Page 19 of Monstrosity (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #5)

"Figured you should face tonight as a full member," Runes replies. "You've more than earned it, and your woman deserves an old man with full colors."

That gets another round of cheers and good-natured ribbing.

"Now," Runes says, bringing us back to focus. "Let's go show these fuckers what happens when they threaten the Raiders of Valhalla. All of us. Together."

A rumble of agreement runs through the room. These men are ready for blood.

"Lock and load, brothers. We ride in thirty."

Kirkja empties, men heading out to say goodbye to their ol’ ladies and kids.

I make my way to our room, finding Dasha helping the girls into pajamas.

"But it's not even dark yet," Cali protests.

"Movie night in the main room," Dasha explains. "Thought you might want to be comfy."

Smart woman, giving them something to focus on besides the men leaving.

"Daddy!" Florencia runs to me. "We made you something!"

She produces two pieces of paper—drawings in crayon.

Hers shows a stick figure on a motorcycle with "DADDY" written in careful letters.

Cali's is more abstract but includes what might be a heart. Or a potato. Hard to tell with five-year-old art.

"For luck," Florencia explains seriously.

"They're perfect." I fold them carefully, tucking them inside my cut. "I'll keep them with me."

"Really?" Cali bounces excitedly.

"Really. Can't have too much luck, right?"

Dasha watches this exchange with soft eyes, but I can see the fear underneath.

Time's running out.

"Give Daddy hugs," she says quietly. "He has to go to work."

They attack me simultaneously, small arms wrapping tight.

I breathe them in—shampoo and cookies and innocence.

Everything worth fighting for.

"Love you, monsters," I tell them.

"Love you too, Daddy. Be careful at work!"

If only they knew.

Dasha walks me to the door while the girls run ahead to claim good spots for movie night.

In the hallway, she grabs my cut and pulls me down for a fierce kiss.

Her hands freeze on my shoulders.

She pulls back, eyes widening as she takes in my cut.

"Rio... your patch." Her fingers trace over the full colors where 'PROSPECT' used to be. "You're... they made you a full patch?"

"About an hour ago," I confirm, unable to keep the pride from my voice.

"Oh my God!" She throws her arms around my neck, kissing me again with even more intensity.

When she pulls back, there are tears in her eyes. "I'm so proud of you. You've waited years for this."

"Worth the wait," I tell her, meaning more than just the patch.

"My old man," she says softly, touching the rockers again. "Officially. God, Rio, this is huge."

"Changes nothing about tonight," I remind her. "It’s still dangerous."

"I know. But now you're going out there as a full brother. They have your back completely." She straightens my cut, smoothing the leather. "You've earned this. Every thread, every stitch. I've watched you sacrifice for this club, bleed for them. I'm so fucking proud of you."

Her pride means more than all the congratulations from my brothers combined.

"Come back to us," she whispers against my lips.

"Always."

"My full-patch badass," she adds with a watery smile. "I love you."

One more kiss and then I'm moving, switching from father to warrior.

"Ready?" Tor asks, appearing at my shoulder as I head for the door.

"Born ready."

"Confident. I like it." He checks his own weapons. "Meghan made me promise to keep you alive. Something about Disney plans."

"Dasha made me promise the same about you. Something about you and Meghan watching the girls if anything happens to us."

"Jesus, that's morbid." He pauses. "But yeah, of course we would. You know that."

"I know. But she wanted it said out loud, I guess. Making sure everything's covered." I adjust my holster. "Plus Cali's apparently decided you're her favorite uncle."

"Smart kid." He grins. "Though Fenrir's gonna be pissed. He's been bribing her with candy for months trying to win that title."

"Mount up!" Runes' voice carries across the lot.

Engines roar to life, the sound of two dozen Harleys enough to shake windows.

I swing onto my bike, feeling the magnitude of what’s about to happen.

The drawings in my cut press against my chest—reminders of what matters.

We roll out in formation, a convoy of death heading for the docks.

The sun is setting, painting the sky blood red. Fitting.

The meeting point with the Irish is an abandoned truck stop five miles from the target.

Their vehicles are already there—black SUVs that scream organized crime.

Professionals, not street thugs.

Doran meets us as we dismount. "Evening, gentlemen. Ready to get rich?"

"Ready to end threats," I correct. "The money's just a bonus."

"Spoken like a man with priorities." He gestures to the assembled Irish soldiers. "My boys are ready. We'll hit the boats on your signal, secure the product while you handle the warehouse."

"Bembe?"

