Page 32 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

“Rise and shine, Vaughan.”

Her voice slithered in before she stepped into view–immaculate as ever in a silk coat and gloves, as if she hadn’t just orchestrated the ambush of four people and dragged us underground like animals.

“I expected more from you,” she said, crouching beside me. “You used to be smarter.”

“Used to be,” I spat. “You were always a goddamn snake.”

She smiled, running a hand through my hair mockingly before gripping it tight and yanking my head back. “You think you’re still in control here?”

“I think you talk a lot for someone who doesn’t have a gun in their hand.”

Her expression darkened. “You don’t need a bullet, Rafe. You need to be bled out. Slowly. I’d do it myself, but Waylon has... plans for you.”

At that name, my stomach twisted. Red burned behind my eyes. “What did he promise you?” I rasped. “Money? Protection?”

“Legacy,” she whispered, lips close to my ear. “He’s building something new. Something bigger. He just needs to crush the last of the old world to do it. He took over for Moreau, and now he’ll take everything from you.”

I laughed, even as blood dripped from my chin. “He took Adela. And that was his last mistake.”

Her eyes glinted. “She’ll forget you. One way or another. He’ll break her.”

“No,” I said, leaning forward as much as possible with her still gripping my hair. “She cannot be broken, trust me. I’ve already fucking tried. ” The words were a vicious hiss.

She let go with a sharp push. I hit the ground hard. “Let them rot for now,” she called to someone in the shadows. “No food. No water.”

A metal door slammed behind her.

Silence filled the air again, and it was so goddamn heavy.

Then Laura stirred beside me, coughing wetly. “Still wanna try Saint Petersburg pierogis?” she croaked.

I exhaled a broken laugh. “Only if we eat them after burning this place to the ground.”

Nico groaned. “We’re gonna kill her, right?”

“Fucking slowly,” I said. “We just have to figure out how to get out of here.” I leaned my head back against the wall, forcing my breathing steady. “But unfortunately, I won’t be much help for the next day or so.”

It started with the itching. Then the fire.

My whole body felt like it was crawling with invisible ants, stinging and biting as I lay on the freezing floor of that concrete tomb. My stomach twisted violently, and I turned to the side just in time to vomit again–mostly bile by now. There was nothing left inside me.

I groaned, slamming my shoulder against the wall, desperate for something, anything , to focus on besides the hollow burn of withdrawal consuming every inch of me.

No oxy. No fucking relief.

Just this goddamn pit.

Laura knelt nearby, her wrists still zip-tied, but she’d managed to scoot close, brushing her shoulder against mine. “Rafe,” she whispered, “you need to breathe. Slow. Come on. In through your nose.”

I couldn’t.

Every breath felt like breathing razors. My skin was slick with sweat, soaked through my shirt. My hands shook so violently I couldn’t even clench them anymore.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would shatter my ribs. “I can’t,” I rasped. “Fuck–Laura, I can’t–”

Her voice was hoarse but soft. “You can. You’ve done harder shit than this. You’re Rafe fucking Vaughan.”

I laughed–a broken, choking sound. “He has her. And I’m here . I’m fucking here! ” I screamed, slamming my shoulder against the wall again.

She didn’t say anything. What could she? I was crumbling before her, and there was no way to catch the pieces.

Kieran sat a few feet away, trying to stay quiet but clearly watching. He’d watched me struggle with substances before. Nico turned his head, just barely, and murmured, “We’ll get out. We’ve seen you do the impossible before. Don’t you dare quit now, man.”

But I wasn’t listening anymore. My mind was already somewhere else.

She was laughing in the townhouse kitchen, wearing only one of my shirts and sipping her coffee like nothing evil ever touched her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, brushing her hair over one shoulder.

“Because you’re my wife. And I love you,” I said, pulling her against me. I loved her smile and that soft, sleepy look in her bright eyes.

I opened my eyes and nearly screamed. Not from the pain, but from the way it vanished for a second, replaced by the echo of her voice in my head. I pressed my forehead against my knees, trembling. “I can’t lose her,” I whispered, barely audible. “I’ll die if I do.”

Laura placed her head against my shoulder quietly. “Then we’ll get her back. No matter what. We can do this, Rafe. Please don’t give up on us.”

My body seized again, waves of nausea and shaking hitting hard. I didn’t try to fight it anymore. So I let it break me. Because if it broke me, I could rebuild. And when I did, none of these fuckers would survive it.

***

I was on the floor again. Every joint ached.

My shirt stuck to my skin, damp with sweat that had long gone cold.

The muscle spasms had eased, but the ghosts of the withdrawals still clung to my bones.

I hadn’t eaten in three days. Had barely sipped the rancid water they let us have–enough to keep us breathing, not enough to fight.

My head throbbed in dull, steady pulses. Laura had stopped talking. Nico hadn’t moved in hours. Kieran sat with his back against the wall, staring at nothing like he could chew through steel if he had the strength.

I didn’t even look up when the door opened. Didn’t have the energy.

Until I heard the click of her heels.

Smug bitch.

She stepped into the room like she was walking into a gallery. Like we were works of art she owned, pieces of her private collection slowly decaying by her design.

“Well,” she purred, her voice like smoke. “Don’t you all look wonderful. Starvation suits you, Vaughan.”

I managed to lift my head, just barely. My vision swam, but I saw her crouch in front of me. Her nails were painted the color of dried blood, and her perfume hit like poison.

She grabbed my chin with her sharp little fingers, forcing my face up. “Still breathing?” she asked sweetly. “How disappointing.”

I didn’t answer.

Her eyes glittered with amusement as she reached into the coat slung over her arm and pulled something out. It was a photograph, held up between two fingers like a trophy. It took me a moment to focus. Then my heart stopped.

Adela .

Lying on a bed, asleep or unconscious, I couldn’t tell. Her wrists were cuffed to the headboard. Her cheek rested against a pillow, lips parted slightly, her hair tangled over her shoulder.

Waylon’s bed.

I saw red.

Something inside me ignited like gasoline doused over raw fire. I surged forward, yanking against the chains so hard the steel bit into my skin. I didn’t feel it. “You fucking bitch!” I roared. “Where is she?”

Waleria just laughed. Loud. Amused. Cruel. “She’s alive,” she said casually, tucking the photo back into her coat. “For now. But I thought you’d appreciate a little keepsake. Proof that your whore still exists.”

I lunged again, teeth bared, throat raw from screaming.

She stepped back, unbothered. “Aw, poor Rafe. You can’t help her. You can’t even help yourself. You’re nothing now. Useless.”

She turned to Laura, glanced at her like she might kick her next, and then swept out of the room without another word.

The door slammed.

Silence.

My arms trembled from the strain. My head dropped against the wall. But my chest heaved.

Adela was alive.

She was alive.

Kieran spoke first, voice hoarse. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

Nico nodded, slow. “We’ll die here if we don’t.”

Laura turned to me. “You saw something. Her bed. That room–do you know where it is?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Waylon’s properties aren’t under his name specifically. I need to find a way to connect him to a property here.”

They all looked at me.

I clenched my jaw. “We get out. We find her. But first, I’m going to shove that photo down Waleria’s fucking throat.”