Page 55 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Dante

Fuck her.

Rain glances off my back as I circle the garage and head straight for the perimeter. Mack’s guard dogs must still be asleep this early; there’s no one to block my path when I reach the woods surrounding the property. There’s no one here to get in my fucking way, either. No one to punch.

When my vision bleeds red, I improvise and pick a tree, punching until the bark rips at my knuckles.

Splinters of wood chip off and go flying, but I don’t let up until I’m shouting with every goddamn blow.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck-fuck!” I slam my fist against the tree one last time and hear something crack. A bone? A branch? My fucking sanity?

Whatever it is, I don’t give a shit. The loss of it doesn’t erase the memory of her. Her skin. Her heat. Her fucking wet cunt. The tighter feel of her channel...

It’s not enough to just punch. I tear until my fucking nails are shredded and all I see is goddamn red. The buzzing roars through my ears, but even it isn’t loud enough to drown her voice out .

“I need you. Please. I need you.”

How fucking cute; she needed to be fucked in the ass. The little princess loved having a dirty, naughty criminal violate her in ways even her crime lord of a fiancé wouldn’t—because, of course, that fucker had to be the reason why she wanted it.

I could have stomached being used if she’d sobbed like a little bitch the way I had—but not with how she looked at me...hungry, full, desperate, needy. Fuck her. I could have, too. I could have draped the little bitch in my cum and sent her to Stacatto just like that...

But the bastard wasn’t on her mind when I sank into her to the hilt. I saw her eyes. Saw into her. His name didn’t come from her lips...and I will make her pay for that.

“Fuck her...” My voice isn’t hard enough. Angry enough. I need to feel the anger. I need to erase her taste from my mouth, and I spit her out, grinding the evidence into the earth with my bare fucking foot.

It’s still not enough. My cock still drips with her—throbs for her—and it’s a good thing I left the knife behind, because nothing would stop me from sawing the fucker off.

Now, more than ever, I crave the violence of the cage.

I should find Mack and demand a rematch.

I need to crush, tear, and bite. I need to. ..

Fuck her.

Yes, a sick fucking part of me agrees. Fuck her. Taste her. Claim her. Mount her. Take her again. Make her scream...

“Dante?”

The voice sinks through the scarlet haze like a hook. Shit. I blink until the forest regains its natural hues of brown and green, but one splotch of color doesn’t belong. Darcy is standing only a few yards away from me, pale and slender between two trees.

In the distance, I can make out the garage. I haven’t gone far.

“Dante?”

Irritated, I drag my gaze back to Darcy. Her eyes widen as they trail over my chest, taking in the bruises and blood .

“Stay away from me,” I tell her before she can even take a step closer.

“Dante, your hands—”

They’re shredded, but I curl them into fists, ignoring the pain. “What do you want?”

Darcy flinches at my tone, and I finally notice the gray duffel she’s carrying, slung over one shoulder.

“I...I brought her some clothes. You too.”

Clothes . With a harsh sigh, I run a hand through my hair, feeling the raw skin protest. “Give them to me.” I stalk forward and snatch for the straps. The bag feels light when I swing it against my back and head for the garage.

Darcy follows, but I don’t send her away—her silent questions pelt my skin though.

I don’t offer any explanation as I wrench the door to the garage open.

I need to be numb. I need to be smart .

Mack’s original plan is sounding more plausible by the second; the sooner the bitch goes back to Stacatto in pieces, the better.

I picture it as I mount the stairs and barrel straight for the bathroom.

The little bitch beat me to the punch, however.

While I was gone, she managed to wrestle the sliding door in place.

When I pull on the handle, it rattles but won’t budge. She locked it.

The simple act drains me of rage, and I wind up laughing while Darcy watches. I hear the shower running, and I can almost taste the steam as Stacatto’s whore washes all traces of me away. Knowing that I’m standing here must make her scrub a little harder, curled up in the corner of the stall.

I laugh again, and then I toss the duffel against the wall so hard that something inside it cracks.

“There was... I packed some d-deodorant,” Darcy says, her eyes wide, but she doesn’t move to pick it up.

She keeps her distance, and there’s less shock in her gaze than I originally thought.

