Page 80 of Monk

I turned back to David. “The club’s having a barbecue this weekend,” I said. “Saturday. I’ll be here to pick you all up.”

Lina blinked. “John, we can’t.”

“You can,” I said, my tone making it clear I wasn’t interested in hearing another excuse. “And you will. Tatum needs to meet her family. And you need to stop carrying all of this by yourself.”

I looked at Tatum again, and my chest tightened all over. Her crayon hung forgotten in her hand as I crossed back to her and lowered myself down in front of her once more. “I know you don’t know me yet,” I said softly. “And I know I haven’t been here. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

Tatum held my gaze for a long, solemn moment. Then she nodded once. “Okay.”

I reached out slowly, careful enough to give her every chance to pull away if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

I rested my hand lightly on top of her head for just a second, barely enough to feel the softness of her hair under my palm. Then I stood, because if I stayed there another minute, I might’ve come apart in the middle of that living room.

I headed for the door. “Saturday morning,” I said, looking at Lina over my shoulder. “Nine o’clock. Be ready.”

Before she could argue again, I walked out. The door shut behind me, and I stood on the porch with my chest heaving like I’d just gone ten rounds in a cage match.

I had just met my daughter. I had just taken responsibility for a mountain of debt tied to a farm I hadn’t stepped foot on in years. I had just committed myself to pulling Lina and Tatum into the orbit of my club, my life, my world. And I didn’t regret a single fucking second of it. Because they were mine. And I would burn the world down before I let anything happen to either of them.

I climbed onto my bike, fired up the engine, and rode back toward the clubhouse with one thought pounding through me harder than the engine beneath me.

I had bills to pay and a family to protect.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Monk

The clubhouse compound was alive when I pulled through the gates, the whole place vibrating with the kind of restless energy that only came before something important.

Music drifted from the open windows—something classic rock, AC/DC maybe—blending with the scrape of folding tables against concrete, the bark of laughter from near the garage, and the dull clank of tools somewhere off to my left. The whole lot smelled like gasoline, cigarette smoke, and the first hint of meat waiting to hit hot grills.

Brothers were scattered all over the property: Trigger and Angel bent over a stripped-down bike near the garage, Fifty and Bongo hauling folding tables out of storage with the kind of half-assed teamwork that usually ended in swearing, Lips arguing with Judd about where to set up the grills while Widow heckled both of them from the shade. It looked chaotic to an outsider. To me, it looked like home.

The energy was different than usual.

Lighter.

Purposeful.

This wasn’t just another party.

This was family.

The kind of gathering that reminded us why we wore the patch in the first place—not for the violence, not for the fear our name carried, not for the blood we’d spilled to hold our ground,but for this. For the people inside the gates. For the ones we fed, buried, protected, and bled beside. For the ones who made this place matter.

I killed the engine and swung off my bike, the weight of the bills in my cut pressing against my ribs like a physical reminder of what I’d just taken on. Paper shouldn’t have weighed that much. But those envelopes felt heavier than steel.

Lina’s farm.

Tatum’s legacy.

My responsibility now.

I walked toward the clubhouse entrance, my boots crunching over gravel and cigarette butts, and shoved through the heavy door without slowing down. Inside, the gathering room smelled like fresh coffee, old wood, leather, and something sweet—cookies maybe, or brownies cooling somewhere in the kitchen. The mix of scents hit me with a weird kind of whiplash after the farm. Domestic. Warm. Too damn normal for the storm I had riding under my skin.

The bar was crowded with ol’ ladies: Kali, Vivi, and Joan clustered together in a knot of conversation, talking over one another with easy familiarity, while Shadow leaned against the counter beside them, arms crossed, head tipped slightly toward Joan as if whatever she was saying was the only thing in the room worth hearing.