Page 126 of Monk

His jaw tightened.

“I’m going to remember this,” I said, my voice dropping to a deadly calm. “And when this is over, when I prove that this entire investigation is a sham, I’m coming for you too.”

I didn’t wait for a response as I grabbed the file, turned and walked out of the clubhouse, my hands shaking, my heart pounding, my mind already racing through everything I needed to do.

Call the bail bondsman.

File motions to suppress.

Get the brothers out.

Protect Kali.

Find John.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the compound as I climbed into my car and started the engine. Then and there, I made myself a promise. I was going to burn this entire investigation to the ground. And I was going to make sure every single person responsible paid for what they’d done.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Lina

The Lawton Police Department was absolute chaos as I pushed through the front doors and stopped dead in my tracks, taking in the scene before me.

It looked like a war zone. Papers were scattered across the floor, chairs were overturned, and at least a dozen officers and federal agents were either running around frantically or standing frozen in shock, watching the spectacle unfold.

“I SAID GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME!”

Kansas’ voice boomed across the processing area, loud enough to rattle the windows and echo off the cinderblock walls. The fluorescent lights above seemed to flicker in response to the sheer volume.

He was standing at the fingerprinting station near the back wall, his hands clenched into fists, his muscular arms tensed and shaking, his face twisted with rage as two ATF agents in their standard-issue windbreakers tried, and failed, to force his hand onto the ink pad. His neck veins were bulging, his jaw was set, and his eyes blazed with defiance. Kansas wasn’t a small man, and right now he looked like a cornered animal ready to fight his way out.

“Sir, if you don’t comply with our instructions?—”

“COMPLY?” Kansas roared, his face flushing red with rage as he yanked his arm back so hard the agent stumbled backward and nearly lost his footing. “You just assaulted my pregnant wife,and now you have the audacity to stand there and tell me I need tocomply?”

Another agent moved in from the side, reaching for Kansas’ shoulder in an attempt to de-escalate the situation.

Kansas spun around with lightning speed, his eyes wild and filled with a fury that seemed barely contained, and the agent immediately backed off, hands raised defensively in front of his chest.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Kansas said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm that was somehow more terrifying than the shouting had been. The quiet intensity of his words sent a chill through everyone within earshot. “Don’t youdarefucking touch me.”

I scanned the room, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. To my left, Widow was backed into a corner byfiveagents—all of them armed, all of them tense, their shoulders rigid with barely contained aggression. The air was thick with the kind of tension that preceded violence, that electric charge that made your skin prickle and your instincts scream at you to run.

Widow stood perfectly still, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture deceptively casual despite the circumstances. His expression was murderous, cold fury radiating from every line of his face. He wasn’t saying a word. Didn’t have to. The look in his eyes said everything:Try me. I fucking dare you.It was the look of a man who’d been pushed too far, too many times, and had nothing left to lose.

One of the agents shifted his weight nervously, his hand drifting toward his holster in what might’ve been an unconscious gesture. Widow’s gaze tracked the movement like a predator zeroing in on prey. His jaw tightened as the muscles in his neck stood out in sharp relief. “I wouldn’t,” Widow warned, his voice low and dangerous, barely above a whisper butsomehow cutting through the silence like a blade. “Unless you want to find out what happens when you pull that gun.”

The threat hung in the air, palpable and real.

The agent froze mid-motion, his hand hovering inches from his weapon. None of them moved after that. They just stood there, locked in a standoff that seemed to stretch on forever, waiting for someone to blink first. Waiting for someone to make the mistake that would send everything spiraling into chaos.

Near the back of the room, past rows of cluttered desks and filing cabinets, I spotted Angel sitting at a desk with his feet propped up on the surface, one wrist handcuffed to the arm of the chair. He was eating a sandwich—some kind of deli-meat situation wrapped in white paper.

Asandwich.Calmly. Casually. Like he was at a fucking picnic in the park on a sunny afternoon, not sitting in a police station with his freedom hanging in the balance.

An officer stood directly in front of him, his posture rigid and confrontational, red-faced and furious, practically vibrating with barely contained rage. “You need to take this seriously?—”

Angel took another deliberately slow bite, his jaw working methodically as he chewed, his expression utterly bored and unimpressed by the whole situation. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, doing literally anything else. “I am taking it seriously,” he said around a mouthful of bread and whatever meat was tucked inside. “Seriously hungry. You got any chips? Maybe some of those jalapeño ones?”