Page 33 of Monsters Wear Crowns
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
I hated when he did that. But Vincent wasn’t the type to sound the alarm unless it mattered. So I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. “Be there soon.”
The iron gates of my estate groaned open as I pulled up, the black SUV gliding down the long driveway toward the mansion. My home was as much a fortress as it was a display of wealth with its sharp, modern lines, massive windows, and security at every entrance.
Vincent was waiting for me at the entrance, arms crossed, expression entirely bored. He was the one person I trusted without question, my right-hand man and oldest friend. A soldier who had earned his place beside me through blood and loyalty. He was lean and deadly, always dressed in dark suits tailored to fit his tall, wiry frame. His face was sharp, all hard angles, with calculating hazel eyes that missed nothing.
His suit jacket stretched slightly as he ran a hand through his dark, shoulder-length hair before exhaling. “Moreau is making his move.”
I stilled. My jaw clenched. “What did he do?”
Vincent’s gaze was sharp, assessing. “He’s been trying to weasel his way in with some of our clients. And he’s planning to intercept a shipment of ketamine and MDMA before it reaches us.”
My body coiled tight, rage simmering beneath my skin.
Moreau had been circling like a vulture for too long. He’d tested boundaries, sent messages,but this?This was a direct challenge. A fucking provocation. I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to. Vincent already knew what I was thinking.
“The guy we picked up?” he asked.
“In the basement,” I confirmed.
Vincent nodded once. “I’ll meet you down there.”
The basement was cold, sterile. Built for a singular purpose. Moreau’s man was tied to a chair in the center of the room, his head slumped forward, blood already trailing from his nose. He’d been softened up for me.Good.
I stepped forward, my footsteps echoing off the concrete. At the sound, the man lifted his head. His swollen eyes widened slightly, flickering with recognition.
“Vaughan–”
I struck before he could say another word, my fist colliding with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. He grunted, spitting blood onto the floor. I leaned down, gripping his chin, forcing him to look at me. My voice was calm, almost soothing.
“Let’s have a conversation.”
He swallowed hard.
I smiled.
And then I made it hurt. The man coughed, spitting more blood onto the cold concrete floor. His face was a ruin of bruises and cuts, his right eye swollen shut, but I wasn’t done yet. Not even close.
I rolled my shoulders, shaking out my fists. My knuckles were already raw, split from the force of my hits, but the sting barely registered. “Talk,” I ordered, voice low, controlled.
The bastard groaned, his head lolling forward. “I–I don’t know anything.”
Wrong answer.
I grabbed a fistful of his sweat-drenched hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to look at me. His breathing was ragged and uneven, his entire body trembling in the chair. “You think I brought you here to play fucking games?” My voice was calm and measured but lethal.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
I pulled a knife from my belt–sleek, sharp, a trusted old friend–and pressed the tip against the soft flesh beneath his eye. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Moreau tried to intercept one of myshipments,” I said, voice like steel. “Tell me where the shipment is.”
“I don’t know!” he wheezed. “I swear–”
I slid the blade down, cutting a thin, shallow line along his cheek. Blood welled instantly, trickling down his face.
He cried out, jerking in the chair, but the ropes held him tight.
I let the silence stretch, let him feel the weight of what was coming next. Then I crouched, bringing us to eye level. “You work for Moreau,” I said. “Which means you know something.”
