Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters Book 1)

by Lana Sky

  Fuck her.

  Keeping her close had 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 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 say my name.

  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 I assume raps 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—away from 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 straddles 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 eyes 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—”

  “Don’t fucking Arno me, Dante,” he snaps. “Don’t treat me like a goddamn idiot, either. This is my fight.” His voice breaks and I can’t even look at him. I don’t know what might happen if I do. I might punch him. He might hit back harder.

  So, I grit my teeth and flex my fists, and I think of Mack. “That bastard’s had this coming a long time.”

  I glance over to see Arno nod. “Damn right he has. He never got over the fact that Dino chose you. Not him. Not even me. You. There were men that he’d run with for decades who didn’t earn the same honor.”

  “Don’t make it something that it wasn’t,” I hiss, shaking my head. “Dino didn’t do sentimental. He picked me because I was the fucker who shouted back ‘how high’ when he said ‘jump.’” I don’t know if I’m ashamed of that though. If Dino said “jump” there was always a fucking good reason to leap.

  “He picked you because he saw himself in you,” Arno says. “Dante, the little shit with claws.” He tries and fails to mimic the man’s thick Irish accent. “It’s true, ya know. You are the most like him, and it affects the people around you the same as it did him.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean—”

  “Don’t you ever wonder why Espi hates you so much?” he starts, cutting me off. “It’s the same fucking reason why I hated Dino.”

  “Why’s that, then?” I can’t ignore the unease in my voice. Arno rarely mentioned Dino in any context outside of the past. Hell, even before I went to prison, he rarely referred to the man as his father.

  “Espi hates you because he can’t change you. You are who you are. No matter how hard he tries, or whatever reasons he has to, he just can’t blame you for being the only way you know how to be, and he hates himself more for wanting you to change. He won’t admit it, but Espi hates you because it’s the only fucking way he can keep from hating himself.”

  Arno takes a deep breath and exhales loudly, “Look, Dino had his own battles. You’ve had yours. This one is mine.”

  When I turn to face him, the man staring back is the old bastard I remember before grief wore him down and pain left him jagged. Arnold Mackenzie who’d been forced to beg for scraps in his father’s own gang—and nobody better fucking forget it.

  “This is my fight,” I say, watching his jaw clench. “Danny—she killed that fucker. His blood is on my hands.” I still can’t believe that. The little lamb grew fangs. She taught herself how to bite back hard—and I had seen it in her eyes; the little bitch relished in it.

  But for whatever reason, Arno’s determined to take credit for her kill. “I only came here...I only came to say goodbye,” he says over his shoulder, facing the doorway again. “Or...whatever.”

  He starts forward, but I grab his arm before he can take off. “When?”

  “When else?” he snaps, shrugging my hand away. “Mack gave me the ‘honor’ of choosing the time. I chose now. It’s better than drawing it out...” He breaks off, once he sees the figure leaning against the door to the pit up ahead.

  Mack must have laid off the alcohol last night to be up this fucking early—though I don’t think Arno can say the same. He’ll have to be twice as fast against a well-rested opponent. Twice as ruthless. “I’ve got your back,” I say.

  Still walking, he looks over his shoulder, and something crosses his expression but disappears before I can name it—and it’s a good fucking thing it does. Anything but hate is a liability in Mack’s kennel. Knowing that, Arno remains silent as he leads the way to the entrance where Mack’s already waiting, his cocky grin firmly in place.

  “How did I have a feeling that the puppy would go running right to the cat?” he wonders, rubbing his chin.

  “Fuck you,” Arno says, but I meet Mack’s gaze head-on and flash a mocking smile of my own. It’s all teeth, and the fucker knows a threat when he senses it. He opens his stance.

  “Arno didn’t ask me for shit,” I admit. “But...if you want to fight anyone, it’s going to be me.”

  “Dante.” Arno grinds my name between his teeth, “Stay the fuck out of this—”

  “Arno can have the winner,” I say over him, my eyes squarely on Mack. “But you fight me first.”

  If anything, Mack smiles wider and he turns and opens the door to the pit, instantly rousing the dogs inside. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Mack doesn’t stack the audience today. Just a carefully chosen few are there to witness his victory. I spot Darcy among them, her gray eyes watching and wary.

  The bastard wants to repeat history, apparently. The setup is similar to our last match before I got shipped off to prison—back when Mack challenged me for the crown Dino shoved onto my head by taking a bullet to the brain and tossing his “kingdom” into turmoil.

  Five years later not much has changed. Mack still has the same cocky swagger, and I’m not much different from the punk I’d been back then. The biggest differenc
e of all, however, is that this time...

