Page 24 of Monk

I thought about Pence lying on the floor. About Kansas cutting us loose from the Federation. About Montana’s cold eyesand the gun still smoking in his hand. About Lina, somewhere out there, living a life that no longer had any place for me. About Abigail—the only family I had left, the only reason I kept dragging air into my lungs. And with a clarity sharp enough to cut, I knew I couldn’t keep doing this.

I couldn’t keep living in two worlds, split between the club and WITSEC, between my brothers and my sister, between the man I was and the one I kept forcing myself to play.

Something had to break. And when it did, it was going to tear straight through everything.

The phone stopped ringing.

I sat there in the dark, staring at that empty window, and felt the weight of it all settle over me like wet concrete.

Pence’s death had kicked open a door. On the other side was nothing but blood, fire, and the ruin of everything I’d tried to keep standing.

I started the bike. The engine roared to life and tore through the silence. Then I rode away from the ghost of the life I’d lost and headed straight for the one that was about to come apart in my hands.

CHAPTER SIX

Monk

The church room was chaos with a pulse, a powder keg finally blown open.

Brothers shouted over each other, their voices crashing together in a wall of anger, fear, and old resentment finally clawing its way to the surface. Fists hammered the heavy oak table. Chairs scraped as men stood, sat, and stood again, too worked up to stay still. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, sweat, and the sour stink of too many bodies packed into too little space.

Kansas sat at the head of the table, and for once, his presence wasn’t enough to hold the room together. His face was gray with exhaustion, his eyes bloodshot, the skin around them raw and tight. Deep lines bracketed his mouth. He looked like the last few hours had taken a decade off him and then come back for more.

“—can’t just pretend this didn’t happen—” someone bellowed from the left side of the table.

“—Montana had no fucking right—” another voice cut in, sharp and bitter.

“—we’re sitting ducks without Federation protection—” a third brother shouted, his words trailing off into nervous muttering.

“Enough!” Kansas’ voice cut through the noise like a gunshot, sharp and commanding. The single word reverberated off the walls of the cramped space. “Sit the fuck down and shut up.”

The room fell silent instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch. The tension hung thick in the air, almost suffocating. Slowly, reluctantly, like dogs being called to heel, the brothers took their seats. Chairs scraped against the floor. Someone muttered something under their breath but thought better of continuing.

I slid into my usual spot at the table, the worn leather creaking under my weight, and took inventory. Trigger sat to my left, jaw locked so tight it looked painful, still vibrating with the kind of rage that made a man stupid. Across from me, Blackjack gave away nothing, same as always, his dark eyes shuttered and watchful. Whisper and Widow held the far end like sentries at a grave. Angel, Ashe, Judd, Fifty, Bongo, Lips—every patched man was there. Full church. Which meant whatever came next was going to leave a mark.

Kansas leaned forward, his palms flat on the scarred wood, fingers spread wide like he was holding himself in place by force. The overhead light carved hard shadows across his face. “We all know why we’re here. Let’s not insult each other by pretending otherwise.” He let his gaze drag across the room. “Pence is dead. Montana, Reaper, Sandman, and Malice are gone. The Diamondbacks are no longer under Federation protection. That leaves us exposed.”

“Because you kicked them out,” Trigger said, his voice hard and accusatory. He didn’t bother hiding the anger simmering beneath the surface. “You told Montana to fuck off. You severed the tie yourself, Kansas. This is on you, Prez.”

Kansas’ jaw tightened, a muscle twitching just below his left ear. His knuckles went white where they pressed against the table. “I told Montana we don’t answer to him,” he said slowly, enunciating each word with deliberate precision. “That we make our own rules. That we’re not his fucking lapdogs. And I stand by that decision.”

“Even if it gets us all killed?” Blackjack asked quietly. His voice barely rose above a murmur, but it cut through the room clean as a blade.

Kansas didn’t answer right away. He stared at nothing, jaw working like he was chewing on words too bitter to swallow. When he finally spoke, his voice came out low and rough, like gravel dragged across concrete. “Pence was my best friend. My brother. We came up together, bled together, built this whole goddamn thing together after the massacre. And yeah, he fucked up. Bad. I know that. But Montana didn’t give me a choice. Didn’t give me a second to think, to figure out how to make it right. He came in here like an executioner, put a gun to Pence’s head, and pulled the trigger before I could handle it my way.”

“Your way?” Trigger’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “What the fuck was your way, Prez? Let him walk? Let him keep breathing after what he did to that girl? After he violated everything we stand for?”

“I don’t know!” Kansas slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot, rattling the empty beer bottles and making Trigger flinch. “I don’t fucking know, okay? But it should’ve been my call. Not Montana’s. Not the Federation’s.Mine. This is Diamondback Country. My club. My fucking family. We do shit our way!”

Silence.

I watched Kansas and saw grief, guilt, and rage tearing at each other behind his eyes. He was drowning in front of all of us and still trying to look like a man in command. The weight of Pence’s death was grinding him down, and we all knew it. But there was no time to mourn. The club was bleeding out, and if we didn’t cinch the wound now, we’d all go down with it.

“We’re vulnerable,” Whisper said, calm and measured in a way that made the words land harder. “Without Federation backup, we’re exposed. If the Cartel comes at us, or any otherclub that’s been waiting for an opening, we’re fucked.” He paused and let that rot in the room. “The second this gets out, they’ll smell blood. They’ll know Pence is gone. They’ll know we’re fractured. And they’ll test us.”

“Then we fortify,” Widow said, slamming his palm down on the table. “Double the security. Arm up. Put prospects on rotation around the clock. Make it clear we’re not an easy target.”

“That’s not enough,” Trigger snapped, shaking his head. “We need allies. We need backup. We need someone who can reach out to the other charters, smooth things over with the Federation. We need?—”