Page 28 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

ADELA

(TW: Brief sexual assault)

Time had melted into a numb blur of forced smiles and hollow nods.

I stopped fighting. At least, that’s what I let them believe.

Waylon liked it when I was quiet. He liked it more when I whispered yes, sir , without being prompted, when I lowered my eyes and let him drag his hand along my cheek like I was his pet.

Riley ate it up, too. Smirking. Pleased.

Telling Waylon over and over how I was “finally learning.”

I was learning, alright.

Learning every inch of this estate, every routine. Every guard rotation, every locked door, every glance exchanged between Waylon’s men when they thought I wasn’t looking. Submission had bought me time. It had kept me alive. But it didn’t mean I’d given up. Not even close.

But it was different now. I kept it low.

Controlled. It simmered quietly beneath every bruised rib and aching muscle.

I was shrinking myself on purpose, molding my rage into something that would ultimately kill him.

He didn’t know I was memorizing things, watching, and counting every goddamn step it would take to get out of here.

I sat in front of the vanity, hair brushing my shoulders, skin paler than I remembered. I looked like a ghost of the woman I used to be, but my eyes were still sharp in the mirror. He hadn’t taken that from me. Not yet.

The door creaked open. Waylon didn’t bark orders. He didn’t have to anymore. I stood slowly, walking to him with my chin tucked, hands folded in front of me like the perfect little thing he thought he’d created.

He brushed a knuckle along my jaw. “There she is,” he murmured. “My prize.”

I didn’t flinch. I tilted my head just slightly, offering a soft smile. “What would you like me to do today?”

He laughed low under his breath. “God, I destroyed you, beautifully .”

You didn’t destroy me. I broke the mirror, and you’re too stupid to notice the shards at your fucking feet.

“I’m taking you to a meeting tonight,” he said, gripping my chin a little tighter. “I want them to see what I’ve made. I want them to see you look at me the way you used to look at him.”

My blood turned to ice.

Rafe .

He still lived in every heartbeat I took. Every breath. Every second I survived was because of him . Because I knew he was out there, killing his way to me. “Yes, Waylon,” I said softly.

I watched the flicker of pleasure in his expression, then turned back toward the mirror, the perfect reflection of his obedient little doll.

Thankfully, the fucker left me alone most of the day. It wasn’t until after dinner that Riley came in with my change of clothes. Because, obviously, I couldn’t attend this meeting in grey athletic shorts and a lacy white tank that did nothing to hide my nipples.

The black dress they made me wear was tight, uncomfortable, and clearly chosen by Waylon. It clung to my ribs, covering the bruises hidden beneath delicate silk. My wrists were free tonight, but only because he wanted to show me off, not because I was trusted.

I followed behind him like a well-trained dog. I kept my head low, with sharp glances from Riley every few minutes.

The meeting room was just off the eastern wing of the estate.

Its long, oak-paneled walls were decorated with mounted animal heads and oil paintings that probably cost more than most lives.

The table stretched the length of the room, draped in fine linen, and littered with crystal glasses, dark liquor, and a haze of smoke.

They were already waiting for us–eight men, maybe nine, all in suits or coats. Grimy, greedy eyes shifted as Waylon entered. And then they landed on me.

A few of them chuckled low. One whistled.

Waylon didn’t correct them. He grinned.

I didn’t recognize any of them from the previous meetings he’d forced me to attend.

He was showing me off to many of the powerful men in Rafe’s world.

He wanted them to know that he had “brought Rafe to his knees,” but really, he signed his own death warrant.

One of those men would talk when Rafe found them.

And then he’d find me. So really, Waylon was just being fucking stupid.

His ego would literally be the death of him.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “I brought a little inspiration tonight.”

He pulled me to his side with a hand at my waist. I stayed still, not flinching even as his fingers pressed into my sore ribs.

“This one?” he said, tilting my chin up. “This one used to belong to Rafe Vaughan .” That got their attention. A few leaned forward. One of them swore under his breath.

“Bullshit,” a man with a crooked nose muttered. He had blonde hair, brown eyes, and a distinct scar over his left eyebrow.

Waylon’s grin spread. “That’s right, Parvy. I took her right from his world. Broke her piece by piece. Had to ride her a little hard, but now she kneels when I say the word. She’s a good girl.”

Laughter broke out across the table, but it sounded more like barking. Hungry. Animalistic. I stood still, breathing shallow, letting their eyes crawl over me without blinking.

