Page 29 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

I gave in to the urge to roll my eyes. I only did so because he was behind me and couldn’t see.

Thankfully, it didn’t last long. It usually didn’t unless we were in bed for the night and he wanted to take his sweet time.

Whenever he was pissed, the pain would only last a few minutes.

It was this weird, yet predictable thing unhinged men did whenever they got into a rage.

When we reached the center of the room, he shoved me forward, forcing me to bend over the long conference table. A hiss of pain escaped me as my hips hit the edge.

Several of them chuckled.

I didn’t have to lift my head to know they were watching. I could feel it. Their hungry gazes on my bare thighs, my bruised arms. The humiliation was as sharp as the pain. And yet, I didn’t make a sound.

“She still fights,” Waylon said casually, taking a seat beside me like I was nothing more than a centerpiece.

“She’s got fire ,” Varga murmured, his voice low and oily. “I like that.”

I winced. I didn’t want him to like anything about me.

Varga leaned back in his chair, eyeing the red marks on my legs like he was admiring a piece of art. His lips twitched, eyes gleaming with something twisted. Parvy licked his teeth.

“She’s getting there,” Waylon said with a sigh, stroking a hand down my spine. “I definitely wasn’t expecting her little outburst. She bit me again earlier.” He smiled as if proud. “Can you believe that?”

Another round of dark laughter circled the table.

Waylon’s hand slid lower, slow and possessive until it cupped my ass. He gave a light slap. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but enough to make me flinch. The sound echoed in the silence like a taunt of what he’d just done.

“Mmm,” he murmured, satisfied. “Much better. Now I can focus.”

He leaned back, stretching his arms out as if he hadn’t just used me as a prop for dominance. “Let’s continue with business, shall we?”

No one objected. Monsters didn’t see anything wrong with what had just happened. I stayed there, draped over the cold table, eyes half-shut, cheek pressed to the woodgrain. My body ached. My mind floated somewhere above it all. I felt everything and nothing.

Their voices blurred together.

And for a moment, I nearly drifted to sleep right there on the table. But I remembered Varga’s face. The way he bit his lip when he looked at me. The glint of enjoyment in his eye.

***

The guard didn’t speak as he led me back to the bedroom.

He didn’t have to. I was sore and quiet, the collar still snug around my throat.

My body ached in too many places to count.

The door shut behind me, and I sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling like I was trying to release something that wouldn’t leave.

That was when I heard deep, muffled voices. Waylon and Varga .

I blinked hard, tuning out the sting in my wrists and the tremble in my thighs. I figured they were talking business. I didn’t care.

Until Waylon came back.

He slammed the door behind him, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet.

I flinched. He was furious.

His jaw was clenched, his coat half-buttoned, his eyes wild with something he didn’t name. He didn’t speak at first, just paced once, then turned to face me like he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “You’re to meet Varga,” he said sharply. “Guest bedroom. Down the hall.”

My stomach twisted. I stood slowly, confused. “What… what do you mean?”

“You know bloody well what I mean.”

I stared at him, horror crawling up my spine. “You’re letting him fuck me?”

He didn’t answer immediately, just dragged a hand down his face and looked away like it physically hurt to say it. “I owe him,” he muttered. “And he asked. Just once.”

My lips parted. “Waylon–”

“You’re payment.” His voice cracked like a whip. “Tonight. Just once. That’s all.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Why would you–?”

“Don’t argue, baby,” he snapped, turning away like he couldn’t stand to look at me. “Just go. I…” he trailed off, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry.”

I stared at him, really stared. His fists were clenched. His entire body was taut with fury.

Jealousy .

The man who had stripped me of my power and freedom was now raging at the idea of someone else touching me, even if he was the one who allowed it. I stepped forward slowly. And then past him. Waylon didn’t stop me. He couldn’t.

My bare feet carried me down the hall, heart pounding so hard I thought it might crack my ribs. I stopped at the door to the guest bedroom, and opened it.

Varga stood at the foot of the bed, shirtless, a glass of amber liquor in his hand. That fucking grin already spread across his face. “A well-behaved girl,” he murmured, his eyes raking over me like I was something to unwrap. “Come here.”

And as I stepped inside, hatred bloomed in my chest like wildfire. The guest room smelled like cigars and aftershave. Dim lighting cast shadows across the floor, elongating everything, especially him.