Living with Mack must have made her immune to a bastard’s temper by now.

“I...I’m going to make you some breakfast.”

Before I can protest, she wiggles her way past me and rummages through the cupboards in the kitchen.

She must spend enough time in the place to keep it stocked with food.

There are eggs and a carton of milk in the fridge.

In the cupboards, she finds a box of pancake mix and sets to work with an ease that betrays a mothering instinct she had even five years ago.

She may have changed the man in her bed, but underneath, she was still the same Darcy.

I don’t like how much comfort a twisted part of me takes from that.

In the end, I approach the couch and sit down, eyeing my torn, bleeding hands.

I’ve even tracked blood across the tan carpet with scarlet-tinged footprints.

“I can bandage you up when I finish,” Darcy offers without glancing up from her work at the stove. “Mack keeps first aid kits under the sink.”

I don’t answer. It doesn’t seem to matter whether I bleed now or later. Arno wants a war, and well, he is about to get one, courtesy of the bitch scurrying from the bathroom and wearing the jeans I bought her and a ripped sweater held together by two pale hands.

Darcy swallows hard when she sees her; a shower only erased some of the blood.

Her lip is still bleeding, painting her chin in fresh droplets of it, but her princess mask is firmly in place again.

She doesn’t look at me once, not even when she has to face in my direction to see the duffel Darcy’s pointing out to her.

“I...I brought you some clothes.”

Clothes . The word takes a minute to register. Once it does, she nods and stoops for the bag before scurrying into the bedroom. The door slams shut behind her, and I hear the lock engage once again.

“Look...” Darcy pauses, an egg in one hand and a spatula in the other.

She doesn’t look up right away, but I know that her eyes are the color of steel.

“I may know about Mack’s... business , but there are rules.

I don’t allow it. Not around me.” She’s implying something.

Hinting at it. “I don’t know who that woman is, but if you’re hurting her. ..”

“I’m not.”

She glances up and holds my gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then she nods just once. “Okay, then.”

I say nothing else while she scrapes food from the pan and eventually hands me a plate of scrambled eggs and pancakes.

I eat with my hands, ignoring the gritty taste of dirt and salt.

When I’m done, I stand and reach past Darcy to dump my plate into the sink just as the bedroom door opens and Stacatto’s woman finally tiptoes out of it.

Darcy must have given her the plain, white shirt with long sleeves that reach her fingertips and hide the cut in her palm.

She’s wearing the jeans I gave her, but there are socks on her feet and a pair of baby-blue sneakers that fit her better than the boots did.

She’s pulled her hair back as well, but the style only serves to reveal the mess of her ear.

I don’t miss the way Darcy’s eyes cut over to me when she notices.

I ignore her as I push my way past the woman scrambling against the doorjamb to enter the bedroom. Inside the duffel, I find a few men’s T-shirts and jeans. I grab one of each and enter the bathroom, where I take my turn washing the bitch off my skin.

Twenty minutes later, I return to the main room of the apartment and find her and Darcy watching each other.

If they spoke at all, they apparently didn’t have much to say.

Neither woman’s gaze reveals anything when they turn to watch me shove my feet into my boots and head for the door.

Before descending the stairs, I glance back at Darcy, my voice cold, my temper honed and ready .

“Take me to Mack.”

The bastard is in the bar again. Like Arno, he seems to enjoy rising before the ass crack of dawn, but he apparently isn’t as fond of sampling his own merchandise.

He’s nursing a glass of water instead and a handful of what I assume is beef jerky, the package on the bar in front of him.

Arno sits on the stool closest to the wall.

He may have come crawling to Mack, but he has enough sense to always guard his back, at least.

Mack always has liked sticking his knives there, after all.

“Eh, Kitty!” The bastard tears off a chunk of meat with his teeth and noisily washes it down with a chug of the water. “Out of your litter box so soon? I gave you a day.” His eyes narrow in suspicion even as he flashes a grin. “I expected you to let me sweat it out down to the last fucking hour.”

And, any other time, I would have. “I want this over,” I admit through clenched teeth. I know without even having to turn and see for myself that Darcy and the woman followed me inside. I raise my fist and force it to open to jab my thumb toward the bar. “Sit.”