Page 18 of Monstrosity (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #5)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rio

It might be four in the morning, but the clubhouse is quiet as all hell, that deep silence that comes before war.

I've been awake for an hour, running through tonight's plan until I could recite it in my sleep.

Tonight, we hit Bembe's shipment.

Tonight, this threat to my family ends.

Or we die trying.

I slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Dasha.

She needs her sleep—God knows she got little enough last night, tossing and turning, her hand reaching for me even in dreams.

The bruises on her throat have darkened to purple-black, a reminder of how close I came to losing her.

Never again.

I walk downstairs and find the room where the club holds kirkja wide open.

Runes sits at the head of the table, maps spread before him, while Ivar cleans his weapons.

Tor's on his phone, probably checking in with our scouts.

"Morning," Runes greets without looking up. "Coffee's fresh."

I pour a cup, noting my hands are steady.

Good. Can't afford to be nervous today.

"Irish are in position," Tor reports, ending his call. "Doran says they've got eyes on the dock. No unusual movement yet."

"They won't see us coming," I say, settling into my chair. "Bembe thinks he's safe. Thinks his ambush yesterday bought him time."

"Maybe it did," Ivar points out. "He knows we're coming for him now."

"He knew anyway." I pull up the aerial photos of the dock on my tablet. "But knowing and being ready are two different things. He's expecting a few bikers looking for revenge. Not a coordinated strike with Irish backing."

"Speaking of which." Runes slides a phone across to me. "Liam wants confirmation we're still good for tonight."

I dial the number, unsurprised when Liam answers on the first ring.

The Irish boss doesn't sleep much either, apparently.

"Raider," he greets. "My boys are getting antsy. Tell me we're not sitting on our arses for nothing."

"Eight PM sharp," I confirm. "Your men hit the boats while we take the warehouse. Bembe won't know what hit him."

"He better not. I've got a lot riding on this—money and reputation." His pause is heavy with meaning. "This better be worth it"

"It will."

"We’ll see," But there's dark humor in his voice. "My nephew speaks highly of you all. Says you're a man of your word."

"Doran's good people."

"Aye, he is. Which is why I'm trusting you with this. Eight PM. Don't be late."

The line goes dead.

Typical Irishman—always have to have the last word.

"Friendly as always," Tor observes.

"He's risking a lot," Runes says. "Twenty million in product doesn't just disappear without consequences. The cartel will come looking."

"Let them look," I say. "After tonight, Bembe's organization will be too scattered to mount any real response. Cut off the head..."

"And the snake still thrashes," Ivar finishes. "But yeah, it'll buy us time. Maybe enough to establish new territories before they reorganize. Maybe even enough to kill the Culebra cartel once and for all."

We spend the next hour going over details one more time.

Entry points, extraction routes, contingencies for when—not if—things go sideways.

Every man knows his role, every possibility accounted for.

Except the ones we can't predict.

"Weapons check at noon," Runes decides. "Final briefing at six. We roll at seven-thirty."

"What about protection here?" I ask. "The women and kids?—"

"Fenrir's staying with a full security detail. Nobody gets in or out without his say-so." Runes meets my eyes. "Your family will be safe, Rio. You have my word."

I nod, trusting him completely.

In this life, a president's word is law.

The meeting breaks up as the sun rises, brothers heading off to prepare in their own ways.

Some will spend the day with family, some in meditation or prayer, some cleaning weapons obsessively.

We all have our rituals before violence.

Mine is breakfast with my girls.

I find them in the kitchen, Dasha helping Cali with her cereal while Florencia reads at the table.

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

This is what I'm fighting for.

This is what I'll kill to protect.

"Morning, Daddy," Cali chirps, milk already on her chin. "Are you going to work today?"

"Tonight," I tell her, dropping a kiss on her head. "Got some important business to handle."

"The dangerous kind?" Florencia asks without looking up from her book.

That kid sees too much.

"All business is dangerous in our world, mija ." I settle next to Dasha, who wordlessly hands me coffee fixed exactly how I like it. "But I'll be careful."

"You better be," Dasha says quietly. The bruises on her throat are stark in the morning light. "We have plans, remember?"

"Disney World," Cali announces. "Daddy promised after his business is done."

"That's right, baby girl. Mickey Mouse and everything."

The conversation stays light through breakfast, but I catch Dasha watching me when she thinks I'm not looking.

