Page 40 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

By the time we stepped outside, a thunderstorm had rolled in, turning the roads slick and glistening beneath the downpour.

Thunder cracked in the distance, and fat drops of rain splattered against the pavement in a steady rhythm.

Rafe’s phone rang just as we reached the front porch, the low hum of it vibrating in his pocket.

The scent of rain hit me the moment we crossed the threshold–clean, earthy, nostalgic. It reminded me of simpler days, of summers barefoot in the grass and quiet mornings before life got so damn complicated.

I adjusted the strap of my purse, subtly checking that my gun was still tucked away where it belonged. My fingers brushed the cool metal as I absentmindedly listened to him speak.

I didn’t want to leave. Not tonight.

A part of me longed to stay inside, curled up with him on the couch, sharing a blanket and something mindless on the screen. Just...being. He felt like a real boyfriend today. Not a kingpin. Not a killer. Just Rafe. Present. Warm. Mine .

And I didn’t want that version of him to disappear.

The sharpness in Rafe’s voice snapped me back from my thoughts. I peered at him, but he refused to look at me. His stony gaze was set on the rain in front of us.

“What do you mean, Vince?” he asked, his voice full of authority. “Has anything been compromised? Okay, good. Losing him is something that can’t fucking happen.”

I flinched, watching Rafael deliver the car for us. He ran from Rafe’s to another one, where several other men joined him. Out of all of his men, I only really knew two of them. My mind was too preoccupied to exchange pleasantries.

“We’re on our way,” he muttered before hanging up.

“Everything alright?” I asked, raising a brow.

He nodded. “Sinclair Solutions is fine, but I’m dealing with a difficult client.” He opened the car door for me before sliding in on his side. “They’re trying to organize another shipment, but I told him I can’t do that right now. He’d livid.”

“Oh,” I chewed my lip. “What industry?”

He ran his fingers through his damp hair and started the car. “Drug.”

“Oh,” I said again. “Hopefully this war with Moreau ends soon. He needs to know that I wouldn’t ever turn on you.”

“About that,” Rafe started, pulling out of the driveway. “We need to talk about that.”

***

I couldn’t contain my amazement when we pulled down a dirt road that weaved through hundreds of apple trees. It truly was an orchard.

“This place is beautiful,” I whispered, admiring the rolling hills and the vivid greenery. The sun was just setting, pouring its golden light over the land.

“It’s a special place to me,” he said quietly, his icy gaze taking it all in. “I used to come here a lot as a kid. While my dad handled whatever shady business he was doing, I picked apples with my mom.”

I glanced at him. “What happened to your mother? We know both my parents are dead; your father is dead; what about her?”

He clenched the steering wheel tighter. “She is also dead. ”

I paused at the way he said it. Like a piece of his soul was missing. “How?”

He hesitated. “Car accident. It was snowing, and...she lost control. Her car went off a bridge. I was sixteen.”

My throat tightened. “I’m sorry. My mother was murdered by one of my father’s enemies when I was seventeen. Then my father had a heart attack and died when I was twenty.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and I wondered if he hated talking about his parents. “My father was also murdered. I was twenty-one. Bad deal gone wrong.”

I swallowed hard, realizing just how alike we were. That was the name of the game being in the business we were in. It made me wonder if him or I would suffer the same fate. His phone suddenly rang again, the sound extra loud in the silence.

“Rafael, what is it?”

I watched his face, my blood turning cold when his eyes widened.

“That’s not possible,” he ground out. “Fuck!” he smashed the steering wheel, startling me. “Please keep me updated. We just got to the Orchard house. Okay, bye.” He hung up, putting the car in park. I realized we were suddenly in front of a large, beautiful stone cottage with a wooden front porch.

“What happened?” I asked, unbuckling my seatbelt.

Rafe sighed heavily, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. “Rafael said that they lost sight of Moreau.”

I inhaled sharply. “Do you think I need to call Laura?”

He nodded. “Might as well give her a head’s up. Ensure security is strong until we can find him again.”

He was barely finished with his sentence before I was already calling Laura.

***

The night smelled like rain, and the air inside the safe house felt cozy and warm.

I sat on the edge of a worn leather chair, my fingers tapping against my thigh in a rhythm I couldn’t stop.

Rafe was pacing, his movements restless and tight, his jaw set in a way that made my stomach twist. He hadn’t spoken much since I’d gotten off the phone with Laura, and the silence was suffocating.

