Page 16 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

I squared my shoulders, even though my legs still trembled and my vision swam. “He’s going to kill all of you,” I said, voice low. “And he’s not going to make it quick.”

Another grin. “We’re counting on that.”

***

The cold hit me first. Not the sterile chill of an air-conditioned jet, but damp, raw, stone-cold air that stank of mildew and rust. It coiled around my skin like wet ropes, sinking into my bones. We had pulled up to what looked to be the back of a large mansion.

I was yanked from the car in a blur of limbs and pain, barely able to stand, half-dragged down a narrow corridor lined with old stone walls.

My feet scraped against rough concrete, my bare legs hitting sharp corners and jagged cracks.

Every breath tasted like rot and iron. My arms thrashed until one of them twisted them behind me, forcing me forward.

They didn’t speak.

Just grunted–efficient, practiced.

But they weren’t expecting me to move.

They thought I was broken.

I waited until the one at my left adjusted his grip, and I lunged–wild, reckless, pure adrenaline. My shoulder slammed into his ribs, and he staggered. I drove my elbow into the face of the one on my right, felt something crunch beneath the blow. Blood sprayed across my cheek, not mine.

I bolted down the corridor, around a corner. Another. A flicker of moonlight slashed through a barred window high on the wall. I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe. I just ran.

Footsteps thundered behind me. Shouting in accented voices. Russian? Slavic?

Didn’t matter.

I hit a door at full speed, rattling the handle. Locked.

Fuck .

I turned, fists up, heart slamming against my ribs like a warning drum.

One of them came first–the one with the busted nose.

He tackled me hard, driving my back into the wall.

The impact stole the breath from my lungs.

My head snapped back, vision flickering.

I screamed, clawing at his face, digging my nails into his skin.

He roared, slamming a fist into my ribs.

The next blow caught me in the jaw, and everything flashed white.

I dropped to my knees.

He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. “You little cunt, ” he spat, blood running from his nose onto my chest. “You think you can run?”

Another one stormed down the hall, boots echoing off stone. “She’s not supposed to be marked, ” he snapped, voice sharp. “The boss wants her clean. You want to explain that shit when he shows up?”

“She broke my fucking nose!” the first one shouted, kicking me in the side. My ribs screamed. “She’s not a doll, she’s a goddamn animal. ”

I coughed, spat blood, and hissed through my teeth. “Still hit harder than you,” I rasped.

His hand raised again, but the one near the door barked, “Enough. Leave her. Chain her up. You’re lucky she didn’t kill you.”

“She will ,” I growled, laughing bitterly through the pain. “The moment she’s given the chance, she’ll rip your hearts out.”

Anger twisted in the man’s face above me, and despite the demands of the others, he lifted me by Rafe’s shirt and slammed me back onto the floor.

“Jesus, man–”

“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled over his shoulder.

I didn’t stop fighting. Not when the boots hit my ribs. Not when his fist collided with the side of my face. I angrily screamed until my throat burned, until someone shoved a hand over my mouth and growled something in a language I couldn’t understand.

I caught bits of English threaded between, just enough to realize something horrifying.

I was far, far from New York.

From Rafe.

A steel door slammed behind me, and I was thrown into a concrete room with no windows. My knees cracked against the floor, but I pushed up instantly. My body was sore, shaking, but my rage was wildfire.

They tried to chain me again.

Tried.

I kicked, twisted, and bit the hand that grabbed my arm. One of them reached for my ankle, and I reared back and spat in his face.

“You fucking bitch–!”

He lunged, and I met him with a kick so savage that my heel slammed straight into his knee.

Something snapped .

His scream was instant, loud, and hoarse as he dropped to the ground, writhing. I didn’t feel satisfied. Just cold fury. My fists clenched, ready for the next hit, but I wasn’t fast enough.

Another man struck me. The blow caught me across the jaw, so hard my vision flashed white. My knees gave out. I crumpled against the wall, blood in my mouth, teeth rattling from the force. My ears rang.

“She’s in her fucking underwear,” one of them muttered, leering now that I was too weak to stand.

“She’s fucking wild,” another breathed. “We might as well–”

“No.” A voice barked from the doorway. It was the same man who yelled before. “Enough.”

The room froze.

“I almost shot you guys,” he snapped, stepping inside. “Boss is going to lose his shit . It won’t be my fucking fault that she’s not perfect.”

“She attacked first–”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

The man who’d beat me the most hesitated. Then turned toward the one in the doorway. “We might as well have some fun with her now. She’s already bloodied and bruised. What’s he going to do, kill us all ?”

