Page 84 of Monsters Carve Thrones
The room shifted. The table refocused. Tension bled back into conversation like it had never left. But I could barely hear them.
Rafe was alive.
Alive.
Every heartbeat pulsed with it. I didn’t know where he was. Or what Waylon meant when he said he wasn’t long for this world. But he was breathing. And that meant I had to keep going. I glanced subtly around the table, again memorizing their faces to the best of my ability. I listened closely to the names they dropped. The accents. The power plays.
When I got out of here, I would remember every single one.
Waylon was distracted. He was beginning to truly believe that I’d never get away from him. They were discussing a delay in one of the routes. Something about customs, and a man who was supposed to “take care of it” disappearing. It seemed serious, judging by the shift in tone and the way one of them slammed a glass down.
But Waylon didn’t rise to it. He was watching. Calculating. He was trying to solve something. Which meant he wasn’t watchingme.
Good.
Let him get lost in whatever business endeavors required his attention. I just needed to remain calm and wait for the perfect opportunity. I had to get Olesya to agree to help me. Hopefully, she’d agree for both of our sakes.
The conversation circled tighter around the missing shipment.
“We can’t afford delays right now,” said the man at the end of the table–older, with a scar down his temple and a gold tooth that flashed when he spoke.Yikes. “The Russians are breathing down our backs again, and the Croats are sniffing around in Montenegro. If this product doesn’t land where it needs to, we lose more than money.”
Waylon didn’t blink. “Then we find out who’s responsible.”
Another man, younger, leaned in. “Could be a mole. Someone feeding intel. You’ve already had heat lately. That stunt in Warsaw…people are still talking.”
A pause.
Waylon’s fingers tapped once against the table. “Warsaw was handled.”
“Clearly not if someone got close enough to leak names.” A heavy silence followed that.
I pretended to fidget uncomfortably in my seat. My stomach twisted, not from fear, but from a cold, vicious thrill.
They were unraveling. Just a little.
A man to Waylon’s left shifted the subject. “We can clean it up,” he said. “If the shipment doesn’t move by Friday, wetorch the warehouse and blame it on Angelo and his crowd. Buy ourselves a few weeks.”
Waylon grunted approval. “Do it.”
“And the Odessa contact?” someone asked.
Waylon’s voice dipped low. “Find out if he’s still breathing. If not, get someone else in that position. I want routes open again by the end of the month.”
It felt like listening to a war council. I had no fucking idea what they were discussing, but I still listened closely. I sat still, replaying everything. Odessa. Friday. A warehouse. Russians. Croats. These names. These threats. I clung to each thread like a lifeline.
“Gentlemen, let’s reconvene next week.” Waylon finally stood, straightening his jacket. “We’re done here tonight. I'm tired, and my pet needs to go to bed.”
“Lucky man,” one of them said with a sick grin.
Waylon just grunted again. Chairs scraped against the floor. Men drained the last of their drinks and moved toward the door. Some gave me curious looks. One winked. I forced my expression to stay blank, even when my hands curled into fists in my lap.
Waylon reached for me.
I stood before he could tug me.He liked that.His obedient dog. His hand curled possessively around my waist as he guided me out of the room. His palm was hot through the thin cotton of the t-shirt, fingers digging in just enough to remind me who he thought I belonged to.
But I didn’t flinch.
I smiled at one of the guards we passed, jolting as I felt the bag going over my head again. I didn’t fight it, though. There was genuinely no use. But before they pulled it completely down, I turned to Waylon, meeting his eyes through the dim hallway light.
