Page 89 of Monk

Kansas let out a tired groan and tightened his hold on the little girl as she tried to lunge again. “What always happens,” he said in a tone of absolute resignation. “Hellraiser can’t control her temper.”

I turned to Tatum, planting my hands on my hips in the universal mother stance. “Tatum Jane,” I said sharply. “What did you do?”

Tatum’s face was flushed crimson, her eyes blazing with outrage. “She’s the one!” she shouted, pointing furiously at the little girl. “She’s the girl who made fun of me at school! She said her daddy was alive and president of a biker club, and then she laughed because my daddy was dead!”

My entire body went rigid. Heat shot through me so fast it was almost dizzying as I turned slowly back toward Kansas and the girl.

Kali, who had been standing nearby, went still and then gasped. “Talia Marie Stone,” she said, her voice low and dangerous enough to slice through the noise around us. “Is that true?”

Talia’s mouth snapped shut. She glared at the ground, jaw locked tight, refusing to answer.

“Talia,” Kali said again, sharper now. “Answer me. Did you say that to Tatum?”

Talia’s silence was answer enough. Kali’s face went pale, then red. “Mrs. Worthington!” she shouted. A moment later a middle-aged woman appeared, walking toward us with two small boys attached to her hips by a rope, like a pair of feral little hostages. They were identical twins, filthy from head to toe—mud-splattered, chocolate-smeared, clothes soaked and stained as if they had spent the morning wrestling in a swamp. And they were grinning like it was the best day of their lives. “Yes, Mrs. Stone?” Mrs. Worthington asked calmly, as if this was not even close to the strangest thing she had seen all week.

Before Kali could say another word, Talia let out a shriek. “TRIGGER!”

And then, out of absolutely nowhere, a club brother came barreling into the scene like chaos itself had grown legs. He was tall and wiry, with a grin full of bad ideas and a cut hanging open over a faded T-shirt. Trigger, apparently. Without breaking stride, he scooped Talia right out of Kansas’ arms and took off running. Talia erupted into delighted laughter, shrieking as he carried her away like a sack of potatoes. Around us, the brothers burst into applause, catcalls, and outright cackling as Trigger disappeared around the side of the clubhouse.

Kali stood there for a full second with her mouth hanging open, hands on her hips, staring after them in disbelief. “TRIGGER!” she bellowed after him. “YOU’RE BOTH GROUNDED!”

The laughter only got louder. I stood there staring after them, my brain struggling to keep up with what had just happened. Beside me, John was grinning, his arms still wrapped securely around Tatum. “Welcome to the family, baby,” he said in that low, amused voice of his.

I looked up at him, and despite the chaos, the shouting, the mud-covered twins, and the child fight that had nearly turned into a full-scale brawl, I felt myself smile.

Because thiswasa family—a messy, loud, chaotic, imperfect family. And standing in the middle of all that noise and heat and laughter, I realized I wanted more of it than I was ready to admit.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Monk

The sun was beginning to sink, washing the yard in gold and amber and the kind of soft evening light that made everything look almost holy. Smoke from the fire pit drifted lazily through the air, carrying the scent of mesquite and charred meat, while laughter and low voices rolled across the compound in the distance. But all of it felt far away. All of it faded beneath the weight of what I held in my arms.

I stood near the fire pit with Tatum asleep against my chest, her small body tucked into mine like she’d been doing it her whole life. Like she’d always known the shape of me. Like she belonged there, warm and trusting, her tiny weight settling somewhere deep inside my ribs.

Because she does,I thought, looking down at her peaceful face. Her cheek was pressed against my cut, her mouth slightly open, her breathing soft and even. One of her little hands was fisted in my shirt, holding on even in sleep, like some part of her already knew I was hers to keep. The sight of it damn near wrecked me. She was beautiful.

God, she’s so fucking beautiful.She had Lina’s face—the same delicate features, the same soft curve of her cheek, the same stubborn set to her jaw even in sleep. But her eyes, when they were open, were mine. Dark. Intense. The same eyes that stared back at me from the mirror every morning. It was like looking at proof that something good had once come from me,something pure and untouched by all the blood and ruin I’d carried through my life.

My daughter.I have a daughter.The thought still didn’t feel real. It moved through me, too big and too sharp to fully hold, like my heart didn’t know whether to swell with it or break beneath it.

Six years. Six years I’d missed. Six years of first words and first steps, scraped knees and bedtime stories, birthdays and bad dreams, and all the little moments that made up a life. Six years of her childhood that I would never get back, no matter how much I wanted them. The grief of that sat heavy in my chest. But I had now. I hadthismoment, this breath, this little girl in my arms. And I wasn’t going to waste a single second of it. I shifted her carefully, easing her weight so her head rested more comfortably against my shoulder. She made a tiny sound—a sleepy sigh—and burrowed closer. My chest tightened so hard it almost hurt.

This is what it feels like,I thought.This is what I’ve been missing.Not just love, but purpose. Not just blood, but belonging.

This feeling of completeness. Of purpose. Of knowing there was something in this world worth protecting more than my own life. I lifted my head and looked across the yard, my eyes finding Lina almost immediately like they were wired to seek her out. She stood near one of the long tables with Vivi and Abigail, all three of them bent toward each other, laughing at something Blackjack was saying. Lina had a beer in one hand, her head tipped back, her smile wide and real in a way that hit me square in the chest.

God, she’s beautiful.Even after seven years, even after everything we’d lost and everything that had tried to break us, she was still the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. Well. A close second to the sleeping beauty in my arms.

But Lina—Lina wasradiant.Her hair hung loose in soft waves around her shoulders, catching the firelight every time she moved. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, from the beer, from the easy joy of being surrounded by people who had already started to claim her as one of their own. Her eyes were bright, alive, sparkling with a happiness I hadn’t seen in her since before the massacre. She looked light. Unburdened. For the first time in so damn long, she looked happy.

And that—that was everything. I stood there watching her lean into Vivi, saying something that made both women dissolve into laughter. Abigail joined in a second later, her hand curling around Lina’s arm, her expression soft and affectionate. My sister. My woman. Side by side. Smiling. Bonding. Laughing.Family.

The word settled into my chest with a force that nearly stole my breath, like I was only just realizing how long I had been carrying the absence of it.

This was what I wanted. What I had dreamed about in those dark, lonely nights after the massacre, when I thought I would never see Lina again and was left with memories sharp enough to cut me open. I imagined a life where she was mine. Where we had a home instead of hideouts and bloodstained ghosts. A family instead of loss. A life where she knew my sister and loved her the way I did. A life where we belonged to each other completely, without fear, without distance, without the past reaching in to tear us apart.

And now—now it was real.