Page 50 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

ADELA

The past week had been quiet . Almost too quiet. No messages from Moreau. No surprise attacks. No signs that the storm circling us was about to crack open the sky again.

It felt unnatural.

I had gone to work each day, handling high-profile clients, security upgrades, and board meetings that left me exhausted by the time I came home. Rafe had been around, but distracted . And for the past few nights, he’d been gone late–out at mysterious meetings that he refused to elaborate on.

Tonight was no different.

I leaned against the kitchen island, swirling my glass of water as Kieran stood by the stove, finishing off his own late-night snack.

He was relaxed, black hair tied into a messy bun, dressed down in a simple black tee, his gun still strapped to his side–because, of course, even in casual moments, he was prepared.

Whenever Rafe wasn’t around, I was being guarded.

“Where is he?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

Kieran didn’t look up as he set his plate in the sink. “Business meeting.”

I rolled my eyes. “ Obviously. But with who?”

His lips quirked. “Ask him yourself.”

I sighed, crossing my arms. “They always go late. And he doesn’t take the usual convoy. ”

“That’s because it’s low profile,” Kieran said simply, drying his hands with a dish towel. “If there were any concerns, trust me, he’d have multiple cars, full escort. He drove himself.”

That made me pause. I tapped my manicured French-tipped nails against the cool marble countertop. “So…not dangerous?”

Kieran shook his head. “Not a direct threat.”

That phrasing didn’t go unnoticed. I tilted my head. “So, it could be dangerous?”

He sighed, turning to face me fully. “Look, Adela. Rafe has his own way of handling business. He wouldn’t have left if he thought it was something you needed to worry about. He knows what he’s doing.”

I pursed my lips.

Kieran studied me for a second before shaking his head with a small laugh. “You don’t like not knowing things, do you?”

I shot him a flat look. “Do you ?”

His smirk widened, but he didn’t answer.

I sighed, setting my glass down. “Fine. I’ll ask him when he gets back.”

Kieran gave me a knowing look. “That’s the move, boss. ”

I rolled my eyes again, but I couldn’t ignore the lingering curiosity in my chest. Because no matter how safe Kieran insisted it was, I wanted to know.

***

RAFE

The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, a grotesque smell. It was always the same in these fucking warehouses. The cold concrete. The sound of dripping. The smell of copper and sweat and fear. But tonight, it grated harder than usual.

Because I didn’t want to be here.

I wanted to be home .

With her.

But instead, I stood in the center of one of my warehouses on the outskirts of the city, sleeves rolled, knuckles bloodied, a man trembling in the chair before me.

Victor Caldez. Thirty-six. Arms dealer. Loyal to Moreau. He’d been feeding intel to the wrong side, whispering secrets through burner phones, selling off weapons meant for my clients, and he’d pocketed cash from a shipment that went sideways last week.

Five of my men were dead because of him.

He’d begged at first. Swore it was a mistake.

Blamed it on a cousin. A girlfriend. Anyone but himself.

But I didn’t give a fuck about his stories.

I only wanted the truth. And when that didn’t come fast enough, I made him bleed.

His hands were broken. His left eye swollen shut.

His lip split and oozing. The chair creaked under his weight, every limb trembling as blood dripped onto the floor beneath him in slow, rhythmic drops.

“You know what I hate, Victor?” I asked, pacing slowly, letting the sound of my boots echo through the space. “I hate being pulled away from my girl to clean up the messes of little rats who think they’re smart enough to play both sides.”

He coughed, blood spattering across his chin. “I… I didn’t–”

I hit him again. Hard.

The bone in his nose cracked under my fist, and his head snapped back with a sickening thud.

My jaw tensed. He wasn’t even worth this much energy.

But rage simmered in my veins because, for the first time in years, I had something good.

I had someone good. And I didn’t have time for traitors or games or fucking distractions.

“You got five of my men killed,” I growled, grabbing his shirt and dragging him forward.

“You tried to steal from me. From my empire.” I pressed the knife to his neck.

“I see you’re about goddamn useless. You wasted my fucking night.

” Rage barreled through me, my limbs trembling from the impending kill.

He whimpered, but I didn’t hesitate. The blade dragged across his throat in one smooth, final motion. Warm blood gushed over my hands. His body convulsed once, then went limp.

I exhaled, slow and steady, wiping the blade clean as I stepped back.

