Page 9 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

The knife slid under his jaw before he could finish.

“Don’t lie to me,” I growled, dragging the blade in a shallow, precise line across his throat.

It wasn’t deep enough to kill. Just enough to paint his chest with blood.

He shrieked, gurgled, flailed. I stepped back and let him writhe for a second.

“Should’ve just taken the bullet,” I muttered, then turned to the table where I’d laid out my tools. No one betrayed me and walked away whole.

No one betrayed us .

I started with the fingers. One by one. Sharp crack of bone. Screams splitting the air. His blood sprayed in arcs, dripping down my arms and staining the floor. I didn’t stop until his hand was nothing but a ruined, pulpy mess. This was just what life was in the criminal underworld.

Nico stood in the shadows, silent, watching.

He knew better than to interrupt me when I was like this.

He had replaced Vincent as my right hand after his betrayal and death.

Nico was perfect for the job. He definitely looked the part with his short black hair, wild dark eyes, both arms covered in tattoos and a menacing jawline.

He was honestly something to behold. When Adela first saw him, I noted the sliver of unease that crept into her.

If he made her feel that way, I found the right man.

“You know what hurts the most?” I asked the guy, though I knew he couldn’t hear me anymore. “I came back from paradise. I was soft. Happy. And the first thing I have to do is clean up this shit.”

I slammed the knife straight into his thigh. He jerked like a puppet, still alive, but just barely. I leaned in close, my voice low, a whisper meant for nightmares. “This is me being merciful. ”

When I was done, there wasn’t enough of him left to recognize.

I wiped the blood from my hands with a cloth and turned to Nico. “Torch it.”

He nodded once. “Message sent?”

I looked back at the corpse, then at the growing pool beneath the chair. “They’ll get the message.”

And if they didn’t, I’d write it in blood again. No one stole from us.

***

The mansion was so quiet compared to the screams I had endured for the last couple of hours.

I poured a finger of bourbon and stood near the glass doors, watching the storm clouds gather beyond the trees.

Lightning forked in the distance. It suited the mood churning inside me.

My shirt still smelled like blood beneath the clean button-up I’d thrown on for the drive. I didn’t mind.

The lock clicked.

I turned just as Adela stepped inside, hair windblown, cheeks flushed, her heels clicking across the marble. “Hey,” she said, dropping her keys onto the console. “You’re home early.”

I nodded once, eyes raking over her. She looked soft. Polished. Fresh from battle in boardrooms instead of warehouses.

She walked toward me and pressed a kiss to my cheek, then pulled back, eyes narrowing. “What is that smell?”

I smirked, unbuttoning the shirt to reveal my blood-soaked tee underneath. “It was a productive day.”

Her eyes snagged on it, and her lips parted as if she were about to scold me. Instead, she sighed, moving past me toward the kitchen and kicking off her heels with a practiced flick of her feet. “Jesus.”

I followed her, drink in hand. I watched the curve of her hips and how she moved so casually in a house built by violence. I waited until she’d filled a glass with water and turned to face me again. “You’re going to need to come with me tomorrow.”

Her brow arched. “To what? A meeting?”

“Of sorts.”

She paused, reading me. “Rafe…”

“It’s about Damien Voss.”

Her mouth tugged downward.

I stepped closer, sliding a hand over her lower back. “It’s a mutual client situation, baby. You’re protecting his digital footprint. I’m protecting the fucking empire he built on trafficking and oxy. Problem is, he got sloppy. And now some Albanians think he owes them blood.”

“So?” she asked, jaw tightening. “Kill them.”

My jaw clenched at her casual attitude surrounding death. So fucking hot. “I could,” I said softly. “But this is political. They want a show. Voss wants reassurance. And honestly?” I tilted my head, watching her carefully. “He doesn’t trust me. He trusts you .”

She frowned deeper, hand gripping the glass tighter. “You want me there to make the threat look... cleaner.”

“Cleaner,” I agreed. “And colder. You walk into that warehouse in heels and red lipstick, and they’ll listen. You don’t even have to do much.”

She was quiet for a second. “Unless I do.”

I leaned in, my hand sliding around to her stomach, pulling her back into me. My mouth brushed her ear. “You’ve done it before.”

She didn’t flinch.

“You’ve slit throats. Burned evidence. Shot men in the head without blinking .” My voice dropped lower. “You’ve painted the walls with blood for me.”

