Chapter 4
Kane stood at the back of the funeral home, silent and still, watching.
The room was thick with the scent of lilies and loss, and the low murmur of grief rolled like distant thunder.
People clustered in quiet groups—some hugging, some staring blankly at the closed casket near the front.
Every face seemed carved from the same stone of sorrow.
His eyes zeroed in on the picture placed on the casket.
The resemblance to Monica was uncanny. The woman smiled, her eyes bright with light as she stared into the camera.
It was such a senseless loss, which pissed Kane off.
He scanned the crowd again, his sharp gaze catching every movement, every whisper.
Two men stood at the head of the casket, their expressions strained and hollow as they accepted condolences.
Kane studied them a moment longer. According to Jinx’s information, one must be a brother and the other, the grieving husband.
He had to give Jinx credit; the guy knew his shit.
Family resemblance ran deep because he would bet that the man on the left was Monica’s brother.
Blending in had never been his thing. At six-foot-four, with wild black hair brushing his shoulders and eyes too gold to pass as human, he stuck out like a vampire in a room full of humans.
He could feel the curious glances, the subtle unease that came with his presence, but he ignored it.
His focus was on the reason he was there.
Monica Vail.
He knew she was here. Her car was parked out front, but knowing she was inside and actually spotting her were two different things.
Just as he was about to shift positions, movement near the side hallway caught his eye.
The restroom door opened, and Monica stepped out.
Her face was pale, and her eyes were red and swollen from too many tears.
Beside her walked a woman with dark hair, neatly pinned back, holding the hand of a little girl who couldn’t have been more than six.
The woman bent, whispering something to the child before guiding her toward a chair near the wall. Monica watched them for a moment, then turned toward the front of the room.
Kane tracked her as she wove through the mourners. Every emotion she felt was locked down tight behind a mask she’d probably worn for years. When she reached the man at the head of the casket, his face broke at the sight of her. He pulled her into a hug.
Kane saw the way her shoulders shook just once before she steadied herself, pulling back to speak quietly to him. The man, who Kane figured was her brother, nodded, his jaw tight, eyes flicking toward the little girl now seated quietly with the woman.
Kane’s gut twisted as his gaze flicked between the child and Monica. The resemblance was faint but definitely there in the same shape of the eyes and tilt of the chin. His mind churned. Was that her daughter?
Before he could dig any deeper into the thought, a man’s voice shattered the quiet hum of grief.
“My daughter!”
The sound sliced through the air, raw and loud enough to make several mourners flinch.
Kane’s head snapped toward the disturbance.
A man in an expensive suit was shoving through the crowd, dragging along a much younger, and very pregnant woman in his wake.
The scene was so out of place it felt almost obscene against the soft sobs and whispered condolences.
Kane’s attention shifted instantly to Monica. She’d gone rigid as the man’s voice echoed off the walls. The expression on her face was pure, unfiltered rage. Not grief or shock, but pure hatred. The kind that came from deep wounds and long memories.
“Open this casket right now!” the man demanded, his voice breaking with what seemed a practiced edge of fake sorrow. “I need to see my daughter!”
Murmurs spread through the room. The man by the casket—Monica’s brother, Kane guessed—stepped forward, saying something sharp under his breath. Monica had already taken a step toward the chaos, her jaw tight, but her brother caught her arm. Whatever he said stopped her in her tracks.
She stood there a heartbeat longer before turning sharply away.
Her chin lifted, and she walked out with her head high, her every step a silent declaration that she refused to be part of that circus.
Kane’s eyes followed her as she crossed the room and slipped through the doors without looking back.
He stayed where he was, watching the tension ripple through the mourners. The brother now stood toe-to-toe with the shouting man, keeping him from doing something stupid. Kane waited until it was clear things weren’t about to turn violent, then moved.
A man in a black suit held the door open as Kane passed. Kane gave him a curt nod and stepped out into the night. Cool air hit him, sharp and clean after the heavy perfume of lilies and sorrow.
It didn’t take long to spot her. Monica stood beneath a massive oak near the edge of the parking lot, half-hidden in shadows.
Her back was to him, her shoulders hunched slightly as if the weight of everything was pressing down hard.
For a second, Kane hesitated—this wasn’t his world, not his grief—but then she straightened, stiffening as she sensed him approach.
“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, and despite the tension, it made Kane’s mouth twitch into a grin.
“Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low, easy. He wasn’t about to go hard on her—not tonight.
Her shoulders squared, and she turned slowly to face him. Up close, her eyes were red and puffy, but there was steel behind them. Even wrecked by grief, she was beautiful in that quiet, dangerous way, someone built from both strength and damage.
“This really isn’t the time, Warrior,” she said, voice even, cool, and laced with exhaustion.
Kane’s grin deepened slightly at her slur of calling him a Warrior. He appreciated that she recognized him before turning to face him. He also liked that she didn’t sound scared. She just sounded...done.
“Unfortunately, this is exactly the time.” He exhaled, his tone softening. “I’m sorry for your loss, Monica.”
