Page 68 of Slaughter
“He was born Golden. Just like you, if I remember correctly,” I stated, wondering where Monk was going with all of this. The Diamondback MC had its own complicated history within the Biker Federation. Alliances forged in blood, betrayals that cut deep, and a massacre that had nearly destroyed them all.
“And that’s the only reason I agreed to come down here.” Monk seethed as he started pacing the small room, shaking his head. “War is coming. Another fucking war and I just fucking know the Diamondbacks will be dragged into it. Won’t matter that we barely survived the last massacre. If Montana joinsforces with Reaper, Kansas will follow. I should have taken the chair when I had the chance.”
I leaned forward despite the pain, studying him carefully. “Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I didn’t want it. I had just lost all my brothers.”
I knew the story. Everyone in the Biker Federation knew the Diamondback’s history. That fateful, bloody day that killed everyone in the clubhouse, leaving only a handful of brothers—men who only survived because they were out on a club run—to pick up the pieces. The Cartel had hit them hard—execution-style murders, torture, a clear message written in blood that the Diamondbacks would never forget. But there was something in Monk’s voice that told me there was more to it than that.
“No, that’s not the truth,” I said quietly. “What was the real reason, Monk? You were the only officer left standing after the massacre. Kansas was just a club brother. Yet you refused it. Gave it to Kansas. Why?”
Monk stopped pacing. His back was to me, his shoulders rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. For a long moment, he said nothing, and I thought he might walk out without answering.
Then, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it, he muttered, “I didn’t just lose my brothers that day.”
His words hung in the air between us, heavy with grief and loss and something that felt too raw to name.
“You lost someone important,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
Monk shrugged, but the gesture was anything but casual. “This life isn’t for everyone.”
I understood then. Whoever he had lost. Whoever had died in that massacre or walked away because of it, had taken a piece of him with them. The same way Julie’s death had hollowed me out. The same way losing Hope would destroy me if Reaper decided I didn’t deserve to live.
We were the same, Monk and I. Two men who had loved and lost and were still trying to figure out how to keep breathing in the aftermath.
Monk turned to face me, his expression stone cold once more, but I could see the cracks in his armor now. The places where grief had worn him down. He reached into his cut, his hand disappearing into the inner pocket, and then he held out his hand toward me through the bars.
I sat up straighter, my eyes narrowing on his closed fist. “What the fuck is it?”
“What the hell do you think it is?” He smirked, but there was no humor in it. “It’s your ticket to freedom.” And then he opened his hand.
There, sitting in the palm of his hand, was a solid gold wedding band.
I stared at it, my mind racing. A wedding band. Simple, unadorned, gleaming dully in the dim light of the cell. What the hell was I supposed to do with that?
“I don’t understand,” I said slowly.
“Insurance,” Monk said, his voice flat. “In case Reaper decides you’re not worth keeping alive.”
My heart pounded against my broken ribs. Insurance. A way out. A chance to survive this.
But at what cost? Before I could ask, the door at the top of the stairs burst open, and a brother in Diamondback colors shouted down, “Monk, bring his ass up here! Reaper’s here.”
Reaper.
The name sent ice through my veins. The president of the Golden Skulls. The man who had risen above the legacy given to him, who survived wars and betrayals and losses that would have broken lesser men. The man who would decide my fate.
Monk’s hand was still extended, the wedding band gleaming in his palm. “You want this or not?”
I looked at him. Really looked at him. Saw the grief he carried, the weight of leadership he refused, the war he knew was coming. Saw a man who understood what it meant to lose everything but still had to keep moving forward. Then I thought about Hope. About the way she looked at me in the motel room, her eyes full of trust and love and hope. About the way she claimed me in front of everyone at the Diamondback clubhouse, even knowing what it would cost her. About the way she whisperedI love youagainst my skin like it was a prayer. And finally, I thought about Aurora. My daughter. Julie’s final gift to me. The little girl I had abandoned because I couldn’t bear to look at her without seeing everything I had lost. I thought about the Golden Skulls. About Roxy and Moonshine, who had raised me. About Digger and Stella. About Sandman and Ravage and every brother who’d stood beside me when I buried the love of my life, and I thought about the Golden Rule. The one I had broken. The one that said sisters were off-limits, that family was sacred, that some lines could never be crossed.
“I don’t want your insurance,” I said quietly, meeting Monk’s eyes. “I broke the rule. I knew what I was doing. And I’m not going to hide from the consequences.”
Something shifted in Monk’s expression—respect, maybe, or understanding. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the cell door, swinging it open with a metallic screech. Stepping inside the cell, he groaned. “You’ve got to be the dumbest motherfucker I ever met. This isn’t about hiding from shit, asshole. This ensures you live to see another day. This gives you and Hope a chance I never got. Now take the fucking ring, put it on, and play your part. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to walk out of this place with your head still attached.”
I stared at the gold band in Monk’s palm as the metal caught the dim light of the cell. The words hung between us, heavy withmeaning I didn’t fully understand. But whatever Monk had lost, whatever grief he carried, it didn’t change what I had to do.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” I said, my voice rough. “But I’m not going to lie my way out of this. Not to Reaper. Not to Ghost, and I’m sure as hell not going to lie to Hope.”
