Page 83 of Monsters Wear Crowns
“Rafe–”
“Moreau made another move,” he said, his grip tight andunyielding. “Another personal one.”
***
The drive was silent, tension thick enough to choke on. Rafe’s grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, his jaw locked tight. The only sound was the hum of the engine and the occasional vibration of his phone–updates coming in one after another. He didn’t answer them. He didn’t need to. Whatever had happened, it was bad.
I stared out the window, my heart pounding. The city blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow, but I barely saw it. “Rafe,” I said finally, my voice low. “What did he do?”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, his knuckles flexing once, twice.
“Rafe.”
“He took someone,” he said, voice flat and cold. “One of my men. Someone important.”
My stomach twisted. “Who?”
He glanced at me then, and there was something almost reluctant in his eyes like he didn’t want to tell me. But he did.
“Vincent.”
The air rushed out of my lungs. Vincent, Rafe’s right hand. The one who’d been at his side through every bloody step of his rise to power. The man I’d seen only briefly, but who I knew was more than just muscle. He was loyalty and strategy and an extension of Rafe himself.
“Is he–”
“Alive?” Rafe’s mouth tightened. “For now. But Moreau won’t keep him that way for long. Not unless we move fast.”
I swallowed against the lump rising in my throat. “Then what’s the plan?”
Rafe finally looked at me fully, his eyes dark and unreadable. “The plan,” he said softly. “I’m going to rip his fuckingheart out.”
The warehouse was on the outskirts of the city, one of Moreau’s lesser-known properties, but well-guarded. When we arrived, Rafe’s men were already in position, the air buzzing with a wild tension that promised bloodshed.
“Stay close to me,” Rafe ordered, checking his weapons with quick, efficient movements.
“Don’t tell me to stay close like I’m some kind of liability,” I snapped, loading my own gun. “I can handle myself. Focus on Vincent.”
His eyes flicked to me, and despite the situation, a spark of something lit behind them. “I know you can, love. But you don’t know Moreau like I do. And I won’t risk you.”
When we finally reached the main room, my heart slammed against my ribs. Vincent was there, bloodied and bruised, tied to a chair in the center of the room. But he was alive. Barely.
And standing beside him, with a knife pressed to his throat and a smile that made my skin crawl, was Moreau.
“Well, well,” he drawled, his eyes gleaming with vicious amusement. “Look who finally decided to join us.”
Rafe’s entire body went still–the kind of stillness of a predator before it struck. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet. Deadly. “Let him go.”
Moreau’s smile widened. “Or what?”
I didn’t wait for Rafe’s answer. I raised my gun, and Moreau’s eyes snapped to me. “Ah,” he said, his gaze raking over me with slow, deliberate interest. “I’ve heard of your skills with a gun.”
“Not enough, apparently,” I shot back, my finger tightening on the trigger. “Or you’d know not to underestimate me.”
He laughed darkly. “Oh, I never underestimate a woman willing to stand beside a man like Vaughan.” His eyes gleamed. “But tell me, Sinclair, how much do youreallyknow about themonster you’re sleeping with? Have you asked him yet?”
The words hit harder than they should have, but before I could answer, Rafe moved. It happened fast. One second, Moreau had the knife at Vincent’s throat. And the next, Rafe had his gun drawn, and the room erupted into chaos.
Moreau’s men poured into the room. I didn’t think–I fired. The shot cracked through the space, and the first man dropped. But it didn’t stop them. They kept coming.