“She’s mine now,” Waylon said. “And the great Rafe Vaughan? He’s hunting. He’s desperate. There’s already a trail of corpses piling up behind him.”

They knew it. I saw the brief flickers of uncertainty in their eyes, of fear beneath all their false bravado. But none of them would admit it. Rafe Vaughan was The Dark Monster of NYC and was as unhinged as they came. They all fucking knew that.

My back teeth gnashed together, my jaw tightening. My husband was coming for me. My gaze fell to the crown tattoo around my wrist and then to my wedding band. Surprisingly, he let me keep it. Riley believed it was to taunt me, a constant reminder of the man I married that I no longer belonged to.

“He’s coming,” Waylon said, still smiling. “But he’s not getting past these walls. I’ll kill him before he ever sees her again. Might make him watch what I do to her every single day.”

I couldn’t stop myself. I finally lifted my head, my eyes snapping right to his. “Then you don’t know him at all,” I said, my voice quiet and sharp as glass.

The room went still.

A few men glanced between us with raised brows. Waylon’s hand clamped down tighter on my waist, nails digging in. His voice was low. “Careful, kitten.”

I smiled sweetly. “You really think you’re going to be able to kill him? You don’t understand what he is. You don’t know what you’ve taken. You have no idea that the moment you took me, you signed your fucking death warrant.”

Waylon’s jaw twitched. “Enough,” he growled. “Get on your knees.”

But I didn’t move.

A ripple of tension rolled through the room.

Everyone was watching. Waiting. And I knew it was a gamble, one I couldn’t win physically, but I could damn sure win mentally.

I knew that this would piss him off and he’d likely drag me away and assault me.

He loved doing that while angry. My now frail body took every slap, brutal thrust, choke, and shove. But my mind was still fighting.

So I stepped forward and placed a hand on the table, leaning across it to look Parvy dead in the eye. “If you think aligning with Waylon is going to protect you when Rafe arrives, then you’re more suicidal than loyal.” My voice was gritty and low.

Gasps. A few muffled laughs.

Then, a hand tangled in my hair. Waylon yanked me back with a snarl, slamming me forward over the table and jerking the leash that had been hidden beneath my collar. “Let me remind you,” he hissed, pressing his mouth to my ear, “what happens when you forget your place.”

The metal collar bit into my neck. I gasped, face pressed against cold wood. A few men watched, some amused, some silent. But of course, no one helped. They’d probably rather watch him take me right there, the sick fucks.

“Waylon, feel free to punish the girl,” a deep voice reached my ears somehow through the roaring.

Waylon’s eyes darted up. “That’s definitely tempting, Varga,” he snorted. “I remember what you did to your little whore when she talked back.”

“I’m not as possessive as you, Waylon,” he smiled into his glass of amber liquid. “Every man in that meeting benefitted from her little outburst. Including you.”

My stomach turned.

Waylon laughed, as if he weren’t still holding me down. “Probably one of our best meetings.”

They all laughed. The fuckers raped a poor girl together. I bit my tongue so hard I tasted copper.

“I bet she’s fun,” the man said again. His name was Varga. Salt and pepper hair tied in a messy bun, tan skin, dark eyes. “The ones with hope always are.”

My blood fucking boiled. Waylon kept me pinned, his attempt at humiliation completely futile. He couldn’t do anything else to me. “Excuse me, I need to punish her. I’ll return shortly.”

“Aw, pity,” Varga chuckled, nudging Parvy playfully.

He hauled me upright and dragged me from the room by the collar. I didn’t fight. But before the door closed, I looked back and glared at Varga and Parvy.

He didn’t take me far. I flinched when he ripped open the door in the next room. My face hit the wall as he shoved me against it, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. Before I could even inhale, he was against my back. And when he violently used my body again, I smiled through the pain.

Because he was out there. And every time I disobeyed and stoked Waylon’s rage, I could feel his grip slipping just a little bit more.

“You’re going to have to be extra fucking good, you know that?

” he panted. “You stupid little whore , choosing the worst time to be brave. You’re not fucking brave.

You’re weak . I should have let them all fuck you . ”

“But you didn’t,” I somehow chuckled during his assault. “Because you’re too possessive .”

His hand reached around and clamped around my throat, cutting off oxygen for a moment. “Vaughan didn’t train you well enough.”