Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Monk
The Oklahoma back country stretched out before me like a long strip of asphalt laid over the bones of nowhere.
No buildings. No lights. Just open fields, barbed-wire fences, and the occasional cluster of cattle standing motionless in the dying light like they knew something I didn’t.
The sun sagged low on the horizon, bleeding orange into bruised purple.
Beautiful, maybe, if you had any use for beauty.
I didn’t.
I twisted the throttle harder. The engine answered with a roar that rolled up through my legs and lodged in my chest. Wind tore at my cut, snapping it behind me like a warning flag. My hands locked around the handlebars, knuckles pale, jaw clenched so tight my teeth started to ache.
I was trying to outrun it.
Her face. That kid’s voice. The look on Lina’s face when she realized I’d heard it—when she knew I knew she had a daughter.
A fucking daughter.
Not mine. Someone else’s. Some other man had touched her, put a baby in her, laid claim to something that had lived under my skin for years. I shook my head hard, trying to dislodge the thought before it rooted any deeper. It didn’t work. It never fucking worked.
The road ahead blurred for a second, and I blinked hard, forcing it back into focus.
The last thing I needed was to wrap myself around a telephone pole because I couldn’t keep my head straight.
I rode another ten minutes, maybe fifteen, letting speed and engine noise drown out everything else.
Out there, there was nothing—no club, no church, no Lina, no ghosts.
Just me and the road.
Then I saw the lights in my rearview. Headlights flashing—not the steady glow of some car hanging back, but something deliberate. Intentional. The kind of signal that said, pull the fuck over.
My jaw tightened.
I knew who it was before I even looked.
James Roberts.
Of course it was.
I could’ve kept riding. Could’ve twisted the throttle and vanished into the dark, left him standing on the shoulder with his dick in his hand and nothing to show for it.
But that would’ve only delayed the problem.
Roberts had already proved he didn’t know how to let go.
And if I kept running, he’d show up somewhere worse—at the clubhouse, at Abigail’s work, somewhere I couldn’t control.
Better to deal with it now. On my terms.
I eased off the throttle and pulled onto the shoulder, gravel crunching under my tires.
I left the engine running, the low rumble a steady reminder that I could leave whenever the fuck I wanted.
The unmarked sedan rolled in behind me, headlights slicing through the dusk.
The driver’s door opened, and James Roberts stepped out.
He looked exactly like he always did—pressed slacks, button-down shirt, and that smug federal expression that made me want to cave his face in.
More gray at the temples than last time.
Stress, probably. Good. He came toward me slowly, hands visible, posture careful, like he was approaching something feral.
Smart man.
“John,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “We need to talk.”
I didn’t respond. Just sat there on my bike, one boot on the ground, the other resting on the peg, my hands still gripping the handlebars.
Roberts stopped a few feet away—close enough to be heard over the engine, far enough that I couldn’t reach him without moving.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, his voice sliding toward something that almost sounded like concern.
Almost. “Living at the clubhouse. Riding with the Diamondbacks. You’re making yourself a target, John. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“That’s my problem,” I said flatly.
“It’s my problem when the witness I’ve been protecting for over two decades decides to throw his life away because he’s having a midlife crisis.”
I felt my lip curl into a sneer. “Midlife crisis. That’s what you’re calling it?”
“What would you call it?” Roberts shot back, frustration finally bleeding through. “You walked away from WITSEC. You’re living openly in a motorcycle club that’s been under federal investigation for years. You’re putting yourself and your sister at risk for what? Pride? Stubbornness?”
“Freedom,” I said coldly. “I’m calling it freedom.”
Roberts’ jaw tightened. He took a breath, visibly trying to rein himself in.
“John, listen to me. You need to come back. We can relocate you again. Somewhere safe. Somewhere far from here. You and Abigail. We’ll set you up with new identities, new lives—”
“No.”
The word came out hard and final as Roberts stared at me, his expression darkening.
“If you refuse,” he said slowly, “I’ll be forced to file criminal charges against you.”
I laughed. Actually laughed. The sound was harsh and bitter, echoing across the empty road.
“Criminal charges,” I repeated, shaking my head. “For what, exactly?”
“Conspiracy. Witness tampering. Violation of your federal protection agreement. Obstruction of justice.” Roberts rattled it off like he’d practiced it in the mirror.
“You’ve been gathering intel on club members for years, John.
Intel you were supposed to report to us.
Intel you’ve been sitting on. That’s a federal crime. ”
I leaned forward a fraction, my eyes locking on his.
“Everything I did,” I said, my voice low and mean, “was at WITSEC’s request. Every piece of intel.
Every operation. Every fucking thing I’ve done for the last eighteen years happened because you people told me to do it.
You want to charge me? Go ahead. But the second you do, you expose WITSEC’s involvement.
You expose your own operation. And we both know the Feds aren’t going to let that happen. ”
Roberts’ face went red.
“You think you’re untouchable?” he snapped. “You think you can just walk away and there won’t be consequences?”
“I think you’re full of shit,” I said flatly. “And I think you know it.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The engine rumbled between us, filling the silence, then Roberts’ expression shifted. Hardened. “Fine,” he said quietly. “If you won’t cooperate, maybe we need to take a closer look at Abigail’s situation.”
My entire body went rigid.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“I’m saying,” Roberts went on, his voice cold and deliberate, “that if you’re going to be reckless with your own life, we need to make sure your sister is in a safe environment.
We’ll review her paperwork. Make sure everything’s properly documented.
Make sure you’re not a danger to her. And if we find discrepancies, we’ll remove her for her own safety. ”
My vision went red. I was off the bike before I even realized I’d moved.
My hand shot out, fisting in the front of Roberts’ shirt, as I walked him back before I slammed him against the hood of his sedan hard enough to rattle the metal.
My forearm pinned him across the chest. My face was inches from his.
“You listen to me, you piece of shit,” I snarled, my voice shaking with rage I was barely holding in.
“You go near my sister—so much as look at her, talk to her, even think about her—and I will make you disappear. Do you understand me? I will put you in the fucking ground, and no one will ever find enough of you to bury.”
Roberts’ eyes widened, genuine fear flashing across his face.
Good. He should be afraid.
“You think I’m bluffing?” I continued, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You think I won’t do it? Try me, James. Fucking try me.”
Roberts’ hands came up, palms out, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
“John—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
I held him there a few more seconds, long enough to let him feel the weight of it, long enough for him to see in my eyes that I meant every goddamn word. Then I shoved him off me hard enough that he stumbled and nearly went down. He caught himself against the car, chest heaving, face gone pale.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said, and now there was a hitch in his voice.
“You think you can walk away from this? From me? I’ll go to Kansas.
I’ll tell him everything. Your WITSEC status.
Your history with the Feds. Your real name.
All of it. I’ll burn your credibility with the club. You’ll be done, John. Finished.”
I stared at him for a long moment, then smiled.
It wasn’t a nice smile.
“Go ahead,” I said quietly. “I dare you. Tell Kansas everything. Tell him I’ve been in witness protection since I was a kid.
Tell him my real name. Tell him about my father, my mother, all of it.
I don’t give a fuck anymore, James. I’m done playing your games.
Done being afraid. You want to burn me? Burn me. I’ll take my chances.”
Roberts’ mouth opened, then closed. He looked genuinely stunned.
I turned and walked back to my bike, swinging my leg over the seat. I revved the engine once, twice. The sound was loud and aggressive, echoing across the empty road. “Fuck off, James,” I said over my shoulder. “And stay the fuck away from my sister.”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I twisted the throttle and tore out, gravel spraying behind me as the bike lunged back onto the asphalt. The engine roared. The wind hit my face like a slap.
I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw Roberts was still standing there, a dark silhouette against the fading light, his hands on his hips, watching me disappear into the distance.
I rode hard for another five minutes before I eased off the throttle, letting the bike settle into a steady cruising speed.
My hands were shaking.
Not from fear. From adrenaline. From rage. From the certainty that Roberts wasn’t going to let this die. Men like him never did. They pushed and pushed until they got what they wanted or until somebody made them stop. But that wasn’t what kept grinding at me.
What was eating at me was the question I couldn’t shake:
Why? Why was Roberts so desperate to keep me in WITSEC?
The original threats were gone. William Doherty—the man who killed my father and raped my mother—was dead.
The old Golden Skulls’ guard who’d been hunting me was dead.
The danger that put me into witness protection in the first place didn’t exist anymore.
So why the fuck was Roberts still trying to drag me back?
I’d been living openly at the clubhouse for years.
Riding with the Diamondbacks. Wearing my cut.
And nothing had happened. No attempts on my life. No threats. No danger.
If I were really in danger, wouldn’t someone have come for me by now?
Unless Roberts wasn’t protecting me at all. Unless he was keeping tabs on me. The thought settled in my gut like cold iron. What if my continued protection had nothing to do with safety? What if it was about something bigger?
What if Roberts had his own agenda?
I thought about Keys—my old club brother, the bastard who masterminded the massacre all those years back. About the intel I’d been feeding WITSEC for years. The reports. The details on club operations, on Keys’ movements, on everything they’d wanted me to hand over.
What if that was the real reason Roberts wanted me back?
Not to protect me, but to use me.
My hands tightened on the handlebars, my jaw clenching so hard I felt my teeth grind.
Something wasn’t right. Something didn’t add up, and the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t like where my thoughts were going.
By then the sky had gone fully dark, stars beginning to punch through overhead while the road unspooled in front of me, empty and endless.
I rode deeper into the Oklahoma night, the engine’s roar the only thing loud enough to drown my thoughts, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just made a dangerous enemy.
Or worse—that I’d been playing a game I hadn’t even known I was in, and I was finally about to learn the rules.