Page 67 of Monsters Carve Thrones

His head snapped up. Recognition flared in his blue eyes, followed by pure panic. He dropped the cleaver and bolted through the back.

“Go!” I snarled, and we all moved as one.

Kieran and Nico crashed through the swinging door after him. I followed, boots hammering against the slick floor tiles, blood and sawdust smearing beneath my soles. We caught him halfway down the back hall, just before he reached the exit. Kieran tackled him like a wild dog, slamming him into the wall so hard that a pipe burst and water started spraying.

Witek shouted, but I didn’t care what he had to say yet. I grabbed a hook from the wall, a long meat hook, the kind meant to hang half a pig, and jammed it under his collar. I dragged him back through the hallway like an animal.

“Rafe,” Laura called, hesitating as she caught up. Her face scrunched in disgust. “Let’s just talk to him.”

“Oh, we’ll talk,” I growled. “But first, he bleeds.”

We hauled him to the cutting table in the middle of the shop. Witek was blubbering now, his legs kicking like a fish out of water. Nico locked the door and flipped the sign toclosed. Kieran grabbed a roll of plastic wrap and began covering the floor.

Efficient. We’d done this before.

“I didn’t do anything–” Witek begged.

“Wrong,” I said, wrapping my fingers around his jaw and leaning down until my face was inches from his. “You still have working ties with Waylon after Moreau’s death. You should have known better.” I drove my fist into his mouth, teeth cracking beneath my knuckles. Blood sprayed across the table, and his body spasmed. “Where is he?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

So I pulled a boning knife from the wall.

Witek screamed long before the blade touched him. His nails clawed at the metal as I sliced down his forearm, peeling away secrets one inch at a time. I had no fucking humanity left in me. Adela was the only goddamn thing that brought any kind of light to my black soul.

Kieran lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. “You know, I used to think Rafe had a line.”

Laura looked away, but she didn’t stop me.

Witek broke after fifteen minutes of screaming. “He’s–he’s in Russia. I helped him set up a house outside the city. Remote. Estate.”

My heart stuttered and I froze. “What estate?”

“I–I don’t know the name or exact location. But I know who does.”

I paused. “Who?”

“His cousin. Waleria. She–she’s his handler now. Keeps the books, the guards, and the transport. She’s in Saint Petersburg.”

I tilted my head, blood dripping from the knife to the tile. My breath came heavy. My high from earlier had long worn off, leaving only rage and shaking hands. I wiped the blade on Witek’s blood-soaked shirt, my breath fogging the chilled air as I stood upright, heart still pounding from the violence.

“We go to Saint Petersburg,” I said coldly. “Tonight.”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “And him?”

I looked down at Witek, slumped, barely conscious, blood pooling beneath him. His eyes fluttered open, locking with mine in a final, desperate plea. I gave him nothing. “Loose ends don’t live,” I muttered.

Then I picked up the cleaver from the cutting block, heavy and slick, and brought it down with one final, brutal swing.

The room fell silent.

Blood splattered my boots.

I exhaled, wiped my hands on a rag, and turned toward the door. “Burn everything that touched him,” I said. “Then we move.”

***

The plane touched down in Saint Petersburg just before midnight. Cold wind slapped at our coats as we stepped onto the tarmac. I remembered why I never cared to live here. The cold was so intense that it sank into my bones. But I didn’t care. I was numb to everything but the thought of her.