Page 52 of Monsters Carve Thrones
But I’d survived worse than him. I’d survived Rafe. The Dark Monster of New York City.
I let him come close enough to smell the cologne hovering off his skin, to see the faint scar by his jawline.
And then I struck.
My knee drove straight into his groin with every ounce of power I had left.
He doubled over with a guttural sound, surprise flashing in his eyes. I didn’t wait. I launched at him, nails clawing, fists slamming against his ribs, jaw, throat–anywhere I could reach. I fought like hell. Like I was back in training with Rafe, like every blow was an opportunity to escape.
He roared and grabbed for me, but I twisted, managing to land another strike to his cheekbone. Blood bloomed from the split skin. “You fucking–” he hissed, shoving me.
I hit the floor hard, vision momentarily spinning, but I scrambled to my feet before he could pin me. “You want to see what Rafe trained me for?” I spat, bracing myself again. “Try me, motherfucker.”
His laugh was breathless and cruel. “I washopingyou’d be this fun.” He came at me harder this time, faster, his size overwhelming. I got one more punch in before he caught mywrists and yanked them behind me, dragging me against him with brutal force. I kicked, screamed, and thrashed until my breath burned in my lungs, but he was stronger. And this time, he was ready for it.
I felt the scrape of the belt as he bound my wrists with it, and heard his panting breath in my ear.
“You’re a fighter,” he growled, now pinning me against the wall. “But Ialwayswin.”
My head smacked the plaster. Pain sparked at the base of my skull. My vision went white. “You’ll lose in the end, you know,” I whispered.
Waylon stilled for half a second. And then he laughed again, deeper this time. “No, sweetheart,” he said. “You already have.” He stormed away momentarily, leaving me bruised, bleeding, and furious. But not broken. If Rafe Vaughan hadn’t broken me, neither could this fucker.
I slid to the floor beside the bed, breathing hard, wrists raw from the belt. My heart pounded as I thought about what he was doing. I’d pissed him off. My soul jumped when the door slammed open, and Riley stormed in with a capped syringe in her hand. Waylon was behind her, calm as ever, like he didn’t just spend the last hour proving what kind of man he was.
I staggered to my feet, my body still aching, head pounding from where he slammed me into the wall. “Don’t touch me youbitch,” I hissed.
But it was too late.
Riley lunged forward with a vicious grin and jammed the needle into my neck.
I gasped, stumbling back, trying to slap her away, but the drug worked fast. Not enough to knock me out, but enough to make my limbs feel distant and my thoughts foggy. “You coward,” I spat at Waylon as my knees buckled. “You drugme because you’re afraid I’ll slit your fucking throat open.” I collapsed to the floor, my cheek hitting the cool dark wood.
Riley laughed, standing above me like an annoying child. “Don’t worry,princess. It’s just to keep you nice and mellow. You’re a little too mouthy for polite company.” She twirled away, walking out without another glance. “Have fun, baby girl. He likes it rough.”
Waylon crouched beside me, watching with that familiar predator’s interest as I blinked slowly, trying to fight through the haze.
“You know what’s funny?” I rasped, jaw clenching. “You’re this big, powerful man… but you’resothreatened by me you needdrugsto keep me still.”
He chuckled low, and there was no amusement in it for once. “I just don’t feel like having bruises on my face every time I have a meeting,” he said, sliding his arms beneath me. “And let’s be honest, this arrangement? It’s about ownership. Nothing else. So I’m going to do what I want with you.” He lifted me easily and carried me to the bed. “I like my women wild. I like the fight. But you, Adela… you’re here to destroy him. And to do that, I need to take every part of you he ever touched. Piece by fucking piece. I watched him fuck you that night and decided then and there that I wanted you for myself.”
I tried to twist away, but my body wouldn’t listen. I was burning with rage. The sedative dulled everything but the fury. “Rafe will kill you,” I whispered.
Waylon smirked as he laid me out on the bed. “Maybe,” he said. “But not before I ruin you for him.”
He stood and walked to the door, pausing only to lock it behind him. As the sound of the deadbolt echoed through the room, I stared at the ceiling, heart hammering, and swore:
He would not break me.
Waylon approached the bed like a horrifying storm, all dark eyes and dangerous intent, that wicked smirk carving his face. My heart pounded in fear and fury. His hands gripped my thighs roughly before he peeled my sweatpants down in one fluid motion. His gaze darkened when he saw I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“Fuck,” he muttered, the word low so, sowrong.
I flinched beneath his stare, retracting into myself. I didn’t want to be fucking present for this but Ineededto. I needed to remember to fuel my rage.
He pulled me up and dragged my tank top over my head, his knuckles brushing heat across my ribs. “Lay back.Now.”
I obeyed, primarily because my body was so fucking tired from whatever that bitch injected me with.
