Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters Book 1)

by Lana Sky

  The floor creaks when Lucifer finally moves. I expect him to walk away. He doesn’t. His gaze holds mine as he stalks forward like a bored, exhausted wolf unable to resist the willing throat the sacrificial doe presents.

  His grip is hard when he seizes my wrist and drags me from the counter. I stagger forward, and he uses that momentum to shove me into the main room. I don’t stop moving until my hands hit the back of the couch. The force sends me to my knees, and my chin smacks off one of the seat cushions.

  Lucifer is already behind me. He fists his hand in my hair so hard that I can’t silence a cry. A scream. The pain floods my system, a powerful narcotic. My vision blurs, obscuring those haunting shadows.

  To block them out completely, he shoves me forward as if he means to suffocate me against the cotton and padding. The act forces me higher on my knees, and the fingers of his free hand are there to seize the waistband of the panties and drag them down my legs.

  He doesn’t prepare me this time. I hear his zipper come undone. I hear him groan. I feel him. I’m impaled by him. On him...

  My entire body screams to life at the invasion. Everything feels different when I’m not the one setting the pace. I moan, digging my nails into the couch’s upholstery, breaking some of them, and Lucifer doesn’t hold back. He slams his hips into me, forcing me to accept him. There is no more room for any dark memories. I’m stuffed to the brim, and it hurts the same way the burning alcohol did when poured onto my ear. Darkness dies screaming...and with every brutal, harsh, violent thrust new shadows are forced into the spaces Vincent Stacatto used to infest.

  I go numb beneath the assault. My brain is a slave to the sensation. I don’t even register the act for what it is—sex. This is demolition.

  Lucifer growls into my ear, the sound part pleasure, part aggravation. He’s a beast, feasting on a fresh kill that he never really wanted to hunt. He gorges himself on the feel of me anyway. The taste. I don’t flinch when his teeth rake my neck as if biting is the only way he can prove his lack of attraction.

  I shiver and shudder beneath the feeling, his teeth grinding my skin between them. Marking me. It would be so easy to just let him take me. All of me. Corruption is best delivered in steady, mind-numbing doses—Vinny taught me that. I shouldn’t be so greedy for it. So impatient.

  I bite my tongue when he thrusts again, his hips slapping my backside, pressing my stomach against the edge of the couch. It’s searing friction; he’s impossibly deep.

  But it’s still not deep enough.

  My sweat-soaked hands fumble against the cushions, finding enough leverage to allow me to push back. There. My mind swims. The walls of the room shift and shatter. I’m falling and then flying, my stomach churning too quickly to make out which direction is which.

  I taste blood on my tongue as a craving for more goads me to flex my hips when he shoves himself into me again. Again. Again.

  I can’t smother the sounds I make: desperate, pathetic, triumphant, bitter, brutal, animalistic sounds. Lucifer doesn’t appreciate my little bid for power. He shoves his hand down on my hip, holding me steady while he pounds his essence into me, every naughty little drop. I swallow it all down. I’m choking on him. I’m drunk on him.

  My knees flex against the floor. My hips swivel, chasing an even deeper, darker sensation. I want to feel him everywhere. Everywhere...

  And then I do, but his presence doesn’t inspire pain. The fire burns hotter, spreading too quickly and turning ravenous. I want the agony, not the pleasure, but it drives the most tortured sounds out of me. Moans. Squeals. Whimpers. It, more than anything, takes control of my body, forcing me to throw myself at him. Arch my back. Reach for him with my hand, plunging my nails into the side of his ass. He flinches at the contact and bends the offending arm against my back. I’m at his mercy again, and I expect to feel that same fearful desperation that had gnawed holes into my soul living with Vinny.

  Instead, all I feel is...

  Hungry. I want more. I need him to hold me tighter. Force me down. Force himself inside. Bite. With every depraved thought, the heat surging through me gets even hotter. Higher. My skin crackles and burns. My blood boils. Then it bubbles over, and it hits me like a wave: pure, aching, smoldering pleasure. Too much. Not enough. I gasp as if I can catch more of it on the air. I breathe him in. He’s swelling inside of me, branding the shape of his cock onto my inner walls.

