Page 59 of Monsters Carve Thrones

Waylon suddenly moved fast, pointing a gun at the man. They all stilled, eyes widening. “Know your place, Kane.”

The man quieted, but his eyes snapped back to my ass. Waylon struck again, and my eyes slammed shut from the sting. He continued.

Three.

Four.

Five.

I tilted my head, meeting the gaze of every man at the table, memorizing their faces. They were all grinning like weasels, locking their jaws in hunger.

I’d fucking kill them all.

He dragged me from the room with the grace of a wolf in the throes of rage. My knees scraped the floor, but I didn’t make a sound. The leash twisted tighter with every step until I could hardly breathe.

He threw open the door to the concrete room and shoved me inside. I stumbled, caught myself on the cold wall just as he slammed the door behind us. Then he turned to me, eyes blazing, jaw locked.

“Youwillaccept this,” he growled, striding toward me. “You will forget about him. Forget about who you were. That life isgone.”

I stared at him, chest heaving. “Then you’ll have to kill me.”

His lips curled. “Not yet. I’ll be back for you shortly. For now, enjoy solitary confinement.” He slammed the door as he left, leaving me in pure darkness. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. God, I hated it here.

Chapter 11

(TW: Brief sexual assault)

Waylon’s hand was like steel around my arm as he dragged me back down the corridor. I had only been in solitary for a couple of hours, yet it felt like forever. I didn’t speak. Not because I was afraid, but because I refused to give him my voice. He fed on fear like a fucking vulture, and I wouldn’t be one of his carcasses.

The door slammed behind us.

His grip loosened, but only because he needed to relock it. A heavy click echoed behind me. Then silence.

He turned, slowly. His eyes were voids of simmering rage and ego. “You embarrassed me,” he said, as if that was a crime worth blood.

I lifted my chin, jaw tight. “You humiliated yourself. Your ego is exhausting.”

That did it.

He struck me hard across the face, open palm. I stumbled at the sharpness of it and caught myself against the edge of the dresser.

“Do it again,” I snapped. “And I swear to God I’ll bite through your fucking throat.”

He lunged. In a blur, I was thrown onto the bed. His weight crushed down on me, one hand wrapped around both my wrists, pressing them into the sheets. His other hand gripped my jaw, forcing my face toward him.

“You think I’m afraid of you?” he hissed.

“No,” I whispered, smiling through the blood at the corner of my lip. “But you should be afraid ofus.”

That made him pause. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to slam my knee into his side. He grunted, reeled back, and I scrambled off the bed. But he was faster. He grabbed my hair, yanked me backward, and flung me into the wall. My vision sparked, breath whooshed from my lungs, but I didn’t fall. I stood there, bleeding.

“Hurt me if you want,” I said with a hoarse laugh. “It won’t save you when he comes.”

Waylon stalked toward me, slower now. A smile curved across his face, twisted and self-satisfied. “I don’t need to save myself,” he murmured, trailing a finger down the line of my throat. “I just need to make you forget who you are. Turn that fire into ash.”

I looked him dead in the eyes. “Good luck.”

“Challenge accepted, baby,” he whispered, spinning me and bending me over the bed in a swift movement.