Page 45 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

Up close, I realize that the property doesn’t contain just one house, but a collection of buildings.

At the front of the property sits a main square one formed out of brick.

A matching detached garage rests a few yards behind it, and then another building looms slightly over the rest, perched on a small hill at the mouth of the woods.

Neon decals flash from the square windows built into the lower level of the main building.

Mack’s is written in red script on a sign hanging above a blue door.

The man who came to the gate pulls it open, and pulsing music eagerly rushes out .

“After you.”

Lucifer enters first, his shoulders squared, his stance open and wary. Almost immediately, however, he relaxes, and I see why when I finally creep forward in his shadow.

The red-haired man is sitting on a stool on the other side of a narrow, packed barroom. When he sees Lucifer, he beckons him closer with a wave of his hand. “You made it.” He has to shout over the music—an angry pulse of hammering percussion and guitar riffs I can feel in my bones.

Lucifer grits his teeth and seems to have to physically keep his hands from slapping over his ears.

Jerking his chin, he indicates for me to follow him through a crowd of men and women wearing an array of ragged clothing Vinny certainly wouldn’t approve of.

Skirts more revealing than my “video costume,” ripped jeans, and dark leather clad this ragtag bunch.

They eye us warily, and the moment Lucifer reaches the bar, the music shuts off.

“Dante.” The greeting comes from a tall man with dark, closely cut hair who muscles his way through the crowd to approach Lucifer from his left side.

He’s wearing a leather vest, which hangs open to reveal a heavily muscled chest decorated in what seems to be an even mixture of scars and tattoos.

“Long time no see.” The man extends a hand.

There’s no hostility in his gaze, but Lucifer eyes his palm for a few seconds before slapping his own against it.

“Mack,” he says gruffly. His eyes cut over to the red-haired man as he speaks, and they share a silent look that I’m sure doesn’t go unnoticed by everyone else in the crowded room. Lucifer isn’t pleased by what I assume is a tense reunion.

The moment Mack draws his hand away, Lucifer steps toward the bar and jerks his shoulder in a subtle invitation for me to follow. I do, less out of obedience and more out of unease at the way the eyes of this stranger graze over my skin. Mistrustful. Hateful. Cold .

A choked sound catches in my throat as I bite back an irrational urge to snicker. Is this how Vinny felt in the few unguarded moments I looked at him and was too exhausted to tailor my expression?

No wonder he hit me.

“This her?” Mack inclines his chin toward me. His brown eyes linger over the V-neckline of my sweater, and he licks his lips. “Not bad.”

He takes a step toward me and nearly runs right into Lucifer’s chest. The devil says nothing, but I feel his presence all the way down to my bones.

Possession. Is that what this is? His claim has a different flavor than Vinny’s.

My skin prickles with his nearness. He may have already chewed me to pieces, but he isn’t quite willing to share me.

Yet.

“You’ve certainly done a number on her,” Mack ascertains. “Hey, Sammy!” He looks back at someone in the crowd and draws them out with a jerk of his chin. “Get over here.”

Lucifer doesn’t move, but suddenly, he seems taller. The shadows lingering around the periphery of the bar converge on him, deepening the definition of the muscles evident even beneath the leather of his coat.

“Relax.” Mack laughs, but the carefree emotion isn’t shared by the others gathered around us.

They tense and their eyes flicker from Dante to Mack and then Arno in the corner; it’s a silent tennis match.

“Sammy here’s a doctor of sorts.” Grinning, Mack places his hand on the shoulder of the considerably shorter figure who appears at his side.

Sammy is an older man, but he’s clean-shaven and seems nice enough—though his camouflage-print slacks and gray wifebeater certainly don’t scream “doctor.”

“Damn.” He whistles, his bloodshot eyes on my face. “You’ll definitely want to get that ear looked at. Unless you want it to turn gangrene and fall off!” He chuckles at what was apparently a joke, but it seems lost on everyone else.

“Let Sammy check her out,” Mack suggests. “While she’s gone...we can have a little chat.” His smile widens, but Lucifer doesn’t bother to return it.

There’s something he isn’t saying. Something that lurks beneath his skin and turns him to stone. Finally, he nods just once.

“Um...g-great.” Sammy takes a step toward me, reaching for my wrist.

Once again, Lucifer manages to dissuade anyone from touching me without even having to say a word. He merely inhales and poor Sammy shrinks beneath his gaze and quickly hastens two steps back.

I’m not stupid enough to mistake his actions for protection. He’s merely guarding his investment. I’m a pretty little toy he doesn’t want tarnished too badly. Vinny wouldn’t want me too broken after all.

The thought gives me the strength to step around Lucifer, implying that I’ll follow without having to be forced.

Sammy audibly sighs while Mack simply...

watches. His smile never wavers, but there’s no ounce of joy in it.

The man simply likes flexing his teeth, the same way a wolf does in the face of an opponent.

