Page 62 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

RAFE

Life without Adela was brutal. Not just empty...but savage, gnawing, relentless. I watched her every night. Kieran told me to stop. Said I was only making it worse. I ignored him.

The Orchard House, with all its warmth and memory, felt like a mausoleum without her in it.

Every night I spent there was a battle against ghosts I couldn’t name.

I’d pace the halls, grip the walls until my knuckles bled, and try to drown the ache in whiskey and silence.

But the silence was the loudest thing of all.

I hated being alone.

So I watched her from a distance. Always out of view, always careful. But she knew. She knew I was there. And I think, on some level, she wanted me there, too. It was the only thing that made sense of how she never shut the curtains. Never called the police.

But tonight wasn’t for watching.

Tonight, I was returning to the mansion. To the basement. Construction hadn’t started on the new wing or anything. The place was gutted and half-abandoned, cold concrete and shadows where walls used to be.

Perfect . I needed it. Because tonight, I was done pacing. Done watching. Tonight, I was doing what I did best.

Fucking killing.

The man was already bleeding when we dragged him through the mansion doors.

I didn’t care.

Didn’t give a single fuck about the way his head lolled forward, blood dripping from his split lip onto the marble floor.

Kieran and another one of my men had done a good job roughing him up.

His cheek was swollen, and his eye was nearly shut, but I hadn’t even gotten started yet.

This was the man who approached Adela during the very recent bloodbath here.

So recent that the stains had finally just been cleaned.

I cracked my neck as I led the way down to the basement in an attempt to release some tension. But it didn’t work.

The air down here was thick with the familiar scent of concrete and horrific inevitability. Kieran dropped the bastard into the chair, the impact jarring enough that he let out a strangled groan. The zip ties around his wrists bit into his skin as he slumped forward, his breathing shallow.

I rolled my shoulders, stretching out the tension in my muscles as I took a slow step forward. “You know why you’re here.”

The man didn’t respond.

I grabbed his chin, forcing his head up. His one good eye was dazed and unfocused, but when he realized who was before him, a flicker of recognition passed through his bloodied gaze. He swallowed.

Good. Anxiety was setting in.

“You work for Moreau,” I said. It wasn’t a question. “You approached Adela.”

Nothing.

My grip on his jaw tightened. “You tried to get into her head. Tried to turn her against me.”

His lips twitched. “Looks like you did that all on your own.”

I grinned. Then I slammed my fist into his face. The chair rocked with the force of the hit, a sickening crack echoing through the space. The bastard groaned, his head snapping to the side, fresh blood dripping from his nose.

I let the silence stretch. Let him feel the weight of it. Then I crouched down, leveling my gaze with his. “Don’t fucking talk to me like that.” I said softly.

He gave a breathless chuckle, blood bubbling between his teeth.

“You think killing me is gonna change anything?” He spit to the side, red splattering against the floor.

“Moreau’s already inside their heads. Already got some of your people doubting you.

They’ve watched you turn into a fucking monster .

” His swollen eye flickered up to mine. “And she felt the fangs and the goddamn claws of your monster.”

Heat pulsed under my skin, my pulse a slow, simmering burn. I unsheathed my knife, ready to carve his sins into his fucking skin.

“You know,” he rasped, spitting crimson onto the floor. “I filmed it.”

I stilled. What? This fucker was about to suffer.

His one good eye flicked up to meet mine, a slow, deliberate smirk curling his split lip.

“What,” I said, voice flat.

“You were brutal, ” he breathed, leaning forward as much as the restraints allowed. “The way she cried, the way she begged . I showed my boss, and he–” he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Fuck, man. He loved it. He can’t wait for her to visit him again.”

I didn’t think I took a breath. My fingers tightened around the handle of my knife, knuckles aching, vision tunneling.

“He said he wants to taste her. And that I could join in. Someone would need to hold her,” he murmured, voice almost reverent. “And he was so close, Vaughan. His fingers were right there–”

I slammed my fist into his face so hard the chair tipped back. His head whipped to the side again, a fresh spray of blood arcing through the air before he let out a strangled laugh.

“Ah, that hit a nerve,” he crooned, voice garbled through a mouthful of red.

He grinned, all teeth, all pain. “She wanted it, you know. Don’t think for a second that she didn’t.

