Page 33 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

ADELA

I lay on my side, staring at the wall, the dull ache in my wrists pulsing in time with my heartbeat. The cuffs had rubbed them raw again last night. I flexed my fingers, trying to ease the numbness, but it only made the burn worse.

Every breath felt heavier in this room. The bed creaked as I shifted, eyes flicking to the door when it opened slowly.

Olesya.

She slipped inside quietly, her arms full of fresh sheets and a rag for the floor. Her eyes scanned the room before settling on me–and on the cuffs that kept me tethered to the bed like some beast meant to stay quiet and pretty.

Her frown deepened. “Should I change the bedding?” she asked softly, her accent thick but gentle.

I sat up with effort, my wrists clinking against the headboard. “No. Just... stay a moment.”

She hesitated, then slowly set the sheets on the chair and moved toward me. Her eyes were kind, but wary. Always wary.

“Olesya,” I whispered. “I’m getting out of here.”

She flinched.

“I’m going to escape. But I need help.”

Her face tightened. She looked over her shoulder at the door like she expected Riley or Waylon to crash through it any second. “You say dangerous things.”

“I know.”

“You ask me to die?”

“No,” I said, my voice low and steady. “I’m asking you to live. Because this?” I raised my wrists slightly. “This isn’t living.”

Olesya stared at me, unmoving. And then... she nodded. Just once. “I don’t like him,” she murmured, eyes darting toward the floor. “No one does. He’s not human.”

A bitter smile curled my lips. “I know.”

She glanced at the door again. “I will think. But if we try this… and we fail…”

“We won’t,” I whispered. “And even if we do... at least we tried.”

The door suddenly flung open. Olesya jumped and moved quickly toward the corner, pretending to busy herself with the sheets. Riley breezed in, dressed in her usual tight pants and smug expression, a bundle of clothes under her arm.

“Well, look at you . Pretty little thing,” she sang, tossing the pile onto the bed.

I stared at her. “What is this?”

“Outfit change. You’re going outside today.”

That got my attention. My chest tightened with a flicker of suspicion.

Outside?

Riley smirked, clearly enjoying my confusion. “Get that stupid look off your face. It’s nowhere special. Waylon just wants your company.”

My stomach twisted as I looked down at the clothes: black leggings, a fitted black t-shirt, and a pair of worn sneakers.

I wondered where he was taking me.

I picked up the shirt. It smelled faintly of old perfume. Riley chuckled under her breath.

“What?” I asked sharply, annoyed.

She cocked her head, that smug smile deepening. “Nothing. Just glad they’re your size.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Whose are they? Clearly not yours because I’d be swimming in anything you gave me.”

She narrowed her eyes at my insult. “Actually, they belonged to Waylon’s last whore.”

The air left my lungs.

I clenched the shirt tighter in my fists, the fabric stretching. “You’re fucking sick,” I said coldly.

She shrugged. “We all are here, sweetie.” She turned on her heel, her laughter trailing behind her as she left the room and slammed the door shut. “Get dressed. Now .”

I sat there, the clothes in my lap, my pulse hammering in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut as Olesya started cleaning the windows. I needed to remember: I had a weapon hidden under the mattress.

And soon, I’d have my chance. I’d get out of here or die.

Those were the only options I’d accept. I slipped the black shirt over my head, the scent of someone else’s perfume still lingering in the fabric.

I tried not to think about her–Waylon’s last victim.

Tried not to imagine what had become of her.

I pulled the leggings on next, then the sneakers. My fingers were shaking.

Olesya had already left, murmuring something about needing to clean the guest bathrooms. I knew it was an excuse. She didn’t want to be in the room when the guards came.

The door burst open, and two of them stepped in silently, masked, cruel in the eyes. Swiftly, one of them unhooked me from the bed.

“No cuffs?” I asked dryly.

They didn’t answer. A thick black bag was thrown over my head. I stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath.

Rough hands grabbed my arms, yanking me forward. I stumbled, the fabric brushing my cheeks, suffocating in its closeness. The air in the hallways was stale, but when they shoved the front doors open, I tasted something better.

Outside air. It was cool and damp, and I nearly sagged against the guards at the relief of it. Birds chirped in the distance, too bright a sound for a place like this.

They dragged me down stone steps and tossed me into the backseat of a car like luggage. I gasped as I landed, my elbow jarring painfully against something hard.

Then I felt a hand settling on my thigh.

“Easy now,” Waylon’s voice purred next to me, and I flinched violently.

“Get off me.”

