Page 19 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

RAFE

(TW: Graphic sexual assault)

We didn’t knock. Nico slammed his shoulder into the door, splintering the lock with one crack of wood and metal. The bastard inside barely had time to stand from his velvet couch before I was on him.

“Vaughan–!” he started, but I drove him back into the wall with my forearm across his throat.

“You knew him.” My voice was calm and controlled.

His eyes widened. “I don’t know what you’re–”

I slammed him against the plaster so hard that a painting fell. “Waylon. Don’t lie to me. I believe he’s taken something very special to me.”

Laura stepped inside behind us, gun drawn. Kieran followed, silent, scanning the house. It was definitely the kind of place blood money built.

The man, André something, sputtered beneath my grip. “He’s dead. Waylon's gone. Off the grid.”

“You sure about that?” Nico asked, circling him like a fucking shark.

His tattooed biceps looked extra intimidating under the bright light.

“Because it looks like someone bought a new estate outside Lyon with offshore accounts tied to your name. It also looks like the accounts were set up from Moscow .”

That got him.

His eyes flicked toward the kitchen, just for a second. That was all I needed. I pulled my gun, clicked the safety off, and pressed the muzzle to his knee. “One last chance.”

“I swear to God,” he panted. “I don’t know where he is. But he called me a few weeks ago and said he needed men. He frequents Paris, Berlin, Lyon, and Moscow.”

My pulse thundered. “Did he say who or what he was after?” Laura asked, stepping closer.

André hesitated.

Wrong move.

I shot him in the leg. He screamed, collapsing to the floor. Blood pooled fast, ugly, and red. “I’m not asking again,” I said, crouching beside him. My voice dropped to a growl. “What. Did. He. Want.”

His hands shook. “A woman. Said she was leverage. That she belonged to someone dangerous. Sinclair–he said her name was Sinclair.”

The world narrowed.

Laura inhaled sharply, as horrified as I was.

“I told him no,” he whimpered. “Told him he was insane to take Rafe Vaughan’s wife.”

I smiled coldly. “But he did. And he used some of your men to transport her. She’s somewhere in one of these fucking countries, partially because of you .”

He nodded frantically. “He’s losing it. Thinks he can rebuild what he and Moreau had. But Moreau had all the codes. The routes. Waylon’s drowning without him.”

I stood slowly. My hands were wet with his blood. I didn’t care. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. I swear–”

I shot him again.

This time, Nico put a hand on my shoulder. “Rafe. We got what we needed.”

My hand itched to pull the trigger one more time. Instead, I looked at the man gasping on the floor and said, “If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll let Kieran show you what we do to traitors.”

Kieran cracked his knuckles. Didn’t have to say a word. We walked out without looking back.

In the hallway, Laura exhaled, still holding her gun tight. “So it was Waylon. Guess your suspicion was correct, Vaughan.”

I nodded, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “He took her,” I said. “We have to find her.”

“Agreed,” Laura murmured.

“But first…” I raised the barrel of my gun toward the ceiling, and, with a smirk, turned and walked right back inside. The man had barely a few seconds of begging before I put a bullet in his head.

The silence that followed the gunshot echoed louder than the blast itself.

Blood sprayed across the wall behind him, painting a final, chaotic signature.

Laura stood frozen in the doorway, mouth parted in a soundless reprimand, while Nico and Kieran loomed behind her.

Kieran didn’t flinch. Nico just raised an eyebrow, already unsurprised by who I was.

I holstered my gun and turned toward them.

“Rafe!” Laura snapped.

I looked at her. Really looked. “He was always going to die, Laura,” I said, heavy-lidded eyes sweeping over her face. “You need to get more used to death. Your boss has been covered in blood many times now.”

Laura swallowed loudly. “I wasn’t angry that you killed the guy, just that you spilled blood right now. We shouldn’t draw attention.”

“Yes, we should.” I said swiftly, turning to them. “Get what you can from his place. Laptop, burner phones, hard drives… anything. He wasn’t smart enough to keep his mouth shut, but might’ve been smart enough to keep records.”

Kieran stepped over the body without blinking, heading for the desk. “You think Waylon would let this guy have anything valuable?”

“I think Waylon’s paranoid,” I said. “And when paranoid men cut ties, they usually forget to cut the data trail. He may be acting tough but if I were standing in front of him, he’d shit his fucking pants.”

