Page 15 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)
Once again, a single question crosses my mind, more fiercely than before. Just who the fuck is she? “Your fucking fiancé,” Arno said to her. I picture the man in the video again, the one in the suit with the crooked nose. Was that him?
The girl has a ring on her left hand. The diamond in the center of it almost spans the width of her entire finger. Whoever her fiancé is, he certainly isn’t a poor motherfucker.
“You don’t make the fucking rules of this game, bitch,” Arno snarls. But it’s increasingly apparent that he can’t make good on his threat. His hand is shaking too badly. The rage is back, consuming his gaze and swallowing him down whole.
Before the girl can react, he lunges across the table and snatches her forearm. He yanks her forward, nearly dragging her across the table. Her feet dangle in the air, the black heels scraping the floor.
Grunting, Arno eyes her skin, hefting the knife. I doubt he’ll be satisfied with just a finger. No. He’ll take her whole hand. Her arm. And something tells me that he’ll want her alive long enough for her fiancé to get the message.
“Give me the knife.” I hold my hand out, forcing Arno to make eye contact.
He shakes his head. “This is my fight, Dante—”
“Give me the knife.”
Something in my tone makes him back down. He lets the woman go, shoving her onto the chair. Then he slams the knife against my palm blade-side down. I hiss at the burning pain, but I curl my fingers around the blade and switch it to my dominant hand.
I’m like a butcher, hunting for the finest cut of meat when I trail my gaze along the woman’s fingers.
They’re slim, slender, and she curls them up tight beneath my gaze.
In the end, I don’t know what makes me seize her earlobe between my thumb and my forefinger instead.
She has a diamond stud in each one, and the gleaming head serves as the perfect guide for when I start to cut.
I make it quick. One firm slice and her earlobe is in my fingers. She whines, smothering the sound beneath a pale hand before it even seems to fully leave her throat.
“Here.” I throw it onto the table, toward Arno, who just stares down at the severed bit of flesh.
His fingers shake, but after swallowing hard, he reaches down and captures it in his fist. “Take her,” he says while circling around the table, his gaze on the door .
“Where?”
Arno shrugs. “With you. Any- fucking- where but here. Take her upstairs. My men are too riled. I need her alive, and…” He stops in his tracks, and his entire body rises with the force of his inhale.
“You’re the only one I can trust. It’s only for a few hours anyway.
” He shrugs and looks back at me, his expression the grim mixture of a smile and a grimace. “She’ll be gone tomorrow.”
I force her to walk up two flights of stairs and into the apartment Arno lets me crash in.
She staggers, leaving a trail of blood the entire way, but I don’t bother to disguise it.
Let Arno get the mess. I hope he has to get on his fucking hands and knees with bleach to erase every trace of her.
Maybe then he’ll remember that “babysitter” isn’t listed on my fucking résumé.
She’s silent when I shove her through the narrow living room without bothering to turn the light on. I sense her body stiffen. She’s pale enough to glow in the dark when I shut the door behind me and twist the lock.
A true monster would get off on her fear. The pain makes her sway. Blood dribbles down her neck, emanating from her like perfume. A part of me can’t resist breathing it in. Then I surge forward and shove her down the hallway before she can bleed all over the fucking floor.
“Get into the tub.” I grit the command out while I flick the bathroom light on and drag her into the narrow space by her forearm.
It’s a tight fucking fit. She has to practically climb over the toilet in order to obey me.
With one hand, she clutches at her bleeding ear and eyes the basin of the tub with a wary expression.
Her free hand slides down her hip to tug at the hem of her dress, and I imagine her trying to decide the most ladylike course of action to climb inside it .
I make the decision for her and ram my open palm against her shoulder. She goes down hard, smacking her chin off the tiled wall, but she curls up on her side, small enough to fit inside the coffin-like space with room to spare.
Blood wells up beneath her. Already, her eyes are unfocused, her gaze drifting up to the ceiling. Frowning, I snatch a towel from the nearby rack and throw it toward her.
“Put pressure on it,” I tell her while I crane my neck back to take in the mess she’s already made all over the floor.
Arno won’t be the only one forced to scrub tonight. Fuck.
The girl obediently curls her fingers around the edge of the white towel, but she doesn’t move. She eyes the ceiling instead, and I leave her there, cutting off the light before I slam the door shut. Her blood spots the carpet. I can see it even in the darkness. I can smell it. I can smell her.
Ignoring both, I turn and enter the flat’s single bedroom. Then I slam the door shut and try to get some fucking sleep.