No satisfaction. No thrill. Just silence.

I glanced down at the body, then toward the door. I needed to get home. I needed to feel her legs tangled with mine, her soft sigh when I touched her, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about the stars.

Adela was the only part of my life that didn’t reek of rot. And I’d kill every last man in this goddamn city to keep her safe. I looked to one of my guards. “Clean this shit up. Burn him. I’m done.” Then I turned, already pulling out my phone to send her a message.

On my way, love.

Leave the lights on.

***

ADELA

I heard him before I saw him. The bedroom door creaked open, and the heavy sound of his footsteps filled the quiet space. I glanced up from my book, already knowing.

Rafe looked like hell.

His black dress shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The collar was undone, revealing a hint of his tattooed chest. But what really made my stomach tighten was the blood. It was splattered across his arm like a cruel piece of abstract art.

And his knuckles– raw and torn.

My fingers tightened around the book. I swallowed hard.

He didn’t speak, didn’t even meet my gaze. He just exhaled slowly and began unbuttoning his shirt, his movements methodical and detached.

I set the book aside and sat up in bed, my heart thudding. “ Rafe?” My voice was softer than I meant it to be. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers worked the last button free, and he shrugged out of the ruined shirt, revealing the long, lean stretch of muscle beneath. He let it fall to the floor, then finally looked at me.

His eyes were dead.

Dark. Hollow.

“Weak people,” he said simply.

The pit in my stomach deepened. “That’s not an answer,” I murmured, my voice quieter now.

He let out a short, humorless laugh, toeing off his shoes before moving to the belt at his waist. “I don’t want to talk about it.” But he wasn’t shutting me out. Not completely. Even in his exhaustion, in the weight of whatever he had done tonight, he still gave me something .

That mattered. Perhaps I could coax it out little by little.

I licked my lips, my fingers twitching against the sheets. “You’re covered in blood.”

He didn’t react to that at first. Then, as if just realizing it, he glanced down at his arm, exhaling through his nose. “It’s not mine.”

I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to make me feel better or worse.

He pushed his pants down, stepping out of them with a slow deliberateness. He was tired, his movements slightly sluggish. “One of Moreau’s men,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “He was a fucking rat. A nuisance.”

My stomach twisted. Was . I fought to keep my expression neutral, but inside–fuck.

Moreau had been right. Rafe was encroaching on his territory.

That meant he was the bad guy here in the grand scheme of things.

And yet…I looked at him. At the weight of the night dragging down his shoulders.

At the bruises forming across his knuckles.

At the exhaustion carving into his face.

And I still loved him .

Rafe didn’t wait for my response. He stepped into the bathroom, turning on the shower, and within seconds, steam curled into the bedroom.

I inhaled slowly, pressing my lips together. Then, exhaling, I picked my book back up and settled against the pillows. And I waited for him to come back.

***

Rafe stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling around his tall, muscular frame.

His damp hair was pushed back, droplets sliding down his collarbone, disappearing beneath the white towel slung low on his hips.

He looked refreshed, a little less haunted, but the exhaustion still clung to him like an invisible weight. I went to set my book down, but–

“Stop.” His voice was quiet but firm.

I froze, blinking up at him with an odd look. “What?”

He leaned against the end of the bed, arms crossed, his icy eyes slicing into me like a blade honed just for me. “I know I’ve been gone a lot lately,” he murmured, his voice lower now. “And when I get back, you’re usually asleep.”

I stayed still, watching him.

“I love coming home to you,” he said, his voice rawer now, more unguarded. “Knowing my girlfriend is waiting for me in our warm bed.”

My breath caught.

Girlfriend. Our bed.

It wasn’t the first time he had said it, but each time, it hit me like a slow burn, melting into my skin and settling deep beneath my ribs. I smiled, my heart swelling. “Come here.”

I expected him to climb into bed, to pull me against him, to finally get some much-needed sleep. Instead–

“Read to me.”

I blinked. “What? ”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, something dangerous and playful curling in his gaze. “Open to your favorite erotic scene. Read it out loud.”

I scoffed, heat flaring across my face. “You’re insane.”

He arched a brow. “Humor me. I just spent my entire night wishing I was between your pretty thighs.”

My heart hammered, but I hesitated only a second before flipping through the book. The pages were soft beneath my fingertips, worn from too much rereading.

Fuck .