Page 71 of Monk
The buzzing of an incoming text message interrupts my thoughts and I pull my phone out of my pocket. I unlock it and click on my text app, my blood instantly turning to ice in my veins.
“What is it?” Prophet asks, as if sensing my sudden tension.
“It’s a message from Kasey. She’s been taken.”
“What the fuck?”
I read him the message. “Jacob… taken by Spencer and Zavala’s man. Keeping me at the old Dutch Hunting Lodge. Help!”
“Son of a bitch,” Prophet growls.
“I need to get out there,” I say and get to my feet.
“Hold on there,” Prophet says as he jumps up and grabs my arm. “You can’t go chargin’ in there on your own.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to ask you or any of the guys to roll into that with me. Too dangerous.”
“That’s your problem, kid. You always think you know what’s best for other people, and you think you can deal with everything on your own. It ain’t for you to say what somebody can and can’t do, will or won’t do.”
“Prophet—”
“Shut up, kid. You’re not the one callin’ the shots here. I am. And I told you we take care of our own,” Prophet says, his voice tight and gruff. “Hey Max, send out a message to everybody. Tell ’em it’s a 911 and to get to the clubhouse ASAP. And tell them to come strapped and ready for war.”
“On it,” Max calls from behind the bar.
“Prophet, I appreciate it. I do. But if anything happened to any one of you, I couldn’t live with myself.”
“And if anything happened to you—or Kasey—while we were all standin’ around with our thumbs up our asses, doin’ nothin’, there isn’t a man wearin’ our patch who could live with it. We’re family. This is how families roll. You got me, kid?”
The pride and emotion I feel in the moment are suffocating. To say I’m overwhelmed would be an understatement. This is exactly why I joined this club. Not because it caters to loners. Not because of the outlaw image or lifestyle. It’s because of this. This brotherhood. This display of family and loyalty right here. This is exactly everything I was searching for when I rotated home from Afghanistan.
I reach out and pull Prophet to me. I thump him on the back as I embrace him tightly. He hugs me back and tells me everything is going to be okay. And I believe him.
“Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt.”
Prophet and I take a step back and turn to see Max standing there in his black leather kutte, the only patch bearing the club name and location on the left-hand breast. He hasn’t even been given a nickname yet.
“What’s up, kid?” Prophet asks.
“I know I ain’t a full patch yet. I know I’m just a prospect. But I would really like to help. I’d really like to take up this fight with you guys,” he says.
“I appreciate it, Max. But you really don’t need to mix up in this,” I tell him.
“Fightin’ and killin’s the only thing I’ve ever been any good at. And not to brag or anything, but I’m really good at them. So please. Let me help.”
I turn to Prophet. “It’s your call.”
He eyes Max warily. “You sure you want in?”
Max nods. “One hundred percent.”
He walks to him and claps him on the shoulder. “Okay. Let’s do it then. Let’s make sure these fuckin’ cartel assholes know that Blue Rock is off limits to their kind.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kasey
I can hear X in the room behind Spencer, yelling at him, and Spencer yelling back. Their voices are too muffled and I’m too panicked to worry about what they’re saying. The thing scaring me the most is the constant rain of blows falling on the door. I hear wood splintering and cracking and know it’s only a matter of moments before that door crashes inward. If that happens and I’m not through this window, I am absolutely screwed.