She let out a breath. “And?”

“And I think you like it. I think you enjoy wielding the power of death like I do.”

She huffed out of her nostrils, but she didn’t deny it.

I kissed the curve of her neck, my grip tightening. “There’s something about seeing you covered in blood that makes me want to fuck you until your knees give out.”

She turned in my arms then, eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed. “You’re a lunatic.”

“You love me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Damien Voss, huh?”

I nodded. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t necessary. This is one of those moments where both sides of the business need to show up. You are the bridge between.”

She took a long sip of her water, then walked past me toward the hallway, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll wear something pretty, then.”

Fuck .

I was already hard.

***

ADELA

Ugh, these places always stunk. That was the worst part of all of these underground meetings. The stench of blood and impending death.

I stepped out of the SUV wearing heels that clicked with every stride and a coat that concealed the pistol at my hip.

The sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, but the inside of the building glowed with yellow light, stripped bare except for a folding table, a few crates, and the gathering of about two dozen men who turned as we entered.

Rafe was a shadow beside me, towering and slow-moving, his presence enough to make most of them stiffen. I clocked the tension in their shoulders, the hesitation in their eyes. Not fear. Not yet.

But it would come.

A man with slicked-back gray hair stood near the center. Damien Voss. Expensive suit, cheap smile. I’d scrubbed his records more times than I could count. His sins didn’t fit on paper. You had to see them dripping off his skin.

“Ah,” he said, opening his arms like we were old friends. “Mr. Vaughan. Ms. Sinclair.”

His gaze flicked to me. Rafe said nothing.

I didn’t smile. “Let’s make this quick.”

He gave a soft laugh and gestured around the room. “Of course. Just a few of our Albanian friends here needed some... persuading.”

My gaze swept the room. Four of them. Armed but tense. And just behind Voss, leaning casually against the concrete wall, was a face I hadn’t seen in nearly a year.

Brown hair. Sharp cheekbones. Cruel mouth.

Waylon.

My blood ran cold, but not from fear, from recognition. I’d seen that face once before, standing in my apartment. He’d smiled while Moreau spoke through the phone.

And now he was here, hiding in the periphery like a patient spider.

I looked away like I hadn’t noticed him.

The men stepped forward, shouting in Albanian. One slammed his fist on the table. Another pointed toward Voss. Accusations. Demands. Rage. It didn’t matter what was said, only what would happen next.

Rafe tilted his head. “Listen, Damien’s a fucking idiot, sure. But if you walk away now, we’ll transfer the amount he owes plus some for your travels.”

Damien’s eyes snapped to mine, knowing damn well that he led these men to their deaths. We were never going to negotiate.

The men didn’t take Rafe’s offer anyway.

The first drew a weapon. He barely had time to raise it before my gun was in my hand, leveled and steady. I squeezed the trigger, once, then twice. His head snapped back, blood misting the air before he crumpled like dead weight.

Chaos erupted.

One lunged. I pivoted on instinct, drove my heel into his thigh, and slammed my elbow into his throat as he staggered. He hit the ground, coughing. I shot him in the chest.

The third turned to run. Rafe was faster, closing the distance before grabbing the man by the collar and smashing his face into the crate. He kept going until it broke open like fruit.

The last screamed something desperate and lunged at me with a knife. I sidestepped, caught his arm, and drove the blade into his own gut before pushing him backward. He collapsed, eyes wide, mouth open like a fish, gurgling blood.

Silence settled, aside from my steady breathing.

I turned toward Rafe. He was already watching me, expression proud and possessive. And perhaps just a little aroused.

Damien Voss clapped. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Utterly fucking beautiful.”

Rafe didn’t smile. “This stays clean. Or next time it’s you.”

Voss nodded quickly.

My hand shook slightly as I lowered the gun. Not from nerves, but from adrenaline. And then my gaze drifted back to Waylon. Still there, watching. He didn’t flinch or even speak. Just gave me the smallest smile before slipping out through the side door like he’d never been there at all.

I didn’t like that. But he’d conceded when Rafe absorbed Moreau’s business...so fuck him. I stood in the middle of a room full of corpses, blood soaking my boots, and felt… nothing.

Not horror. Not guilt.

