Page 17 of Monstrosity (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #5)

"I'm not done." I reach up to cup his face. "Yes, this morning was terrifying. Yes, I'm scared. But I'm not scared enough to run. I'm not scared enough to give up what we have."

"Even if what we have gets you killed?"

"It won't." I say it with more confidence than I feel. "Because you won't let it. Because the club won't let it. Because tomorrow, this threat finally ends."

He studies my face for a long moment, then crushes me against him.

The kiss is desperate, all teeth and need, like he's trying to prove I'm really here and alive.

I give as good as I get, pouring all my own fear and relief into the connection.

When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.

"I need you," he says roughly. "Right now. Need to feel you, taste you, know you're okay."

"Yes." It's all I can manage before he's kissing me again.

He backs me against a large oak tree, hands already working at my clothes.

There's nothing gentle about it—we're both too keyed up, too desperate.

I fumble with his belt while he shoves my skirt up, both of us racing against the need consuming us.

"Someone could see," I gasp as he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist.

"Don't care." He positions himself at my entrance. "Need you now."

He slides home in one thrust, and we both groan.

There's no finesse, no slow build—just raw need as he pounds into me.

The tree bark is rough against my back, the position is awkward, and anyone could walk by.

None of it matters.

All that matters is proving we're alive, we're together, we survived.

"Mine," he growls against my throat, careful of the bruises even in his desperation. "My woman. My everything."

"Yours," I agree, nails digging into his shoulders. "Always yours."

It's fast and fierce and exactly what we both need.

When I come, it's with a cry that echoes through the trees.

Rio follows seconds later, my name on his lips like a prayer.

We stay pressed together afterward, both trembling from more than exertion.

Slowly, carefully, he lowers me back to my feet, holding me steady when my legs wobble.

"Fuck," he breathes, resting his forehead against mine.

"Yeah." I'm shaking again, but this time it's release rather than fear.

We fix our clothes in silence, both a little stunned by the intensity.

Then Rio takes my hand and leads me off the trail to a small clearing by the creek.

He sits with his back against a tree and pulls me into his lap, holding me like I might disappear.

"Talk to me," he says quietly. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I understand now," I admit. "Really understand. Why you become the monster. Why the violence is necessary."

"Yeah?"

"When he had his hand on my throat, all I could think about was the girls. How they need me. How I couldn't leave them." I touch the bruises gently. "And I realized I'd do anything to stay alive for them. To protect them."

"That's the thing about having something to lose," Rio says. "It makes you dangerous in ways you never imagined."

"Is that what happened to you? After Flora?"

He's quiet for a long moment. "When Flora died, I thought I'd never feel that kind of rage again.

Thought I'd burned through it all hunting her killers.

" He tightens his arms around me. "Then you came along.

You and your smile and your coffee and the way you looked at my girls like they mattered.

And suddenly I had something to lose again. "

"Rio—"

"Tomorrow night, we end this," he continues. "The Irish are in position, our intel is solid, and Bembe won't see us coming. By this time tomorrow, he'll be dead and his organization will be scattered."

"And then?"

"Then we go home. We live our lives. We probably face new threats eventually, because that's the nature of this world. But we face them together."

"Together," I echo, settling more firmly against him.

We sit by the creek for another hour, talking about everything and nothing.

About the girls' school plans, about maybe taking a vacation when this is over, about the future we're building.

Normal couple things against the backdrop of cartel wars and brotherhood.

Finally, as the sun reaches its peak, Rio stirs. "We should head back. The girls will wonder where we are."

"And I should check on Meghan and Tindra," I add. "Make sure they're okay after this morning."

The ride back is calmer, the desperate edge worn off.

I still hold Rio tightly, but now it's about connection rather than fear.

By the time we pull into the clubhouse, I feel almost steady again.

"There you are!" Meghan rushes over as we enter. "I was worried—your throat, holy shit, the bruises are worse."

