Page 4 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

“Wow. Fun night.” The stranger whistles under his breath and then waves his hand toward the wall. “Looks like I’ve picked the best person to take on the devil. Here. Give it your best shot.” He nods once at the mural, and I follow his gaze.

Something inside me simply can’t resist the allure. It’s surprisingly tempting to wield such power over someone else’s creation. The paint can drifts upward before I realize it, and my thumb strikes the nozzle.

I jump when a jet of white paint speckles the wall amid a hungry hiss.

The “Devil” watches me with burning eyes as I aim in the general direction of his head.

I’m too short to clear it completely and the next stream of white hits the top of his carefully coiffed hair.

For some reason, it’s easier to ignore the guilt this time. I keep spraying. Painting. Defacing.

For exactly thirty-four seconds, Vinny’s men are in another universe. There’s only me and a skinny stranger and the Devil being doused in white paint. Despite everything, I take my time forming a single shape, though my ineptitude is obvious.

Chuckling, my stranger points it out to me the moment my hand falls to my side. “Is that a halo? Or a...D?”

My mouth quirks into an unusual shape. A smile? “Both,” I say.

“Both.” He shrugs as if it makes perfect sense. “Well done, Pyro Girl. You’ve turned my villain into a superhero.”

Something inside me twitches, stung. If only it were that easy. My grip tightens over the can of spray paint again. Would Vinny be as easy to shape? The stranger takes it from me before I can settle on an answer.

“Thanks,” he says while returning the can to his bag. “You’ve solved that dilemma. But what exactly does the D stand for? Devil?”

I shake my head. “D for Dan—” My teeth clamp shut, cutting the word off, but I’m too late.

The stranger notices my hesitation. Names are dangerous. Vinny alone has three for me, each one representing a different facet of the person he’s shaped me to be. Lynn is the good, obedient girl. Daniela is a nuisance . Mi Bella is the creature I never want to fully become.

“Danny,” I blurt out suddenly. “D for Danny.”

He nods, once again letting my insecurities go unchecked. It’s a small kindness that rubs at something deep inside me. “Cute name, Danny. I’m Espi.”

“Espi?”

“It’s short for something,” he says without elaborating. “Maybe I’ll let you know what on our next adventure?” He turns on his heel and fades around a corner before I can say anything in response.

Such as that there won’t be another “adventure”? I’ll pay for this stolen moment with months of increased security. Little birdies mustn’t seek fresh air from their cages for too long. I’ll pay for this...

But my body can’t quite muster up the urge to shiver as I begin the trek back toward the hotel.

Vinny’s men are five minutes late, and surprisingly, one of them isn’t waiting for me by the emergency exit when I arrive.

I enter the stairwell to silence. My footsteps echo off the elegant walls once I reach the topmost floor unaccosted.

I’m panting. A layer of sweat glosses my skin, and something inside me is shaking—but it isn’t fear.

I can still smell spray paint. I can still feel the stranger’s hands on my skin.

I glance down and find a smudge of black on my wrist. My first instinct is to rub it away.

With every inch I travel closer to Vinny’s suite, the more that smudge blares from the shadows like a betraying beacon.

My tongue shoots out to dampen my lips, but I tug my sleeve lower rather than erase it.

I flinch at the sight of the pink fabric. It’s still crusty with blood.

“Are you all right, miss?” The guard by the door is in the same position I left him last. He watches me approach with an unreadable expression. Was he counting the minutes?

I’ve been out for nearly ten. I’m convinced that his feigned ignorance is a trap. The moment I step through that door, Vinny will be waiting on the other end of it with a stopwatch in hand. Where the hell were you, Daniela? Whose scent is on you? Who touched you?

“Miss?”

I blink. The guard has the door open, revealing the grand entryway illuminated by a gleaming chandelier, but there’s no one lying in wait when I step over the threshold. Hushed voices reach my ears as I head across the suite. My heart pounds, nearly drowning them out.

“Clean this shit up...”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find out who they work for.”

Those men. The ones who attacked me near the subway—who knew exactly where a lone, unarmed woman would be that time of night.

A traitorous snicker trickles out of me before I can help it while my eyes burn and begin to blur.

I can only pray that no one heard me—the living room is empty, at least. Vinny’s men are busy tonight.

I hear thuds and footsteps coming from the office.

They could just be moving furniture—if it weren’t for the sickly thud made between the efficient tap of loafers on wood.

The door is open, and I can’t stop myself from peering at the sliver of the room revealed beyond it.

I can only make out Vinny’s desk and a pair of thick hands braced on top of it.

“Lynn?”

I freeze in my tracks. “Yes...yes, Vinny? ”

“Get to bed.” His tone is gruff, crisp. He’s angry.

He’d brooding. The glee that fills him at the sight of death has faded to a smoldering lust for revenge.

His emotions contain the same wild, untamed energy of a match—only a few whacks with a hoodie won’t be enough to put his wrath out. “ Now , goddamn it!”

“Yes, Vinny.”

It takes me exactly twelve seconds to hurry down the hall and pry the door to my “bedroom” open. Vinny designed every last detail: the soft-pink walls, the white lace lining the canopy of my bed, and the plush, ivory floor rug.

It’s been a comfortable cage for the last four years.

The only object out of place is a wide case propped carefully against the wall beside my vanity.

I nearly choke on a wave of disappointment that swamps me, and I tear my gaze away to the window instead.

I watch the city silhouetted against the sheer, white curtains as I peel my clothing off and tuck them neatly in the hamper near my bed.

A white nightgown has already been laid out for me, resting on the white duvet.

I shut the light off and pull it on in darkness.

Then I slip beneath the blankets and try not to dream.

It hurts to dream these days. Instead, I close my eyes and picture a devil watching from the shadows.