Page 125 of Crescendo

Dante

I can still smell the bitch. The loss of her heat is what wakes me up, and my fingers are already on fire as my eyes finally open. Red prickles my vision the moment I sense she’s not in the room—but I’m more pissed when I realize just who the irritation is directed at. For some reason, itisn’tat the bitch with the shower running, once again eager to wash me away.

Fuck her...

My cock wants to. It throbs for that stupid cunt, and I scan the room on the off chance I might find my balls somewhere close by. For all I know, she hacked them off in my sleep—it’s the only goddamn reason that can explain my lying beside her on this fucking bed. Instead, I find her knife on the mattress, and I grab it, clenching the handle as I consider ending this game now onmysay-so.

Fuck her.

Keeping her close made sense with Mack hungry for revenge. It had nothing to do with her. Not her heat. Not her smell. Not her...

My fingers burn as if to counter that as I curl a fist and slam it against the mattress so hard that the knuckles pop.

Fuck her.

I should—just force my way into the bathroom and corner her there in the shower before she can scrub me from her skin. I’ll mark her again out of spite. Bite her. Come on her. Come in her. Take her. Claim her.

Drag her back to this fucking bed.

Vincent Stacatto may have owned her soul, but I’ll take the rest before I kill her. I’ll beat his claim out of her with every orgasm and every fuck until her lips forgot how to fucking say “Vinny.” Or maybe I’ll settle for branding her again until she burns with my name. Until she can only saymyname.

My mouth aches, stretched into a position it’s not used to forming as I shift to the edge of the bed. A smile? A snarl. Whatever it fucking is remains fixed in place when I finally stand and make my way into the hallway. Near the bathroom, my nostrils flare to breathe her in, and a growl rips from my throat as I analyze that scent. Vinny’s little whore can’t erase me with soap and water this time.

Palming the handle of the sliding door, I picture her on the other side. Would it hurt her to take my cock so soon after the last time?

I’m curious to find out, and I twist the latch.

“Dante!”

The front door trembles with the force of the fist that’s I assume rapping on it from the other side. The girl’s knife is already in my hand, the blade at the ready—but the voice that shouts over the pounding keeps me from drawing it.

“Dante, open the fuck up.”

When I finally do, Arno’s already halfway down the stairs, jerking his head for me to follow.

“We need to talk—awayfrom your little pet.”

“Fine.” With one last look down the hall, I slam the door behind me and follow him down to the main level.

Arno doesn’t stop moving until he’s straddling the threshold of the doorway, glaring out at the gray sky. Sparks practically fly off his hair; the bastard’s a live wire, aching to electrocute the fuck out of whoever pissed him off.

“What is it?”

“Mack’s decided how I can ‘repay’ the life I took,” he finally growls, his gaze on the storm clouds rolling in over the horizon.

“Oh, really?” I grit my teeth, my hands curled into fists. Whatever this means, it can’t be good. “How?”

“A cage match. No holds barred.” Arno looks back, staring me dead in the eye as he adds, “It can be a death match at the victor’s discretion.”

“Bullshit.” Only fucking Mack would dangle a rule like that—knowing just who had the advantage. “Fuck that. I’ll talk to him—”

“You won’t,” Arno cuts in.

“The hell I won’t. If Mack wants you, he’ll go through me.” I mean every word—but, for once, the pup doesn’t back down, and this time, I’m the one who looks away.

“No, he won’t,” Arno grunts. “You don’t get to fight this battle.”

“Arno—”