Page 23 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

I leaned forward, chains clinking as I moved, my voice low and steady. “You can enjoy the view while you can, Riley. Because when I get out of here…” I smiled, just enough to make her blink. “I’ll gut you and force your intestines down your fucking throat.”

She hesitated. It was just a flicker, but I saw how her fingers twitched near her hip. The way her lips parted, then snapped closed.

Then she laughed. “Oh, you’re funny. Delusional, but funny.” She turned and sauntered back toward the door. “Breakfast will be cold spaghetti again. And I wouldn’t take too long eating it. You’ve got another busy day ahead.”

“I’m not kidding, you know,” I whispered.

She paused at the door, obviously unnerved by the tone in my voice. “Why the guts?”

I grinned, throwing all of my rage behind it. “Because, Riley, why should you be allowed to keep the guts you don’t use?”

Her face scrunched in immediate irritation.

“I doubt you’d ever stand up for yourself. You’re Waylon’s bitch just as much as me.”

She almost looked like she was going to say something else, but she sighed.

The door slammed behind her. I stared at the space she’d left behind, heart pounding, jaw clenched.

Let them fuckers underestimate me. Because when the tables turned, I’d make damn sure they regretted every bruise, every insult, every moment they thought I was helpless.

They’d learn. One by one.

And when Rafe came for me, there’d be a pile of bodies waiting.

***

The sound of keys turning in the lock made my stomach clench, but I didn’t flinch. I sat on the edge of the bed, my wrists still raw from the cuffs. I hadn’t touched the cold spaghetti that bitch had left behind.

He stood in the doorway like a king in his castle–tall, broad, dressed in an immaculate dark suit that looked like it had been tailored to his violence. His hair was swept back in a ponytail, not a strand out of place, and his expression was psychotically detached.

Waylon walked forward, stopping in front of me.

I met his gaze without looking away.

“Stand,” he said.

I didn’t move.

“Now,” he reached forward and snatched me around my throat.

I inhaled sharply, consciously trying to keep my expression neutral. I didn’t want him to see the fear, even if I felt it vibrating through my body. The truth was...I was a little scared. Mainly, that I’d never get to see Rafe again. Or Laura.

***

The chains clinked with every step they forced me to take.

Two guards had unlatched the cuffs from the bedpost but left them tight around my wrists.

I closed my eyes as they fastened a leather collar around my throat and attached a fucking leash to it.

The leather bit into my skin as they dragged me down a long, narrow corridor, the polished wood floors far too elegant for what was happening here.

A manor. A gilded fucking cage. And Waylon was the monster hiding behind its velvet curtains.

I kept my eyes open, memorizing every turn, door, and face. They led me into a large sitting room with tall windows, where sunlight spilled through. A fireplace crackled quietly, yet the opulence made my stomach turn.

Waylon went over and sat in an armchair. Legs crossed. A predator at rest. “So, sunshine,” he said, his smile casual, cold. “Sleep well?”

I didn’t respond. One of the guards shoved me forward until I stumbled.

Waylon stood and circled me like a man inspecting merchandise. His fingers brushed a bruise on my arm. I flinched. “Tsk. They got carried away again,” he murmured. “I’ll deal with them later.”

“What’s on the schedule for today, Waylon?” My voice cracked, but I kept it steady. “Another round of pretend civility before you play with your doll again?”

He laughed softly. “I’ll definitely play with my doll again, yes. But, I want to show you something.” He snapped his fingers.

A man wheeled in a tall metal rack, draped in cloth. I tensed. Weapons? Chains? Something worse?

Waylon approached it and pulled the cloth free.

I blinked.

Photos. Dozens of them. Printed and pinned. Surveillance-style images of Rafe. Of Nico. Of Laura. And Kieran.

My stomach twisted.

“You see,” Waylon said, voice low. “This is what your husband’s doing right now. Hunting. Scrambling. Desperate.” He leaned close, an insufferable smirk on his face. “And I want you to see what it looks like when a king loses his crown.”

I stared at the pictures, heart hammering. Rafe in a dark hoodie, lit cigarette in his mouth. He looked so tired, and it made my heart crack. There was also Nico stepping out of a club, Laura on a phone call in a Parisian alley, and Kieran walking out of a grocery store. “You’re tracking them.”

“Of course,” Waylon said, smiling like it was obvious. “They think they’re closing in. But we see everything. And if they get too close... well, things get messy.”

I stepped forward despite the chains, venom in my voice. “If you touch them, I swear to God–”

He grabbed me by the throat, nearly closing off my oxygen. “You’ll do what? ” he whispered. “Bleed on my carpets? I plan on that.”

I didn’t blink, I wanted him to see the raging inferno behind my eyes. So, I concentrated on breathing.

He released me with a soft chuckle and gestured toward the guards. “Let’s take her to the dining room. I’ll meet you there.”

They dragged me away as Waylon poured himself a drink. Another day in hell.

The door opened with a creak that made my blood run cold. Waylon stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other gripping the leather leash that hung from my cuffs. Chains, leashes...all meant to dehumanize me.

His eyes glinted with the promise of a game, one I was being forced to play, unfortunately. He dragged me down a hallway I hadn't seen before, past doors that reeked of wealth and rot, and into a room that felt colder than the concrete cell I’d been trapped in.

