Page 4 of Monstrosity (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #5)

"Still." He leans against the counter, studying me with those dark eyes. "I know this isn't what you signed up for all those years ago. Playing house with a widower and his kids."

Playing house.

The words sting more than they should, but I keep my expression neutral. "Is that what you think this is? Playing house?"

Something flickers across his face—regret, maybe, or something deeper. "Dasha?—"

"Daddy! I can't get my shirt on!" Cali's voice drifts down the stairs, effectively ending whatever conversation we might have had.

Rio pushes off from the counter. "We should get moving. I'll drop you at work after I take the girls to school."

"Okay." I turn back to the dishes, needing something to do with my hands. "I'll be ready in ten minutes."

Ten minutes later, both girls reappear in the kitchen fully dressed—Florencia in her favorite purple dress and Cali in jeans and a sparkly t-shirt.

"Hair time!" Florencia announces, plopping down in the chair I've pulled out for her.

I work carefully, sectioning her long, dark hair into neat French braids while Cali waits her turn, swinging her legs impatiently.

"See, Daddy?" Florencia says when I'm finished, shaking her head to test the braids. "No lumps!"

From across the kitchen, Rio watches me smooth Cali's shorter hair into pigtails, his dark eyes following my movements with an intensity that makes my cheeks warm.

There's something almost reverent in his expression as he takes in this domestic scene, and when our eyes meet in the mirror on the wall, the air between us crackles with unspoken words.

Twenty minutes later, we're all piled into Rio's truck—a massive black Ford that makes me feel tiny but somehow safe.

The girls chatter in the backseat about their plans for the day while I stare out the passenger window, hyper aware of Rio's hands on the steering wheel, the way his thigh muscle flexes when he brakes, the subtle scent of his cologne filling the enclosed space.

We drop Florencia at elementary school first, where she kisses both Rio and me goodbye before running to join her friends on the playground.

Then it's Cali's turn at the daycare center, where she insists on showing Rio and me the picture she painted yesterday before finally allowing us to leave.

Which leaves just Rio and me for the ten-minute drive to Beans & Babes.

The silence stretches between us, comfortable but charged.

I find myself stealing glances at his profile—the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair curls slightly behind his ear, the small scar on his temple from some accident he's never told me about.

"Dasha." My name on his lips makes me turn to face him fully. "About this morning?—"

"It's okay," I say quickly, not sure I can handle whatever explanation or apology he's about to offer. "You don't have to?—"

"Yes, I do." His knuckles are white where he grips the steering wheel. "I shouldn't have... I need to be more careful."

More careful.

Like touching me is dangerous.

Like wanting me is something to be avoided.

"Careful of what?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

He pulls into the parking lot behind Beans & Babes but doesn't immediately turn off the engine.

Instead, he sits there for a moment, staring straight ahead.

"You know what," he says finally, and there's something almost pained in his voice.

But I don't know. That's the problem.

I don't know if he wants me the way I want him, or if I'm just convenient.

I don't know if the moments of tension between us mean anything, or if I'm imagining them because I want them so badly.

"Rio—"

"I'll pick you up at five-thirty," he says, cutting off whatever I was going to say. "The girls have soccer practice, so we'll probably grab dinner somewhere after."

Just like that, we're back to the safe topics. Schedules and routines and the comfortable distance we've maintained for two years.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach for the door handle, frustrated and confused and more than a little hurt. But before I can get out, Rio's hand covers mine.

"Dasha." When I look at him, his dark eyes are intense, almost desperate. "Be careful today, okay? If anything feels off, anything at all, you call me immediately."

"Why would anything feel off?" I ask, confused by the sudden shift in his tone.

"Just... promise me. Anything weird, any customers who make you uncomfortable, any feeling that something's not right—you call me."

There's an urgency in his voice that makes my stomach clench with unease. "Rio, you're scaring me. What's going on?"

"Nothing," he says too quickly. "I just... I worry about you. Working in a public place, dealing with strangers all day. Being close to the club. Just, promise me you'll be careful."

I study his face, looking for clues about what's really bothering him.

