Page 6 of Monstrosity (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #5)

The realization hits me harder than it should, followed immediately by the crushing weight of knowing I've put her in danger just by caring about her.

"It's beautiful, baby girl," I tell her, meaning it. "We'll put it on the refrigerator when we get home."

The drive to Beans & Babes takes fifteen minutes, during which the girls argue about whether butterflies or ladybugs are prettier.

Normal kid stuff that makes me feel almost human again.

Until I see the black sedan parked across from the coffee shop.

My blood turns to ice.

The car is positioned for surveillance, windows tinted dark enough to hide occupants.

Engine running, exhaust visible in the afternoon air.

They're still watching.

I park two blocks away and text Dasha:

Running a few minutes late. Are you ready to go?

Her response comes back immediately:

Just finishing up. Everything okay?

I type her back immediately:

Everything's fine. Stay inside until I get there.

I call Tor while walking toward the shop, keeping one eye on the sedan.

"Yeah?"

"Black sedan, Florida plates, positioned across from Beans & Babes. How fast can you get here?"

"Five minutes. Are the girls with you?"

"In the truck. Two blocks south." I'm moving faster now, hand drifting toward the gun under my jacket. "Just need eyes on this car."

"On my way."

I approach the coffee shop from the side, using other pedestrians as cover.

Through the window, I can see Dasha behind the counter, laughing at something Meghan said.

She looks so normal, so innocent, completely unaware that death might be watching her from across the street.

The bell chimes as I enter, and Dasha's face lights up when she sees me.

The expression is so genuine, so full of warmth, that it physically hurts to know I'm the reason she's in danger.

"Hey," she says, already reaching for her purse. "Just let me clock out and we can go."

"Take your time." I position myself where I can watch the sedan through the window. Still there, still running.

"Everything okay?" Meghan asks, noting my tension. "You look like you're expecting trouble."

"Just tired." I force a smile. "Long ass day."

Dasha reappears from the back room, concern etched across her features.

She knows me well enough to read the signs, even when I'm trying to hide them. "Rio? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." I take her hand, noting how small and soft it feels in mine. "Ready to go?"

She nods, but I can see the questions in her eyes.

Questions I can't answer without admitting that loving me might get her killed.

We leave through the back door, avoiding the front windows.

The sedan is still there when we reach my truck, but as soon as we pull into traffic, it disappears.

"Daddy, why did we go out the back way?" Florencia asks from her booster seat.

"Just felt like a change," I lie, catching Dasha's eyes.

She's studying my expression, trying to figure out what I'm not telling her.

Soccer practice is at the community center, and by the time we arrive, I've spotted at least two more suspicious vehicles in the area.

Either I'm becoming paranoid, or Bembe has stepped up his surveillance significantly.

I text the club group chat while the girls change into their cleats:

Increase presence around the community center. Fuckers are here too.

The response comes back immediately:

Already on it. Perimeter secured.

"You're being weird," Dasha observes, settling beside me on the bleachers. "More weird than usual, I mean."

"Thanks for that."

"I'm serious, Rio. You've been on edge all day. Checking your phone constantly, scanning exits like you're expecting trouble." She pauses. "Is this club business?"

"Something like that." I watch Cali chase the soccer ball across the field, her purple socks bright against the green grass. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"If it involves you, I worry about it." The words slip out before she can stop them, and I see her flush pink. "I mean?—"

"I know what you mean." I turn to look at her fully, noting the way the afternoon light catches the gold flecks in her brown eyes. "And I don't want you to worry. That's the whole point."

"The whole point of what?"

"Of keeping you safe." The admission slips out before I can stop it.

Her breath catches. "Safe from what, Rio?"

Before I can answer—before I can decide whether to tell her the truth or deflect again—Florencia scores a goal and comes running over to us, face glowing with pride.

"Did you see? Did you see me kick it in the goal?"

"We saw, mija ." I scoop her up, spinning her around while she giggles. "You're getting good at this."

"Dasha taught me how to aim," Florencia announces. "She said you have to look where you want the ball to go, not where it is."

"Smart advice," I agree, meeting Dasha's eyes over my daughter's head. "Sometimes the hardest part is knowing where you want to end up."

"And sometimes," Dasha says softly, "you're already there and just too scared to admit it."

The moment stretches between us, loaded with everything we're not saying.

I want to tell her that she's right, that I've been where I want to be for months now, but too afraid to reach for it.

I want to admit that the thought of losing her the way I lost Flora makes it hard to breathe.

But before I can find the words, practice ends and we're swept up in the chaos of collecting gear and corralling sugar-high kids.

"Dinner?" I suggest as we load into the truck. "That new Italian place?"

Cali perks up immediately. "The one with the good breadsticks?"

"That's the one."

