Page 51 of Monk

Roberts’ mouth opened, but no sound came out as Kansas’ grip tightened.

“You think you can walk into my motherfucking clubhouse and make threats?” Kansas continued, his voice trembling with the kind of rage that only got more dangerous the quieterit became. “You think you can use an innocent as leverage and walk out of here alive? You just declared war on the Diamondback MC. And there is no walking that back.”

Roberts’ face was turning red, his breath coming in short, panicked pulls. For the first time since he’d walked into the clubhouse, I saw real fear in his eyes.

Kansas leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You’ve made yourself an enemy of every man in this room. You understand that? Every. Single. One.”

He released Roberts without warning and shoved him back against the wall. Roberts stumbled, gasping, one hand flying to his throat. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the cold faces lined along the walls, the predatory stillness in Whisper and Widow, the violence simmering in every corner of the gathering room.

He’d finally understood what he’d done, and it scared him.

“Get the fuck out of my clubhouse,” Kansas said, his voice calm but final. “And never contact my brother again.”

For a moment, Roberts just stared at him, his chest heaving, his face pale. Then his eyes narrowed, and some of that federal arrogance crept back into his expression. “This isn’t over,” he said, his voice hoarse but defiant. “You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Stone.”

Kansas didn’t answer. He just stood there staring, and his silence was more threatening than anything he could’ve said. Roberts straightened his shirt and turned toward the door. And that was when he saw me—arms crossed near the entrance, watching him with a cold, satisfied smile.

Roberts stopped. His eyes locked on mine, and for a second, I saw it—the rage, the humiliation, the realization that he had lost control of the situation.

I grinned. “I told you I was done,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “Do you believe me now?”

Roberts’ jaw clenched. Then he shoved past me, his shoulder slamming into mine as he stormed out. I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. I just stood there and watched him climb into the sedan, slam the door, and peel out of the compound with gravel spraying behind him. The sound of his engine faded into the distance.

Then silence settled over the room like dust after a collapse. I turned back toward the gathering room. Kansas stood in the center, hands on his hips, chest still rising and falling with the leftover force of his anger. My brothers watched him and waited.

Kansas walked over to me, stopping at my side. He let out a long, heavy sigh, but there was no relief in it. Only grim acknowledgment.

“He’s not bluffing,” Kansas said quietly. “You know that, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“He’s got the authority to make good on those threats. RICO charges. Witness flipping. Abigail.” Kansas’ voice was flat, stripped down to bare fact. “We just kicked out the Federation. We’re on our own. And now we’ve got a federal agent with a vendetta and the resources to bury us.”

I turned my head, scanning the room until I found Trigger standing near the back, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “Trigger,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence.

He straightened, his eyes locking on mine.

“Watch him,” I said, my voice flat and final. “If he goes near my sister, kill him.”

Trigger didn’t hesitate. He gave one sharp nod, then turned and slipped out of the clubhouse without a word. Kansas looked at me, his expression hard and grim. “You understand what you just did?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I just ordered a hit on a federal agent.”

“We’re at war now,” Kansas said quietly. “With the federal government. There’s no walking this back.”

I met his gaze. “I know.”

Kansas nodded once, slowly, then clapped a hand on my shoulder. There was no reassurance in it. No promise that any of this would be all right, because it wouldn’t.

We both knew it.

“Whatever comes next,” Kansas said, his voice low and heavy, “it’s going to be worse than anything we’ve faced before.”

I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him we’d find a way through it, same as we always did. But I couldn’t. Standing there in the gathering room, surrounded by my brothers, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just stepped over a line I couldn’t ever step back across.

Roberts wasn’t going to disappear. Men like him never did. And whatever came next was going to cost more than I could afford to pay.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN