Page 93 of Monk

Fuck.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Monk

The room was cold and gray, the kind of place designed to make a man feel small. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly, washed-out glow. My wrists ached from the cuffs, the metal biting into my skin as I sat chained to the table, waiting. Time stretched and warped, every second thick with dread.

My mind kept circling back to Lina—her face as the sirens screamed, the way her hands trembled as she reached for me, the tears that streaked down her cheeks. I could still hear her voice, raw and desperate:“Don’t say a word without me.”I clung to that, even as fear gnawed at my insides.

The door opened with a heavy, deliberate creak. I expected O’Rourke. Instead, James Roberts stepped in—my WITSEC handler, the man who haunted the edges of my life for years. He looked at me with a smug, satisfied expression, like he’d just won a game I didn’t even know I was playing.

He sat across from me, folding his hands on the table. “Hello, John,” he said, his voice calm and pleasant, as if we were old friends catching up over coffee.

I stared at him, rage simmering beneath my skin. “You son of a bitch,” I hissed, my voice low and dangerous.

Roberts smiled. “I tried to warn you,” he said, his tone almost gentle. “I told you there would be consequences if you didn’t cooperate.”

My hands clenched into fists, the cuffs rattling. “You set me up,” I spat. “You fabricated charges. You?—”

“I did what was necessary,” Roberts interrupted, his voice never rising. “You refused to return to WITSEC. You refused to comply with your obligations. You left me no choice.”

I lunged forward, the cuffs yanking me back. Pain shot up my arms, but Roberts didn’t flinch. He just watched me, eyes cold and flat. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” I snarled.

“No, you’re not,” Roberts replied, unbothered. “You’re going to sit there and listen to what I have to say.”

I glared at him, chest heaving.

“I can make this all go away,” Roberts said, his voice smooth as glass. “The charges. The arrest. The investigation. All of it.”

He let the words hang in the air, heavy with threat.

“But only if you agree to return to the WITSEC program,” he continued. “You’ll be relocated. New city. New identity. New life.”

I stared at him, disbelief and fury warring inside me. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

Roberts shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m also the only person who can help you right now.”

“I don’t need your help,” I said, my voice cold.

“Yes, you do.” He leaned forward, his eyes boring into mine. “Think about what’s at stake.”

“Get the fuck out,” I clipped, my voice rising.

Roberts’ expression hardened. The mask slipped, revealing something colder, more dangerous. “If you don’t cooperate, I will ensure you spend the rest of your life in prison. I will make sure the evidence against you is airtight. I will make sure every witness is credible. I will make sure the jury convicts you.” He paused, letting the threat settle. “And that’s just the beginning.”

My heart slammed once, hard.

“Your sister, Abigail—she’ll be arrested for drug trafficking. I’ve already prepared the evidence. She’ll go away for years.”

No. Not Abigail.

“And Carolina—she’ll be disbarred. Withholding evidence. Obstruction of justice. Take your pick.”

My hands shook.

“And your daughter, Tatum—she’ll be placed into the child welfare system. Foster care. Bounced from home to home. Never knowing stability. Never knowing safety.”

Each word was a bullet, tearing through me, destroying everything I loved.