Chapter 28
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 had this moment, 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 was radiant. 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.
Lina fit into this world like she’d always been meant for it.
She laughed with the brothers’ ol’ ladies.
She teased Blackjack without a second thought.
She held Vivi’s hand when Vivi got emotional talking about Pence.
She was here—in my world, in our world—and she wasn’t running.
She wasn’t looking for the nearest exit or bracing for the blow.
She was simply here, standing in the middle of my life like she’d finally come home.
“It’s a wonderful feeling, isn’t it?”
I turned and found Kansas walking toward me with his son Tulsa asleep in his arms. Tulsa was small—almost eighteen months old—with dark hair and his father’s strong features already stamped across his face.
He was curled against Kansas’ chest the same way Tatum was curled against mine, one little fist tangled in Kansas’ cut like, even in sleep, he needed to make sure his old man was still there.
Kansas stopped beside me, his gaze dropping to his son’s face. “Fatherhood,” he said quietly, like the word itself carried weight. “It’s a hell of a thing.”
I nodded, but the truth was, I still couldn’t find words big enough for what was moving through me.
Kansas glanced at me, his expression knowing. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “I get it.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “I didn’t think—” I started, then broke off, because I didn’t even know how to finish that sentence without sounding wrecked.
Kansas waited me out, patient and silent.
“I didn’t think I’d ever have this,” I said finally, my voice rough enough to scrape. “I thought I’d lost my chance before I even knew it was gone.”
Kansas nodded slowly. “But you didn’t,” he said. “She’s here. And so is your daughter.”
I looked down at Tatum, my chest aching with something too tender to name. “I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted. “I don’t know how to be a father.”
Kansas chuckled under his breath. “None of us do,” he said. “We just figure it out as we go.”
He shifted Tulsa’s weight and cradled the back of his son’s head with a gentleness that would’ve looked impossible on a man like him if I hadn’t just witnessed it.
“But I’ll tell you this,” Kansas continued, his voice turning serious.
“The moment you hold them for the first time, everything changes. You stop being just a man. You become something more.”
I met his gaze.
“You become a protector,” Kansas said. “A provider. The kind of man who would burn the whole damn world down just to keep them safe.”
I nodded, the truth of his words settling deep in my bones. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “Yeah, I would.”
Kansas smiled, like he already knew that answer. “We’re taking the kids across the street to the penthouse,” he said. “Mrs. Worthington said she’d be happy to watch Tatum if you and Lina want to stay.”
I looked at him, my stomach tightening. “Stay?” I repeated.
Kansas’ smile widened. “Yeah, brother,” he said. “Stay. Enjoy the rest of the barbeque. Spend time with your woman.” He paused, and when he spoke again, there was a knowing edge to his voice. “Claim her,” he said. “Officially.”
My heart slammed once, hard. Claim her.
I looked across the yard again, finding Lina.
She was still laughing, still radiant, still mine.
And I wanted—God, I wanted to claim her in front of everyone.
Wanted to put my patch on her back and tell the entire world exactly where she belonged.
Wanted every man there to know she was under my protection, at my side, part of me. That she was mine.
I looked down at Tatum, my arms tightening around her without permission, pure instinct taking over. “I don’t know if I can let her go,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
Kansas’ expression softened. “I know,” he said. “It’s hard letting them out of your sight.” He shifted Tulsa again, his hand moving gently over his son’s back. “But she’ll be safe,” he said. “Ashe will die before one scratch touches her.”
I looked at him, my jaw tight. “You sure about that?”
Kansas nodded. “I’m sure,” he said. “The prospects will be guarding the penthouse. And I’ve got my place wired tight with cameras, alarms, the works.” He held my gaze, all easy humor gone now. “My kids are up there,” he said. “I wouldn’t let them go if I didn’t know they were safe.”
I exhaled slowly, feeling some of the tension in my chest loosen, even if it didn’t disappear completely. “Okay,” I replied.
Kansas clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get them settled.”