Page 52 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

The villa we tracked Varga to was nestled in the hills outside Bratislava, a mansion shrouded in old wealth and guarded by armed personnel. He’d fortified the perimeter like a man with enemies, but not well enough.

From our elevated ridge in the trees, Rafe crouched beside me, assembling the scope on his rifle with unnerving calmness. Laura and Nico waited just behind, pistols in hand, while Kieran scanned the area with binoculars.

“There,” Rafe muttered, locking into a prone position. “Four guards on the front lawn. Two on the roof.”

“Take them,” I murmured.

Crack .

The first shot rang out, silenced but brutal. One of the rooftop guards dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

Crack.

Crack.

Two more. One fell forward into the bushes. The other collapsed onto the stone steps with a sickening thud.

“Jesus,” Laura whispered. “He doesn’t miss.”

“No,” I said, rising with my own weapon in hand, heart pounding. “He doesn’t.”

Rafe gave me a sharp and fierce look. “Lead the way, Sinclair.”

It was all I needed.

I stormed through the brush with the others behind me, no hesitation, no doubt. Two guards rounded the corner, one raising his rifle. I put a bullet through his forehead before he could blink. Nico tackled the other, knife flashing, blood spraying as the man hit the ground, gargling.

We split into two units–me, Laura, and Kieran toward the east wing, Rafe and Nico circling wide to breach the opposite side. I kicked down a side door. A startled man inside reached for his gun, but I fired three times into his chest. The impact sent him sprawling over a marble table.

“Upstairs,” Kieran said, low and grim. “Varga’s in the study.”

“He definitely knows we’re here by now.”

The three of us ascended, sweeping hallway after hallway.

Another guard lunged out of a bathroom, and Laura shot him in the throat.

Blood spattered the wallpaper as we passed.

When we reached Varga’s study, the heavy oak door barely had time to swing before Kieran battered it open.

In the glare of the crystal chandelier, Zdenek Varga stood at his mahogany desk, his mouth agape, a pistol wobbling in his sweaty grip.

I didn’t waste a second.

I raised my gun and shot him in the kneecap. He buckled with a howl, clutching at the shattered bone and gushing blood. Panic flickered in his eyes. Good .

I circled behind him, savoring the dread twisting his face. “You remember me?” I asked, voice low and poisonous. “You said you liked it when women fought back.” My gun steadied. “You told me that before you raped me .”

Kieran tensed beside me.

Varga’s grip on the pistol tightened, but he couldn’t raise it. Instead, fury darkened his face.

I shot the other kneecap. He crumpled to the floor, no longer a man, just broken pieces of muscle and pain. His pistol clattered uselessly against the wood.

Rafe stepped in, silent as death, rifle slung casually over his shoulder. He watched me and didn’t interrupt. I was the one who’d lived this hell. I was the one who could end it.

I knelt over him, dragging the barrel across his temple, pressing into the soft flesh. “This,” I whispered, voice ice-cold, “is what happens when you think you can break powerful fucking women.” His eyes went wide as death curled around him.

I pulled the trigger. His body spasmed, then finally stilled.

My ears rang with the shot, drowning out all other noise.

“You good?” Rafe asked, his voice calm.

I nodded slowly. “Better.” I turned to find Nico sitting casually at Varga’s desk, examining the glow of his laptop screen.

“The fucker’s system was easy as shit to hack, boss,” Nico laughed, then caught my gaze.

“Me?” I asked with a smile.

Nico laughed, nodding his head. “Yeah, girlie, you’re my boss.”

I winked at him.

“Of course it was easy to hack,” Rafe added with a smirk, not at all arguing who the real boss was here. Good boy.

I strode forward, adrenaline still buzzing through my veins. “Let’s get into his contacts,” I commanded, stepping toward them. “And call an urgent meeting regarding Rafe Vaughan and his wife.”

Rafe’s icy, dead eyes met mine, and my knees nearly buckled at the force and intensity radiating from them. He reached out and casually took my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

***

Later that night, we returned to the hotel, smoke still clinging to our clothes and blood dried into the seams of my boots.

The adrenaline wore off, replaced by exhaustion that felt like a drug.

We slipped into the suite. Rafe collapsed onto the couch, closing his eyes.

I sank beside him, fingers tracing the scars on my wrist from where the leather cuffs broke skin again and again and never healed properly.