"I'm okay," I assure her, voice still raspy. "How are you? And Tindra?"

"Shaken but fine. Tor's been hovering like a mother hen, and someone told me Bodul apparently gave Tindra his number 'in case she needs anything.'" She makes air quotes, grinning. "I think our little purple-haired barista has an admirer."

"She could do worse," I observe. "How's the shop?"

"Cops came, took statements, made a mess." Meghan shrugs. "We'll be closed tomorrow anyway while the guys handle business. Might as well stay closed until this is over."

It's a stark reminder that tomorrow night, while we're safely locked in the clubhouse, our men will be at war.

"Dasha!" Cali's voice carries across the room. "We made cookies! And saved you some!"

"Did you?" I move toward the kitchen, where both girls are covered in flour and chocolate. "What kind?"

"All kinds," Florencia says proudly. "Starla said we could experiment."

"I made pink ones," Cali announces. "With sprinkles!"

"Of course you did." I accept a thoroughly decorated cookie, taking a bite even though I’m not really that hungry. "Delicious."

The rest of the day passes in a blur of normal family activities.

Lunch with the club, helping with homework, refereeing a dispute between the girls over whose turn it is to pick the movie.

If it wasn’t for the bruises on my throat and the guys watching the club with their guns drawn, it could be any day.

Dinner is quieter than usual, everyone aware that tomorrow is the big night.

The men talk in low voices, finalizing details, while the women keep the children distracted.

I catch Rio watching me throughout the meal, his expression soft even with the circumstances.

"Bath time," I announce when the plates are cleared, grateful for the routine.

"Do we have to?" Cali whines.

"Yes. No arguments." I'm too tired for negotiations.

Surprisingly, they comply without putting up a fight.

Maybe they sense the tension in the air, the way everyone's being extra careful with each other.

Even their bedtime story requests are mild—Florencia wants to hear about the princess who rides motorcycles again, while Cali just wants to cuddle.

"Dasha?" Florencia asks as I'm tucking her in. "Is your neck going to be okay?"

"It'll be fine, sweetheart. Just bruises. They'll fade."

"Daddy looked really mad when he saw them," she observes.

"He doesn't like when people hurt the ones he loves," I explain carefully.

"Neither do I," she says firmly. "If I knew who did it, I'd use my new fighting moves on them."

"That's very brave of you," I tell her, smoothing her hair. "But that's Daddy's job, okay? Your job is to be a kid."

"Being a kid is boring sometimes," she sighs, but settles into her pillow and eventually drifts off to sleep.

Cali is already snoring her little head off.

Once I know both of the girls are sleeping soundly, I head downstairs to the main room to chat with the ladies.

We talk about dumb things, about the things that don’t really matter but make all the difference when it comes to stressful situations.

He's showered and changed, looking calmer than he did earlier.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, sitting beside me on the couch.

"Sore but okay." I touch my throat self-consciously. "The bruises look worse than they feel."

"Liar." But he says it gently, wrapping an arm around me.

"Get a room," Meghan teases, but there's affection in it.

"Don't mind if we do," Rio replies, standing and tugging me up with him. "Early night. Big day tomorrow."

The knowing looks from the other women follow us out, but I don't care.

We need this time together before tomorrow's storm.

Back in our room, Rio checks the locks—a new habit—before joining me in bed.

We don't make love again, both too emotionally wrung out.

Instead, we hold each other in the dark, not needing words.

"After tomorrow," he says eventually, "we're taking a vacation. Somewhere safe and boring. Maybe Disney World."

"The girls would love that," I murmur against his chest.

"What about you? What would you love?"

"Just this," I tell him honestly. "You, me, the girls, together and safe. That's all I need."

He presses a kiss to my hair. "One more day."

"One more day," I echo.

And as sleep finally claims me, bruised and exhausted in the arms of the man I love, I let myself believe it's true.

One more day and this nightmare ends.

One more day and we can start building our future without looking over our shoulders.

One more day.