Page 45 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

The words slithered down my spine. Not because I believed them, but because part of me knew that Moreau truly saw this as a war. And he was here, extending a hand–before he took out the gun.

I lifted my chin. “Funny. That’s exactly what I was thinking about you. ”

Moreau smirked. He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of my silk camisole before I jerked back into the door behind me. His laugh was quiet, pleased. “You have a little mouth on you,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “Such a prize.”

I met his gaze, my stomach twisting with something cold. Because in that moment, I realized the truth. I was caught between two monsters–both of whom wanted everything.

And I was standing in the crossfire.

Moreau moved closer, and for some stupid fucking reason, I let him.

I told myself it was because I was calculating my next move. After all, I needed to know what game he was playing. But the truth was far more dangerous.

I wanted to feel his heat. I wanted to know if it burned hotter than Rafe’s. Why? Why did I want to know? No answer was available to grasp.

The tension between us vibrated like a plucked guitar string. He reached out with a slowness that seemed to be testing my patience and my restraint. His fingers brushed against the thin strap of my camisole. My breath stopped, but I didn’t move.

His light brown eyes burned, locked onto me with a quiet hunger that I should have ignored. He was a predator in a perfectly tailored suit, and I...I liked being his prey. Adela, god fucking damn you.

“You don’t scare easily, do you?” he murmured, his voice smooth as sin.

I lifted my chin. “Not of men who think they can tame me.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and full of amusement. “Oh, I have no intention of taming you. I prefer a wild woman.”

I inhaled sharply as he closed the last of the distance between us.

The heat of him pressed against my body, not quite touching, but so damn close.

Close enough that his breath fanned against my lips, that the scent of his cologne wrapped around me, deep and woody with a hint of something sharp that reminded me of Rafe.

A terrible thought slid through my mind, uninvited.

What was this man capable of?

A wave of heat rolled through me, settling low in my stomach. I bit my lip to force the thought away, but Moreau caught the movement. His eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to my mouth, devouring me like he was considering taking what he wanted.

My hand tightened on the gun at my side. He saw it. He knew.

And yet–

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t falter.

His lips tilted in a smirk, his confidence astounding . “Use it,” he whispered, his voice like smoke curling around my thoughts.

I should have. I should have pressed the barrel against his chest and forced him to step back.

But I didn’t. Not when his breath fanned over my lips or his fingers danced along my hip, featherlight but full of intent. Not when that cursed hunger stirred–the hunger no ordinary man could satisfy. None other than Rafe .

And for one reckless second, I wondered .

Could Moreau?

A shudder rolled through me, my body betraying me, heating under his touch. He grinned like he felt it, like he knew precisely what war raged inside my head.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured, his fingers sliding up my ribs, just barely beneath the silk of my top. “The thrill of being pursued. Of having two wolves closing in on you.”

A sharp exhale left my lips because he was right. I craved it. I craved this war, this fire, this feeling of being hunted, of being wanted by the most dangerous men in the city. What the fuck was wrong with me?

I clenched my jaw, willing myself to break free of the pull.

Moreau’s smirk deepened, his thumb brushing against my ribs in a slow, teasing stroke. “You’re tempted,” he said, tilting his head. “I can see it in your eyes.”

I was .

But I wasn’t a woman who let men dictate her desires. I was the one in control. The one who made them fall to their knees.

But then– his fingers dipped lower .

A slow descent down my stomach, dragging across the silk of my shorts, testing me. His touch was light, teasing, meant to unnerve. Meant to drag me to fucking hell.

I swallowed hard, my knees locking.

His smirk deepened. He knew exactly what he was doing. Exactly what effect he had on me. “You seem uncomfortable,” he noted, his voice a whisper against my throat. His fingers pressed just a fraction lower, and my breath caught in my chest.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the warmth coiling through me. I wouldn’t let him win.

But then his fingers trailed just barely over the thin fabric between my thighs–just enough pressure to send a bolt of heat straight through me.

I choked down a moan.

Barely.

And he knew .

His grin was victorious as he lifted his hand away like he savored my reaction. “I knew it,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles against my jaw. “A woman like you...you don’t just crave power . You crave the ones who wield it.”

