Page 67 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

I turned to run, but hands were already on me.

Too many hands. One clamped over my mouth, muffling my cry.

Another hooked around my waist. A third yanked my arms behind me, twisting them until pain flared up my shoulders.

I fought like hell–kicked, twisted, drove my heel into someone’s shin, and earned a grunt of pain.

But it wasn’t enough. I was dragged backward into the limo, swallowed by darkness.

The door slammed shut and the locks clicked.

Trapped .

My breath came in short, furious bursts as I looked up at the four silhouettes closing in. The interior of the limo was tight and suffocating, the air thick with sweat, leather, and expensive cologne. Like death in a suit.

One of them leaned in too close with a nasty sneer.

“Hey, gorgeous.” His hands were on me in seconds, rough and eager, sliding up my thighs and gripping my waist like I belonged to him.

“Let’s see what’s got Rafe so fucking obsessed, yeah?

” he murmured, tugging at the waistband of my leggings.

Behind him, the others laughed like hyenas circling prey.

But I wasn’t prey. They had no idea who the fuck they were dealing with.

They should have checked me for weapons. The knife was small, razor-sharp, tucked against the band of my leggings where no one had bothered to look. I had barely a second to reach for it.

But a second was all I needed.

I found the door of the limo and kicked off of it, loosening the men’s grip on my hands before I reached for the knife.

“ You little fucking bitch –” I drove the blade up into the first man’s throat. The moment his blood sprayed across my hand, chaos erupted.

He gurgled, hands flying to his neck as he collapsed against the seat, his life spilling in warm, wet gushes down his chest. The second man lunged for me–I twisted, the blade flashing through the air as I carved a deep gash across his face.

He howled, clutching his ruined cheek, but I didn’t stop.

I slammed my knee into his stomach, knocking him back.

The third man reached for his gun.

Too slow.

I lunged forward, plunging the knife into his ribs and twisting. His breath hitched, the air leaving his lungs in a shuddering gasp. He slumped, eyes rolling back, dead before his body even hit the floor of the limo.

The fourth man–the driver–was still gripping the wheel, his knuckles white. I could see the rise and fall of his chest, the way it stuttered with panic. Slowly, I turned to him, blood dripping from my fingers, staining the leather seats.

“Call Moreau,” I ordered, my voice sharp as steel.

He didn’t move.

I pressed the bloodied knife against his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Now.”

With shaking hands, he fumbled for his phone. The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered, smooth, amused .

“McKinney? Why are you calling me? What do you want?”

“It’s Adela.”

A long pause on the other end. “Well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I tightened my grip on the blade. My heart pounded, rage curling hot in my gut. “You tell me,” I snapped. “Since your men just tried to drag me off the street. But it’s fine, considering I just killed them all.”

Silence.

Then–laughter.

Not the kind that meant amusement.

The kind that meant he wasn’t surprised.

“Oh, Miss Sinclair…I didn’t order an attack.”

My fingers clenched around the hilt of the knife. “Bullshit.”

“No, truly,” Moreau mused. “It seems I had a few untamed dogs in my yard. And you? You just took them out for me. I should thank you.”

My stomach twisted. I didn’t trust him. “You’re telling me you had no idea about this?” I asked coldly.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” He sighed.

“Consider this a lesson, Adela. You’re caught between men like me and men like Vaughan.

Next time? The ones coming for you will indeed be sent by me.

And they won’t be so easily handled. These ones were fucking puppies compared to what I have in my arsenal. ”

Then–the line went dead.

The driver swallowed hard, his knuckles bone-white against the steering wheel.

Sweat beaded at his temple as he kept his gaze forward, refusing to look in the rearview mirror.

Like if he didn’t see what happened in the backseat, he couldn’t be held responsible.

“I’ll let you go,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I swear, I’ll let you go.” The car began to slow, and for a split second, I held my breath.

But then–

The passenger door was ripped open with such force it buckled on its hinges. Metal groaned. The entire limo rocked from the impact. A flash of black fabric. Broad shoulders. Murderous, ice-cold eyes.

Rafe exploded into the vehicle like a goddamn storm.

