Page 73 of Monsters Wear Crowns
The ride back from the event was steeped in heavy silence. Rafe sat next to me in the back of the limo, his posture relaxed, but there was nothing calm about him. It was the kind of quiet that warned of destruction.
My pulse hadn’t settled. My mind spun, but I kept my expression smooth, watching Rafe from the corner of my eye. The sharp line of his jaw. The way his fingers tapped slow, measured beats against his thigh. He was planning. Calculating.
Finally, he pulled his phone out. His voice was lethally calm in every word. “I want Moreau’s shipment locations. Now.”
A pause. His eyes stayed on mine, dark and unreadable. “No mistakes. I want confirmation within the hour.”
He ended the call without waiting for a response.
My throat was dry. “What are we going to do?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just tilted his head, studying me like he was deciding how much to tell me. Then, that slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.
“He won’t expect such an immediate retaliation. He drew first blood,” Rafe said softly. “So I’m going to fucking drown him in it.”
And just like that, the fear shifted, twisting into something that felt too much like excitement.
When we got back to the mansion, he didn’t have to tell me what was happening. I already knew. Rafe’s men moved quickly, arming up and gathering whatever intel they needed.In his office, a map of the city was spread across the table, red marks already pinning down their targets.
My fingers brushed the cool weight of my own gun. When I slid it into the holster at my thigh, I felt his eyes on me. A flash of approval, a flicker of admiration.
“Stay close to me,” Rafe said, his voice low and rough. “Can’t have you getting hurt again.”
I just arched a brow. “I wasn’t planning on holding your coat.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Good.”
Chapter 15
The strike came fast. Brutal. A warehouse on the edge of the city, one of Moreau’s largest drug caches. We moved between the shadows, Rafe’s men sweeping the perimeter while we slipped inside. I was absolutely no stranger to my gun and compromising situations, but this made my hands tremble. Going to war with Nicolas Moreau guaranteed only one of us coming out alive.
“I can’t believe I let you come,” Rafe whispered, his gaze darting around our surroundings.
Annoyance flared. “There is nolet,” I snapped, gripping my gun tightly. “I am controlled byno one.”
The first shot cracked through the night like a whip, and we dropped fast, moving as one. My heart raced, my pulse a wild, pounding drumbeat.
“Move,” Rafe’s voice was a low growl, and I didn’t need to be told twice. I followed him, keeping low as we slipped back into the shadows.
The warehouse was a maze of towering crates and rusting metal shelves, the dim light slashing across the concrete floor in long, jagged lines. Shouts echoed from the far side–Moreau’s men spreading out, their boots scuffing against the ground as they searched.
A second shot rang out, closer this time. We dove behind a stack of crates, my breath short and sharp as I pressed my back against the cold wood. My fingers curled tighter around the grip ofmy gun.
Rafe peered around the edge of the crate, his face calm and focused, like this was nothing more than a game. But I knew better. My father had taught me how to shoot like a sniper. When he turned back to me, his eyes gleamed. “Come.”
Before I could answer, he was moving. I followed, my skin buzzing with fear and exhilaration. The warehouse floor felt endless, each step sending adrenaline racing through my veins.
And then the first man came into view.
He stepped out from behind a stack of boxes, his rifle raised. I didn’t think, I just acted. My shot cracked through the air. The man crumpled, the sound of his fall reverberating in my mind. My hands were steady. My breathing slowed.
I had killed men before, but this felt different.
Rafe glanced back at me, a dark smile curving his mouth. “Good girl.”
Barely a moment passed when another figure emerged, and Rafe moved. He closed the distance in seconds, his knife flashing in the low light. The man didn’t even have time to scream before Rafe sliced his blade through his throat. He hit the ground.
Blood slicked the concrete. Rafe didn’t spare him a second glance.