Laura walked in slowly, careful not to step in the blood.

Nico found a stack of old passports and a thumb drive taped to the underside of a drawer. “This looks promising.”

“Bag it,” I said. “Then we head to Paris.”

Kieran turned, his brows raised. “You think Waylon’s still using the Montparnasse route?”

“If he’s moving her,” I said, “he’ll move her like product. That means old habits. Old contacts. Old systems.”

Laura finally looked up. “So, you don’t think he’d try and sell her?”

My body stilled, my jaw clenching. “No,” I said simply. That silence came again. This time, it didn’t feel like doubt. It felt like faith. We cleared the place fast, and I lit a match before I walked out. Let the whole house go up in smoke. A warning and a message.

We were coming.

And the next man who touched her?

Wouldn’t die quickly.

***

ADELA

The door slammed behind them, the lock sliding into place.

The scent of soap clung to my skin, but I felt no cleaner.

Just raw. I sat on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, knees pulled to my chest, wrists still aching from the cuffs they’d only just removed.

Water still dripped from my hair in slow, steady rivulets, soaking the thin towel they’d tossed at me like an afterthought.

They didn’t exactly rape me, but they definitely assaulted me. Those fuckers. The humiliation was its own kind of violence.

I stared at the tiled wall across from me, jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might shatter. Every detail of their faces, those leering grins, and how they laughed like I was a thing haunted me. Not to mention them rubbing their gross, sweaty dicks on me.

I wouldn’t forget.

And I sure as hell wouldn’t forgive.

A soft tremble ran through my limbs, not fear, not anymore.

Rage. Cold, controlled rage. I stood on shaky legs, tired but determined all the same.

I brushed damp hair from my face, my fingers grazing the bruises on my cheek.

My reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink was barely recognizable.

She had a swollen lip, dark circles under her eyes, and a collarbone marked from where they’d dragged her.

But beneath all of that, I saw it.

Me .

Not the girl they wanted to turn into a possession.

Not some shattered thing. I was still in here.

And I would survive. I wrapped the towel tighter around me and limped back to the corner of the room.

I didn’t lie down. I sat, back straight, eyes on the door.

They wanted a victim, but what they’d made was a weapon.

And I couldn’t wait to be unleashed on them.

The lock clicked again. I didn’t move or even flinch. I sat, arms wrapped around me like armor that wouldn’t save me, muscles tight, heart slow and steady like I was preparing for war. Because I was.

The door creaked open, and there he was.

Waylon stepped inside like he owned the very air I breathed, one hand in his pocket, the other running casually along the edge of the wall. He was dressed in black slacks and a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbows, veins prominent in his forearms.

His eyes dragged over me.

Not like the guards. Their gazes were crude and lazy.

His eyes were fucking worse . They were calculated and possessive, the stare of a man who finally got what he wanted and would fight to the death to keep it.

Lucky me. A smirk played at the edge of his mouth as he leaned his shoulder against the frame, arms crossed.

“You clean up,” he said, voice like velvet over broken glass. “ Nicely .”

I didn’t respond. He didn’t deserve my voice.

His gaze traveled lower. I clutched myself tighter. His smile widened. “You know why I’m here,” he said.

Yeah, I did. The room suddenly felt too small. The walls too close. My skin too tight over my bones.

“Get up,” he said simply.

I didn’t move.

“I said. Get. Up .”

Still, I stayed seated. I wanted to make him drag me. I wanted him to know I’d never go easy.

His eyes darkened with irritation, yes, but amusement too. Like he enjoyed the defiance. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. When he reached me, he crouched, bringing himself eye-level. “You think this is still your choice,” he murmured. “That’s cute.”

His hand reached out, brushing a lock of wet hair behind my ear. I flinched. He smiled like that was his favorite reaction.

“Don’t worry,” he added, his breath brushing over my jaw. “I’ll be gentle if you behave.”

I snapped my head toward him, spit landing on his cheek.

His expression didn’t change. But his fingers curled suddenly into my hair, yanking my head back with brutal force. I gasped. “That,” he said low, his nose nearly brushing mine, “was a mistake.”

I met his stare without blinking. “So was letting me live this long.”

He studied me like I was a painting he didn’t quite understand. Something dangerous and unpredictable. Then he chuckled. “You’ll break,” he whispered. “And when you do, you’ll be mine in every way.”

“Fuck off , Waylon, you piece of dog shit.”