Page 146 of Monsters Wear Crowns
I stumbled back a step.
My hand went out blindly, smashing into the dresser. Wood cracked beneath my palm. I tore through the room like a storm, dragging lamps off tables, shattering mirrors, splitting the closet doors in two with my bare hands. The sound was deafening, the crash of glass and splintered wood echoing through the halls.
And still, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t penance.
I threw my shoulder into the wall until my bones screamed. A painting crashed to the floor behind me. I didn’t stop. Not until I saw the gun.
It was on the nightstand, half-covered by a fallen bedsheet. Still hot from the fight. The muzzle blackened with residue, like it had soaked in the rage that had passed through this house.
My breath stuttered when I grabbed it. The weight was as familiar as any of the hundreds of guns I’d used to kill with over the years. My hand wrapped around the grip like it belonged there. My fingers twitched, and I paced like a caged animal. Like a man haunted by the thing in the mirror.
How dare I?
How fucking dare I.
I had raped her. Pinned her down. Ignored her voice. Her pain. All in the name of some twisted obsession I’d once called love. My legs gave out.
I dropped to my knees, the gun still clenched in my hand, the barrel dangling like it knew where it was supposed to go. I stared at the floor. “Why?” I whispered. “Why the fuck am I like this?”
I thought of my father–the monster in the wine-dark suit, always reeking of bourbon and violence. The fists. The screaming. The bruises I used to hide like a dog too ashamed to bite back. I thought of how hard I’d sworn I’d never become him.
And yet here I was.
The barrel found my chin. Pressed up, slow and steady, until the metal kissed my skin. My finger hovered on the trigger. I didn’t cry. I didn’t have any tears fucking left.
And now she was out there. Vulnerable. And I had made her even more so.
I exhaled, shaky and wrecked, my adrenaline rapid-firing through me. I lowered the gun.No. I couldn’t.Not yet. Not while Moreau still breathed. Not while the wolves were circling. I had to make sure she lived. Even if I didn’t deserve to. Even if she never forgave me.
I set the gun down beside me, resting it on the shattered floorboards, and let my head fall forward into my bloodied hands.
The Orchard House stood quiet beneath the night sky, surrounded by rows of vibrant apple trees. A slow, dull ache crept into my chest as I pulled up.God, this place reminded me of my mother.The soft way she used to hum while peeling apples in the kitchen. The sound of her slippers across old wood floors. The scent of cinnamon and fresh earth and something gentler than anything I’d ever been.
I used to think this place was hers. But now, standing there, I realized she had only been borrowed by it, like a good ghost the house had chosen to keep.
A memory flickered. Adela’s laugh echoing in my backyard. The night of the stars. I remembered sitting there, watching her and thinking…if we ever had children, I’d want them to grow up here.
That thought hit me like a fist to the ribs. I clenched my jaw and pushed it down. I wasn’t the kind of man who should have children. I’d always known that. Knew it in my blood, in my bones, in every scar my father ever left on me. I couldn’t risk beinghim. Couldn’t let some poor kid look up at me and call mefather.
The curse had to end with me.
I stepped onto the porch, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. Warm wood. A soft creak under my boots. The scent of dustand faint apples still lingered in the walls, like nothing had changed. It was such a contrast from the modern, sleek mansion.
I lit the fireplace first. The old stone hearth came to life with a flick, flames catching on dry logs, pouring gold across the darkened room. Shadows danced on the old photos still hanging in the hall, ones I hadn’t looked at in years. My mother’s face in grainy color. Me, young and stupid, still believing I could escape who I came from.
I couldn’t touch them.
Upstairs, I turned on the shower and let the steam fill the air before stepping under the spray. It scalded my skin, but I didn’t flinch. I braced both hands against the tile wall, head bowed, and let it burn. I wanted it to strip everything away. The blood. The guilt. The way she had looked at me before she left. I stood there until the water ran cold.
And even then, I didn’t move.
***
ADELA
The silence in my penthouse felt oppressive. I told myself I wanted this–the space, the distance. I told myself Ineededit. But as I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the black SUV parked across the street like a shadow I couldn’t shake, it didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like a different kind of cage.
Rafe’s men hadn’t left since I walked away from him. And even though I hadn’t seen him in days, I felt him everywhere. My phone buzzed on the counter. I didn’t want to look. I already knew who it was.
