Page 35 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

RAFE

(TW: Reference to sexual violence)

I was shaking again. The kind of tremble that starts in your spine and radiates outward like aftershocks from a fucking earthquake.

Sweat rolled down my neck, and every bone in my body felt hollow and brittle.

I clenched my fists just to feel something , but all I got was the sharp pull of chains against my wrists.

It came in waves now. I’d been cut off days ago. Time meant nothing here. The walls never changed, the air never moved, and my body felt like it had been buried alive inside my own skin.

The cell door creaked open, and I didn’t even lift my head at first. I knew it was her. I could smell the perfume–sweet, floral, poisonous. I was too tired to play her games today.

“I brought you a present.”

I opened my eyes. She was standing in front of me with a tablet in her hand, screen black, her finger poised above it like she was about to deliver salvation instead of hell. Her eyes sparkled with sick amusement.

“Thought you’d want a little… update.”

Nausea churned in my gut immediately. Someone shifted to my right, also disturbed by what this bitch could possibly have.

She crouched down to eye level, slowly and dramatically, and tapped the screen. And then...I saw her.

My wife.

She was on Waylon’s bed, barely covered in pale sheets.

I could tell that she was naked. Her hands were trembling as she tried to cover herself, her face blotchy and wet with tears.

And he was lounging behind her, lips against her shoulder, his hand roaming under the blanket like he owned her.

Like she wasn’t everything to the fucking demon sitting here in this cell.

I surged forward with a snarl, chains snapping hard. My wrists split open again, blood trickling down the cuffs. I didn’t care. I didn’t even feel it.

I needed to kill her. Him. Everyone.

I wanted to rip this whole fucking house apart with my bare hands and make her choke on her own cruelty. “Turn it off,” I growled. My voice cracked like dry stone. “Turn it the fuck off. ”

But she didn’t. She just watched me as her manicured nail swiped forward.

The screen flickered, and Waylon now had her beneath him.

They were covered with a red comforter, but I knew what he was doing to her.

Waleria’s smile widened as Adela’s muffled sobs played through the speakers.

My entire body locked up–rage, pain, grief, all at once.

My chest burned like fire had eaten through my lungs.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” she whispered. “Even more so when she’s being a good little slave.”

My throat collapsed on itself.

Laura gasped from the wall beside me. She couldn’t see the screen, but she knew. She fucking knew. Her sob broke the silence like glass shattering. Nico’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. Kieran stared at the floor, jaw locked, like if he looked up, he might lose it, too.

I couldn’t stop the scream that tore out of me.

A raw, primal sound. A war cry and a death sentence and a soul shattering in one.

“I’m going to fucking kill you! ” I spat.

“You hear me, you sick bitch? I’m going to gut you slowly.

I’ll film it and send the video to him.” My voice was shaking, my breathing hysterical.

She tilted her head, studying me like I was a wounded dog snapping at the hand that beat me. “But that’s just it, Rafe. You won’t. You’ll sit here in your chains, rotting, until Waylon finishes ruining her. And when he’s done, and there’s nothing left of her worth saving– maybe we’ll let you die.”

She stood, the tablet still playing on the ground, and turned her back like I wasn’t losing my mind watching the woman I loved being violated. Adela’s cries ripped open my fucking veins and scorched my blood.

“You won’t win,” I said, quieter now. It was raw and stripped bare. “You’ve made sure of that. Because I won’t stop. Not until I’ve torn every single one of you off this earth. There could never be enough blood to satisfy me.”

At the door, she looked back with a smirk. “I hope you live long enough to see her final video.”

Waleria knelt, placing the tablet out of reach. And then she left, slamming the door behind her. And I broke .

I dropped my head, shaking, blood slipping from my wrists like ink bleeding into water. I couldn’t scream anymore. Couldn’t breathe. My chest felt hollow and fire-charred. My very bones felt like they were being broken all at once.

Laura was crying silently, fists to her mouth. Nico had turned away. Kieran punched the wall until his hand bled.

I desperately wanted the video to end. I couldn't reach the tablet that still played. All I could hear was her. And him. And my heart burst open.

“God dammit,” Laura sobbed. “No, no, no.”

“Rafe,” Kieran growled, desperate to pull me from my spiral.

My world tilted, spun, and broke apart. The pain was so fucking brutal that I knew the only way for it to stop was to bash my head into the wall.

