Page 38 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

No. I grit my teeth and shake my head. Then I use Lucifer’s toothbrush to chase every ounce of her away.

Daniela returns when I blink, her exhausted expression a welcome sight.

I scan the wet, black hair clinging to her skull and warily drag my fingers through it.

I manage to shift most of it over to my right shoulder, shielding as much of my damaged ear as I can.

There’s no help to disguise the black bruise around my left eye, however.

I try to counter it by making the rest of me seem as whole and as comfortable as possible.

It’s a laughable endeavor as I pull on Lucifer’s clothes. The shirt swallows me up like a child playing dress-up in her father’s clothes, but I manage to roll the waistband of the boxers until they fit somewhat snugly. I’m clean at least.

When I finally tiptoe back into the hall—with my stolen knife hidden safely in one of the boxer’s pockets—I do my best to appear at ease.

As if I’ve willingly encased myself within these four walls—though, in a way, I have.

Squalor gleams like paradise when compared to Vinny’s luxurious prison.

It’s easier than I would have thought to let my shoulders lose some of their tension.

I don’t smile though—that would be a step too far, even for a delirious captive.

I try to seem neutral instead, as if it’s completely natural for me to leave the shower dripping wet and wearing Lucifer’s clothes.

“You have a strange taste in wardrobe, Pyro,” the artist exclaims on a sharp exhale once he spots me near the mouth of the living room. “What happened to the cashmere sweaters and silk pants?”

I wince at the reminder of just how much control over my life—my identity—Vinny had. “I don’t have any clothes,” I say, choosing not to waste energy on a lie. “He...” Lucifer has a real name, and I struggle to remember it. Something with a D. “D-Dan... Dante is helping me get back on my feet.”

“Bad breakup?” the man asks. I can’t tell if he’s humoring me or making a logical guess.

“The worst.” For a second, I let the full horror of Vinny’s memory wash over me. That fear seeps into my blood, pooling within every muscle. Nothing about my reaction is faked, and the man takes notice.

He sits straighter, bracing both hands flat against his knees. “How do you know him? Dante.”

I reach up and fiddle with a strand of my hair as a distraction while I try to come up with a plausible lie.

There are none. In the end, I spit out the first scenario that comes to mind.

“He...he found me crying. He bought me something to eat.” I nod to the corroborating empty cartons of takeout on the counter behind me.

“He gave me a place to crash while...while I get back on my feet.” The appendages in question shuffle uneasily against the floor, and I have to dig my toes into the carpet before he notices.

“Hmph.” The man—I struggle to recall the name he gave me. Espi?—nods along with my tale. “So he found you naked and drunk on the street corner and didn’t call the police or take you to a hospital?”

I frown. I don’t remember telling that part of the story.

“I saw him,” the man adds, “carrying you up the stairs drunk out of your mind. You only had on a pair of—”

“D-do you want me to just say it?” I demand, injecting a false bit of shame into my voice. My heart races as I run out of options and just wing it. I’m drawing on a movie Vinny made me watch with him once . Pretty something. “My...my profession?”

His eyebrows shoot up into a fringe of black hair. “You mean...you’re a h...”

I say nothing, allowing him to draw the conclusion on his own. Prostitute. Call girl. Whore . How very fitting to describe it—in the end, that’s all I really ever was to Vinny. The explanation even ties in nicely with my bruised face and lack of proper clothing as well.

“Dante’s helping me,” I say, and for a second, I almost believe my own lie. “So I’d really prefer if you didn’t call the police...”

The devil’s brother says nothing. He merely watches me, and I can’t decipher any conclusions he comes to when he finally stands.

“Wait here,” he says before turning to the door.

“But—”

“Don’t move,” he says without turning around. “I’ll be right back.”

He leaves the door to the apartment open, allowing me to see him dart across the hall and open one of the other doors that appears to branch off the hallway.

It’s about two doors down from the “showroom,” and I can’t suppress a shudder while my mind conjures what other secrets he might pull from this new Pandora’s box.

A bag, apparently. It’s small, made of plastic, and sporting the name of a grocery store on the front .

“It’s not much,” the man tells me while letting the handle dangle from his hand. “Just a few things I could bother sparing for now. I can bring more over later when I—”

“L-later?” I reach out for the bag as if taking it might be enough to make him leave. “You can’t—”

“I have some...business to take care of now,” he says with a wary glance over his shoulder.

It’s the first sign of unease I’ve seen from him.

Spraying graffiti in Vinny’s territory or even waltzing into Lucifer’s lair didn’t affect him as much.

“But, when I’m done, I’ll come see you again.

Seeing as how you’re here of your own volition, Dante shouldn’t have a problem if you have visitors. Right?”

It’s like he’s daring me to tell the truth, and for the life of me, I don’t know why I don’t.

Lucifer’s nefarious intentions should be no concern of mine.

The red-haired man doesn’t deserve any protection against a stranger who might not be able to stomach the idea of a tortured woman kept in the wings for his amusement.

I have every reason to come clean.

In the end, I wrap my fingers around the handles of the bag and carefully pull it toward me.

It’s heavy. I hold both ends open to peek at what’s carefully packed inside it—what appear to be two sweatshirts, one red and one black, and a pair of jeans, which just may be small enough to fit around my waist at least. There’s also a pair of sandals and a canister of men’s deodorant still partially wrapped in packaging that sports the words Two Pack!

Something foreign pools into my stomach. Gratitude? It’s been so long since I’ve felt it. While the items might not seem like much to anyone else, I suspect that they were what few things in the world he had but was still willing to part with.

His generosity leaves me feeling greedy.

“Thank you.”

He shrugs. “Don’t mention it—seriously. Don’t say anything to Dante. ”

For the first time, I notice the hard way he pronounces the name. Crisp...almost the same way in which Vinny utters Daniela . Lucifer’s near-twin doesn’t share any love for him, it seems. He doesn’t want the wolf to know our secret.

But he doesn’t have to tell me twice. I aim to give the clothing back though—I have nowhere to hide it. But, before I even move to offer it to him, he’s already heading down the hall, his backpack hiked over one shoulder.

“See you around, Pyro Girl,” he calls back to me.

I don’t know how long I stand here, his bag in hand, before I finally gather the nerve to creep back inside.