Half a dozen men were already gathered inside, seated like wolves in tailored suits. The room smelled of tobacco, cologne, and something coppery beneath it all. The chandelier overhead was gaudy, gold, glittering like a crown. They all looked at me when I was hauled in, and I felt it immediately.

The hunger.

It wasn’t sexual for all of them. Some of it was power, ownership, and the thrill of seeing someone beautiful, proud, and being destroyed .

Waylon yanked the leash until I stumbled forward and caught myself on the edge of the massive table. “Look what I brought,” he said, voice smooth, almost bored. “Rafe Vaughan’s precious little queen.”

They laughed. One man clapped slowly. Another lit a cigarette, eyes raking over my bare legs and the bruises on my wrists. One said something in Russian that made the rest of them laugh louder.

One of the men smirked. “I bet she’s a hell of a toy.”

“Oh, she is.” Waylon grinned. “I played with her for the first time last night.”

“Her body is fucking immaculate,” one of them grunted, swirling a crystal glass. “You planning on selling her or keeping her for your collection? Because I’ll pay whatever you want to have a turn.”

Waylon smiled, and my skin crawled. “She’s mine,” he said, dragging me close by the cuffs. “Not for sale. Not for trade. She’s property , and you’ll treat her as such when you’re in my house.”

I jerked away, but he held tight.

“You hear that, sweetheart?” he murmured, loud enough for everyone to enjoy. “You belong to me . Just a collar and a pretty little place at my feet.”

One man leaned back and said, “Does she bark on command?”

My blood boiled, but I said nothing. I looked each man in the eye, daring them to see anything close to surrender in me. Waylon noticed. He leaned in close, whispering in my ear so no one else could hear.

“You hate this,” he murmured. “That’s good. Hate keeps you awake. But eventually, even hate gets tired. And I’ll be there when it does and you fall apart.”

Then he did it. Right there in front of them all.

He pulled the leash harder, forcing me down to my knees beside his chair. The cuffs bit into my wrists as I staggered. The carpet scratched against my shins. “Now, smile for the gentlemen,” he said coldly, stroking a hand over my hair like I was some kind of lapdog.

I stared straight ahead. Refusing. Furious.

One of the men scoffed. “She’ll need training.”

Waylon smirked. “Oh, she’s being trained. Trust me.”

My jaw was locked so tight I could taste blood. My cheeks burned, not from shame, but from rage so complete I could hardly see straight. He wanted me humiliated. Broken. Submissive. He would choke on disappointment because I would never bow to a king who wasn’t Rafe.

Waylon’s fingers gripped the leash, and with a sharp tug, he made me stand.

I rose slowly, heart hammering, every muscle screaming to lunge. But I didn’t move.

He brushed imaginary lint from my shoulder and turned back to the men. “As I was saying,” he began, voice sharp with command. “We need to be vigilant. Vaughan’s scent is already in the air.”

The room fell quiet.

He leaned against the table like a commander giving orders, casually holding my leash like it was nothing more than a decorative piece. “Three of our contacts in Paris were found dead yesterday. Knife wounds. Hands bound. Teeth missing.”

There were muttered curses in various languages. One man muttered, “Fucking Vaughan.”

“He’s looking for her,” another said, eyeing me. “Of course he is. She’s a pretty little thing.”

I said nothing, but my chest burned with the spark that ignited deep in my gut. Rafe was coming. I knew he would.

Waylon’s tone was deceptively calm. “Vaughan is predictable. Dangerous, yes, but obsessive. He’s not thinking with strategy anymore. He’s thinking with rage. That makes him a threat… but also a weakness.”

I kept my expression flat, but inside, something unfurled. A new kind of steel. He was killing his way toward me.

But the man beside Waylon sneered at me. “Don’t get too excited, girl. He won’t make it to you. Waylon will gut him before he gets close.”

I snorted. “You idiots really don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

There was a beat of silence, just long enough for everyone to hear the crackle of fire in my voice.

Waylon’s hand snapped to the back of my neck. “What did you say?”

“I said,” I hissed. “Rafe is going to slaughter every last one of you. And I’ll be smiling when he does.”

The table scraped loudly as he yanked the leash forward, slamming my front against the wood. “Don’t speak unless I request it, whore ,” he snarled, leaning close, breath hot and sour at my ear. “And don’t you dare speak his name in my presence again.”

The other men laughed, low and cruel, the sound slithering up my spine.

“I’ll do more than speak it,” I spat. “I’ll think it every time you climb on top of me.”

Something in him snapped. With an angry growl, he yanked my shorts down so I was in my underwear.

I froze, but I refused to show fear. “You’re lucky I’m such a possessive man ,” he hissed, pressing his growing bulge into my backside.

“Otherwise, I’d fuck you right here and then let every one of them fuck you. ”

I heard a snort come from across the table, followed by the sound of his belt sliding free. Fuck. Fuck.

Before I could even imagine what he was about to do to me publicly, he struck my ass. I couldn’t help the yelp that escaped my lips. Unfortunately, I met the eager gazes of the wolves sitting across from me, their eyes glued to where Waylon was now repeatedly hitting me.

“I don’t know how you ever make it out of the bedroom,” one of them sneered. “You couldn’t pull me away from that tight ass.”

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.

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

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.