"If we see him, we'll coral him your way." His smile is sharp. "Uncle wants his pound of flesh, but he respects your claim."

"Appreciated."

Doran and Liam's lieutenant—Connor, I think—go over final coordination while I study aerial photos one more time.

The dock is isolated, approach roads limited.

Good for containing everything that’s about to go down but bad if we need to get out of there quick.

"Two minutes," Tor announces.

I check my weapons one final time.

Glock at my hip, backup at my ankle, knife in my boot.

The weight is familiar, comforting even. Tools of the trade.

"Remember," I address my team. "We go in quiet until we can't. Priority is securing the warehouse and finding Bembe. Anyone else is collateral damage."

Nods all around. These men know their business.

"Let's ride."

The final approach is done with engines off, coasting on momentum and darkness.

The dock comes into view—warehouses squatting against the water, boats bobbing at their moorings.

Lights are on, movement visible.

They're here.

Runes signals the teams to split.

Irish peel off toward the boats while we head for the main warehouse.

Everything depends on timing now.

We're fifty yards out when I see him—a guard having a smoke, bored and careless.

I'm off my bike before the engine's fully dead, moving on pure instinct.

The knife finds my hand like it belongs there, like it's been waiting.

The guard doesn't even see me coming—too busy checking his phone, the glow lighting his face.

Amateur move. His last one.

I come up behind him fast and silent.

My hand clamps over his mouth as the blade slides between his ribs, finding the gaps in bone like I've done this a hundred times.

Because I have.

He jerks once, a muffled grunt against my palm.

His eyes go wide, phone clattering to the concrete.

I hold him up as his legs give out, lowering him gently.

Can't have him making noise on the way down.

The blood pools black in the darkness, spreading like an oil slick.

First blood on me tonight, and the night's just getting started.

"Go, go, go," I whisper into comms.

We flow forward like shadows, brothers who've done this dance before.

Two more guards go down before alarms sound.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Gunfire erupts from multiple positions—they were ready for us.

Muzzle flashes light the night as we dive for cover, the easy infiltration becoming a firefight.

"Ambush!" someone yells, like we hadn't figured that out.

"Push through!" I order, returning fire. "Irish, what's your status?"

"Engaged!" Doran's voice is strained. "Fighting like bloody hell at the boats!"

Fuck. This was supposed to be easy, to come in the dark and take everything from them.

"Gorm, Bodul, with me!" I break cover, sprinting for the warehouse's side entrance.

We need to get inside, find the drugs and Bembe before this goes completely sideways.

The door explodes inward under my boot.

The interior is chaotic—men scrambling for positions, others running for exits.

I drop two before they can raise weapons, Gorm and Bodul flanking me.

"Clear right!"

"Clear left!"

"Moving!"

We push deeper, following the sound of panicked voices.

The drugs have to be here somewhere.

Then I see them—pallets wrapped in plastic, enough product to flood the entire Southeast.

And standing beside them, shouting orders, is Bembe fucking Reyes.

Our eyes meet across the warehouse.

It’s like time physically slows.

He smiles —actually smiles—and raises his weapon.

I'm already moving, diving behind a forklift as bullets spark off metal. "Bembe's here! Northwest corner!"

"On the way!"

But Bembe's not waiting.

He's running, two guards covering his retreat.

I pursue, not willing to let him escape.

Not after what he did to Dasha.

Tor's voice in my ear. "Rio, wait for backup!"

"No. He's running."

I burst through a door into the night air, catching sight of Bembe heading for a speedboat.

Oh, hell no.

The distance is too great for accuracy, but I fire anyway, trying to slow him down.

One guard stumbles, goes down.

The other returns fire, forcing me to cover.

When I look again, Bembe's almost at the boat.

I run, pouring everything into closing the distance.

Can't let him escape. Can't fail my family.

The remaining guard turns, weapon rising.

I don't slow, trusting instinct and armor.

His shots go wide—panic fire.

Mine don't.

He drops, and suddenly it's just me and Bembe at the water's edge.

"Rio!" He's not smiling now. "Let's discuss this like civilized men."

"Civilized?" I advance on him. "You threatened my woman. My children. Where's the civilization in that?"

"Business," he says, backing toward the boat. "Nothing personal."

"Everything's personal when it comes to family."

He lunges for the boat.

I tackle him, both of us crashing into the shallow water.

We grapple, fighting for dominance.

He's stronger than he looks, desperate.

But I'm angrier.

I get position, raining down punches.

His nose breaks, blood mixing with seawater.

He bucks, trying to throw me off, hand scrambling for something.

Gun.