Just a strange sense of purpose. A calm hum in my chest. My father would’ve been proud of me, I think. I glanced at Rafe, who was already walking toward me. When he reached me, he didn’t speak. He just took the gun from my hand and ran his fingers over my blood-smeared wrist like it was art.

We left the warehouse together, feared and respected. Gods in a world of monsters.

The SUV was quiet, the low hum of the engine barely audible beneath the weight of everything we’d just done. My pulse still hadn’t fully settled. I could feel it in the tips of my fingers.

Rafe drove one-handed, the other resting on his thigh. His shirt was rumpled, his jaw streaked with drying blood. I was watching him through the reflection in the window, but I could feel his gaze burning into the side of my face.

I turned to him slowly, catching the heat in his eyes. “You’re staring,” I murmured.

His voice was rough. “You were fucking impressive. As always. I couldn’t have found a better queen to run the city with me.”

A thrill rolled through me. “I am always impressive,” I said lightly.

He reached across the console and ran the back of his fingers along the inside of my thigh, dragging them up slowly, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “You didn’t hesitate. Not once.”

I looked over at him again, this time really looking, and smiled. “You’ve got blood on your jaw.”

He smirked. “Leave it.”

My heart skipped. God, he was so alive after these nights. This was when the monster in him breathed the deepest, and it always pulled the wildest version of me to the surface, too.

I leaned back in the seat and let my eyes drift closed. “I did see someone, though.”

He glanced at me.

I opened my eyes. “Waylon.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I saw him, too. Lurking near the edge like he wanted to be forgotten.”

“He looked at me weird.”

Rafe didn’t speak for a moment. The air in the car shifted. “He’s been quiet since Moreau’s death,” he finally said. “But I’ve had eyes on him. Mostly small-time deals. Side partnerships. Nothing major yet.”

“I don’t like the way he looked at me,” I murmured.

“I’ll be on the lookout,” he said, his voice darkening. “And you should be, too.”

I nodded slowly, but he reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze.

“But not tonight.” His voice dipped again, sensual and commanding. “Tonight, we shower. We fuck. And tomorrow, we’ll tour the townhouse.”

I smiled, tension melting off my shoulders. “That sounds perfect.”

We pulled into the estate minutes later. The gates slid shut behind us with their familiar whir, and the driveway wound in darkness until the mansion came into view. Golden light spilled from its arched windows like warmth waiting to devour us.

He parked, and I climbed out slowly, every muscle still buzzing. By the time we stepped into the foyer, he was already pulling me close, his hands gripping my hips, his mouth dragging along the curve of my neck.

We barely made it to the shower. Rafe’s hands were on me, pressing me back against the cool marble wall as the hot spray rained down over our bodies.

He kissed like a man still hot from the hunt. All hungry, slow, and deep. His tongue slipped between my lips, tasting me like he had all the time in the world, like he’d earned this with every body that hit the floor tonight.

“Turn around,” he rasped against my mouth.

I obeyed, slick water sliding down my spine as I braced myself against the wall. His hands roamed, fingers dragging along the curve of my waist, over my hips, gripping hard, pulling me back into his muscled body.

He was already hard, already throbbing against me, but he didn’t rush. He kissed my shoulder, then my neck, his teeth scraping my skin, making me whimper.

“God, you’re addicting,” he muttered. “You and that pretty little war face. Covered in blood, and still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

A moan escaped me as he slid inside, slow and thick, stretching me open until I was gasping. The water masked the wet sounds of us, but I felt everything. The flex of his hips, the low growl vibrating in his throat, the way he held me like I was a goddamn doll.

His pace was punishing yet so intimate, every thrust perfectly reflecting our relationship. Every snap of his hips was meant to claim me further.

When I came, I bit down on a sob, head falling back onto his chest as my muscles clenched and trembled around him. Rafe followed with a filthy curse, burying himself deep with a final groan, hands gripping my hips so hard they’d likely bruise again.

He’d often come home and fuck me after having these confrontations. It was like he needed to release his tension from killing. And honestly... I was more than okay with that. He was a whole other animal after killing, and I loved it. My body loved it.

After, we stood under the spray, quiet except for the sound of water and the slowed rhythm of our breaths. He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, then my temple.

We dried off in silence, too spent to speak. The sheets were cool and soft when I collapsed onto the bed. Rafe’s body curled around mine protectively, his hand slipping beneath my silk tank and splaying over my stomach.

I’d never been so happy in my life. Even if my new hobby was murder.