but doesn't follow—his priority is protecting us, not chasing them.

"Lockdown! Now!" he barks, already on his phone. "I need backup at Beans & Babes. Two fuckers, fleeing on foot. Yeah, they touched her."

Meghan's at my side immediately, helping me sit up. "Jesus Christ, Dasha. Are you okay?"

I try to answer but all that comes out is a croak.

My throat feels like it's on fire.

"Don't try to talk," Tindra says, appearing with a glass of water.

Her hands are shaking as bad as mine. "Fuck, that was... fuck."

Customers are screaming, fleeing, phones out recording everything.

Great, we'll probably be on social media within minutes.

"Everyone get the fuck out!" Gorm commands, his presence filling the small shop. "Police are on their way. Coffee shop's closed."

The next few minutes are chaos.

Two more prospects arrive—Bodul and another I don't know well.

They efficiently clear the shop and lock it down while Gorm hovers over us protectively.

"Time to get the ladies out of here," Bodul announces. "We need to move. Now."

"I need to close out the register—" I start, voice raspy.

"Fuck the register," Meghan says firmly. "We're leaving."

They bundle us into a waiting SUV, prospects forming a protective detail that would be comical if I wasn't still shaking.

The drive back to the clubhouse takes ten minutes that feel like hours.

I keep touching my throat, feeling the bruises already forming.

Rio's waiting at the door when we pull up.

Someone must have called ahead because his expression is carved from stone, only his eyes showing the fury beneath.

He doesn't say a word as I get out of the vehicle, just opens his arms.

I fall into them, and suddenly I'm shaking harder.

The adrenaline's wearing off, leaving only the reality of how close that was.

"Are you okay?" His voice is deadly calm, but I can feel the tremor in his hands as he holds me.

"It was close," I admit against his chest. "If Gorm hadn't been there..."

"But he was." Rio pulls back to examine my throat, and I see his jaw clench at the already-visible bruises. "Did they say anything?"

"Bembe sends his regards."

The sound he makes isn't quite human.

For a moment, I see the monster he keeps leashed, and even though it's not directed at me, it's terrifying.

"Dasha!" Two small bodies barrel into us—the girls, excited to see me back early.

"Careful," I manage, voice still rough. "Dasha's not feeling great."

"Are you sick?" Cali asks, then notices my neck. "You have owies!"

"Just a little accident," I lie, catching Rio's eye. "But I'm okay."

Starla appears as if summoned, taking in the scene with experienced eyes. "Girls, why don't we go make those cookies we talked about? Give Daddy and Dasha some grown-up time."

"But—" Florencia starts, looking between us with those too-wise eyes.

"Cookies, Florencia," Starla says firmly. "Chocolate chip. You can help measure."

The promise of cookies wins, and they follow Starla with only a few backward glances.

Once they're gone, Rio's control cracks.

"I'm going to kill him," he says, voice terrifyingly calm. "Slowly. Personally. I'm going to make Santos look like a paper cut compared to what I do to Bembe."

"Rio—"

"He touched you." His hands frame my face, thumbs ghosting over the bruises on my throat. "He put his fucking hands on you."

"But I'm okay?—"

"You're not okay!" The words explode out of him. "You're bruised, you're shaking, and you could have been—" He cuts himself off, pulling me against him again. "Fuck. Fuck."

"Hey." I wrap my arms around him, feeling him tremble with rage. "I'm here. I'm safe. Gorm protected us."

"Gorm's not in the doghouse for the first time in his fucking life," he mutters. "And you're never leaving this clubhouse again without me."

"That's not realistic?—"

"Fuck being realistic right now." He pulls back to look at me. "We need to get out of here. Now. Before I do something stupid like storm Bembe's compound alone."

"What?"

"Come on." He takes my hand, already moving. "We're going for a ride."

"Rio, I should check on Meghan and Tindra?—"

"Tor's with Meghan. Vail’s hanging out with Tindra. They're fine." He stops at our room just long enough to grab his jacket and my helmet. "You need air. I need to not commit murder in front of my children. We're going on a ride."

I follow him to the garage, still processing everything that happened.

My throat hurts, my hands won't stop shaking, and part of me wants to curl up in bed and cry.

But the other part—the part that's adapted to this life—knows Rio's right. We both need this.

He hands me my helmet, checking the strap himself before putting on his own.

The bike roars to life beneath us, and I wrap my arms around him, pressing close.

The vibration, the power, the solid warmth of him—it all combines to finally slow my racing heart.

We ride without a destination at first, leaving the city behind for the open highway.

The wind whips past us, carrying away some of the morning's terror.

Rio drives like he fights—controlled but intense, every movement precise.

I lose myself in the rhythm of it, in the trust of letting him carry us both away from danger.

After about forty minutes, he exits onto a smaller road I recognize.

We've been here before, months ago when we were on a day out with the kids.

There's a trail system that leads to a secluded spot by a creek, beautiful and private.

He parks the bike in the small lot—empty on a weekday morning—and helps me off.

My legs are steadier now, the ride having worked its magic.

"Better?" he asks, removing his helmet.

"Getting there." My voice is still rough, and I see him flinch at the sound.

"Come on." He takes my hand, leading me toward the trail. "Let's walk."

The forest is quiet except for birds and the distant sound of water.

We walk in silence for a while, hands linked, both processing the morning's events.

The trail is well-maintained but deserted, winding through old trees that filter the sunlight into green-gold patterns.

"I'm sorry," Rio says suddenly.

"For what?"

"For putting you in danger. For bringing this chaos into your life. For?—"

"Stop." I tug his hand, making him face me. "None of this is your fault."

"Isn't it?" His eyes are tortured. "If you weren't with me?—"

"If I wasn't with you, I'd be half-alive," I interrupt. "Going through the motions, serving coffee, existing but not really alive. You didn't bring chaos into my life, Rio. You brought purpose. You gave me love, family."

"Dasha—"