Page 87 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

Nearly a block ahead, a gated townhouse burns beneath the glow of a wild, uncontrolled fire. Firemen attempt to battle the blaze, but I can tell even from here that they aren’t wasting too much energy trying. It’s a lost cause—the kind of shit that screams“intentionally set. ”

“We...we don’t know if she was even in there,” someone says—maybe Espi.

They may not know, but I do. Her scent rides the wind, mingling with the smoke. She was here.

The little bird got tired of waiting for me, apparently; and she set her entire cage on fire.

I’ve been stabbed before. Shot once. Beaten. Punched. Stomped. None of that shit felt like this does. It’s part amusement, part hatred, part fucking rage, and I can’t see anything but black . Vinny won after all—he took her soul right down to Hell with him.

And all I can do is...laugh.

The sound trickles out of me like blood. First in unsteady drips, and then a steady, gruff stream. I laugh so hard that I have to cling to the van for balance. Then the laughter turns into a different sound—deeper, more guttural—and the hand I brace against the vehicle door becomes a fist.

A hammering thud echoes off the inside of my skull at least ten times before I finally connect it to the metal meeting my knuckles.

Again. Again. Again. The blood and the dents beginning to decorate the front of Mack’s van are irrelevant.

I can’t stop fighting. I can’t stop punching.

I can’t stop. Not even as a sharper, higher-pitched sound battles the shouts and curses echoing after every hit I land.

The newer sound is insistent—more annoying than the typical buzzing. A song? I don’t know what about it makes me turn and notice Espi’s good hand reaching into his pocket, his mouth twisted in confusion as he withdraws a cell phone.

I snatch it out of his grip before he can answer. His little story didn’t mention Stacatto giving it back before he’d run. When I scan the screen, the name flashing across it makes me grit my teeth so hard that they crack: Pyro Girl .

With my focus on the ruins of Stacatto’s latest hideout, I strike the call button and bring the receiver to my mouth. “Dan...Danny?”

“She’s alive,” a man replies.

Anger nearly short-circuits my brain—but his accent is different from Stacatto’s. It’s heavier. Eastern European.

“If you want to see her again, you’ll do as I say.”

I feel Espi’s gaze on the back of my neck, but I don’t turn around. I swallow hard instead and flex the fingers of my free hand. Do as I say? Is the little bitch really worth becoming some asshole’s puppet? Hell no. But, when my jaw finally unhooks, I spit the wrong word out. “What?”

The man inhales, but the sound doesn’t betray an ounce of emotion.

He’s plotting the next stage of his plan, surprised that I even gave in this far.

The girl claimed that Stacatto had a Polish man working for him.

This fucker certainly sounds cold enough to have played Arno for the fool at a madman’s say-so.

“Come to the riverbank. Alone,” he says finally. “Two blocks, make a right, first alley on your left. Leave your men behind—I cannot stress how important that is... I would really hate to snap her neck and throw her body in the river if you cannot comply with such a simple request.”

“How do I even know that you have her?” I scan the street and spot a break between two houses where the sunset reflects off the surface of the river. I head toward it and thrust a single hand out behind me to prevent anyone from following.

“You don’t,” the man replies, his voice steady. “I suppose you just have to decide how badly you want to see her again. Turn left.” The command comes before I even reach the mouth of the alley. The fucker must be watching.

Wary, I drag my gaze along the row of houses and empty alleyways but find nothing of interest. He’s a slick bastard.

“Take the next right,” he says when I reach the end of yet another alley.

The direction is slightly different from the first ones he gave— it was a test, I realize, to see if I’d go charging in with Arno in tow.

Still cautious, the fucker leads me in circles to further shake anyone who might be on my trail, but when I finally do reach the waterfront, there’s no one in sight.

Before anger can begin to rise up, I hear a voice that doesn’t sound like it’s coming from the phone.

“Over here.”

I turn a corner and finally spot a man standing in the shadows beside a dumpster up ahead. One hand is holding a cell phone against his ear while the other casually reaches into his pocket and draws a gun.

“That is far enough,” he says quietly, aiming the barrel over my chest.