I forced my expression blank, refusing to give him more.

He chuckled, taking a step back, finally granting me space. “Get dressed,” he said smoothly. “Come with me.”

I blinked. “What?”

His lips curled at the edges. “I want to talk somewhere more comfortable.” Hesitation tightened my spine. Go with him? After all of that? After the way he’d touched me, toyed with me, pushed me right to the edge of a line I shouldn’t have been walking?

He waited, watching the war play out behind my eyes. He didn’t push, didn’t demand. He just left the offer hanging between us like an open door I had to step through on my own.

And I did.

I gave a slow nod.

He smiled like he was Satan luring a tired angel to salvation.

***

The car ride was silent, but not in an uncomfortable way. Moreau drove himself, which surprised me. No guards, no drivers. Just him, entirely at ease as we wove through the dimly lit city streets before turning onto a long, winding road lined with dense trees.

Eventually, the road opened up, revealing a modern, glass-paneled house nestled among the trees.

It was sleek and stunning, with sharp edges and warm lighting glowing from within, the kind of home designed for a man who lived life on his own terms. There was a concrete barrier around the outer edges, and he had to be approved to enter past a few men.

I followed him inside, my heels clicking against the polished floors.

I suddenly regretted changing into this black dress.

The air smelled like pine, leather, and expensive whiskey.

Funny, how similar powerful men were. He led me into a spacious living room with a sleek bar stocked with top-shelf liquor.

“Drink?” he offered.

I crossed my arms. “Only if you open a new bottle and drink from the same one.”

His brows lifted in amusement, and then he chuckled. “Paranoid, are we?”

“I think it’s just good practice when dealing with men like you.”

He laughed at that, a rich, smooth sound, then reached for a new bottle of bourbon, breaking the seal and pouring two glasses.

“My dear, I am not some caveman who drugs women.” He handed me one, clinking his against mine before taking the first sip.

I followed suit, letting the burn of the whiskey settle deep in my chest.

He leaned against the bar, studying me over the rim of his glass. “You shouldn’t be afraid of me, Adela.”

I arched a brow. “Shouldn’t I? You’ve threatened me and my company. And the man I love.”

“ Love? Interesting.” His expression softened–just a fraction. “Well, you’ve simply found yourself in the middle of something that was already in motion long before you entered the picture.”

I tilted my head, genuinely curious to hear it from him. “Then tell me, why are you and Rafe even fighting?”

He sighed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before answering.

“Rafe and I used to coexist just fine. We had an understanding–our business ventures remained separate, no crossing lines. It was even how our families did things. But then, circumstances changed.” His jaw flexed slightly.

“Rafe’s reach grew. His empire expanded.

And suddenly, it wasn’t enough for him to have his own side of the city.

He wanted it all. He tried taking one of my uncle’s longtime clients. ”

I frowned, taking a slow sip. “So this is about territory?”

“Territory, money, power, relationships.” Moreau’s gaze darkened. “But mostly control. Rafe doesn’t like anyone in his way, and I don’t like being pushed aside.” He set his glass down. “I extended my empire’s strength with my own hands. I won’t let him take it from me.”

I chewed my lip, unsure of how I felt about that. Rafe didn’t tell me any of that . He had trouble opening up to me .

Time slipped away like silk between my fingers. A bottle of wine was opened, and the conversation drifted between easy, surface-level topics and deeper ones that skimmed just beneath the surface.

Moreau talked about his empire–not in a boastful way, but with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he had built and what it took to keep it standing.

He told me about his investments and his expansion into legitimate ventures that kept the authorities distracted from his less-than-legal ones.

He asked me easy questions–where I grew up, what I loved about my company, and my favorite cities.

The wine made me soft and loose. It felt too easy, sinking into the couch beside him, the expensive fabric cool against my bare skin. I wasn’t sure when I’d curled up, one leg tucked beneath me, my body angled toward his.

“You’re a fascinating woman, Adela,” he murmured, swirling the deep red liquid in his glass. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone quite like you.”

I smirked, resting my head on my hand. “You say that like you haven’t been surrounded by beautiful women before.”