He stood barefoot, wearing only black slacks that hugged his lean, muscular frame.

His salt and pepper hair was still tied back in a messy bun, stray strands brushing the edges of his dark, sun-worn face.

His eyes were black and hollow, like they’d long since stopped holding anything human. And yet… he smiled.

That grin could make your stomach turn. He sipped his drink leisurely, the ice clinking in the glass. “You’re even prettier when I know I’m about to ravage you,” he murmured, cocking his head. “Waylon said you were too much to tame. But I don’t think that’s true.”

I stayed rooted by the door, refusing to flinch. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Then you’re more foolish than I thought,” I said evenly.

That made him laugh. A deep, rich sound that felt like oil spilling across velvet. “Good. Bite back. I like them alive ,” he said, stepping forward with quiet menace. “Too many girls come in already broken.”

My nails dug into my palms. “And I imagine you take credit for finishing the job.”

“Oh, not always,” he said. “Some I just borrow. Some I train. But you… you’re something else. Especially knowing who you belonged to.” He stopped in front of me, eyes traveling slowly over every inch of my body like a butcher deciding where to cut first.

I didn’t move. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re mine for the night.” He grinned. “But I’ll tell you something honest… it won’t be nearly as bad if you don’t pretend you’re not curious.”

“I’m not.”

He leaned in, his breath warm and sour against my cheek. “Then, at least pretend I don’t fascinate you.”

I turned my head sharply. “You repulse me.”

That grin stayed, but his eyes darkened. “You’ll do as you’re told, pretty thing. Or I’ll make it hurt.”

“I’m sure you’d love that.”

“Oh, I would.” He whispered it like a promise. “But I’d rather watch you give in.” He stepped back and set his glass down. “Now,” he said, unbuttoning his slacks, “be a good girl. And lie down.”

My heart thundered behind my ribs. Not from fear.

From fury. Reluctantly, I walked over to the bed, watching one of Waylon’s guards close the door.

My breath was ragged, my heart erratic. Now, seeing this criminal underworld from a different view than before I met Rafe, I understood more why he was the way he was when I met him.

They’re all fucking evil. Even Rafe. But he was a villain who made me fall helplessly in love with him. And he would never hurt me again.

“I was so eager to see this body,” Varga said, approaching the bed where I now sat.

I tried not to look at his muscular frame, covered in tattoos and scars.

“Come here, baby,” he said with a growl, grabbing my hips and yanking me to the edge of the bed.

Moments after stripping me, he was inside me.

“Are you not going to fight me?” he asked, his face twisted into a sadistic grin.

“No,” I murmured.

“But I like that,” his huge hand wrapped around my throat, tightening hard. “Don’t disappoint me. Waylon won’t be happy about that.”

I clawed at his hand, desperate for air.

“There you go,” he chuckled, letting me breathe finally. “Fight me.”

This sick piece of shit. Jesus.

A sharp slap landed across my face, and I yelped.

Fury burned radically through my veins, and as much as I hated myself for giving him what he wanted, I had to try.

I kicked, scratched, and bit. But all of it seemed to spur him on.

He was aggressive and definitely a man who enjoyed forcing women more than most. He was the most sadistic man I had ever experienced.

I would remember this night. I would remember every inch of his face.

***

The next morning, I sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, wrists still red from the leather cuffs.

After Varga had his annoyingly rough time with me last night, Waylon forced me to shower.

And when I had finally returned to the room to get some fucking sleep, he took me again like he had to mark his property.

Three times in one night. Three goddamn times. Fuck these men.

I was so tired.

The door creaked open, and my gaze snapped to it.

Thankfully, it wasn’t Waylon or Riley this time.

Instead, a thin brunette woman in a gray uniform stepped in, her arms full of linens.

Her face was pale, no older than forty, with warm brown eyes and shaking hands.

A housekeeper. She didn’t look at me immediately, but I studied her like a hawk.

She moved briskly, changing the sheets, folding the corners, and tucking the sides.

“Does he always keep the rooms this cold?” I asked.

Her head snapped up, startled. Not used to conversation.

“Sorry,” I added, my voice hoarse. “It’s just… I used to have a thing for warm rooms.”

She hesitated. Her lips parted, then closed again. I watched her consider whether it was safe to respond. Finally, she murmured, “He doesn’t like it too warm. Says it makes people too comfortable.”