“I don’t like waiting,” I finally said, my voice thin with frustration.

Rafe didn’t stop. “Neither do I.”

He looked…scary. More so than usual, and that was saying something. I watched him run a hand through his hair, the muscles in his forearm flexing under his rolled-up sleeves. His gun sat on the table between us, gleaming under the low light, and the sight of it only made my pulse pound harder.

When the door finally opened, I almost jumped. Vincent stepped inside, rain dripping from his coat, his expression tight. But something was off. I felt it the second his eyes met Rafe’s.

“Tell me you have something,” Rafe said, his voice low and razor-sharp.

Vincent nodded. “I do. But there’s something...”

The air shifted. Rafe went still, and the hair on the back of my neck rose. “What’s going on, Vince?”

Vincent’s eyes flicked to me. “Just know that–that I’m–”

The window shattered.

Everything happened at once–glass exploding, the crack of gunfire, Rafe slamming into me and dragging me to the ground. My heart thundered in my chest as the room erupted in chaos. I reached for my gun, but Rafe was already moving, his body a wall of heat and strength above me.

“Stay down,” he ordered, his voice a growl.

But I didn’t listen. I never did. I pushed up, gun in hand, and saw them–Moreau’s men flooding into the room like a black tide. And then I saw Vincent standing completely still.

Not fighting.

Not running .

Just…watching.

My stomach dropped.

“Vincent,” Rafe barked. “Get the hell over here.”

But Vincent didn’t move. And when he finally spoke, his voice was hollow. “I’m sorry.”

The betrayal hit like a physical blow. Rafe froze beside me, his face going blank in that terrifying way I’d come to recognize. But his eyes, his eyes burned.

“What did he offer you?” Rafe’s voice was pure ice. “How much was my blood worth, Vince?”

Vincent’s throat worked. “It’s not–he said–he offered–”

“ Don’t ,” Rafe cut him off, his voice vibrating with fury. “Don’t you dare make excuses.”

I wanted to scream. Wanted to shoot, but there were too many men, and they were closing in fast.

“You should’ve killed me when you had the chance,” Rafe said, his voice deadly calm.

“I know,” Vincent whispered.

My heart clenched at the expression on Rafe’s face.

And then Moreau’s men struck.

The fight was a blur of noise and motion, gunfire cracking through the air, the scent of blood and smoke rising fast. I fired without thinking, my hands steady even as my heart pounded like a war drum.

Rafe was pure violence beside me, his movements fast and merciless, every shot hitting precisely where he intended.

But we were outnumbered.

“Get out of here!” Rafe barked, his hand finding my wrist. I didn’t argue when I saw how many of them kept coming. We moved toward the back exit, Rafe firing as we went, but then the gunfire stopped.

A silence fell.

It was worse than the noise.

“Drop your weapons,” a voice called out, smooth, cold, and so familiar that my stomach turned .

My blood went cold. I turned slowly, my gun still raised, and froze. Vincent stood near the center of the room, his hands up, his face pale. And behind him, Moreau. Tall, sharp-featured, and smiling. He held a gun, the barrel resting against the side of Vincent’s head.

“Drop it,” Moreau said, his eyes on Rafe. “Or your little friend here dies.”

Rafe didn’t move. He didn’t lower his gun. “You’re a fool if you think I care,” he said, his voice soft, deadly. “He clearly made his fucking choice.”

Vincent flinched.

“Rafe,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“See?” Moreau’s grin widened. “ This is what loyalty to Vaughan gets you. Nothing . You were right to take my offer, Vincent.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe growled.

Moreau ignored him, turning his attention to me. And when his eyes met mine, I felt that sick chill slither down my spine.

“You look tired, Miss Sinclair,” he said, his voice almost gentle. “You should really reconsider your company. Rafe’s world…it’s going to kill you.”

“I’m not dead yet, bitch,” I snapped.

His eyes glinted with amusement. “No…not yet. But soon.”

The gun in his hand shifted slightly, just enough to make my stomach plummet. “Honestly, I don’t need you, Vincent.”

My heart pounded. I couldn’t breathe. Vincent spun toward him, his eyes widening in shock and fear.

“Any loyalty that can be so easily bought is not worth a chance.”

“No!” I started forward, but Rafe’s grip on my arm was iron.

Moreau smiled. And pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot rang through the room. Vincent dropped like a marionette with its strings cut, blood blooming dark and fast across his chest, soaking into his shirt as his eyes went wide with shock–and then empty.