  I don’t want to lose.

  “I say we make this interesting, Kitty.” Stalking toward the ring, Mack strips off his shirt—apparently, there won’t be a warm-up before this match; we’ll fight with whatever energy we already have in reserve. “Winner not only gets to decide what to do with little Arnold over there, but...they also get to keep the spoils.” He gives the word enough emphasis to make it crystal fucking clear what he means: I win and I get the Saints. If he wins, he gets her. Being shown up by the little bitch twice hasn’t sat well with him, apparently. Chuckling, he watches me process the raised stakes while he opens his stance, baring his teeth. This time, he keeps his jeans on, but he lets his scars do the talking—many of them put there by me.

  It’s only when I wrench off my own shirt that I remember my brand new markings, courtesy of a little bitch with eyes like fire and a monster in her head. If I lost this match, I knew without a fucking doubt that Mack wouldn’t kill me—no, he’d want me alive to watch him fuck her.

  “Danny,” he smirks, reading the brand while rubbing his chin. “Interesting. Pick your weapon, Kitty.” When he enters the pit, the fucker draws his own weapons from both pockets. Two knives honed sharp enough to slice the light reflected off them.

  I don’t move. Unlike Mack, I don’t carry a fucking arsenal in my pockets, though, on second thought... I feel something against my hip, and my fingers settle over a familiar hilt: the girl’s silly little knife. The blade won’t make a fucking difference in a true fight, but for some reason, I palm it anyway and head forward to join Mack in the center of the cage. One of his men is there to slam the door shut behind me, and there is no gun firing off to mark the start of this battle.

  Two seconds. That’s how long Mack allows us to circle each other before he lunges and I react purely on instinct. There are no games this time. He jabs at my side with one of the blades and slashes at my throat with the other—apparently, I underestimated the fucker. A death match it is then.

  I can only block one of his blows; I uppercut with my right fist, deflecting the blade from my chin. A quick jab right lessens how deeply his second knife cuts into me, but it’s deep enough to fucking sting. My blood speckles the sand when I pull back, and I know that I won’t be able to draw any of his with only this shitty little knife.

  The mad dog chose his arena and his weapons well. Without an audience to preen for he’s reverted to the fucking basics: rage, hate and his bare hands. “Come on Kitty,” he goads, circling my position on the balls of his feet. “Make a fucking move.”

  A low hum rips through my skull. Every time I blink, Mack turns red and any other time I would have taken him up on the challenge—damn how many wounds it might cost me.

  All that holds me back now is...

  “Afraid you left your little bitch waiting?” Mack asks. The next second he’s on me, fists flying, and with every blow he lands, the buzzing in my skull grows louder—deafening—but I still hear his next words, “When I kick your ass I’ll be sure to pay her a visit. My name will look nice on that tight little ass, eh Dante?”

  Black. I go blind. My ears pop, and I can’t hear a fucking thing. Vibration is the only sensation that keeps me tethered; bone and flesh reverberating beneath my goddamn fists. Over and over again. Mack could have Dino’s playground—but not her.

  Stacatto’s whore is a little toy that I’m not willing to share. Not until I drag every dark, twisted little desire from her head. Not until I make her admit the secrets she won’t even spill to herself. Not until I own her fully...

  Mack won’t have her. No one fucking will.

  Searing pain cuts through the haze of bloodlust—Mack won’t go down so easily. I grit my teeth beneath a slash to my upper thigh, and then an even deeper wound in my left forearm—but even that can’t break through the fog in my head for long.

  I blink until my vision clears just enough to plant one fucking shot...

  There. Mack lunges to the left, leaving his side open and I take it, ramming the knife into his ribcage—not the blade, but the hilt. The attack catches him off guard. He tries to parry with one of his own, but I’m too quick. One firm kick to the knee, and he falls.

  Red paints my vision when I slam my heel into the bastard’s chest—for Arno. I land another punch against his jaw just to hammer the point in. Checkmate.

  He’s still not down completely when he spits out blood at my feet. “You think this means a goddamn thing, Kitty?” he grits out, laughing. “Want to know a secret? That little bitch is already dead—”

  My fist to his jaw shuts him up, but I hear him panting when I approach the door to the cage and snatch the length of chain from the gate.

  “Dante!” I know Darcy’s the one shouting for me when I approach Mack with the length of the chain and lope it around his neck—a collar fit for any animal.

  The muscles in my arm pop when I yank, sealing off the bastard’s windpipe until his face turns red and no sound comes out of his mouth. Just gurgles. Gasps. Wheezes. I wait until I see the knowledge flash through his eyes, even as his lips form a cocky grin. This is it. Game. Set. Match.