Kieran and Nico busied themselves, setting up laptops and phones.

Rafe opened his eyes and turned to me. “You okay?” he asked, voice raspy from the adrenaline drain.

I met his gaze. “Yeah,” I said, every nerve still buzzing. “You can stop asking me if I’m alright, you know.”

He reached for my hand and squeezed it tight. We sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of what we’d done settle into our bones. But for the first time in a long time, I felt sure and ready. I was planning the entire process that would lead to many, many deaths of deserving men.

We were unstoppable.

I stepped onto the balcony, and the door clicked shut behind us as I let the night swallow me.

Rafe stepped up beside me, glancing out over our view.

The distant streetlights shimmered off his jaw, sharp and beautiful in the dim glow.

His distinct cedar scent enveloped me, and my heart fluttered as he leaned close.

“I told them to stay inside,” he whispered against my mouth. His voice was husky with desire and determination. He closed the curtains so our moment would stay ours.

His leaned in swiftly, his lips catching mine perfectly.

My knees would’ve buckled if his strong arms hadn’t caught me.

He pulled me flush against him, and I felt him whisper against my lips, “I loved watching you kill Varga.” My pulse hammered even harder.

That echo of both pride and desire had begun to unravel me.

His hands roamed over me, one cupping my ass, pressing me back against his thigh; the other resting on my hip, fingers mapping every curve.

When our tongues tangled, I melted into him, breathless at how right it felt.

My hand slid up to his hair, tugging lightly.

He groaned against me, a desperate sound.

He tasted like victory, like vengeance, and. .. home .

With slow, deliberate heat, he pressed me back against the cold metal of the balcony railing. The wind tangled through my hair as his hands moved with purpose, one gripping my hip and the other threading up my spine. He held me steady, shielding me from the chill and the world beyond this moment.

Clothes became an afterthought. He peeled off his shirt, each movement laced with passion and fire.

My leggings slid down my legs in a hush of fabric.

His hands mapped every inch of exposed skin, respectful and hungry all at once.

I loved how much he craved me. He craved me so much, that he’d been fucking me with our friends just in the other room. And that was… hot as hell.

He kissed me again, this time slower. Less frenzy, more possession.

His mouth moved over mine like he was memorizing the shape of my lips, the taste of my breath, the sigh that escaped when his fingers dipped between my thighs.

I gasped, clutching at his chest, feeling the muscles beneath my palms. He was strong and steady and utterly mine .

When he sank his fingers inside me, I nearly buckled.

My body arched into him, hips rolling, chasing the pleasure he gave so easily.

His thumb circled with perfect precision, and he watched my face like he wanted to study the way I broke apart.

My moans came soft and only intensified when his eyes flashed.

“You’re already dripping for me,” he growled low against my throat. “Fuck, I love how your body responds to me.”

I shivered, barely able to breathe. His fingers curled and stroked until my hand slapped the railing for balance. My head tipped back. The stars blurred. His other hand gripped my thigh, spreading me wider as he finger-fucked me. My cries caught in my throat, strangled and absolutely desperate.

“Stay quiet, baby,” he whispered into my ear. “They may not be able to see us, but they can definitely hear your desperation.”

That made it worse. That made it better.

When I came, I bit my knuckle to stifle the sound. My body trembled. My legs quaked.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he murmured, his teeth scraping up my neck. “There you go, little doe.”

He turned me around, bending me over the railing, hands firm on my hips.

The danger of the height only added to the fire inside me.

I whimpered when I felt him against me, hard and thick.

He pushed inside slowly, inch by inch, and my body stretched to take him.

I gripped the railing with white knuckles, heat flooding through me.

He was so deep, so full, so much. His hips rolled, dragging pleasure through me in long, torturous strokes.

My legs shook with every thrust, and he didn’t stop, didn’t ease up.

The night swallowed my cries as he fucked me under the open sky, each thrust deeper than the last.

His mouth pressed to my ear. “No one gets to touch you but me,” he growled. “You’re mine , Adela. Forever.”

I whimpered his name, and he gripped my hair, tugging my head back just enough to kiss me again.

“The one woman who made me fall in love when I thought such a thing wasn’t possible.” He grunted, entirely lost in me.

My eyes rolled back, pleasure exploding through me. My husband fucked me until my legs were useless and my body was shaking, until I came again, tighter around him.