Page 53 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)
He growled and drove in deeper, his pace feral now. When he finally let go, he came hard, his hand over my mouth as he spilled inside me. His breath was hot against my skin, his chest heaving, his grip on me firm and possessive.
We stayed like that for a moment, bodies locked together, the city humming somewhere far below. Then he pulled me close and kissed me sweetly.
“In a matter of days,” he said again, softer now. “We torch them all.”
I leaned into him, dazed and boneless. We slipped back into the hotel, quiet and flushed. No one looked up. No one asked. Rafe brushed a kiss to my temple before we went to clean up. And later, in bed, he curled around me protectively, and I slept without fear.
***
Nico’s tattooed fingers danced across the keyboard, the glow of the screen casting sharp shadows across his jaw. I sat beside him, knees pulled to my chest, watching message after message roll in.
Confirmed. I’ll be there.
Tell Varga I wouldn’t miss it.
Private location works for us. Looking forward to the meeting.
Every single one of them.
“They’re all coming,” he muttered, dark brows drawn together in satisfaction. “Stupid fucking bastards. Every last one of them.” His voice carried no joy.
I exhaled slowly. “This is really happening.”
He paused, turning slightly to face me. His short hair had started to grow in a little, longer at the top now, slightly tousled like Rafe’s. He looked older than usual tonight. Sharper. Like someone who had seen too much, too fast.
“I still hear it sometimes,” he said suddenly, voice low. “That video. Of you crying when Waylon had you. I know it was just a trap to bait Rafe, but fuck, Adela…”
My heart clenched. The memory twisted like glass inside me.
Nico reached out without hesitation, wrapping one strong arm around me and pulling me tight to his side. His warmth was grounding and steady. Brotherly. He smelled like citrus, gunpowder, and something faintly sweet. Probably Laura’s perfume.
“That was the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” he said into my hair. “And I’ve heard some dark shit. But that? That broke something in me. In all of us.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.
He held me there for a long moment, then finally leaned back, his eyes softer now. “I can’t wait to get home. Work on forgetting all of this. Help you forget, too.”
I nodded. “Me, too.”
We sat in silence, the keyboard clacking again as he responded to a few more messages, jaw flexing as he read another update.
He was so handsome it hurt sometimes, less dangerous than Rafe, maybe, but just as deadly in his own quiet way.
He and Kieran were not only Rafe’s best men, but his closest friends.
After what happened with Victor, Rafe struggled to trust people close to him.
But these two would undeniably die for either of us. And that felt incredible.
Behind us, the sound of pans clattering and low male voices came from the kitchen.
Rafe and Kieran were cooking and jokingly arguing about something stupid.
Laura was pacing the hallway with her phone to her ear, deep in a late meeting with a Sinclair Solutions client.
Even in hiding, she was still closing deals.
The room smelled like garlic, rosemary, and roasted meat. A scent that felt safe and warm for now.
Hours later, the five of us lounged together in the living room, spread across couches and cushions and mismatched throws. The TV played some old spy thriller in the background, but no one was really watching.
“I wish we could go out,” Laura said suddenly from a cozy chair, stretching her arms above her head with a dramatic sigh. “Like to an actual dinner. Or a bar. Fuck, even a bowling alley.”
“You want to go bowling?” Kieran asked, raising a dark brow. His long hair was pulled back in a messy bun.
“I want to not be trapped in a fucking hotel room,” she replied with a laugh.
He leaned back on the loveseat, lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke toward the open balcony door. “We can’t risk it. Not now. Not with that many targets in one room in two days.”
“She’s right, though,” I murmured, curled up beside Nico. “It sucks. I miss being around people who don’t deserve to die.”
Nico snorted. “You’ll see plenty of those after this.”
Rafe walked past behind us, brushing his hand over my shoulder as he moved toward the kitchen for something else. That simple touch and quiet connection settled my nerves again.
I looked around the room, this mismatched group. Each one of them had become part of me.
I didn’t want to think about what would happen if we failed.
So I didn’t.
I just leaned against Nico again, my head on his shoulder, and let the warmth of their voices surround me. For one night, we weren’t at war. We were just together.
Rafe plopped onto the couch on my other side with a pint of ice cream.
“How are you eating that?” I asked, raising a brow.
He rolled his eyes with a smirk. “How are you not? Here, have some.” He spooned out the cookie dough and fudge mix.
My nose scrunched, but he forced the ice cream into my mouth anyway. “Damn it, Rafe!” I squealed, burying my body between the couch and Nico’s back. They all laughed, and then I ended up fighting Rafe over the rest of the ice cream.