Page 9 of Monstrosity (Raiders of Valhalla MC: New Blood #5)

CHAPTER FOUR

Rio

The room is still dark when I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Dasha or Cali.

They're curled together now, my daughter's small hand fisted in Dasha's hair, and the sight makes my chest tight with emotions I don't have time to think about.

Last night changed everything between us.

Not just the physical aspect—though fuck, that was worth the years’ long wait—but the promises made, the lines crossed, our family officially formed.

Dasha is mine now, claimed in every way that matters, and that means her safety is no longer negotiable.

I dress quietly, slipping on new clothes, checking my phone as I move through the house.

Seventeen messages from the club, three from Tor specifically, and one from an unknown number that makes my blood run cold:

Sweet dreams, Rio. Hope you enjoyed your night. It might be your last.

I screenshot it and forward it to our tech guy before deleting the original.

No need for Dasha to see that if she happens to look at my phone.

Florencia is still sleeping in her room, one arm thrown over her head in that careless way kids have.

I watch her for a moment, this piece of my heart walking around outside my body, and feel that familiar surge of protective rage.

They won't touch her. Any of them.

I'll paint the streets red before I let Bembe's people get within a hundred yards of my family.

I leave a note on the kitchen counter for Dasha— Had to go to the clubhouse. I'll explain everything later. I love you. —and slip out the front door.

The morning air is thick with humidity, typical Florida weather that makes everything feel heavy.

Or maybe that's just the weight of what's coming.

The brother on watch, Kraken, nods from his bike across the street. "Quiet night after they left," he reports. "No movement since."

"Good, and thank you. Someone should be here within the hour to relieve you."

The drive to the clubhouse takes fifteen minutes, during which I make three calls—one to set up additional surveillance on the house while I'm gone, one to check in with the brothers who watched us last night, and one to Tor.

"About fucking time you answered," he growls. "Dad wants you here ASAP. Shit's heating up."

"Define heating up."

"They hit one of our suppliers last night. Nobody got hurt, but they torched his warehouse. Left a message."

"What kind of message?"

"The kind written in gasoline. Said this is just the beginning unless we hand over the coffee shop girls. Over my dead body will that happen."

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. "They can fuckin’ try."

"That's what Runes said. Get here, brother. We need to plan."

The clubhouse is buzzing to life when I arrive.

Brothers I haven't seen in months have rolled in, answering the call to arms.

War brings everyone home.

I spot Bjorn cleaning his weapons at one of the tables, his movements precise, calculated, like he knows how grave this is.

Rati's sitting near the bar, regaling prospects with war stories that are probably only half true.

Runes is in the room where we hold kirkja with Fenrir and Tor, maps spread across the table, marking Culebra territory and operations.

The room smells like coffee and gun oil, the breakfast of champions in our world.

"Rio." Runes looks up as I enter. "How's your woman?"

The casual way he says it— your woman —makes something settle in my chest.

Official acknowledgment from the president.

Dasha isn't just some girl I'm seeing—she's mine, my ol’ lady, under the club’s protection.

"She's good. Safe. For now."

"For now isn't good enough." Fenrir leans back in his chair, his scarred knuckles resting on the table. "They're escalating faster than we expected. The warehouse was a warning shot."

"Which supplier?" I ask, taking my seat at the table.

"One of the Mackenzie’s warehouses." Tor slides a photo across the table—the warehouse is nothing but charred beams and ash. "Three million in inventory, gone. Liam is going to be furious."

"Will insurance cover it?"

"For what he said was in there, probably… but it doesn’t change shit," Runes says dryly. "We have to handle the Culebra fuckers before the Irish mafia shifts on us. They left an explicit message about the girls, too."

It sounds like Runes is worried, like he’s thinking that could happen… but Revna just married Doran, Liam’s nephew—Irish blood.

They wouldn’t turn on family, would they?

"What exactly did the message say?"

Tor pulls out his phone, shows me a photo. Written in gasoline before they lit it:

The coffee shop bitches or more burns. You have 48 hours.

"Eloquent," I mutter. "When was this?"

"Six hours ago. So we're down to forty-two." Fenrir's expression is grim. "They can want all they like. Doesn't mean they'll get them."

"Agreed." Runes stands, and when he looks at me, I see the president who's led this club through twenty years of blood and brotherhood.

"Which is why you're bringing your family here tonight.

The clubhouse is fortified, brothers on guard 24/7.