Her lips parted as if to respond, but she said nothing.
Her chin trembled as she gave him a single nod.
The night air stirred between them, carrying the faint sound of voices from inside.
She looked back toward the funeral home, then down at her hands, and for the briefest second, Kane saw the crack in her armor.
Whatever she’d lost tonight, it wasn’t just her sister. It was something deeper. And Kane knew, as he watched her struggle to hold herself together, that this was only the beginning of the truth she’d been hiding. Commotion from the funeral broke the silence as they both looked that way.
“Your father, I take it?” Kane murmured as the man from earlier stormed out, the pregnant woman hurrying to keep up.
“Sperm donor is all that piece of shit will ever be to me,” Monica hissed, stepping up beside Kane.
The man’s wild eyes landed on them. “You think you can keep my family from me?” he growled, rage rolling off him in waves as he advanced. Kane shifted without hesitation, stepping in front of Monica. “Who the fuck are you? Get out of my way,” the man snarled.
“No,” Kane replied, his voice deadly calm. “Turn around, take your… pregnant companion, and leave.”
“Dammit, Dad!” The man who Kane figured was Monica’s brother hurried forward. “I told you she had nothing to do with you not being called.”
“Oh yes, I did,” Monica cut in, stepping around Kane, her voice sharp as a blade. “I’m the one who made the missing person’s report. I contacted the police and the detectives. And I’m the one who made sure your name was never mentioned as a contact, Craig.”
“Beverly was his daughter, Monica,” the woman said tearfully. “He had the right to know when she was found—to see her.”
“With all due respect, Michelle, fuck off,” Monica snapped, her gaze cutting from one to the other. “You both lost that right when he walked out on our dying mother—and us—without a word, until Beverly was found.”
“That’s not true!” Craig’s voice cracked as he looked around, searching for sympathy. “Your mother kept you kids from me.”
“Lie,” Monica said coldly. “Our mother was too busy dying, you bastard. And when Doug asked you to help with the reward money for Beverly, you wouldn’t give a penny. So don’t you dare act like you care now.”
Kane saw the shift in Craig’s expression an instant before his hand lashed out. In a blink, Kane caught his wrist mid-swing, twisting his arm behind his back and forcing him away from the crowd. Doug followed, fury etched in his face.
Kane leaned in, his voice low and lethal. “You need to take your wife—or whoever she is—and leave. You’re not welcome here. If I ever see you raise a hand toward Monica again, I’ll tear your fucking arm off and beat you with it. Understood?”
Craig’s face reddened, but he didn’t look too sure of himself now. “How dare you? Do you know who I am?”
“I dare,” Kane said, smirking. “And yeah, I know exactly who you are—a man who’d raise his hand to a woman. That makes you a piece of shit. Raise it to your daughter, and that makes you something lower than shit.”
“Doug!” Craig shouted, his confidence wavering even more.
Doug looked at him with weary disgust. “I’ve tried to believe you’d find some decency in you, but now I see that’s impossible.”
“But she—” Craig pointed toward Monica, who now held Dena protectively as Ken approached. “She has even kept me from my granddaughter I have never met.”
Ken didn’t hesitate—he swung hard, his fist connecting with Craig’s jaw and sending him to the ground. “Monica has nothing to do with you not seeing Dena. That was Beverly’s decision. If you show up to the funeral tomorrow, I’ll have you removed.”
The crowd was silent, except for Craig’s ragged breathing. Ken turned and walked away without looking back.
Doug sighed heavily, reached down, and yanked his father up by the arm. “Take Ken at his word and stay away. If he doesn’t remove you, I will.” He released him roughly and walked off. “Michelle, get him out of here.”
Kane didn’t move. He stood rooted, watching, every muscle still coiled tight to see what this idiot was going to do.
Craig looked up one last time, voice trembling. “Monica, why do you hate me so much?”
Monica’s eyes were lifeless when they met his. “I’d have to feel something for you to hate you,” she said softly. “But I haven’t felt anything for you in a long time. Just leave us alone—like you always have.”
“You’re a bitch,” Craig spat, shaking with fury. “You kept a father from his dead daughter, and don’t you ever forget that!”
Kane felt something inside him snap. He didn’t move, but his voice carried enough weight to silence everyone within hearing distance.
“Walk away,” he warned, the growl in his voice prominent. “While you still can.”
Craig backstepped further away from Kane, his eyes wide as the woman grabbed onto his arm. They hurried to the parking lot.
As the sound of tires faded into the distance, Kane looked back at Monica, who stood where he had left her, grief painted across her face, and he knew in that instant that something had changed.
It took every ounce of control he had not to follow that son of a bitch for even thinking of laying a hand on that woman.
The feeling was so strong that Kane cursed under his breath, looking away from Monica.
Never in his life had he felt the need to protect someone as he did in that moment.
“Shit,” he hissed to himself, now wondering if he was the right man for this job. Things just took a sudden turn.