His fingers only pressed harder. “No, no. You’re coming with me tonight, sweetheart. I’ve got some business, and I won’t be home until late.”

“Where are we going?”

He chuckled darkly. “Just some work to take care of. Thought you might like a change of scenery.”

I didn’t respond. I sat rigid the entire ride, the bag scratchy against my skin, trying not to hyperventilate. The car moved fast but silently, with the hum of the road beneath us the only sound. It wasn’t long before we stopped, and they yanked me out again.

Cold hands gripped my arms. My shoes scraped against concrete, and the scent of damp stone filled my nose. When they finally ripped the bag off, I blinked rapidly, adjusting to the dim yellow lighting overhead.

There were no windows. The air was dense. The ceiling low.

My stomach clenched.

“Are we underground?” I asked, voice hoarse.

Waylon smirked. “Smart girl.”

I jerked away from him, panic curling in my throat. “You drag me here like a dog and expect me to behave? ”

He turned sharply and slammed me back against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of me. My head thudded hard. He leaned in, his breath warm and foul against my cheek. “You want to bark, little thing? I’ll give you something to howl about.”

“Go to hell.”

He smiled wider. “I’ve already been. Left a throne there with your name on it.” Then, with a gleam in his eyes, he dropped his next blow. “Rafe’s been captured.”

My blood ran cold. “What?” I whispered.

Waylon grinned. “Your husband. Caged. Weak. Just like you.”

I shook my head. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not. He’s here in Russia. I know exactly where.”

My voice broke as I shoved at him. “Where is he? What did you do?!”

Waylon laughed cruelly. “Relax. He’s alive. For now. But not for long. I give it... a few more days.”

My knees nearly buckled. I screamed and tried to swing at him, but he grabbed my wrists and twisted me until I cried out.

“Temper, temper,” he hissed. “I could send you pieces of him instead.” He dragged me forward by the arm, deeper into the underground halls. Every step echoed. Every breath hurt. But I wasn’t entirely broken. If Rafe was alive, then so was I. And if he was fighting to survive…

Then so was I.

Waylon’s grip didn’t ease until we reached the heavy steel door.

Inside, the air was stale with cigar smoke and testosterone.

A long, polished table stretched across the middle of the room, already filled with men.

I didn't recognize them, but every single one radiated wealth and danger.

Watches that cost more than cars. Eyes like daggers.

Waylon didn’t so much as glance at me as he shoved the door open and dragged me in by the wrist. “She sits,” he said offhandedly, gesturing to a leather chair along the wall.

It shocked me.

He’d never let me sit in on a meeting like this. Not when serious business was being discussed. Usually, I was locked upstairs or on my knees at his feet like a dog if he wanted to show off. But tonight, he acted like I belonged in the room. Or at least, like I was part of the scenery.

I sank into the seat silently, adjusting my sore wrists. I kept my eyes low but my ears open.

Names. Cities. Shipments.

They were talking about drugs. Large shipments. Routes through the Baltic. Someone’s name came up–a man in Odessa had gone quiet, and one of the others didn’t like that.

Then, the man across from Waylon shifted his gaze toward me. “Didn’t expect to see you bringing a girl to this table,” he said. His accent was thick, Slavic. “You sending any girls through this month, or just keeping them now?”

Waylon chuckled. “I don’t deal in that market anymore.”

“A shame,” the man said, eyes still on me. “That one would sell for a lot.”

My stomach turned. I narrowed my eyes and dipped my chin, showing him that I’d fucking kill him if given the chance.

An answering smirk nearly made me see red.

Waylon leaned back, arm stretched casually over the back of his chair. “I said I don’t sell. Doesn’t mean I don’t indulge.” He gave a pointed grin. “If you’re still looking, ask Stepan. He’s knee-deep in new inventory.”

The man’s gaze lingered on me a second longer, then turned back to his drink with a smirk. “Still a shame.”

“Yeah,” Waylon said, voice hardening. “Shame you can’t keep your fucking eyes to yourself. Now, let’s get back to business.”

The room shifted. The table refocused. Tension bled back into conversation like it had never left. But I could barely hear them.

Rafe was alive.

Alive.

Every heartbeat pulsed with it. I didn’t know where he was.

Or what Waylon meant when he said he wasn’t long for this world.

But he was breathing. And that meant I had to keep going.

I glanced subtly around the table, again memorizing their faces to the best of my ability.

I listened closely to the names they dropped. The accents. The power plays.

When I got out of here, I would remember every single one.