Page 51 of Monsters Carve Thrones
He turned to face me, amused. “Observing what?”
“How to get out of here and fucking kill you.”
His smile didn’t fade, but something behind his sharp, dark eyes flickered. “You’re strong. Rafe always did like that about you.”
I tilted my chin. “And what is it you like about me, Waylon?”
He stalked forward, one step at a time. I didn’t retreat. “Your body,” he murmured, stopping inches from me. “And thefire you try to hide behind all that calculation. You’re not scared enough yet.”
I met his stare, refusing to blink. “You think hurting me will make you stronger than him?”
“No,” he said, too softly. “I thinkowningyou will.”
What was with powerful men and owning women? These idiots.
The air between us snapped like a wire pulled too tight. I didn’t speak. I simply watched. His tells, his triggers, his patterns. I was going to survive this. And when the moment came, I would bury a knife in his throat and smile as the light left his eyes.
He turned away, pacing to a decanter of something dark. He poured one glass. Didn’t offer me any. “I’ll call for you when I’m ready,” he said. “Get comfortable.”
I stared at the bed. Then back at him. “You’ll die in that bed if you touch me.”
He chuckled. “God, you’re beautiful when you threaten me. But baby, you’re getting fucked in that bed. A lot.”
Then he left. The lock clicked into place behind him.
And I finally let the tremor slide down my spine before I crossed to the window and started counting the ways out. The silence after he left was louder than his presence. I stood motionless for a few seconds, listening to the shift of the house around me. Footsteps overhead. A distant door shutting. Faint hums of electricity. Wherever I was, it wasn’t underground anymore. This was the heart of the estate. And Waylon had brought me here like I was a possession to use.
The curtains were heavy, expensive velvet, and when I peeled them back, I saw why. Wrought iron bars were fastened tightly across the panes. Beyond them, a sweeping forest stretched into darkness, the faint flicker of motion-detecting lights dotting a long gravel driveway.
A fortress.
I turned to the bookshelves next. My fingers ghosted over spines as I scanned titles. European history. Business ethics. A few in Russian. One thick red leather-bound journal with no title. I tried pulling it free, but it didn’t budge. Fixed.
I smirked.Hidden compartment?
The bed loomed in the center of the room like a threat. Crisp sheets. Oversized pillows. It smelled like cedar, expensive cologne, and something darker like copper and smoke.
I checked the nightstands. No weapons, but there was a lighter tucked behind a stack of papers, and I slipped it under the mattress. I didn’t know how or when I’d use it, but fire had always been a good friend.
Then I sat. Center of the bed. Spine straight. Breathing even. The silence crawled.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. I knew what was fucking coming. My limbs were sore, and my stomach twisted with hunger. But I wouldn’t curl up. I wouldn’t look scared. I wouldn't give him that.
Then, my ears picked up the quiet sound of the lock turning. The door creaked open. Waylon stepped in, shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hair was damp, like he’d just showered. His mouth curled when he saw me still seated there, unmoved.
He shut the door slowly behind him and clicked the lock. “Good girl,” he said, voice like a dark reward. “Still where I left you.”
I didn’t say anything.
He approached slowly, dragging his fingers along the edge of the dresser before tossing something–a ring box?–onto it with a clatter. Then he turned to face me, that wicked smile curling deeper. “I’m ready for bed.”
My breath caught, but I didn’t flinch. My heart was a drum in my ears, but my face stayed blank.
He unbuckled his belt slowly, an infuriating smirk on his face. “I assume you know what that means, baby.”
I fucking hated when he called me that. Only Rafe did that.OnlyRafe. I stood. “I know what youthinkit means,” I said, voice level.
His smile faltered, just a hair. I watched his every move as he stepped closer, the belt sliding from the loops of his trousers like a snake. He thought this was a game. Thought I was another one of his toys to bend and break.