Your house is too exposed. All of the club women who work at the coffee shop will be here too, no exceptions. "

"Dasha won't like leaving the house?—"

"Dasha will understand when you explain the alternative," Runes cuts me off. "This isn't a request, Rio. Your woman and kids stay here until we handle this."

Before I can respond, there’s a figure in the door of kirkja —Meghan storms in, blonde hair wild and eyes blazing. She's still in her Beans & Babes apron, which means she came straight from opening the shop.

"Did I just hear Runes say 'your woman'?" She zeroes in on me like a heat-seeking missile. "Rio Rojas, did you finally pull your head out of your ass?"

"Meghan—"

"For years!" She grabs my shoulders, shaking me despite the fact I outweigh her by a hundred pounds. "So many years of watching you two moon over each other like teenagers! Finally!"

"Jesus, let the man breathe," Tor says, but he's grinning.

"Don't you dare!" She spins on her heel to face her old man. "Did you know about this? How long has it been official? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Since last night," I admit, and her squeal of delight could probably shatter glass.

"I need details! All of them! Is she here? Does she know about—" She pauses, taking in the serious expressions around the table, the maps, the photos of the burned warehouse. "What's wrong?"

"Culebra's making moves," Tor tells her, his voice gentling the way it always does for his woman. "You and Dasha are specifically targeted."

The joy drains from her face, replaced by the steel that made her survive this life. "Those fuckers think they can come for us?"

"They think a lot of things," Runes says. "All of them are wrong. Which is why you're both moving into the clubhouse tonight."

"I'll talk to Dasha," Meghan says immediately. "She'll listen to me if she gives Rio grief about it. We can close the shop early, tell customers we have a plumbing issue or something."

"I can handle my woman," I protest.

"Sure you can, big guy." She pats my cheek condescendingly. "That's why it only took you years to make a move on her."

The room erupts in laughter, and I flip them all off good-naturedly.

But the moment passes quickly as we return to the matter at hand.

"We got the surveillance footage from the coffee shop," our tech guy, Vanir, announces as he enters. "Ran facial recognition on the creep who was watching Dasha."

He hands me a tablet showing a clear image of the man from Dasha's description.

Average looking, forgettable, exactly the type Bembe would use for surveillance.

The timestamp shows him entering the shop at 10:27 AM, just like Dasha said.

"Got a name?"

"Carlos Mendez. Low-level Culebra, mostly runs errands and intel gathering." Vanir swipes to show more information—arrest record, known associates, addresses. "Lives alone in a shitty apartment complex off the highway. No family in the area, which makes him perfect for what we need."

"Perfect." I study the address, already planning. The complex is in a rough neighborhood where screams don't attract attention. "I'll pay him a visit."

"Not alone," Runes says firmly. "Take Bodul and Geirolf. Kid needs to learn, and Geirolf needs to blow off steam."

I nod. "When?"

"Now," Runes decides. "Before he has a chance to relocate. Get whatever intel you can about their plans for the women."

"And then?"

Runes's smile is cold. "Then remind him why threatening a Raiders of Valhalla’s family member is a fatal mistake."

I stand, already shifting into the headspace needed for what's coming. "I'll need supplies."

"Bjorn's got a kit ready in the garage," Fenrir offers. "Everything you might need for a proper conversation ."

Meghan makes a face. "I don't want to know what that means."

"No," Tor agrees, pulling her close. "You don't."

Twenty minutes later, I'm in Bodul's truck with Geirolf riding shotgun.

We’re only taking the truck in case we need to take this fucker’s body with us when we’re done.

The kit Bjorn prepared is comprehensive—zip ties, blades, pliers, a small blowtorch, and other items that would make normal people squeamish.

But we're not normal people.

We're the fucking Raiders, and this is how we handle threats to our family.

Bodul is trying to look tough, but I can see the nervous energy vibrating through him.

His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

"First time?" I ask.

"First time on a run like this," he admits. "Usually it's just bar fights or escort runs."

"Bar fights are about ego," I tell him. "This is about our family. Completely different animal."

"How do you do it?" He glances at me in the rearview. "Turn it on and off? Be a father one minute and a?—"

"Monster?" I finish. "You don't turn it on and off. You just learn to aim it. The monster's always there, waiting. You just point it at the people who deserve it."

Geirolf nods approvingly. "Like this fucking Carlos. Watching Dasha like she's prey? He deserves whatever Rio gives him."