He doesn’t take Lucifer’s lack of reaction as an insult.

He accepts it as a challenge.

For whatever reason, he doesn’t follow me when I head toward the back of the bar with Sammy leading the way. Whether he’s welcome to or not, Lucifer falls into step behind me, and I hate this part of me that feeds off his presence.

Alone, Lynn would shrink inside herself, trapped with all of these unfamiliar men. She’d hate where their eyes leered as she crept past them, unsteady in her boots. Her heart would race, and she’d entertain—for a minute—that returning to Vinny wasn’t the worst possible fate a woman could face .

Arno and his brutes were drunk on revenge. These men are driven by another thought that makes my skin crawl once I identify it. Greed.

I keep my gaze trained on Sammy’s brown curls, but I can smell the others. I hear them.

“Pretty little bitch.”

“Looks like she can take a hit. I wonder how many.”

“Hot piece of ass.”

It’s only when Lucifer takes a step closer to me that they fall silent.

His heat burns through my back. His breath rustles the hair at the nape of my neck.

It’s like he’s breathing his scent onto my skin—marking me in a way that even these animals are forced to respect.

Does he do it out of duty to our private bargain?

Or merely because he likes exerting his authority over men who would be foolish to challenge him?

It’s an amusing thought to consider as Sammy finally comes to a stop before a wooden door decorated with strips of police caution tape.

“Ladies first,” he says while opening the door, revealing the small room beyond it.

I’m surprised to find that it’s organized like a makeshift clinic. There’s a black recliner in the center and a row of counters against the wall, cluttered with trays of syringes and vials. So maybe less of a clinic and more like...a druggie’s paradise.

“I can t-take it from here,” Sammy says when Lucifer starts to follow me inside the room.

“Yeah, he’s got it,” another man seconds. Tall and imposing, he comes from nowhere to guard the door, conveniently inserting a foot in between me and Lucifer.

“Come on, Dante,” Mack playfully scolds from across the room. “Leave the women to their business.”

He’s outnumbered. I can sense his frustration in a single grunt that sends loose strands of my hair flying, but I suspect I’m the only one who notices.

The next second, he’s gone, heading toward Mack and Arno.

The lack of his presence is like a Band-Aid being forcefully ripped from a wound.

I don’t know if I miss it or if I’m relieved by its loss.

At least, now, I can bleed in peace.

“Step right up,” Sammy says with a nervous laugh.

I tear my gaze from Lucifer’s retreating form and cross over the threshold. He gestures toward the recliner, and I settle onto the edge of it while the door shuts with the one thug on the other side of it.

Sammy eyes me carefully, clicking his tongue.

“Let’s get a look at that ear.” He reaches for the hair on my right side and then hesitates as if silently asking for permission.

I nod, and he withdraws the strands, groaning when he sees the wound up close.

“Jesus! Did they let a fucking butcher take it off with a hacksaw?” He shakes his head at such a poor method of torture. “Sloppy. Just fucking sloppy.”

Muttering under his breath, he turns to the counter. There’s a long mirror hanging on the wall above it, and I studiously observe his hands as they flit over the scattered materials.

“It’s a bit too old to do much, I’m afraid,” he says. “Otherwise, I’d attempt stitches. I can clean it for you, at least.” He glances over at me and winks. “I wasn’t kidding about the gangrene.”

From behind him, my reflection stares back. The haunted shell seems a little more animated now. There’s a harder line to her jaw that wasn’t there before. She’s on edge. She’s anxious. The man before her keeps sneaking glances at a vial of liquid when he thinks she isn’t looking.

“I should clean it with some peroxide, I guess.” He approaches me with only a bottle of alcohol in his hand and a wad of gauze.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself not to react as he methodically cleans what’s left of my ear. The burning sting goads my eyes into watering, and I can’t suppress a wince when he presses too hard .

“Oops!” He drops a bloodied bit of gauze to the floor, and I automatically lean down to grab it—but he expects the motion. His fingers are already waiting to seize my wrist, holding tight while he jabs a needle fished from his pocket into my vein.

“Shhh.” His free hand traps my mouth as a searing heat shoots through my wrist.

A drug. Whatever it is works fast. Already, my body feels heavy. It takes twice as much effort than it should to stick the fingers of my left hand into the pocket and find my knife.

After several tries, I clench it in my fist and jab it straight back, striking whatever is in reach.

“Son of a bitch!”

Sammy’s hand slips from my mouth, and I lunge from the chair, aiming for the door...but my legs move too slowly. I land on my side, my feet still tangled in the armrest of the chair. The fall knocks the air from my lungs. God, I feel so heavy.

“Fuck! Fuck!”

I can hear Sammy scrambling behind me before a crushing weight slams into my lower back. Grasping fingers graze the side of my jaw, seeking out my mouth again while I gather the strength to suck in one last gulp of air and release it on a single scream.

“ Dante !”