  And it still isn’t enough.

  “S-Stop,” I rasp.

  Lucifer stills his brutal pounding, and I don’t let myself dwell on how sudden—how easily—he listened to the plea. I don’t care that the monster heeds the commanding pull on his leash. I twist out from under him, hissing as he withdraws, still impossibly thick. I’m transfixed on the gleaming, swollen head of him—wet from me. Throbbing for me.

  I flip over until my back is pressed against the couch, and I dig my heels into the floor, spreading my legs wide on either side of him and lift my hips. He stares at the offering between my legs, and his eyes shoot black. One of his hands catches the side of my waist, wrenching me forward and he sinks deep. To the goddamn hilt.

  My head falls back as my eyes shut and my teeth clatter against the carnal, incredible pleasure. Yes. This is better. I throw myself on him, feeling resistant parts of me spread easily, letting him in even deeper. Harder.

  Yes.

  My knees tighten, trapping his hips between them while he continues to thrust. My heels dig into the backs of his thighs, urging him on, driving him deeper still. I’m gasping, staring up at the ceiling as my eyes flutter open when he hits some soft, inner part of me that makes sparks shoot through every single nerve ending. My toes curl. My hands find his shoulders, using the grip for leverage to thrust against him. Fuck him back.

  “God,” I hear myself croak, clawing at his shirt. “Damn. F-Fuck. S-Shit.” The curses come like candy, another display that would be forbidden around Vinny—but even they aren’t enough to describe it. I have to dig deeper into my arsenal of words. “Fuck. Fuck. Bosta. Filho da puta—”

  Lucifer’s growl swallows up my voice, and we both spiral. I’m exploding. My blood is pure gasoline, thrown onto an untamable flame. It’s too much—pain, pleasure, everything. I lose myself. Daniela Manzano is finally annihilated, and she relishes the carnage made of her own skin.

  I’m still on fire when Lucifer pulls out of me a second time and flips me onto my belly so that I’m lying flat on the carpet. He strokes himself—there’s no mistaking the audible glide of flesh against wet, tender flesh. I hear him groan, and then I feel the mark of his release, burning ropes of it, lash against my lower back.

  My heart races. I can’t shut out the memory of Vinny doing the same, and I expect the same disgust to flare up. But it doesn’t. Lucifer seems to like the sight of his semen on my skin, though. He leans over me, his weight grinding my chin into the carpet amid a stinging ache. Something sweeps up from the side of my belly over to my spine, and I flinch in surprise. His hand. He’s marking me, rubbing his seed into my skin.

  It’s the worst thing he could possibly do to me.

  The substance is an antiseptic against the festering wound I’d forgotten dwelled there. I go limp in shock and just listen to the startlingly wet sound as my skin accepts him. My body quakes against his calloused fingertips, chasing that relief. It hurts that I crave this base, violent claiming almost as much as I’d craved the violent sex. Tears sting my eyes, and I can’t blink them back. My throat contracts around the hint of a sob, and it’s like a dam breaking. Within seconds I’m writhing, eyes streaming, choking on gasping, wrenching sobs as the fire he set slowly consumes the rest of my body.

  The fucking buzzing won’t be silenced this time. It hammers away at my skull, even as my cock finally deflates and Stacatto’s whore is painted with my cum. It’s ironic how her skin still glistens beneath the obscenity; she’ll wear a man’s mark just as easily as silk. Though her new accessory comes with a high price. She shows more emotion now than
when I severed part of her ear.

  I suppose some part of me should feel proud at breaking her, but all I feel is irritation: the heat, the insatiable prickle in my skin, the goddamn buzzing. Even her strangled gasps aren’t enough to smother the sound ripping through my head. It’s instant. It’s pounding. It’s...

  Someone knocking on the goddamn door.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I growl while my hand flies out for my jeans. I yank them on one-handed and stagger for the door. When I wrench it open, I expect to find Arno or maybe one of his men on the other side of it. Though these days, who knows where the kid’s loyalty lies anymore? There’s no hint of it now as Espi watches me coldly, his eyes raking over my bare chest and my unfastened jeans.