  When he finally accepts death with one last choked grunt, I let him go, loosening the chain and leaving him gasping for air on his knees.

  “Say it,” I demand, raising the girl’s knife as though it’s a legitimate weapon. It bites into his shoulder regardless, tasting a fresh bleed of blood. “To Arno. Say it.”

  I jerk my head toward the man in question who watches from the sidelines, unsurprised. He doesn’t react, but I know that he won’t forgive me for taking this moment from him, whether I saved his life or not.

  “You...you win, Kitty,” Mack grunts, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes burn—no pup likes being put in his place, but he won’t risk his honor by challenging me. At least not yet. The fucker emulates Dino in every way but the goddamn accent. “You win. Welcome back to the fold—” he chokes out a laugh. “You’re alpha now. I hope your little bitch was worth it.”

  I jerk my hand away and try not to let my irritation show. Alpha. It was the title Dino used, demanding it the way most men preferred ‘boss’ or ‘king.’ “In a world of mad dogs, the only rules are laid down by the fucking alpha,” he would snarl. “A ‘king’ is a just a piece on a fucking game board—not even the most powerful piece. An alpha is the fucker playing the goddamn game.”

  For once, I agree with Mack; the little bitch better be worth it.

  Gritting my teeth, I look for Arno, but I don’t find him by the cage. Neither is Darcy. The only ones left behind are Mack’s men who glance warily from me to their old master. I almost consider tugging on their leashes and testing out my newfound role, but another issue takes the forefront.

  I turn, even before I hear Arno shouting. I smell the blood first—fainter and more potent than Mack’s. It rides the air even before I see the man Arno leads inside, practically holding him upright.

  I don’t think when I plow through the doors of the cage and straight toward Espi. My eyes dart from injury to injury, tallying them up. He has two black eyes brewing. His forehead is cut. His lip is split. His fingers are missing...

  I suck in air as the buzzing swells into a deafening hum. Nothing can reach me, but the hoarse sound Espi makes when he tries to talk. “Dan...Danny. Danny.” He tilts his head back, just far enough to meet my gaze head-on and suddenly everything is as sharp as if cut on a razor’s edge. “They took her.”

  My head floats on an ocean of blackness, but pain is like a rudder, steering me back toward my body despite how every part of me just wishes to die. It would be so damn easy to let go.

  And maybe I could if the devil wasn’t whispering in my ear. He calls to me—at least, I think it’s him. I swear I can even hear the guttural cadence of his voice, but when I finally regain consciousness, I recognize the fingers running through my hair with terrifying clarity.

  “Welcome back, Mi Bella,” V
inny tells me as he seizes a lock of my hair, tugging hard enough to make me wince. The brief, searing agony joins the symphony of it playing through my entire body. The lighter notes of pain from my previous injuries meld with the throbbing percussion of the blows Vinny landed. I’m nothing more than a twisted, beautiful melody of pain when I peel my eyes open and face the man who claims to love me above everyone else.

  “I’ve missed you.” He runs his fingers along my throbbing cheek, careless of the open wound that burns a fiery trail there. “Look at me.”

  I blink so that he knows I’m aware. I see him...and no sight has ever terrified me more.

  “This...this was not how our reunion was meant to happen,” he explains, freeing his hand from my hair and placing it on his knee. The movement draws my gaze down. I’m naked. He’s stripped me to nothing but bruised and bloodied skin against an ivory duvet that I recognize as lining the bed of my old cage. With a terrible certainty, I know what he plans to do, even while I struggle to keep my eyes open—one aches badly enough to warn me that in a few hours, I’ll be lucky if I can open it at all.

  “Look at me,” Vinny commands as he climbs off the bed and stands before me. He starts to undo the latches to his pants, taking his time with every deliberate tug on the zipper. “Apparently, you have no issues with being used as a whore.” He sighs at that assessment: twenty-three years of waiting for my “virtue” wasted. “So, you shouldn’t mind if I use you like one.”

  The words chill me to the core. Desperate for escape, my eyes scan the edges of my room, searching for the familiar shape of my cello, but when I finally find it...the music doesn’t come to me like it used to. I can’t imagine the stage anymore. The notes of that old, soothing melody don’t take me away.

  I’m rooted in place as Vinny frees his cock and starts on the buttons of his shirt. My mind spins, hunting for anything to latch onto. I’m a caged bird gnashing her beak against the bars of her cage. The cat is already tugging on the latch...and there is no escape.