“Rafe! Come back to us, man,” Kieran barked louder, his voice commanding.

My gaze snapped up to his brown eyes, widening with concern. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He knew that whatever humanity was left within me was dead. And the only person who could bring it back was her.

***

ADELA

Every day that passed etched itself into my bones like tally marks on a prison wall.

And there were a lot of them now. Days bled into nights, nights into days.

Shit–weeks blurred, dragging behind me like chains I couldn’t break.

I had no idea how long I’d been in this hell now. I’d say at least two months.

Sometimes I forgot who I was.

Like the life I’d been stolen from wasn’t real at all.

Just a dream I couldn’t quite grasp anymore.

I tried to hold onto it with chipped nails and trembling fingers, clinging to it like a lifeline.

Rafe’s face. Laura’s laugh. The way the sunlight fell through the kitchen windows of our townhouse in the early mornings.

The silky feel of our sheets tangled around my legs.

The quiet joy of curling into my reading chair with a book and a glass of wine.

I missed the sound of running water in our shower. The smell of jasmine and roses from the backyard when the breeze swept through. I missed the woman I was before this. The one who felt safe.

And yet… I was still here. Surviving .

Olesya finally returned today. Her eyes were wary, her hands twitchy as she set the tray down. My gaze shot to hers immediately while Waylon was out of the bedroom. I didn’t waste time. “Have you thought about what I said?” I asked, my voice hoarse from disuse.

She hesitated, eyes darting to the door before nodding the smallest amount. “Yes… but I’m scared, girl.”

“I get it,” I said softly. “But we’re already dying here. At least out there, we’d have a chance. Please, Olesya. He’s going to kill me. Just like…her.” I sighed, reminding her of the woman who was his prisoner before me.

She didn’t answer. Just swallowed hard and left the tray behind.

I held back the urge to cry. Waylon had been worse this week.

The stress was getting to him. He didn’t even bother pretending anymore.

I could have been perfectly obedient, and it wouldn’t have mattered.

He still fucked me like a punishment. Like hurting me might soothe something inside him.

It never did. I was strong. I’d be okay. But the cracks were starting to show.

I could feel them deep inside me. The madness creeping in at the edges. I was aggravated. Angry. Caged. And more than anything, I wanted to fucking kill him.

Rip his throat out with my teeth. Feel the warmth of his blood drench my body. But I couldn’t do it alone. Not yet.

I jolted when I heard Waylon screaming from the other room.

The sound was rough, enraged. Like something had slipped beyond his control.

The venom in his voice bled through the walls.

He was on the phone with someone–words slurred and sharp, breaking apart with anger.

I couldn’t catch much. Just enough to know he was losing his ever-loving shit.

I rolled over, facing his side of the bed, trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. Trying to pretend I was home. That I was curled against Rafe’s warm chest, my hand draped over his ribs, my fingers feeling the rise and fall of his steady breath. That I was safe.

And then I heard another scream. It was a woman’s voice, sharp and high and filled with rage.

Riley .

A crash followed. Something heavy slamming into something breakable. I heard heeled boots stomping away angrily. I smirked in spite of myself. Good. Annoying bitch probably deserved whatever the hell just happened.

But the moment flickered out like a candle in the wind. Because he stormed in. I barely had time to sit up. His eyes locked on me–burning, hollow, filled with rage.

My blood turned to ice.

I started to speak, to ask what was wrong, but it didn’t matter.

He was already on me. His hand curled into my shirt and yanked me to the edge of the bed like a ragdoll.

“Waylon, stop!” I shouted, kicking out, struggling against him with everything I had.

My nails scraped across his skin. I fought.

But it wasn’t enough. He was stronger. Bigger. His rage made him unstoppable.

He slammed me against the bed, his face inches from mine, breath hot and rancid with whiskey and wrath.

“He’s never coming for you!” he roared. “You think Rafe fucking Vaughan is going to rescue you?! He doesn’t give a shit about you. But I do! And you don’t fucking care!”

The words hit like a slap. My eyes widened. That was it.

This wasn’t just a monster. This was a broken, desperate, and damaged man–angry, yes, but starving for something he would never have. Not from me. Not from anyone.

He would kill me trying to get it.

“I don’t understand you,” he growled. My adrenaline spiked. He was wilder than usual.

Today could be the day I died.