Page 82 of Monk

My jaw tightened hard enough to ache. “What are you saying?”

Blackjack met my gaze and didn’t soften the answer. “I’m saying something’s off,” he said. “This isn’t bad luck. It isn’t poor management. Someone’s fucking with them.”

His words landed like a fist to the gut.

Someone’s fucking with them.

I turned to Shadow.

“I want you to investigate,” I said, voice low and hard. “Immediately. I want to know what’s really happening at that farm. Who’s involved. Why they’re in crisis. Everything.”

Shadow’s expression turned serious in a heartbeat. “I’m on it,” he said. “I’ll start digging tonight.”

“Good,” I said. “And, Shadow?—”

He looked at me, waiting.

“Be discreet,” I said. “Lina doesn’t know I’m looking into this, and I want to keep it that way until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

One corner of Shadow’s mouth twitched. “Discreet is my specialty.”

I gave him a tight nod.

Blackjack was still staring at the bills like they’d personally offended him. “I’ll get these paid,” he said. “But, Monk, if someone’s targeting the Wilcox Farm, wiping out their debts won’t solve the problem. It’ll just buy them time.”

“Then we use that time,” I said, “to figure out who’s behind it. And then we deal with them.”

Blackjack’s grin came back sharp and dangerous. “Now that,” he said, “I can get behind.”

The clubhouse door opened and I turned.

And there she was. Abigail.

My sister.

She came in with that easy confidence she had somehow managed to hold onto through everything, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, jeans and leather jacket making her look older than twenty-seven and tougher than most people gave her credit for. She spotted me right away and smiled—bright, real, the kind of smile that hit somewhere deep because it reminded me exactly why I’d spent my whole life trying to protect her from men like our father and worlds like mine.

“Monk!” she called, already heading toward me.

I couldn’t help it. I smiled back.

“Abby,” I said, meeting her halfway. “What are you doing here?”

She threw her arms around me in a quick fierce hug, then stepped back and planted her hands on her hips. “I heard about the barbecue this weekend,” she said. “Figured I’d come help with prep. Kali said she could use an extra set of hands.”

I glanced toward the bar, where Kali was watching us with a knowing smile. Of course she’d invited Abby. Kali had a way of pulling people into the fold and making them feel like they belonged there. It was one of the things I respected most about her. “You don’t have to help,” I said, looking back at Abby. “You’ve got your own life. Your own shit to deal with.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Monk, I’m not a kid anymore. I can help at a barbecue. Besides, it’ll be fun. When’s the last time we just... hung out?”

I didn’t answer, because the truth was, I couldn’t remember. I’d spent so much time trying to keep her safe, trying to keep distance between her and the club’s world, that somewhere along the way I had forgotten how to just be her brother.

“Okay,” I said finally. “But you stay close. You don’t wander off. And if anything feels wrong, you come find me. Got it?”

Abby’s expression softened. “Got it,” she said as she squeezed my arm, then headed toward the bar calling out to Kali, leaving me standing there with that old familiar knot of protectiveness tight in my chest.

I watched Abby go for another second, then turned and headed for Kansas’ office. I knocked twice and pushed the door open without waiting. He was hunched over a desk buried under paperwork, reading glasses low on his nose, pen moving in short, irritated strokes across a ledger. He looked up, took one look at my face, and jerked his chin toward the chair across from him. I shut the door behind me and dropped into the leatherseat, the old frame creaking under my weight like it already knew this conversation wasn’t going to be easy.

Kansas set down his pen with deliberate care and leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. He didn’t rush me. Didn’t fill the silence. Just watched with that flat, assessing stare of his that always made a man feel like he was already halfway dissected.