Page 2 of Monstrosity (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #5)

"I'm not going to kill the messenger," I say quietly, setting the knife aside. "I'm going to kill the child poisoner who just told me my family is being watched."

"Wait—"

"But first, I want you to tell me about Flora."

Santos goes perfectly still. Even bleeding and broken, he recognizes the name.

"I... I don't know any Flora?—"

"Flora Maria Rojas." I pull up a chair, sitting directly in front of him. "My wife. Five years ago. Shot in the chest while she was pregnant with my youngest daughter."

His face drains of all color. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, you're?—"

"I’m Riodhr Rojas. Yes." I lean forward, close enough to smell his fear-sweat. "And you were there that night, weren't you, Miguel?"

"No! No, man, I wasn't even in Tallahassee five years ago!"

"Liar." The knife slides between his ribs, just deep enough to nick a lung. Not fatal. Not yet. "I have security footage from the day it went down. You were there. I saw you with my own eyes."

"Okay! Okay, yes! But I didn't pull the trigger! I was just the driver! It wasn't my call!"

"Whose call was it?"

"You already know the answer. We just did our jobs, man. We were told to hit your club hard, and we did."

"Flora wasn't involved in any of this." Even saying the words, all I can think about is her.

My pregnant wife, her only concern being a good mother to our daughters.

"She did more than you think," Santos gasps. "We saw the logs. She reported suspicious cargo manifests. Cost us three million in product and got six of our guys arrested."

"So you killed her."

"No! I just drove the car!"

"But you watched." I twist the knife slightly, just enough to make him scream. "You sat in your car and watched them murder my pregnant wife."

"She fought, man! God help me, she fought so hard! Tried to protect her belly. I thought she was gonna pull through. I really did! You were all there, it all happened so fast. I… I didn’t know she was gonna actually die!"

The knife slides deeper.

Something breaks inside my chest. Something that's been carefully locked away for five years, wrapped in rage and buried under an ocean of blood.

"We thought... we thought maybe the EMTs could save her!"

This is pointless.

He will beg and fight for his life for as long as he can, but it won’t make a difference.

I stand, walking back to the tool table.

This time, I skip the subtle instruments and go straight for the heavy artillery.

"Miguel Santos," I say conversationally, selecting a particular item that gleams under the work light. "You've been very helpful tonight. More helpful than you know."

"Please, man, I told you everything! I cooperated!"

"Yes, you did. You told me exactly what I needed to hear.

" I turn to face him, holding my chosen tool.

"You even confirmed that the woman I love is in danger because of animals like you.

You confirmed that my wife was an innocent who died because she tried to protect children from your poison.

And you confirmed that five years of hunting your kind hasn't been nearly enough. "

"What... what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to show you what happens to men who threaten children. What happens to men who kill pregnant women." I flip the switch, and the blowtorch hisses to life. "And then I'm going to make sure Bembe gets the message loud and clear."

"Wait! Wait! I can help you! I can tell you where Bembe is hiding! I can?—"

"Miguel." I adjust the flame to a beautiful blue cone. "You've already told me everything useful. Now you're just going to help me send a message."

What follows isn't interrogation anymore. It's art.

It's justice.

It's five years of controlled rage finally finding an outlet worthy of its intensity.

He screams until his voice gives out.

Then he screams some more, silent now but no less agonized.

I work methodically, precisely, taking my time to ensure the message is clear.

This is what happens to men who threaten my family.

This is what happens to men who take mothers from their children.

This is what happens when you mistake Rio Rojas for someone who shows mercy.

When it's finally over, when Santos is nothing but meat and message, I step back to admire my work.

Bodul is pale but attentive, learning lessons he'll carry for the rest of his life.

Tor just nods approvingly—he's seen my handiwork before.

"Clean this up," I tell Bodul, stripping off my bloody gloves. "I want you and Gorm to make sure it's found in Culebra territory. Let them know what's coming."