For a moment, time shattered. There was no sound. No movement. Just the hollow thud of his body hitting the floor and the gaping hole it left in us.

I didn’t even realize I was screaming until Rafe let go of me.

And then he became chaos incarnate. One second, he was beside me.

The next, he was across the room in a flash of black fury.

Moreau’s men didn’t have time to react before Rafe’s fist connected with Moreau’s jaw and sent his gun clattering across the floor.

But he didn’t get to finish it. He didn’t get to make it count.

The swarm hit him like wolves.

“ Take them! ” Moreau snarled, blood dripping from his mouth, but his eyes were locked on me. He wiped his lip and smiled like the devil. “It won’t be long now. You’ll see I’m the only one you can trust.”

I surged forward, rage burning white-hot in my chest, but the room erupted again before I could answer. The roar of bodies, boots pounding the floor, fists crashing against flesh. It was all sound and motion and heat.

Rafe fought like an animal unchained. Like a man with nothing left to lose.

I saw his elbow break a man’s nose, blood spraying across the wall.

He slammed another’s head into the corner of a table hard enough to dent the wood.

But there were too many. Five? Six? They came at him from every angle, and he welcomed them, fists and teeth bared, a snarl on his lips that didn’t sound human.

I clawed, kicked, slammed my heel into a kneecap, and felt the satisfying crunch. But we were outnumbered. A boot collided with my ribs, the crack of it lighting fire through my side. I crumpled, slamming onto the floor, my hands scraping against wood slick with blood–Vincent’s blood.

“Rafe!” I choked, my voice breaking.

I found him in the chaos. He was still swinging, even as three men pinned him. Blood streaked his face, his jaw clenched with savage fury, but it wasn’t just rage in his eyes–it was grief. Raw, soul-crushing grief.

Because Vincent was gone.

Betrayal still hung thick in the air. Vincent, who had fought beside us, had smiled with us, had ultimately chosen wrong –and paid with his life.

Moreau stood back like a conductor watching his orchestra, calm, distant, and cold. He watched the violence like it was entertainment. He raised a hand, brushing flecks of Vincent’s blood off his pristine sleeve. “Subdue him.”

One of Moreau’s men lunged toward me.

But I moved first.

My elbow rammed up into his throat. He gagged and stumbled back, and I scrambled for a weapon–any weapon. My gun was gone, kicked under furniture, or stolen. But a knife glinted on the floor. I dove for it, fingers closing tight around the hilt just as another attacker came at me.

I pivoted to face him, heart thundering, but Moreau’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Enough!”

Everything froze.

“Stand down.” His men hesitated but obeyed.

I didn’t lower the knife. “I could kill you right now,” I said through gritted teeth. My hand trembled, but not from fear.

His smile curved slowly and smugly. “No, you couldn’t. But I admire the fire.”

Behind me, Rafe snarled–a guttural, vicious sound that tore through the room.

He was still fighting, even as blood poured from his mouth and his knees were forced to the ground.

His muscles strained against the hands holding him back, his entire body thrumming with tension like a loaded gun.

He was horrifying and beautiful all at once.

Moreau watched him with something like awe. “Look at him,” he said softly. “ Still clinging to the illusion of power. This is what happens when you chain yourself to a monster. Sooner or later, someone stronger comes to take the throne.”

“ Stronger? ” I hissed. “You think strength is hiding behind a dozen armed men?”

He chuckled, tilting his head. “Oh, Adela. Haven’t you learned yet? In this world, strength is perception.”

He turned to Rafe, who met his gaze with such hate it scorched the air between them.

“Let her go,” Rafe said, his voice like gravel, his wild eyes lethal. “She’s not part of this.”

Moreau’s smile faded just a fraction. “No. She’s everything in this. You made her a part of this the moment you dragged her into our little war.”

“She didn’t have much of a choice.”

“She’s here, isn’t she?” Moreau’s eyes glittered. “And I think you underestimate how tempting certain…offers can be.”

My heart turned to stone. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see,” Moreau said softly. “When you realize that he’s just been using you. He doesn’t give a shit about you, girl.”

I didn’t know what scared me more–the words or the flicker of rage in Rafe’s eyes.

Moreau turned toward the exit. “Bring them.”

The last thing I saw before they forced me forward was the blood on the floor and the empty, lifeless stare of Vincent’s eyes. And Rafe’s silence followed me like a storm about to break.