Dasha agrees, and twenty minutes later we're seated in a corner booth at Mama Rosa's, where I have clear sight lines to all exits and can position myself between my family and anyone who feels dumb enough to try me today.

The girls chatter about school and soccer while Dasha and I share the silence of two people who've done this dance hundreds of times.

She orders the chicken parmesan, I get the lasagna, and we split a bottle of wine while the girls argue over who gets the last breadstick.

It's so normal it makes my chest ache.

This is what I want—this easy family dynamic, this sense of belonging, this woman across from me who makes everything feel possible.

"Earth to Rio," Dasha says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. "You disappeared on us there."

"Sorry. Just thinking."

"About what?"

About how much I love you.

About how terrified I am of losing you.

About how I'm going to kill anyone who tries to hurt you.

"About how good this is," I say instead. "All of us together like this."

Her smile is soft, understanding. "It is good, isn't it?"

"The best."

We linger over dessert—gelato for the girls, tiramisu that Dasha and I share even with her protests that she's too full.

The wine has loosened some of the tension in my shoulders, and for a few minutes, I almost forget about the threats and surveillance and the war we declared this morning.

Almost.

The drive home is quiet, both girls dozing off in their car seats while soft music plays on the radio.

Dasha's curled in the passenger seat, bare feet tucked under her, watching the city lights blur past.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

"For what?"

"For including me. For letting me be part of this." She gestures vaguely at the sleeping girls, at the space between us. "I know it's complicated, with their mom and everything. But this... us... it means everything to me."

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. "Dasha?—"

"I know we haven't talked about what this is," she continues, voice barely above a whisper. "And I'm not asking for promises or declarations. I just need you to know that whatever this is between us, I'm all in. Completely."

The words hit me, hard.

Here she is, offering me everything I want, and all I can think about is how loving me might get her killed.

"You shouldn't be," I say quietly. "All in, I mean. You should run. Find someone normal who can give you the life you deserve."

"And what if I don't want normal?" She turns to face me fully. "What if I want complicated and messy and real? What if I want you?"

I pull into our driveway, the familiar sight of home doing nothing to ease the turmoil in my chest.

The porch light is on—I always leave it burning when we're out—and the house looks peaceful, safe.

"We should get the girls inside," I say, avoiding her question because I don't trust myself to answer it honestly.

"Rio." Her hand touches my arm, stopping me from getting out. "Look at me."

I do, and the raw emotion in her eyes nearly undoes me.

"I know you're scared," she says. "I know what happened to Flora traumatized you. But I'm not her, and this isn't five years ago. You can't protect me by pushing me away."

"I can try."

Her voice is steady, sure. "Because I won't be pushed away. Not anymore. Whatever's going on—and don't tell me nothing is going on—we face it together. That's what people who care about each other do."

"Dasha—"

"Together, Rio. Or not at all."

Before I can respond, her phone buzzes with a text.

She glances at it, frowns, then shows me the screen.

Unknown number:

Sweet dreams, beautiful. See you soon.

My blood turns to ice. "When did that come in?"

"Just now. Probably some creep who got the wrong number." But there's uncertainty in her voice, and when she looks at me, I know she can see the truth in my expression.

"Inside," I say, already moving. "Now."

"Rio, what's?—"

"Inside. Get the girls. Now."

She doesn't argue, sensing the urgency in my voice.

Within minutes, we have both girls unbuckled and moving toward the house.

I'm checking shadows, scanning rooflines, every nerve on high alert.

The house is secure—locks engaged, alarm system armed.

But as I do my sweep of the rooms, checking windows and sight lines, I can feel Dasha watching me.

"You want to tell me what's really going on?" she asks once the girls are settled in the living room with a movie.

I look at this woman who's become the center of my world, who's offering me everything I've ever wanted, and I know I can't keep lying to her.

"There are some very bad people who want to hurt me," I say finally. "And they think the best way to do that is through you."

She goes very still. "What kind of bad people?"

"The kind that killed Flora."

The words hang between us like a blade, sharp and final.

Her face goes pale, but she doesn't look away. "How long have they been watching me?"

"A few months. Maybe longer." I run my hands through my hair, exhausted by the weight of carrying this alone. "I've been trying to keep you safe without involving you, but?—"

"But that's not your decision to make." Her voice is steady, stronger than I expected. "If I'm in danger, I have the right to know."

"You have the right to be safe."

"I have the right to choose." She stands, moving closer until she's right in front of me. "And I choose you. All of you. Even the dangerous parts."

"Dasha—"

"No more lies, Rio. No more half-truths or evasions. If we're doing this, if we're really doing this, then we do it honestly."

I look down at her—this brave, stubborn, incredible woman who's somehow become my everything—and I know I'm lost.

"Okay," I say quietly. "No more lies."

She smiles, and it's like sunrise after the longest night.

"Good. Now tell me everything."