Page 110 of Monk

My stomach dropped.

“Roberts has been using your guy’s connection to the Diamondback MC, more specifically Kansas Stone’s connection to the Soulless Sinners in New York, to gather intel on the Federation,” Mischief explained. “He’s been feeding information to St. James for years.”

I felt sick.

“But here’s where it gets really fucked up,” Mischief said, her voice low and dangerous. “Roberts deleted all his personal communications: texts, emails, phone logs. He thought he had his tracks covered.”

“But?” I prompted, my heart pounding.

“But he forgot about his cloud backup.”

I sat up straighter, my breath catching.

“I accessed his cloud account,” Mischief continued. “And, Lina, it’s all there. Months of recorded conversations. Textmessages between him and St. James. Him and Ruby. Him coaching her on what to say to the police. Specific details about times, locations, and what to report.”

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered.

“It gets worse,” Mischief said grimly. “Roberts didn’t just pay Ruby to lie. He hired someone to actually assault her.”

The room tilted. “What?” I breathed.

“A registered sex offender named Marcus Lyle,” Mischief said. “Roberts paid him five thousand dollars to rape Ruby and make it look real. There are text messages between them. Bank transfers. Everything.”

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Roberts orchestrated the entire thing. He paid a sex offender to rape Ruby so she could credibly accuse John.

“Lina?” Mischief’s voice cut through the fog. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” I managed, my voice hoarse. “I’m here.”

“I’m sending you everything,” Mischief said. “Copies of the deposits. Text message threads. The communications between Roberts and Marcus Lyle. All of it.”

“Thank you,” I said, my hands shaking. “Mischief, I?—”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she interrupted. “This is big, Lina. Federal prosecutor big. If you go after Roberts with this, you’re going to make some very powerful enemies. And that’s not mentioning that St. James bitch. Stay the fuck away from her.”

“I don’t care about her,” I said, my voice hardening. “Roberts tried to destroy an innocent man. He paid someone to rape a woman just to frame him. I’m taking him down.”

Mischief was quiet for a moment. Then she laughed. A low, dark sound. “That’s my girl,” she said. “Go get him.”

The line went dead.

I sat there in the quiet kitchen, staring at my laptop screen as email after email from Mischief flooded my inbox.Bank statements. Text message screenshots. Recorded phone conversations. Communications between Roberts and Marcus Lyle.

All of it. Every piece of evidence I needed to prove John’s innocence and to expose Roberts’ conspiracy.

I opened the first file. A screenshot of a text message thread between Roberts and Ruby.

Roberts: You need to be convincing. Tears. Fear. Make them believe you.

Ruby: What if they ask questions I can’t answer?

Roberts: Stick to the script. He assaulted you in his room at the clubhouse. You said no. He didn’t stop. That’s all you need to say.

Ruby: What about the rape kit?

Roberts: Already taken care of. Just do your part.