There was a moment of silence.

Then the man at the door raised his gun and pointed it straight at him. “Get the fuck out. All of you. Now. ”

Tension splintered through the room, but the men obeyed, grumbling, limping, shoving past him. The door slammed again, sealing me in the dark.

I was alone.

Bruised. Barely conscious. Chained to a fucking wall like a dog. My wrists ached. My head throbbed. My lips were split. And still I stared at that door, chest heaving, mind racing.

Who the fuck did this?

Who took me from him ?

I didn’t cry or beg for my life. I leaned my head back against the stone and whispered his name, my heart clenching. “Rafe…”

***

RAFE

The townhouse still smelled like her. I stood in the middle of our bedroom, glass shards underfoot, blood drying in streaks across the floor. Hers. Mine. Theirs. I didn’t fucking know. My knuckles were shredded from punching the wall.

She was gone.

Gone.

The tires screamed against the road as I took the curve too fast, hands white-knuckled on the wheel. The SUV roared down the rural backroad like it owed me blood. Trees blurred past, useless scenery. All I saw was the image of her bleeding, fighting, being dragged from our home. My home.

My woman.

Laura sat in the passenger seat, silent for once. Her mouth was tight, arms crossed, eyes flicking to the GPS every few seconds, like watching our proximity to the safehouse would somehow stop the seconds from grinding their teeth across my skull. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail.

“You’re gonna crack the steering column if you keep strangling it,” she said finally.

“Let it crack.” I didn’t look at her. “You said you’d help. So help me now by not fucking talking unless it’s about finding her.”

She didn’t respond, but her silence wasn’t passive. I could feel the storm in her, too. Laura had been through enough with me to know when I was a lit fuse, and she wasn’t stupid enough to light the match without purpose.

We reached the safehouse just after midnight. The cottage was tucked into the woods, shielded by overgrowth and layers of surveillance that I installed myself.

Kieran and Nico were already there.

The second I walked in, Nico stood from the kitchen table and tossed a thick file across it. “Pulled traffic cam footage. Got a window from the moment the lights went out at the townhouse to when a van left the block. No plates. Blacked out. But not invisible.”

Kieran leaned against the wall, arms folded, jaw locked. He didn’t speak. Just nodded once at me. I didn’t need words from him. I needed his knives. He cared about Adela, too, so he was pissed as fuck that someone took her.

I paced, rage boiling in my very blood. “I want every traffic camera in a ten-block radius pulled. Anything that shows a van, a black SUV, or an unmarked car. Use Sinclair Solutions’ ghost access. Adela built it. Use it .”

Laura stepped inside behind me, kicking the door shut and throwing her coat off. “You two better tell me you’ve got more than just camera feeds and shadows.”

“I already looped in our hacker in Prague,” Nico said. “She’s running facial recognition on the one guy Adela caught with the knife. Got a partial.”

“Partial’s not enough,” I snapped. “I want names. Faces. Blood types.”

“You’ll get them.” Nico met my eyes, steady. “But you need to control yourself if we’re gonna make it fast.”

Control .

I nearly laughed.

I walked to the table and slammed both palms down on the wood, rattling the mugs and files. “They took her from me . From the house. From her goddamn sanctuary. They hurt her. I saw the blood. I saw the knife on the ground. That means she fought. That means they bled. ”

I looked at Kieran.

“You and I are going hunting. We’re starting with everyone who’s ever worked for Moreau, and any rat who sold information in the last five years.”

Laura crossed her arms. “That fucker had quite the network.”

“I know.” My voice dropped into something that didn’t sound human. “This is revenge. And if someone took her out of this country, I’ll drag their corpse across borders until it paints a fucking map.”

Kieran finally pushed off the wall. “Say the word.”

“The word’s kill ,” I said, eyes locked on the map Nico was unfolding. “But we find her first.”

Laura leaned over the table, pointing at a cluster of red dots Nico had marked. “Start with these warehouses. One of them has to be a drop zone. Van had to switch cars somewhere. I doubt they’d risk airports or major highways.”

I straightened, rolling my shoulders, the rage twisting my spine like a wire about to snap. “I want every camera hacked. Every ship manifest scraped. Every customs officer in the tri-state bribed or blackmailed.”

Nico nodded, already typing.

“Because when I find them,” I said softly, “I’m not just getting her back. I’m ending this entire fucking operation. No survivors. No loose ends.” I turned to Kieran, already heading for the armory hidden beneath the floorboards. “Gear up.”

We weren’t planning.

We were declaring fucking war.