Page 132 of Monsters Carve Thrones
I shot the other kneecap. He crumpled to the floor, no longer a man, just broken pieces of muscle and pain. His pistol clattered uselessly against the wood.
Rafe stepped in, silent as death, rifle slung casually over his shoulder. He watched me and didn’t interrupt. I was the one who’d lived this hell. I was the one who could end it.
I knelt over him, dragging the barrel across his temple, pressing into the soft flesh. “This,” I whispered, voice ice-cold, “is what happens when you think you can break powerful fucking women.” His eyes went wide as death curled around him.
I pulled the trigger. His body spasmed, then finally stilled.
My ears rang with the shot, drowning out all other noise.
“You good?” Rafe asked, his voice calm.
I nodded slowly. “Better.” I turned to find Nico sitting casually at Varga’s desk, examining the glow of his laptop screen.
“The fucker’s system was easy as shit to hack, boss,” Nico laughed, then caught my gaze.
“Me?” I asked with a smile.
Nico laughed, nodding his head. “Yeah, girlie, you’re my boss.”
I winked at him.
“Of course it was easy to hack,” Rafe added with a smirk, not at all arguing who the real boss was here. Good boy.
I strode forward, adrenaline still buzzing through my veins. “Let’s get into his contacts,” I commanded, stepping toward them. “And call an urgent meeting regarding Rafe Vaughan and his wife.”
Rafe’s icy, dead eyes met mine, and my knees nearly buckled at the force and intensity radiating from them. He reached out and casually took my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
***
Later that night, we returned to the hotel, smoke still clinging to our clothes and blood dried into the seams of my boots. The adrenaline wore off, replaced by exhaustion that felt like a drug. We slipped into the suite. Rafe collapsed onto the couch, closing his eyes. I sank beside him, fingers tracing the scars on my wrist from where the leather cuffs broke skin again and again and never healed properly.
Kieran and Nico busied themselves, setting up laptops and phones.
Rafe opened his eyes and turned to me. “You okay?” he asked, voice raspy from the adrenaline drain.
I met his gaze. “Yeah,” I said, every nerve still buzzing. “You can stop asking me if I’m alright, you know.”
He reached for my hand and squeezed it tight. We sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of what we’d done settle into our bones. But for the first time in a long time, I felt sure and ready. I was planning the entire process that would lead to many, many deaths of deserving men.
We were unstoppable.
I stepped onto the balcony, and the door clicked shut behind us as I let the night swallow me. Rafe stepped up beside me, glancing out over our view. The distant streetlights shimmered off his jaw, sharp and beautiful in the dim glow. His distinct cedar scent enveloped me, and my heart fluttered as he leaned close.
“I told them to stay inside,” he whispered against my mouth. His voice was husky with desire and determination. He closed the curtains so our moment would stay ours.
His leaned in swiftly, his lips catching mine perfectly. My knees would’ve buckled if his strong arms hadn’t caught me. He pulled me flush against him, and I felt him whisper against my lips, “I loved watching you kill Varga.” My pulse hammered even harder. That echo of both pride and desire had begun to unravel me.
His hands roamed over me, one cupping my ass, pressing me back against his thigh; the other resting on my hip, fingers mapping every curve. When our tongues tangled, I melted into him, breathless at how right it felt. My hand slid up to his hair, tugging lightly. He groaned against me, a desperate sound. He tasted like victory, like vengeance, and...home.
With slow, deliberate heat, he pressed me back against the cold metal of the balcony railing. The wind tangled through my hair as his hands moved with purpose, one gripping my hip and the other threading up my spine. He held me steady, shielding me from the chill and the world beyond this moment.
Clothes became an afterthought. He peeled off his shirt, each movement laced with passion and fire. My leggings slid down my legs in a hush of fabric. His hands mapped every inch of exposed skin, respectful and hungry all at once. I loved how much he craved me. He craved me so much, that he’d beenfucking me with our friends just in the other room. And that was… hot as hell.
He kissed me again, this time slower. Less frenzy, more possession. His mouth moved over mine like he was memorizing the shape of my lips, the taste of my breath, the sigh that escaped when his fingers dipped between my thighs. I gasped, clutching at his chest, feeling the muscles beneath my palms. He was strong and steady and utterlymine.
When he sank his fingers inside me, I nearly buckled. My body arched into him, hips rolling, chasing the pleasure he gave so easily. His thumb circled with perfect precision, and he watched my face like he wanted to study the way I broke apart. My moans came soft and only intensified when his eyes flashed.
“You’re already dripping for me,” he growled low against my throat. “Fuck, I love how your body responds to me.”
