Page 8 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

The rooftop terrace was quiet, the murmur of the bar below reduced to a low hum beneath the hush of the city. The skyline stretched before me, buildings standing dark against the inky sky, windows glowing like distant stars.

I leaned against the sleek railing, whiskey glass dangling between my fingers. The air was cool against my skin, refreshing against the heat lingering in my veins from that man at the bar. I took a slow sip, letting the alcohol burn its way down. He fucking found me.

I shouldn’t have looked back.

Shouldn’t have felt that flicker of something when I found his eyes still on me. God, he was gorgeous. He was direct in a way I had never experienced in a man. As I looked upon the dazzling city lights, I allowed myself to ponder if he would have been what I had been searching for.

The moment the terrace door swung open, I knew I wasn’t alone anymore. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. A shiver trailed down my spine as his footsteps echoed against the stone floor.

I kept my eyes on the skyline, swirling my drink. “Following me already?”

His chuckle was deep, dark velvet. “If I was following you, you wouldn’t know.”

I forced a bored expression, finally turning to face him.

And it was a mistake. In the dim light, he looked even more sinful, all sharp cheekbones and wicked amusement, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his suit pants.

He was watching me like I was the most entertaining thing in the world, and I suddenly wished I hadn’t come up here alone.

A predator. That’s what he was.

“Okay, if we’re doing this, tell me your name,” I said, taking another sip of my drink.

He smiled, slow and deliberate. “Rafe.”

The glass nearly slipped from my fingers. A chill wrapped around my spine, squeezing tight. I didn’t need him to say his last name. I already knew it.

Rafe fucking Vaughan. The Dark Monster of New York City.

I forced my fingers to relax around the stem of my glass. Forced my lips to curve in feigned amusement. Forced my stomach to settle even as nausea curled at the edges.

Because I knew that name.

Everyone in New York knew it.

He wasn’t just some rich man playing king in the shadows.

He was one of the worst criminals in the city.

A name whispered in underground circles, dripping in blood, wealth, and fear.

He had his hands in everything–drugs, weapons, high-profile laundering operations that law enforcement could never quite trace.

His clients weren’t just criminals. They were the men who owned criminals.

And he’d been stalking me.

I swirled my drink, tilting my head as if I wasn’t reeling. “Ah. That Rafe.”

His lips twitched as if he found my reaction amusing. “So you’ve heard of me.”

I held his gaze, pretending my stomach wasn’t in knots. “You have a reputation.”

He took a step closer. It was subtle, almost lazy, but my body reacted before my brain did. My spine straightened, my grip tightening around my drink.

He noticed.

And he liked it.

“I suppose I do.” His voice was smooth, laced with something that made my skin tingle. He lifted his glass to his lips, watching me over the rim.

“And what exactly are you hoping to accomplish here?”

He took his time answering. Then, in one slow, measured movement, he leaned in–just enough to let his lips hover near my ear. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Butterflies wrecked my stomach. I swallowed, keeping my voice steady. “I don’t play games.”

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “Neither do I.”

I huffed a laugh. I almost believed him.

I glanced at the endless expanse of darkness over the city.

It was nothing compared to the shadows lurking in his eyes.

I’d been reckless before. Let men in when I shouldn’t have, let them touch me, whisper sweet nothings in my ear that meant nothing at all.

And maybe I liked the recklessness. The power in letting them believe they had a chance.

I stared at his lips, wondering what they felt like, how they would taste. A cool breeze passed over the terrace, and the thin strap of my tank top slipped down my shoulder.

Before I could fix it, his fingers brushed against my skin. A slow, careful touch as he eased the strap back into place.

I exhaled, my stomach tightening.

Burning .

“What is your name?” he asked calmly. His gaze never left mine.

He should already know. “Adela Sinclair.”

He smiled. “That’s beautiful.”

I nodded once, surprised at how breathless I felt. “I have a reputation, too, you know.”

“Sinclair Solutions,” he mused. “Sinclair is quite the name.”

“So is a Vaughan.”

He was silent for a moment, studying my face, likely looking for a crack that hinted I knew who exactly he was.

I stepped away, sauntering toward the far end of the rooftop.

A section lined with potted plants and velvet couches bathed in the soft glow of vintage lanterns.

The flickering golden light made the space feel almost intimate.