But Rio's learned to school his expressions, to keep his thoughts hidden behind those dark eyes.

"I promise," I say finally, because the alternative is getting out of this truck without any answers at all.

Relief flickers across his features. "Good. I'll see you tonight."

I lean over and kiss his cheek—a quick, friendly gesture that I've done a hundred times before.

But today, he goes perfectly still under my lips, and when I pull back, there's something raw and hungry in his expression that takes my breath away.

For a moment, I think he might kiss me. Really kiss me.

His gaze drops to my mouth, and I can see the war playing out on his face—want versus restraint, need versus whatever's holding him back.

"Dasha," he breathes, and my name sounds like a prayer.

Then his phone buzzes, shattering the moment.

He pulls back, jaw tight, and answers without looking at the caller ID.

"What?" His voice is sharp, professional. "Yeah, I'll be right there."

He hangs up and looks at me with something that might be regret. "I have to go. Club business."

"Of course." I force a smile and climb out of the truck, trying to ignore the disappointment settling in my chest like a stone. "See you tonight."

I watch him drive away, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way he immediately makes another phone call as soon as he thinks I can't see him.

Whatever "club business" means, it's clearly serious enough to erase any personal concerns from his mind.

The bells above the door chime as I enter Beans & Babes, and the familiar smell of coffee and fresh pastries wraps around me like a hug.

Meghan's already behind the counter, her red hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, setting up for the morning rush.

"Well, well," she says without looking up from the espresso machine. "Look who's glowing this morning."

"I'm not glowing," I protest, grabbing my apron from the hook behind the register.

"Honey, you're practically radioactive." She finally turns to face me, green eyes sparkling with mischief. "What did Rio do to put that look on your face?"

"He didn't do anything." Which is technically true and somehow makes it worse.

"Uh-huh." Meghan clearly doesn't believe me. "That's why you look like you've been thoroughly kissed and are disappointed about it."

"We're just friends," I say automatically, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue.

"Right. And I'm the Queen of England." She starts grinding coffee beans, the noise preventing further conversation for a moment.

When it stops, she fixes me with a knowing look. "Dasha, honey, I've seen the way that man looks at you. That is not friendship in his eyes."

"Then why hasn't he done anything about it?" The question bursts out of me before I can stop it, two years of frustration bleeding through.

Meghan's expression softens. "Oh, sweetie. Maybe because he's scared?"

"Scared of what?"

"Of messing up what you have. Of losing you if things go wrong. Of not being enough for someone like you. Of the kids losing you if it goes sour." She shrugs. "Men are idiots when it comes to emotional stuff, especially men like Rio who've been through what he's been through."

Before I can talk with her anymore, the morning work rush begins.

The next few hours pass in a blur of coffee orders and small talk with regulars, the familiar rhythm of work providing a welcome distraction from my confused feelings about Rio.

It's around ten-thirty when the stranger comes in.

He's not unusual looking—mid-thirties, average height, dressed in khakis and a polo shirt like any other suburban dad.

But something about him sets my teeth on edge.

Maybe it's the way his eyes scan the shop too carefully, or how he seems more interested in the layout than the menu board.

"What can I get you?" I ask when he approaches the counter.

"Coffee, black. Large." He pulls out his phone while I pour, seemingly scrolling through messages. "You're Dasha, right?"

My hand stills on the coffee pot. "I'm sorry, do we know each other?"

"Friend of a friend." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "You work here most days?"

Warning bells start ringing in my head.

Rio's words from this morning echo back to me:

If anything feels off, anything at all, you call me immediately.

"Sometimes," I say vaguely, setting his coffee on the counter. "That'll be three-fifty."

He hands me a five and waves off the change, but he doesn't leave.

Instead, he finds a table near the window and sits there for the next hour, occasionally checking his phone but mostly just... watching.

Watching me .

When he finally leaves, I catch myself checking the locks on the back door and making sure my phone is easily accessible.

I tell myself I'm being paranoid, that Rio's warning has me jumping at shadows.

But I can't shake the feeling that something's shifted, that the safe little world I've built with Rio and his daughters is about to change in ways I can't even imagine.

I just don't know how right I am.