Page 39 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

ADELA

I lay on my side, still damp from the shower, my skin chilled where the sheets didn’t cover me. I was cuffed again–one wrist to the headboard, one free, though I knew better than to think it gave me any real freedom.

The leather bit into my skin with each breath. The sound of running water filled the room. Waylon was in the shower, humming to himself like he didn’t have a care in the world. I stared at the ceiling, counting each breath, willing time to move faster.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow we try.

Olesya and I had gone over it a dozen times. We knew the risk. But if the plan failed, if it fell apart in the middle of execution, I wouldn’t live to see another. And honestly? I didn’t want to.

This couldn’t be my life.

I pulled the sheet over myself a little tighter, pretending like it could protect me. From him. From what was coming. The water stopped, and my stomach twisted.

Moments later, he walked out, towel slung low on his hips, steam curling from his skin. His eyes locked onto me instantly like I was some toy he couldn’t wait to unbox again. “Still awake?” he asked, rubbing his hair dry with a smaller towel.

“Barely,” I lied, curling slightly, trying to make myself smaller without looking afraid.

His eyes dragged over my body like they had every night since he took me.

I forced my voice to sound casual. “You mentioned you have meetings tomorrow. Am I expected to go?”

He snorted, tossing the towel aside. “You? No, sweetheart. You’ll stay locked up right here so I can come in after and let off some steam.”

Of course.

I nodded slowly, eyes on the far wall.

“Speaking of,” he muttered, letting the towel drop completely.

My heart stuttered.

He climbed into bed, slipping beneath the sheets, and I felt the mattress dip beneath his weight. The cuff tugged at my wrist as I tensed. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to my bare shoulder, then my neck. His fingers trailed down my side slowly. Within another moment, my tank had been pulled down.

“You’re so quiet tonight,” he murmured.

I offered a soft smile. “Just tired.”

He kissed me again, on the mouth this time. I kissed him back because I had to. Because resistance would only make it worse. But inside… I was gone.

Somewhere else entirely. Somewhere with Rafe.

I imagined his hands instead. His mouth. The way he used to whisper my name like it meant salvation. His laugh. His warmth. The way he held me like I was breakable and indestructible at once.

If I could just hold onto that… I could survive this one more time.

Waylon wasn’t as rough tonight. Maybe he was worn out.

Maybe he thought I’d finally accepted this miserable existence.

Either way, I endured it in silence, my body still but my mind a world away.

I stared at the ceiling again, jaw locked, breath shallow when he removed my athletic shorts.

His fingers dug into my hips as he settled between my legs.

And as his weight pressed into me over and over, his voice rasping vulgar words into my ear, I made a promise to myself. Even if tomorrow didn’t work, even if Olesya couldn’t get to me, even if I never saw Rafe again... I would not live like this.

I’d rather die. And on my terms.

***

I woke up to the dull sound of fingers tapping against a screen.

Waylon sat at the edge of the bed, bare back hunched slightly as he texted someone with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Morning light filtered in through the heavy curtains, pouring faint shadows across the sheets. My wrist ached from the cuff.

“Got a meeting,” he muttered, not bothering to look back at me. “Shouldn’t take long. One of the guards’ll bring your lunch later.”

I nodded silently as he stood and started getting dressed.

Dark slacks. A crisp white shirt. He moved with the lazy confidence of someone who thought they couldn’t be touched.

A king in a rotting kingdom. I watched him quietly, imprinting every movement in case it was one of the last times I ever saw him alive.

Please let today be the last time.

He glanced over his shoulder once, his eyes sweeping over me in that annoying way. “Be good,” he said, then slipped out the door. The second it clicked shut, I let out a shaky breath.

Now.

I rolled onto my side, wincing as the cuff tugged against my tender skin.

My fingers fumbled beneath the edge of the mattress, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it was echoing through the walls.

Then, I felt the pen. A small sob nearly escaped me as I pulled it free.

It was funny... how something so small and ordinary made me feel like I had a chance to escape from this hell.

I stared at it for a moment, the absurdity of it not lost on me. A pen against guns. But sometimes, that’s all it took. One second. One opening. One fucking breath.

The hallway creaked, and I snapped my body back against the pillow, the pen still hidden in my fist.

