Page 49 of Monsters Carve Thrones
“But first…” I raised the barrel of my gun toward the ceiling, and, with a smirk, turned and walked right back inside. The man had barely a few seconds of begging before I put a bullet in his head.
The silence that followed the gunshot echoed louder than the blast itself. Blood sprayed across the wall behind him, painting a final, chaotic signature. Laura stood frozen in the doorway, mouth parted in a soundless reprimand, while Nico and Kieran loomed behind her. Kieran didn’t flinch. Nico just raised an eyebrow, already unsurprised by who I was.
I holstered my gun and turned toward them.
“Rafe!” Laura snapped.
I looked at her. Really looked. “He was always going to die, Laura,” I said, heavy-lidded eyes sweeping over her face. “You need to get more used to death. Your boss has been covered in blood many times now.”
Laura swallowed loudly. “I wasn’t angry that you killed the guy, just that you spilled blood right now. We shouldn’t draw attention.”
“Yes, we should.” I said swiftly, turning to them. “Get what you can from his place. Laptop, burner phones, hard drives… anything. He wasn’t smart enough to keep his mouth shut, but might’ve been smart enough to keep records.”
Kieran stepped over the body without blinking, heading for the desk. “You think Waylon would let this guy have anything valuable?”
“I think Waylon’s paranoid,” I said. “And when paranoid men cut ties, they usually forget to cut the data trail. He may be acting tough but if I were standing in front of him, he’d shit his fucking pants.”
Laura walked in slowly, careful not to step in the blood.
Nico found a stack of old passports and a thumb drive taped to the underside of a drawer. “This looks promising.”
“Bag it,” I said. “Then we head to Paris.”
Kieran turned, his brows raised. “You think Waylon’s still using the Montparnasse route?”
“If he’s moving her,” I said, “he’ll move her like product. That means old habits. Old contacts. Old systems.”
Laura finally looked up. “So, you don’t think he’d try and sell her?”
My body stilled, my jaw clenching. “No,” I said simply. That silence came again. This time, it didn’t feel like doubt. It felt like faith. We cleared the place fast, and I lit a match before I walked out. Let the whole house go up in smoke. A warning and a message.
We were coming.
And the next man who touched her?
Wouldn’t die quickly.
***
ADELA
The door slammed behind them, the lock sliding into place. The scent of soap clung to my skin, but I felt no cleaner. Just raw. I sat on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, knees pulled to my chest, wrists still aching from the cuffs they’d only just removed. Water still dripped from my hair in slow, steady rivulets, soaking the thin towel they’d tossed at me like an afterthought.
They didn’t exactly rape me, but they definitely assaulted me. Those fuckers. The humiliation was its own kind of violence.
I stared at the tiled wall across from me, jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might shatter. Every detail of their faces, those leering grins, and how they laughed like I was athinghaunted me. Not to mention them rubbing their gross, sweaty dicks on me.
I wouldn’t forget.
And I sure as hell wouldn’t forgive.
A soft tremble ran through my limbs, not fear, not anymore. Rage. Cold, controlled rage. I stood on shaky legs, tired but determined all the same. I brushed damp hair from my face, my fingers grazing the bruises on my cheek. My reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink was barely recognizable. She had a swollen lip, dark circles under her eyes, and a collarbone marked from where they’d dragged her.
But beneath all of that, I saw it.
Me.
Not the girl they wanted to turn into a possession. Not some shattered thing. I was still in here. And I would survive. I wrapped the towel tighter around me and limped back to the corner of the room. I didn’t lie down. I sat, back straight, eyes on the door. They wanted a victim, but what they’d made was a weapon.
