Page 21 of Monsters Carve Thrones
“You love me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Damien Voss, huh?”
I nodded. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t necessary. This is one of those moments where both sides of the business need to show up.Youare the bridge between.”
She took a long sip of her water, then walked past me toward the hallway, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll wear something pretty, then.”
Fuck.
I was already hard.
***
ADELA
Ugh, these places always stunk. That was the worst part of all of these underground meetings. The stench of blood and impending death.
I stepped out of the SUV wearing heels that clicked with every stride and a coat that concealed the pistol at my hip. The sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, but the inside of the building glowed with yellow light, stripped bare except for a folding table, a few crates, and the gathering of about two dozen men who turned as we entered.
Rafe was a shadow beside me, towering and slow-moving, his presence enough to make most of them stiffen. I clocked the tension in their shoulders, the hesitation in their eyes. Not fear. Not yet.
But it would come.
A man with slicked-back gray hair stood near the center. Damien Voss. Expensive suit, cheap smile. I’d scrubbed his records more times than I could count. His sins didn’t fit on paper. You had to see them dripping off his skin.
“Ah,” he said, opening his arms like we were old friends. “Mr. Vaughan. Ms. Sinclair.”
His gaze flicked to me. Rafe said nothing.
I didn’t smile. “Let’s make this quick.”
He gave a soft laugh and gestured around the room. “Of course. Just a few of our Albanian friends here needed some... persuading.”
My gaze swept the room. Four of them. Armed but tense. And just behind Voss, leaning casually against the concrete wall, was a face I hadn’t seen in nearly a year.
Brown hair. Sharp cheekbones. Cruel mouth.
Waylon.
My blood ran cold, but not from fear, from recognition. I’d seen that face once before, standing in my apartment. He’d smiled while Moreau spoke through the phone.
And now he was here, hiding in the periphery like a patient spider.
I looked away like I hadn’t noticed him.
The men stepped forward, shouting in Albanian. One slammed his fist on the table. Another pointed toward Voss. Accusations. Demands. Rage. It didn’t matter what was said, only what would happen next.
Rafe tilted his head. “Listen, Damien’s a fucking idiot, sure. But if you walk away now, we’ll transfer the amount he owes plus some for your travels.”
Damien’s eyes snapped to mine, knowing damn well that he led these men to their deaths. We were never going to negotiate.
The men didn’t take Rafe’s offer anyway.
The first drew a weapon. He barely had time to raise it before my gun was in my hand, leveled and steady. I squeezed the trigger, once, then twice. His head snapped back, blood misting the air before he crumpled like dead weight.
Chaos erupted.
One lunged. I pivoted on instinct, drove my heel into his thigh, and slammed my elbow into his throat as he staggered. He hit the ground, coughing. I shot him in the chest.