Armed with only the girl’s shitty knife, I’m the perfect target. I’m also a fucking idiot. Either way, the bastard has another thing coming if he thinks I’ll go down without a fight. But, before the thought even fully crosses my mind, the man jerks his chin toward the garbage bin.

“Wait there,” he says into the cell phone.

Then he hangs up and backs away slowly, never letting the gun slack for even a second.

When he’s almost completely behind the dumpster, he stoops behind it and reappears with something draped over his shoulder.

“Approach me slowly,” the man warns. “I will be able to tell if you plan to attack me, and while you may kill me, I’ll snap her neck before you can even take the first step. ”

Shoving Espi’s phone into my pocket, I blink back the red threatening to drench my vision.

My fingers flex, but I keep them open as I start forward while sizing the other man up with the same scrutiny he’s analyzing me with.

He’s no average fuck, standing at about my height but with a stocky build that betrays a knowledge of hand-to-hand combat.

His blond hair is slicked back, his chin sporting a slightly darker goatee.

When he comes closer, I recognize the coldness in his eyes as the mark of a trained killer .

“She is alive,” he tells me once I see the girl dangling limply against his back for myself. “But I will warn you that she is in bad shape—I only just got her out in time. I will set her down between us. You reach for her slowly.”

I don’t move until he does what he said. When I crouch beside the woman lying on the pavement, I barely recognize her face beneath the bruising. Stacatto had enough time to do some damage. She’s wearing another skimpy, black dress, but it only reveals more battered, broken skin.

“She was badly burned,” the man states the moment my gaze settles on the red, blistering flesh spreading from her wrist to her shoulder.

“The other arm is broken. Who knows what internal injuries she’s sustained.

If you do not keep a doctor in your... establishment, then I suggest that you get her to a hospital as soon as you can. ”

I don’t answer, prodding the girl’s hip with my thumb. Her eyes are closed, her breathing noisy and uneven. She doesn’t even cry out when I lift her and jostle the limp arm that even I can tell is definitely broken. She’s worse than “pretty bad off,” but she’s alive...

I’m not stupid enough to assume that it’s by luck.

“Why?” I demand of the stranger watching me with an expression I can’t read when I toss her over my shoulder.

He shrugs. Then a real emotion taints his features, tugging on the corner of his mouth.

“My...my sister was one of the women that you saved.” He pauses to let that statement sink in.

“Anastasia, a foolish little seventeen-year-old girl who fell for the first man who offered to take her to America ‘to be a model.’ It wasn’t her they were after, however.

I have experience in the military, and my.

..unique skillset makes me a useful commodity.

” His tone falls flat. He discusses his own value the same way someone might tick off their eye color.

“Stacatto wasn’t the one who took her—a ‘business associate’ of his did—but as long as I worked for him, he promised that she would stay alive.

..even if her soul didn’t remain intact.

” His voice deepens, a gruff note straining the crisp edges.

“A life for a life. I assume this makes us even. Besides...a man like Vincent Stacatto deserved to die alone.”

I can’t fucking agree more.

“I would have saved her regardless,” the man adds, “but I cannot pretend that I will not ask you for a favor that I am willing to repay. I need money to send my sister back home—but I am willing to work for it. If you are in need of a man with my...attributes, then call the number in your cell phone. Ask for Gino. With Stacatto dead, I am in need of a new employer, and my loyalty will lie with whoever is willing to earn it...”

I don’t say a damn thing, but the man nods as if I’ve given a goddamn speech.

“And one other thing,” he adds, frowning. “That boy. It was implied that he was you when his location was given to Stacatto—”

“ Given ?”

Something in my tone makes the man nod again, which confirms a suspicion before I even have to mention it out loud. Espi didn’t stumble into Stacatto’s clutches by accident; someone offered him up on a fucking silver platter.

“The information came from one man,” Gino admits.

“A Donahugh. I do not know how he came across such intel, but something tells me that it won’t be hard for you to track him down and ask him yourself.

” The words barely finish leaving his mouth before he raises the gun again and backs away toward the nearest alley.

“We will part for now. I would suggest that you not follow me.”