Page 41 of Monsters Carve Thrones
His scream was instant, loud, and hoarse as he dropped to the ground, writhing. I didn’t feel satisfied. Just cold fury. My fists clenched, ready for the next hit, but I wasn’t fast enough.
Another man struck me. The blow caught me across the jaw, so hard my vision flashed white. My knees gave out. I crumpled against the wall, blood in my mouth, teeth rattling from the force. My ears rang.
“She’s in her fucking underwear,” one of them muttered, leering now that I was too weak to stand.
“She’s fucking wild,” another breathed. “We might as well–”
“No.” A voice barked from the doorway. It was the same man who yelled before. “Enough.”
The room froze.
“I almost shot you guys,” he snapped, stepping inside. “Boss is going tolose his shit. It won’t be my fucking fault that she’s not perfect.”
“She attacked first–”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
The man who’d beat me the most hesitated. Then turned toward the one in the doorway. “We might as well have some fun with her now. She’s already bloodied and bruised. What’s he going to do,kill us all?”
There was a moment of silence.
Then the man at the door raised his gun and pointed it straight at him. “Get the fuck out. All of you.Now.”
Tension splintered through the room, but the men obeyed, grumbling, limping, shoving past him. The door slammed again, sealing me in the dark.
I was alone.
Bruised. Barely conscious. Chained to a fucking wall like a dog. My wrists ached. My head throbbed. My lips were split. And still I stared at that door, chest heaving, mind racing.
Who the fuck did this?
Who took me fromhim?
I didn’t cry or beg for my life. I leaned my head back against the stone and whispered his name, my heart clenching. “Rafe…”
***
RAFE
The townhouse still smelled like her. I stood in the middle of our bedroom, glass shards underfoot, blood drying in streaks across the floor. Hers. Mine. Theirs. I didn’t fucking know. My knuckles were shredded from punching the wall.
She was gone.
Gone.
The tires screamed against the road as I took the curve too fast, hands white-knuckled on the wheel. The SUV roareddown the rural backroad like it owed me blood. Trees blurred past, useless scenery. All I saw was the image of her bleeding, fighting, being dragged from our home. My home.
My woman.
Laura sat in the passenger seat, silent for once. Her mouth was tight, arms crossed, eyes flicking to the GPS every few seconds, like watching our proximity to the safehouse would somehow stop the seconds from grinding their teeth across my skull. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail.
“You’re gonna crack the steering column if you keep strangling it,” she said finally.
“Let it crack.” I didn’t look at her. “You said you’d help. So help me now by not fucking talking unless it’s about finding her.”
She didn’t respond, but her silence wasn’t passive. I could feel the storm in her, too. Laura had been through enough with me to know when I was a lit fuse, and she wasn’t stupid enough to light the match without purpose.
We reached the safehouse just after midnight. The cottage was tucked into the woods, shielded by overgrowth and layers of surveillance that I installed myself.