"Who are you to give me orders?" Bodul asks, voice slightly hoarse.

I meet his eyes until understanding dawns. "I have permission from the VP and Prez to give orders to the other prospects. Tor can vouch for me, and you should know better."

I check my phone as we walk back to the car.

Three missed calls from the clubhouse, two texts from Geirolf about timing, and one message that makes my blood run cold.

From Dasha:

Going in early today. Not sure what time you’ll be home. Girls are asleep in their room. Tindra will be there babysitting. Coffee's ready for morning. Drive safe.

Simple words. Innocent words.

Words that confirm everything Santos told me.

They know about her. They know she matters. They know exactly how to hurt me.

"Drop me at home," I tell Tor as we climb into the car. "I need to check on something."

The drive takes twenty minutes, which feels like hours.

I sit in the back seat, watching Jacksonville blur past until we’re back in Tallahassee, thinking about Flora’s last words and Dasha’s innocent text and the terrible symmetry of history preparing to repeat itself.

At a red light, my phone buzzes again.

This time it's not Dasha.

Unknown number:

Nice work at the plant. Bembe sends his regards.

Below the text is a photo.

Dasha's car in our driveway.

Time stamp: forty-seven minutes ago.

While I was torturing Santos, they were watching her.

Learning her patterns.

Planning her death.

I forward the message to Doran immediately, then to the clubhouse, then to every number I trust.

Within minutes, my phone is buzzing with responses—offers of help, demands for intel, promises of violence that would make Santos' death look gentle.

But all I can think about is Flora, bleeding out at the pool party.

All I can think about is Dasha, working at the coffee joint, with no idea that she's become a target in a war she never asked to join.

Tor parks in my driveway at 4:23 AM.

The house is dark except for the kitchen light Dasha always leaves on—a beacon of warmth in the predawn darkness.

I get out of the vehicle, and Tor heads back.

I watch his taillights disappear into the darkness, then turn to study my house.

From the outside, it looks peaceful. Safe. The kind of place where good things happen to good people.

But I know better.

I know that monsters like me don't get to keep good things without paying for them in blood.

I know that Dasha's kindness and my daughters' innocence are luxuries this world doesn't allow.

I know that Bembe Reyes is coming for everything I love, just like his people came for Flora.

The difference is, this time I'm ready.

This time, I will be ready when they come calling.

This time, I'll make sure they understand exactly what it costs to threaten a dead man's only reasons for living.

My phone buzzes one final time as I unlock my front door.

Another unknown number, another message that confirms my worst fears:

Tomorrow night. The coffee shop girl learns what it costs to matter to you, Rio. Say hello to Dasha for us.

I delete the message and slip inside, moving quietly through my own house like the ghost I've become.

In the living room, toys are scattered across the carpet—evidence of a normal evening, of children playing while someone who loves them watches carefully.

On the couch, Dasha sleeps curled under my leather jacket, still wearing her Beans & Babes apron.

Her dark hair spills across the cushions, and in sleep, she looks younger than her thirty-nine years.

Innocent.

Untouched by the violence that defines my world.

She has no idea that loving me is a death sentence.

She has no idea that her kindness toward my daughters has painted a target on her back.

She has no idea that tomorrow night, everything changes.

But I know.

And I'm going to make sure Bembe Reyes learns exactly why I’m not the kind of man who should be fucked with.

Some mistakes you only make once.

Threatening what's mine is the kind of mistake that gets you and everyone you love erased from existence.

I settle into the chair across from the couch and watch Dasha sleep, memorizing every detail of her peaceful face.

In a few hours, she'll wake up to coffee and chaos, to little girl laughter and the normal rhythms of a life she's chosen to share with us.

She deserves that normal life.

She deserves safety and happiness and a man who brings her flowers instead of bloody clothes.

But she's mine now, whether she knows it or not.

And I'll burn the whole fucking world down before I let history repeat itself.