Page 135 of Monsters Carve Thrones
We didn’t speak much. There wasn’t much to say. Perhaps we were all slightly nervous.
At six, we left the hotel and met the rest of our men outside the perimeter. They’d all stayed nearby in other hotels. Some of them I didn’t know well, but they nodded when they saw me. Rafe’s wife. The woman this whole storm had been conjured for.
The building itself was a fortress. An old embassy converted into a private club. Beautiful. Historic. Secluded. We had ensured no staff would remain after seven. By eight, it would all be fire and ash.
Laura walked beside me, her blue eyes gleaming under the streetlights. “It’s all in place. Doors are set to lock once we’re in. Windows barred. Roof clear. The exits are sealed except for the one we choose.”
I nodded, heart hammering steady and hard. “Good.”
Rafe’s hand brushed against mine as we approached the side street. He didn’t take it. Just enough contact to let me know he was here.
We moved like smoke through the shadows, down the block, past the last streetlamp, until the building loomed in front of us.
My pulse was thunder in my chest. My mouth was dry.
I looked at him. The man who used to be just like them. A monster in a tailored suit. He could have been on my list once. A memory hit me uninvited–his furious yet dead eyes the night he proved to me he was truly a villain.
But now, he wasn’t one of them. Not anymore.
He’d burned every bridge. Bled for me. Killed for me. Nearly died for me.
So I would do this for him.
I’d do it for every scream I choked down. Every bruise. Every memory that clawed through my sleep.
Tonight, we would become monsters again.
***
The surveillance room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the glow of the monitors. Nico hunched over the keyboard, his tattooed fingers flying. One by one, the feeds came online. Every angle of the ballroom. High ceilings, arched windows, velvet drapes. A scene that tried to look dignified but stank of rot.
I leaned closer to the screen, watching the predators gather. Familiar faces. Men who had built empires from the bones of others. They greeted each other with tight handshakes and fake laughter, whiskey glasses already in hand, their suits sharp and spotless. They had no idea.
They were waiting for Varga.
I smiled to myself.
They’d never see him again.
Because I shot the fucker in the face.
Rafe stood behind me, arms folded across his chest, silent but coiled. There was a tension in the room that pressed against my chest. Every breath I took felt like it echoed.
To our right, Kieran adjusted his earpiece, nodding to Laura who was relaying final confirmations. “Perimeter sealed,” she said, her voice calm. “No exits unless we give the go.”
“Underground’s blocked,” Kieran added. “Snipers ready on signal both inside and out in the unlikely event anyone gets past us.”
Every thread of the plan was tightening. It was happening. Now. My heart thrashed against my ribs. Not from fear, but from fury. From anticipation.
I’d been hunted. Used.Hurt.
But tonight, I was the one stepping into the light with a match in my hand.
“They look relaxed,” Nico muttered, tapping a button. One screen zoomed in. A man who had trafficked girls younger than me. Another who funded militias in exchange for oil. A third who had smiled while watching Waylon leash me like a dog.
“How much longer?” I asked, voice flat.
“Three minutes until we’re scheduled to ‘arrive,’” Nico replied. “But they’re all here. It’s your call.”
