Monk: MC Romance (Dark Pharaohs Motorcycle Club Romance Book 1)

Chapter 3

“Miguel Zavala,” I announce.

There is a brief flash of acknowledgement, perhaps even fear, that crosses his face. He quickly gets it under control again. If there’s one thing Spencer has always been good at, it’s controlling his emotions. Or at least, controlling the outward expression of his emotions.

He sits back in his seat and steeples his fingers. I stand on the other side of his desk, staring daggers through him. After spending an hour Googling Miguel Zavala, I’ve spent most of the night tossing and turning, filled with rage and terrified by what I’ve just found, by what my husband—such as he is—has exposed us to and brought into our lives. 

“Should I know who that is?” he asks.

“Don’t play stupid with me, Spencer. I heard you talking with that man last night.”

He sits up, his expression darkening. “You were eavesdropping?” he says angrily. “What gives you the right—”

“Uh-uh. I’m not letting you deflect the conversation this time. You always do that.”

“Kasey, the fact that you were spying—”

“Shut up. Just stop it,” I cut him off. “Miguel Zavala.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” he snaps. “And again, should I know who that is?”

His eyes narrow and a furtive expression crosses his features. For a brief moment, he looks like an animal that’s been cornered. My words have him rattled, but I can see him gauging them. He’s not sure what I know exactly, and he doesn’t want to say too much lest he give himself away.

“Don’t play these games with me, Spencer.”

“I’m not playing any games with you.”

I sigh and tug on the end of my hair, my frustration growing. Things between Spencer and me haven’t been great for a while. And I’ve suspected he’s been involved in some shady business. But I never think he’ll be entangled in anything like this. And I never think, no matter how strained our marriage has become, that he will ever lie to me. Or that he will knowingly and willingly put me in danger.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You know exactly who Miguel Zavala is,” I say. “I heard you discussing it with that man last night.”

His lips are pursed, his face growing harder. Angrier. “This is none of your business, Kasey.”

“You brought this into our house. That makes it my business.”

“You’re my wife. Not my business partner. I don’t answer to you,” he spits.

I recoil as if he’s struck me. He’s never spoken to me like that before. We’ve fought before, sure. But the venom and viciousness in his voice just now isn’t like anything I’ve heard from him before. 

“A drug cartel, Spencer?” I hiss. “You’re doing business with the head of the most notoriously violent drug cartel in Mexico?”

Spencer stands up, his chair almost tipping over backward. He starts to stalk around one side of his desk, so I go around the other, making sure to keep it between us. I don’t really think he will physically hurt me. But then, I’ve never thought he’ll work with a drug cartel boss, either. Right now, I don’t know what to think. 

My foot strikes something on the ground and I cut a glance down. It’s a gym bag that’s open enough for me to see the stacks of money inside. I look away from it, feeling agitated as I move around the desk. Spencer is looking at me strangely, a maniacal glint in his eye that sends a cold chill running through my veins. 

And then, he stops. He scrubs his face with his hands, then looks at me. The anger is still simmering in his eyes, but he manages to rein it in for the moment.

“Look, it’s not like I’m part of the cartel, Kasey. All I’m doing is moving money around. And they pay me very well to do it,” he tries to explain. 

“They murder people. You’re helping them murder people.”

“Oh, grow up. I’m not helping them murder anybody. And let’s be honest, you haven’t complained about the lifestyle I’m providing for you,” he fires back.

I feel my face grow warm with anger as he throws that in my face. It’s not the first time he’s done it, and it never fails to piss me off every single time. I’ve never been a materialistic woman. Things don’t interest me nearly as much as they interest Spencer. And definitely nowhere near as much as he seems to think they interest me. 

Having material wealth has never been high on my list of priorities. I can be happy in a small home—one that actually feels like a home—rather than this sterile monstrosity. But more than his inference that I’m a money-grubbing gold digger, what infuriates me more than anything is knowing exactly what I’ve sacrificed. For him. And the fact that he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“I could have provided for myself, you know. I was on track to be a lawyer. Just like you.” 

My voice is cold. Hard. Yet he just smirks at me, kindling my rage.

“Probably not just like me,” he says blithely. “And let’s be honest, it’s not like you were going to be the next Gloria Allred or anything.”

“How dare you, you rude, arrogant, condescending son of a bitch,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

His words hit me like a punch to the gut and leave me breathless for a moment. A tear rolls from the corner of my eye and my vision shimmers as the anger coursing through me temporarily robs me of my ability to speak. All I seem to be able to do is stand there, gaping at him like a fool.

For him to say that to me is as unbelievable as it is hurtful. Not to mention the fact that it’s totally and completely untrue. And he knows it. He knows exactly what I’ve sacrificed—what I’ve given up. For him.

“Things haven’t been good between us for a long while now,” I say quietly. “But I never expected that you’d start lying to me, Spencer. Nor did I think you’d work with a fucking drug cartel.”