  “...Am I interrupting something?” His eyes cut to the woman he only catches a glimpse of, her naked body contorted by her muffled cries. Shock tightens his mouth before I can force myself through the doorway and slam the door shut behind me.

  “Espi...” I observe him from head to toe. He’s wearing clothes similar to the ones he wore in Van Hallen’s snapshot: a dark hoodie and filthy, paint-stained jeans. The expression on his face is a little different, though; instead of fierce and determined, he stares right through me.

  “Having fun?” he wonders, jerking his chin toward the door.

  Fuck.

  “It...that isn’t what it looks like.” I shouldn’t have to explain shit to him, but I can’t shake the urge to defend myself against the accusations I can see forming in his eyes. That bruised, broken woman had nothing to do with me.

  “Oh, I’m sure it isn’t,” he says, spitting the words at me. “You...You’re no different than him.”

  “What...what did you just say?” Rage smothers everything. My ears pop with the clarity it brings. Ruby taints the edges of my vision, and it takes every ounce of concentration I have to blink it back. “Don’t you ever...ever compare me to that bastard—”

  “Why not?” Espi eyes the door to my apartment again. “Like father, like son—”

  I see scarlet. I fucking taste it. The rage breaks loose from its chains for only a second, but it’s long enough. My knuckles burn and Espi’s clutching the left side of his face.

  “Nice one, Dante,” he grits out along with a harsh chuckle. His jaw won’t bruise, but he still winces as he pulls his hand away. “Yeah, you’re so different.”

  He spits out blood before turning for the stairs, but I’m right behind him. “Espi, wait.”

  I’m still on his heels when he enters the pub. Arno and his men are seated at the bar, but they pretend not to notice as Espisido darts across the room and barrels through the main door, out on the street.

  It’s only when I start to head after him that Arno speaks up. “Let him cool off.”

  “What the fuck do you know?” I toss back. I can see Espi’s dark hair bobbing amid a crowd of pedestrians across the street. He’s headed south. I flatten my palm against the main door before it can fully slam shut. I start to shove it open again when a hand falls on my shoulder. Only sheer force of will keeps me from sending my fist through its owner’s skull.

  Arno knows better.

  “Let him go,” he says, withdrawing his hand the moment I whip around with both of mine already curled into fists. He backs up a step, holding his palms out flat toward me. “I’ll try talking to him again, once he’s calmed down.”

  “I don’t need your help,” I snarl.

  Arno says nothing, but his expression reveals what we both fucking know. I do. The bastard just has enough sense to not rub my nose in that fact. “I’ll send the tape tonight,” he says, changing the subject. “I thought I’d let the fucker stew for a few days. I hear that he didn’t react very nicely when he got her ear.” He flashes a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming. “Let him see what happens when you fuck with my family.”

  “What will you do to her?” It’s a dumbass question. I tell myself that he could string her up for sport and I still wouldn’t give a damn. Then my fingers twitch, sticky.

  Arno shrugs. “Nothing for now. If you’re bored of her, you can send her down to the basement—”

  I leave him there, heading for the stairs, and Arno doesn’t follow me to the upper level. There’s no one to witness when I throw open the door to my apartment so hard that it ricochets off the wall and nearly closes again. When I finally step into the living room, she’s still on the floor. She lifts her head when I come closer though, her eyes glassy and distant as they attempt to focus on me.

  Staring her down, I wait for the rage to resurface. My fingers curl in anticipation of that irritating heat. I blink my eyes, expecting to find her drenched in red any fucking second. I’m ready for the violence; I won’t resist the impulse to take out every bit of frustration I feel on her pale skin. She’ll get her death wish after all...

  I wait.

  She keeps still, almost as if she knows what’s coming. Her hair drapes her back, strands of it mingling with the substance still drying there. Her body is limp, resigned. I know then that she won’t fight when I attack her.

  Hell, she’ll relish the assault.

  My head throbs, but for a different reason as I reach back to slam the door shut behind me. I stalk down the hallway, my eyes on the doorway to the bedroom. I don’t know why the hell I pause to direct two words at her from over my shoulder. “Get up.”