She almost opened her pretty thighs. But at the last moment?

She remembered you.” He spat more blood onto the ground.

“That crazy bitch actually walked away from Nicolas Moreau. Although, she left with a wet fucking pussy.”

Something snapped inside of me.

I lunged.

The chair crashed back down as my hands fisted in his shirt, dragging his limp weight upright. “You’re lying ,” I growled, voice shaking with barely contained fury. She never told me that she ached for it. That she almost let it happen.

“Am I?” His bloody grin widened, his eye gleaming with something close to victory. “Tell me, Rafe, can you really trust her after what you did? After the way she looked at you?”

My grip tightened. The words slithered into my head, poisoning every thought, every memory of her. The look on her face when I hurt her. The way she sobbed. The way she left.

I saw red.

I slammed the knife into his thigh, twisting. His scream was sharp and guttural, but I barely heard it over the roar in my ears. “She’s MINE,” I snarled.

“She was yours,” he rasped, shaking through the pain. “Not anymore. She’s home alone now, and Moreau wants her.”

I twisted the knife deeper. His body spasmed against the chair, a choked gasp leaving his lips, but even through it, his smile remained.

That smile made me want to carve his goddamn face off.

I ripped the knife free, stood up, and turned away before I did something that would make him pass out too soon.

My hands were shaking.

I exhaled through my nose, flexing my fingers, staring down at the blood dripping from my hands, from my arms, from the inked flowers and coiled serpent winding around my bicep.

Adela.

I needed her here. Now . I pulled my phone from my pocket, smearing red across the screen as I shot off a quick text.

Rafe: Kieran’s on his way. I need you for a bit.

Then I looked up at the ceiling and called, “Kieran!”

Footsteps descended the stairs a moment later. I turned as Kieran appeared, his sharp gaze flicking from my face to the man bleeding out in the chair.

I ignored his barely concealed irritation. “Go get Adela,” I said simply.

His jaw tensed. “Rafe–”

“ Now .”

Kieran exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t argue. He turned and left without another word. I wiped my blade against my slacks, exhaling through gritted teeth.

I’d know soon enough if she betrayed me.

And if she did?

I didn’t know what I’d fucking do.

***

ADELA

The vibration of my phone broke the quiet of my apartment. I barely glanced at the screen, expecting a message from Laura, until I saw the name.

My stomach dipped.

A single text.

Kieran is on his way. I need you for a bit.

I stared at the words, my surroundings suddenly blurring.

I didn’t even text back. What was the point anyway?

I inhaled sharply, running my hands over the front of my gray tank top before pulling a sweater over it.

My body felt strangely light, almost untethered, as I slipped on my boots and grabbed my bag.

I was still trying to convince myself not to go when I saw the car park on the street below. This was a bad idea. I knew it. But I took a deep breath and walked out the door anyway.

The black SUV idled at the curb, its windows completely tinted. Kieran stood beside the passenger door, his expression unreadable as I approached.

The moment I was close enough, I folded my arms and raised a brow. “What’s this about?”

Something flickered in his eyes, possibly wariness? “Rafe wants to talk to you.” His voice was unusually flat.

I studied his face, noticing that his shoulders were more rigid than usual. His jaw was set just a little too tight, and he smelled faintly of... blood . “You look like you just came from a funeral,” I muttered, trying my very best to ignore the stench.

Kieran’s mouth pressed into a firm line, and he looked away.

Unease curled in my stomach. But I lifted my chin, inhaled deeply, and climbed into the car. I’d deal with Rafe.

***

When we arrived at the sprawling mansion, Kieran stepped out first, rounding the car to open my door. His steady gaze offered no reassurance as he nodded toward the entrance. “He’s waiting for you downstairs.”

My stomach knotted. The basement.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. Sudden memories of being tangled in Rafe’s sheets barreled into my mind. But being here now...it was different. This was the part of his home I had never stepped foot in. The part where the monster inside him thrived .

Kieran escorted me inside, his heavy boots echoing as we moved through the dimly lit corridors. He paused at the basement door, then pushed it open, revealing a stairwell that descended into darkness.

I hesitated.

“Go,” Kieran said, softer than I expected.

I forced my legs to move, gripping the railing as I stepped down. The deeper I went, the colder it became. I wrinkled my nose as the metallic scent of blood reached me. Fuck .