She knows today is different. They all do, even if we're pretending otherwise.

"Girls, why don't you go find Starla?" Dasha suggests when the plates are empty. "I think she mentioned something about a craft project today."

"Crafts!" Cali's off like a shot, Florencia following more sedately after marking her page.

Once they're gone, Dasha moves to straddle my lap, arms around my neck. "Tell me you'll be careful."

"I'm always careful."

"Rio." Her fingers trace my jaw. "I mean it. Don’t be risky. No heroics. Get in, get the drugs, get Bembe, get out."

"That's the plan."

"Plans go to shit," she says bluntly. "Promise me—if things go bad, you'll prioritize coming home over everything else."

I frame her face with my hands, thumbs brushing those damned bruises. "I promise I'll do whatever it takes to come home to you. All of you."

She studies my face, reading the truth there. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I trust you." She kisses me soft and deep. "Just... come back to us."

"Always."

We stay like that for a while, holding each other in the morning light.

Eventually, duty calls—weapons to check, plans to finalize, brothers to coordinate.

But for now, there's just the two of us.

"I should go," I say eventually.

"I know." But she doesn't move. "Rio? Whatever happens tonight... I love you. The girls love you. We'll be here when you get back."

"I love you too." I kiss her once more, pouring everything I feel into it. "More than you know."

The day passes in a blur as we all prepare.

Weapons are cleaned and loaded, bikes fueled and checked, communication systems tested.

The atmosphere in the clubhouse is electric—that particular combination of tension and anticipation that comes before battle.

I find myself checking on Dasha and the girls throughout the day, needing the small moments of normalcy.

We have lunch together, I help with homework, and even have to break up a fight over crayons.

Regular dad stuff while preparing for war.

"Why is everyone so serious?" Florencia asks during dinner.

The main room is quieter than usual, conversations muted.

"Just grown-up stuff," Dasha tells her. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"Is it about the bad men? The ones who hurt Dasha?"

Too smart for her own good, this one.

"Yes," I answer honestly. "But after tonight, they won't be able to hurt anyone again."

She nods solemnly. "Good. I don't like people who hurt our family."

"Neither do I, baby. Neither do I."

The final briefing is at six, brothers packed into the room where we have kirkja .

Runes runs through everything one more time while I study the faces around me.

These men will bleed for each other tonight. some might die.

But we all know the stakes.

"Questions?" Runes asks when he's done.

"What are the rules for this run?" Bodul asks.

He's trying to look tough, but I can see the nerves coursing through him.

"Anyone at that dock who isn't us or Irish is an enemy," Runes answers. "Put them down hard and fast. This isn't a negotiation—it's an extermination."

"Except Bembe," Tor adds. "He comes back alive, as promised."

"Barely alive counts," someone mutters, getting dark chuckles.

"Remember," Runes says, standing. "We're not just fighting for territory or money. We're fighting for our families. The men we face tonight wanted to murder our women and children. Show them what that costs."

"One more thing," Runes says, his voice cutting through the rumble of agreement. "Rio, front and center."

I freeze.

This isn't normal, or at least I don’t think it is.

I move to the front of the room, aware of every eye on me.

"You've been prospecting for this club for many years," Runes begins. "Years of loyalty, of sacrifice, of proving yourself worthy of our colors."

My heart starts pounding.

Is this actually happening?

"You've bled for us. Killed for us. Protected our families as if they were your own." He pauses, looking around the room. "Brothers, I put it to you. Has this man earned his patch?"

The roar of approval is deafening.

Fists pound on tables, boots stomp the floor.

"Then by the power vested in me as President of the Raiders of Valhalla," Runes continues, pulling something from his cut, "I present you with your full colors. Welcome to the brotherhood, Rio."

He holds out the patch—the full Raiders of Valhalla rockers.

My hands shake slightly as I take them.

"Turn around," Tor says, grinning. "Let's do this right."

I turn, and Fenrir steps forward with a knife, carefully removing the prospect patch I've worn for so long.

Then, it all happens in a blur, multiple brothers work to sew on my new colors.

The weight of them feels different—heavier with responsibility, but also lighter somehow. Like I'm finally where I belong.

"Brother," Runes says when they're done, pulling me into a hard embrace. The others follow, each welcoming me properly into the brotherhood.

"About fucking time," Ivar mutters, but he's smiling.

"Hell of a timing, Prez," I manage when the congratulations die down.