  She does so noisily, staggering against the couch to catch her balance. I hear her let out a low groan, registering the pain she’ll feel for the next few days. Any smug pleasure I may have felt at hurting her is washed away by exhaustion. Arno’s not the only bastard who’s been deprived of sleep. I need to wash these past forty-eight hours from my brain, and I consider heading down to the bar to seek out some liquid assistance to do just that.

  Instead, I enter the bedroom and take up a spot on the floor.

  “Lie down,” I order when the woman staggers to the doorway, clinging to the wall for balance. She found my shirt and wears it, the filthy hem brushing her knees. Her eyes flicker with uncertainty when she spots the bed, but she crosses over to it and sinks down without question.

  Pressing my head against the wall, I close my eyes, blocking her out as she lies stiffly on the mattress. I’ll make a new plan to talk to Espi, with or without Arno’s help. I’ll find a way to make that bastard Van Hallen pay for putting his babysitters-in-blue on my trail. I’ll repay Arno for posting my bail.

  It’s a long list, and I grit my teeth in irritation.

  A wolf never sleeps.

  “Going somewhere?” I grind out the question with my eyes still shut.

  The quiet rustling that jarred me awake goes silent, followed by a softly whispered word. “B-Bathroom...”

  I sigh and consider ignoring her. Hell, if she wants to sneak out of the apartment on her own and risk running into one of Arno’s men, that’s no concern of mine. After a minute of silence, the rustling starts up again as if she’s settling back down against the mattress, and I finally open my eyes to near darkness.

  Ten-o’clock flashes on the alarm clock, illuminating the room in hints of neon red. “Make it quick.” I stand and make a show of stretching my arms above my head, knowing she’s watching and imagining the difficulty she’ll have if she tries to run. When I head for the door, I hear her scramble to her feet.

  I don’t follow her into the bathroom and enter the kitchen instead, flicking the light switch. Arno had it stocked with food the day I showed up on his doorstep, but what little there was is nearly gone; there are just two eggs and a rind of bread left over. Sighing, I run a hand along the side of my jeans and feel the crunch of a few crisp dollars in my left pocket.

  “What do you want?” I turn to find her creeping up the hallway, rubbing her wet hands on the front of my shirt. She looks like a zombie in the shadows; a blood-stained, bruised, violated corpse animated only from her eyes.

  She cocks her head. “What do I—”

  “To eat,” I clarify. “What do
you want to eat?”

  She still looks confused. “Whatever you think is—” she cuts the words off, clenching her jaw—something I notice she does whenever she’s trying to break a habit she learned from him. Handshakes. Polite words. Prissy little posture. Stacatto trained her well for life as the whore of a crime lord.

  “I want...” Her eyes narrow in concentration as if thinking for herself is a hard skill to master. “Thai,” she says finally. Her own frown reveals that she knows it’s a stupid request—one I definitely won’t obey—but she can’t seem to stop herself from saying it anyway. She needed to hear it come out of her own mouth. I want Thai.

  It’s a haughty little request. I want to write it off as a byproduct of her living in the lap of stolen luxury, but I can’t. It’s something Espi would ask for. He used to make a game out of how many exotic foods he could try in a week. Living off takeout had been the skill of a kid who’d grown up without a mom to cook for him and an idiot like me to scrape his meals together.

  I don’t answer when I head for the door and enter the hallway, but I lock it behind me, tucking the key Arno gave me into my pocket. The pub is packed when I head downstairs. Arno’s throwing a party it seems, but I don’t find his red hair mingling through the crowd by the time I reach the door and head out onto the street.

  It’s a slow, cold walk up a nearly deserted block in search of any food place open this late. I won’t get fucking Thai. Maybe Mexican or some cheap-ass fast food.

  If she doesn’t like it, then the little bitch can starve.

  Lucifer returns, bearing gifts in a brown paper bag. My body aches from sitting on the floor, waiting for him. The couch is a hostile domain lording over the other side of the room, so my new perch is in a corner near the fridge with my back braced against the wall, and my legs stretched out over the linoleum.

  He doesn’t see me at first when he comes in and sets the bag down on the counter that conveniently shields my position. I start to stand, but something makes me take my time, observing him safely from my hiding place.