Page 27 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

My skin was raw from scrubbing. The blood was gone, but I still felt it.

Still smelled it. My chest ached, and my ribs were tight with pressure that refused to ease.

I grabbed a towel and dried off, then slipped into a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a black tee shirt that clung slightly to my damp skin.

My hands trembled a little as I raked my fingers through my wet hair, pushing it back.

I caught my reflection again on the way out–eyes red-rimmed, jaw clenched, dark circles blooming beneath my eyes like bruises.

Better than before. But only just.

I stepped into the hallway, bare feet quiet against the floor, and padded toward the living room.

Laura was curled into the corner of the couch, a soft blanket over her lap.

She looked up when I entered, offering me a gentle smile.

Bless her, she was acting as if she wasn’t looking at a man who’d lost himself in someone else’s blood just hours ago.

I gave her a weak one in return. It was all I could manage. But it was honest. I crossed the room and sank into the opposite side of the couch, the cushions sighing beneath me. My muscles ached with exhaustion, but I welcomed the weight. It made me feel like I was still tethered to something.

The sun finally dipped below the skyline outside, the last streaks of orange fading into blue.

A hollow quiet settled over the room. It was a quiet that begged my mind to wander too far.

Nico entered from the kitchenette, a cardboard pizza box in hand.

Kieran followed behind him, cracking his knuckles as he settled into the armchair.

“You good, man?” Nico asked, tossing me a sideways glance as he flipped open the box.

I nodded once. “Getting there.”

“You look like shit,” Kieran added, but there wasn’t any bite to it. Just worry, thinly veiled with sarcasm.

“Feel worse,” I muttered.

Nico pulled out a slice and handed it to me without a word. I took it, the smell of grease and garlic hitting me like a wave. My stomach growled on cue, surprising even me.

“Thanks,” I said.

We sat in silence for a minute. Laura pulled her knees up under her chin.

I caught her watching me again, her expression unreadable.

I didn’t deserve the kindness in her eyes.

But I was grateful for it. Grateful for all of them.

They were the only reason I hadn’t torn myself apart yet.

I took a bite of the pizza and stared out the window.

Kieran leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “You really think he’d bring her here? Warsaw’s crawling with old enemies. Hell of a risk.”

“He’s arrogant,” Laura replied, her arms crossed tightly. “He wants to keep her close. Somewhere isolated, but not so remote that he can’t control the flow of information. And he probably thinks no one would look this far east. And that maybe he fled west.”

“He’s wrong,” I said, my voice cold and flat as I glanced at the laptop screen on the coffee table. “I’ll tear every fucking city in this hemisphere apart if I have to.” A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the hum of the radiator. The windows were fogged from the cold.

Nico finally spoke. “We should visit Witek now. He’s the most connected after Stepan. Lives above a butcher shop in Praga. Real low profile. Not heavily guarded.”

“Then we go tomorrow,” I said, shutting the laptop with finality.

Laura gave me a long look that said she’d counted how many pills I’d crushed in the last seventy-two hours. “Do you really think that’s the best idea?”

I didn’t answer. Just lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and stood.

The balcony was narrow, the rail slightly worn from decades of weight and wind.

Warsaw stretched beneath me, a mess of concrete, old rooftops, and steel cranes cutting into the sky.

The city lights were blurred behind low-hanging fog, and the cold was sharp as shit.

I stood there in silence, cigarette burning between my lips, the taste bitter on my tongue.

Behind me, faint sounds drifted through the hotel room walls–Nico and Kieran laughing over who snored louder, Laura pouring herself a glass of cheap red wine.

They were pretending to be normal. Trying to hold it together.

But I couldn’t pretend. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t fucking breathe half the time.

My fingers shook as I pulled out the oxy.

I crushed another pill on the railing, dragged the powder into a neat line, and snorted it.

My eyes watered, but the relief came fast, thick and warm, like syrup in my bloodstream.

The panic dulled. My heart didn’t feel like it was trying to beat through my ribs anymore.

But she was out there, hurting and alone.

And I hadn’t fucking found her. I hated myself for it.

My fists clenched around the railing again, so tight my fingers went numb.

I finished my cigarette and flicked it into the street five stories below.

Then I turned back into the room, the high already fogging the edges of my mind. Sleep would come now, thankfully.

***

The smell hit me before we even stepped inside–raw meat and rot, like death trying to wear perfume.

Goddammit. The bell over the door gave a soft ding as I pushed it open, the cold air outside quickly replaced by the humid stench of the shop.

It was dim inside, a flickering fluorescent overhead casting the pale tile floor in sickly light.

Witek stood behind the counter, carving into a slab of pork with a cleaver. The tattoo of a tiny dragon on the base of his bald head gave him away. He didn’t look up. “Closed,” he muttered in Polish.

“Not for us,” I said.

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 to closed . 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.

She was somewhere in this goddamn country. I could feel it. Like some invisible tether had drawn tighter the moment we crossed the border. Russia was a big fucking place. But I didn’t need the whole country. I just needed one address. One door.

The hotel we checked into was another false identity, booked under a name I’d used once in Prague when things had gone sideways years ago after a shit deal.

Nico made sure the registry trail led nowhere.

Kieran swept the rooms like always, paranoid but thorough.

Laura stayed quiet while we unpacked, her face drawn tight, knuckles pale around the handle of her luggage.

None of us were sleeping anymore, not really.

The suite was smaller than Warsaw. One main bedroom, a living space with two couches, and a kitchenette with a view of the icy canal through frostbitten glass. It would do.

I dropped my duffel on the bed and went straight to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, scrubbing at the blood under my fingernails. Witek’s voice still echoed in the back of my skull, but I shoved it down with everything else.

I caught my reflection in the mirror. Hollow eyes. Cracked lips. Skin pale, shadowed, aging faster than time should allow. I looked like a man on the edge because I was.

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a tiny glass vial, already half-empty. Crushed oxy. Just enough to dull the edges. I poured the powder onto the back of my hand, sniffed hard, and exhaled slowly. The burn lit up my nose and settled in my chest like a false peace.

The others didn’t comment anymore when they saw me do it. They just looked away like they fucking pitied me. I stepped out into the living area, rubbing the heel of my palm against one eye.

“We need to find Waleria tomorrow,” Laura said. She was curled up in the corner of the couch, laptop open and fingers flying.

Nico tossed me a water bottle. “You good?”

I nodded, taking a slow sip. “Closer,” I muttered, glancing toward the window and the moonlit city beyond. “She’s here. I know it.”

“She is,” Laura said, softly this time. “We’ll find her.”

I didn’t answer. Just stared out at the dark skyline and imagined tearing this city apart, brick by brick, if that’s what it took to bring her home.

Tomorrow, the hunt began again. But tonight, I stood by the window and listened to the silence. My hands twitched for another fix. My mind screamed with the memory of her voice.