The overhead light caught on the sharp cut of his jaw, the fury in his eyes colder than any winter wind.

His presence sucked the air from the car, filled every inch of space with a wildness that felt entirely unhinged.

He stood there, barely breathing, gaze sweeping over the bloodied mess I had left in my wake.

His face was filled with rage, yet satisfaction flickered beneath the surface.

The driver barely had time to react before his hand shot out, gripping him by the throat and yanking him out of the limo.

A scream.

Then, a sickening crack .

An eerie silence followed.

I exhaled, my fingers flexing around the bloodied knife still in my grip. Rafe’s gaze slid to me, his eyes dark and frenzied. He took in the splattered interior of the limo, the wreckage of bodies.

His lips parted, exhaling a breath that was half pride, half frustration. “You weren’t supposed to leave your fucking apartment.” His voice was rough.

I lifted my chin and wiped a streak of blood from my cheek with the back of my hand. “I handled it.”

His gaze dragged over me–slow, thorough, almost reverent. Then, his lips curled into something that made my stomach flip. “Oh, I can see that, little doe,” he murmured. I joined him outside of the car, the dark quiet feeling like a crazy contrast between what just happened.

His fingers grazed my cheek, smearing blood across my skin.

His voice dropped, dripping with possession.

“And you know what?” He tilted his head, watching me like he was seeing me for the first time.

“I think I just fell in love all over again.” His fingers were still slick with blood, his breathing ragged as he towered over the bodies I had left in ruin.

The stench of copper and sweat clung to the air, thick and suffocating, but all I could focus on was him.

His body was shaking, and I wondered if it was from fear or restraint.

I swallowed hard, my pulse frantic in my throat.

I should have pushed past him, ran home, and pretended I hadn’t just painted the inside of that limousine red.

But then he turned to me, his gaze dark, dangerous, consuming, and the words died on my tongue.

Before I could react, his hand closed around my wrist, dragging me toward his car.

His grip wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t gentle either.

“Rafe–”

“Not a fucking word.” His voice was gravel, each syllable ground down. His fingers flexed around my wrist.

I didn’t resist. I let him shove me into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind me. The drive was not the comfortable kind of silence.

Rafe gripped the steering wheel like he was considering crushing it with his bare hands.

His forearms were tight, muscles straining beneath the blood-speckled fabric of his sleeves.

The streetlights flickered across his face as he drove, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw and the way his lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

I watched him from the corner of my eye, heart hammering. Heat curled deep inside me, a terrible, consuming thing. Because this was Rafe. And even now, especially now, I wanted him. He had come for me, ready to rip their throats out.

By the time we reached my building, I could barely breathe.

Rafe didn’t ask permission. He shoved the door open, pulling me inside.

Grabbing his suit jacket, he quickly covered me so that the concierge wouldn’t see all of the blood.

The second my apartment door slammed shut, he turned on me.

His hands came down on either side of my face, trapping me.

“Do you have any idea–” His breath caught, a fractured sound. “Do you have any fucking idea what could have happened to you tonight?”

My pulse skipped. “I told you, I handled it. ”

His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, a soft contrast to the violence still seething in his veins. His eyes burned into mine, dark and searching. “I shouldn’t have let you leave.”

I flinched. I wanted to tell him to go. That one night didn’t change anything. But when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. Because my heart was already losing the battle.

Rafe exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against mine. “You’re still mine, aren’t you?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t know.”

He brushed his lips over mine, not quite a kiss, but a plea. “I do,” he whispered.

His mouth closed over mine, and it was desperate. His tongue slid across mine in a way that had me clamping my thighs shut in an attempt to choke down the ache.

As much as I fucking hated myself, I melted . My fingers curled into his shirt, yanking him closer. His hands dropped from my face, sliding down my spine, gripping me like he was trying to forget about what could have happened to me.

Rafe’s mouth was fire–searing, relentless, claiming . His hands gripped my waist, fingers digging into my skin. He pushed me backward, his breath ragged against my lips. I stumbled, my spine colliding with the nearest wall, and he was on me before I could catch my breath.

Pinning me. Owning me.