The city roared below us, a jungle of power and ambition, but it was just him and me up here.

I sat, crossing my legs at my knees.

He followed. Of course, he followed.

For a moment, we simply sipped our drinks in silence. Then, his voice slid through the night. “Tell me something, Adela.”

I arched a brow. “That depends.”

His smirk was nothing short of wicked. “What kind of men do you like?”

I scoffed, tilting my head. “Why? Trying to see if you measure up?”

“I already know I do,” he said, so casually it made my pulse quicken. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

I rolled my eyes but let the question linger in my mind. What kind of men did I like? I’d tried them all. The charming ones, the arrogant ones, the ones who whispered all the right things just to fall apart in the end. And yet, none of them had ever really…

I hesitated.

His eyes narrowed slightly, catching the momentary slip. “What?”

“Nothing.” I took a sip of my drink, shaking my head. “It’s irrelevant.”

He leaned in, his voice dipping lower. “Something tells me it’s very relevant.”

God, he was fucking dangerous .

I exhaled sharply, resisting the pull of his persistence. “Fine. If you must know–” I glanced toward the skyline. “None of them have ever satisfied me.”

Silence.

When I looked back, he was watching me, head tilted, his smirk deepening like I had just handed him a weapon with my bare hands. I didn’t like the way my body reacted to that smile.

Rafe leaned closer, resting his elbow on his knee. “And what if I told you that was because none of them were me?”

His confidence made my skin suddenly feel hot. “You’re bold.”

He dipped his chin, predatory. His fingers skimmed the bare skin of my knee–a whisper of a touch, so light I almost questioned if it had happened at all.

I didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Just lifted my glass to my lips and met his stare, stubborn and steady.

His gaze darkened, flickering with approval. Then, he leaned in.

My heart pounded. I was alone up here with him. No one watching. No one listening.

I told myself it was curiosity. That it was because I could handle him. Even as my mind spun, screaming at me that I didn’t know what I was playing with .

His fingers flexed against my knee. “So...” His voice was silk wrapped around a blade. “What would make a man better than the ones you’ve been with?”

I exhaled sharply, tilting my head. If he wanted an answer, fine.

I looked him dead in the eye. “To make me feel alive.”

His smirk widened.

And before I could react, he snatched me by the waist. A stunned gasp left my lips as I grabbed onto his strong, muscular shoulders. My glass slipped from my fingers, forgotten as he lifted me effortlessly.

And then, I was weightless. When he set me down, the realization hit like a bolt of ice.

The edge of the terrace.

I was sitting on the fucking edge .

My stomach clenched, the world below stretching into dizzying nothingness. My breath quickened, and I met his gaze, my body suddenly too aware of his–of the sheer, deliberate control in his grip.

His smirk never faltered. “Trust me,” he murmured.

Something thick lodged in my throat. My pulse hammered against my ribs as if it was going to break through it. But I swallowed hard and nodded.

His hands moved. One slid to my outer thigh. The other pressed flat against my chest.

And then–

He pushed me down.

Air rushed past my ears as my back tipped over the ledge, my spine curving into open space.

Holy shit .

The city blurred beneath me–an endless pit of darkness and light, a dizzying reminder of how small I was compared to the beast holding me. If he let go for even a second, if he decided he was done playing this sick little game, I would fall. I would die.

The thought sent my pulse into a frenzy, slamming with a force that stole my breath.

And he felt it.

His hand remained firm against my chest, right over my pounding heart, fingers splayed like he could mold me beneath them. His other hand gripped my thigh–hard. Keeping me pinned, keeping me alive.

Trapped.

Completely at his mercy. And then, he laughed. A low, sultry chuckle rumbled from his chest, vibrating through me like static, like heat. Then, just as easily as he’d tipped me back, he pulled me forward, guiding me upright.

My body was trembling. His eyes swept over me, and he smiled. “Alright, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice like a slow drag of silk against my skin. “Do you feel alive now?”

I couldn’t answer.

I could barely breathe .

Rafe still had his hands on me–one pressing lightly against my chest, a silent acknowledgment of what he’d done to me. What he could do to me. The ledge still loomed behind me. The rush still pumped through my veins.

And I felt insane . Wild.

Every nerve in my body was on fire. My mind screamed at me to run , to get away from this man. My stomach turned.