Page 43 of Monk

Get it together, Monk.

After slipping into my boots, I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders, and tried to clear the cobwebs from my brain. Whatever was waiting for me out there, I needed to be sharp.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, the sounds of the clubhouse filtering through—voices raised in conversation, heavy footsteps moving across worn floorboards, the faint hum of the coffeemaker in the kitchen working overtime like it did every morning. The smell of bacon and burned toast drifted through the air, mixing with the ever-present scent of motor oil and leather.

I walked toward the gathering room, my boots heavy on the floor, each step echoing in the narrow hallway. A couple of prospects scrambled out of my way, their eyes wide, smart enough to know that when Kali was yelling, everyone needed to stay clear of the blast radius.

When I stepped through the doorway, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Kali stood in the center of the room, one hand on her hip, the other holding Tulsa, the newest addition to the Stone family, against her side. The baby was chewing on his fist, oblivious to the chaos around him as drool ran down his chin and soaked into Kali’s shirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her eyes were blazing with the kind of maternal fury that could bring grown men to their knees.

And there, standing in front of Kali with her arms crossed and her chin lifted defiantly, was Hellraiser. The brat, because that was what she was, no matter how tough she acted. Her jaw was set, her shoulders squared, and there was a wild, reckless gleam in her eyes that I recognized all too well. It was the same look I had seen in the mirror plenty of times when I was her age, back when I thought I was invincible and the world couldn’t touch me.

Talia.

She was covered in mud. Head to toe. Her blonde curly hair was matted with it, clumped together in thick, dripping strands that hung limply around her face. Her clothes were streaked brown and wet, soaked through to the skin, clinging to her small frame in a way that made her look even more bedraggled than usual. Her face was smudged like she had rolled around in a pigpen for hours, with dark streaks across her cheeks and forehead, and even a blob of mud on the tip of her nose.

Kansas walked out of his office and stopped dead in his tracks, then groaned as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. His jaw was set, but there was a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth that told me he was fighting back a smile. “What the hell happened to you, Hellraiser?” Kansasdemanded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass as he looked at his daughter.

Talia’s bottom lip jutted out in that stubborn way of hers, her eyes narrowing into little slits of defiance. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“It’sneveryour fault,” Kansas shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “But somehow, you’re always the one covered in mud. Every single time.”

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms, as I watched the scene unfold like it was my own personal entertainment. This wasn’t the first time I’d witnessed one of their standoffs, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Talia’s gaze flicked toward me, and her eyes lit up. “Monk!” she shouted, breaking away from her mother as she ran toward me. I straightened as she barreled into my legs, her muddy hands grabbing onto my jeans. “Help me, Uncle Monk,” she begged, her voice pitching high with desperation. “Momma’s really mad this time.”

I looked down at her, this defiant little brat who had more fire in her than most grown men I knew. “What did you do this time, Hellraiser?” I asked, my voice low and even.

She looked up at me with those big, innocent eyes—eyes that didn’t fool me for a second.

“I got into a fight,” she said, her voice small but unapologetic.

“A fight,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“With a new girl at school,” Talia continued, her words tumbling out in a rush. “She said my hair looked stupid, so I pushed her, and then she pushed me back, and then we were on the ground, and there was mud everywhere, and?—”

“And you decided to make it worse by rolling around in it?” I finished, fighting to keep the smile off my face.

Talia’s chin lifted. “She started it.”

“That’s not the point!” Kali interjected, stepping forward. “You don’t solve problems by fighting, Talia. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“But she?—”

“No buts,” Kali said firmly. “You’re grounded. No TV, no dessert, and you’re cleaning your room by yourself when I get you home.”

Talia’s face crumpled, her eyes welling with tears. “That’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair, baby girl,” Kansas said, his voice calm but firm. “You made a choice. Now you deal with the consequences.”

I kneeled down in front of Talia, meeting her eyes. She looked at me like I was her last hope, her small hands still gripping my cut.

“You know your momma’s right,” I said quietly.

Her lip trembled. “But, Uncle Monk.”

“But nothing,” I said, my voice gentle but unyielding. “You fight when you have to. Not because someone says something you don’t like.”