Then, a soft knock–three gentle raps, just like we’d agreed. The door opened, and Olesya stepped inside with an armful of clean towels. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her eyes carefully cast downward, the perfect image of a compliant housekeeper.

But when her gaze flicked up and met mine, I saw something that made my chest tighten.

Readiness. Resolve. Fear, too. But beneath that, an inspiring determination. One that I hoped I also portrayed.

I gave her the smallest nod.

She set the towels down on the dresser and didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. We were past words now. I watched her slip back out into the hallway, nausea rapidly curling in my stomach.

“Excuse me,” I heard Olesya say softly, her voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. “Her cuff is biting into her wrist again. Waylon said not to damage her too much, remember?”

There was a pause, then footsteps. I tensed as the door opened to reveal my first victim of many. He was the tall one. The one with the mole under his eye and a lazy smirk he wore constantly. He strolled in like this was a chore, barely sparing me a glance.

“Princess is delicate today, huh?” he muttered as he knelt by the bed, reaching for the cuff.

I didn’t move. Not until he leaned in. His breath fanned across my face as his brown eyes focused on my leather cuff. Anxiety roared through my blood, and I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding.

Come on, Adela. Now or fucking never.

And then I struck.

The pen drove into his throat with a wet pop. His eyes bulged in shock, a strangled noise bursting in his throat as he reached for me. Quickly, I clamped a hand over his mouth, pushing my weight down as hard as I could.

His hands flailed. His blood spilled. Ah, fuck. It was warm and fast. He convulsed once, twice–then went still. I swallowed hard, fingers shaking as I fumbled for the key on his belt. My other wrist ached in its shackle, desperate for freedom.

Click.

The cuff fell open, and the silence that followed was deafening. I looked up to find Olesya in the doorway, her face bone-white, her hand pressed against her mouth. Horror danced behind her eyes–not at me, but at what we’d just done.

There was no going back now. I stood slowly, my bare feet slipping in the blood as I stepped over his body. I dropped the pen. I didn’t need it anymore.

I had the key and his weapons, now. There was a slick blade hooked onto his belt and a gun tucked into its holster. “Olesya,” I whispered, “go check the hallway.”

She didn’t move at first. Then she nodded, throat bobbing, and disappeared around the corner.

I stood there for one long moment, my heart crashing against my ribs like a trapped bird, the scent of blood thick in the air.

Funnily enough, that scent reminded me of Rafe.

And my heart suddenly fluttered with the hope that I’d see him again after this.

Olesya came back, her lips pressed into a thin line, trembling just slightly. “One at a time?” she asked quietly.

I nodded, adrenaline coursing so violently I thought I might shake apart. “One at a time.”

There were four left. Four between me and Waylon. Four bodies that didn’t know their hearts were about to stop beating.

Olesya knocked on the den door just down the hall. “Sorry,” I heard her say, voice timid, like always. “Something’s wrong with the girl’s restraints. Can you secure her?”

A chair scraped back.

“Fine,” a voice muttered. “Boss was probably lazy again after he fucked her.”

I crouched behind the bedroom door, blood still drying on my arms, the key tucked into my waistband. I gripped the blade I’d taken from the last guard.

The guard stepped in, but I was already behind him. One slash across the throat. It was quick. He gurgled and dropped, wide-eyed and twitching. I caught his body as best I could and lowered him silently to the floor, the blade clenched so tight my knuckles ached.

Olesya appeared again. “Another one?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

I could do this. I could kill them all.

The next stumbled in, confused at the sight of his friend. He reached for his weapon, but he wasn’t fast enough. The blade punched into his stomach. He choked on his own scream. I twisted the knife until he collapsed.

The third put up a fight. He landed a brief punch across my jaw, and I staggered. But I’d been hurt worse. Much worse. I caught his arm and brought the knife down into the back of his neck. He twitched and went still.

By the time the fourth walked in, his face was pure shock from the dead bodies strewn about the bedroom.

I didn’t waste another second, and I tackled him.

We hit the floor in a sprawl, his hand reaching for his gun.

I slammed the hilt of the knife into his temple, once, twice, until he stopped moving.

Four bodies. One room.

I stood up, panting, shaking, covered in crimson. The same rug I’d been dragged across, screaming, now soaked with their blood.

“Are you okay?” Olesya asked softly, her eyes widening.