Page 105 of Crescendo

She smiles when she sees him, but the expression flickers when she notices me. In her hands is a single plate carefully wrapped in tinfoil. “I brought you some food. I didn’t let Mackanywhere near it before you give me that look.” Her tone is playful, but there’s a hint of truth lurking in it before Lucifer can shoot the food a wary glance.

He watches her set the plate onto the counter, but then she lingers, her fingers toying with the foil. I don’t miss the second look she shoots at me, two parts confusion mixed with a tiny bit of uncertainty. She wants to talk to Lucifer alone, and I don’t miss the familiarity that taints the air between them. They know each other, and I hate this part of me that wonders how. Who is she to him? Who was he to her? Where do they stand now?

It’s harder than I’d like to admit to swallow the nosy questions down and stoop for the artist’s duffel. I sling it quietly over my shoulder and enter the bedroom, closing the door behind me. Then...

I should crawl into bed. Put the sheets over my head. Play pretend like I’m not straining my ear to catch every softly spoken word. Ishould.

But, in the devil’s lair, the rules of etiquette no longer apply.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Dante

I liftthe tinfoil from the plate just enough to make out two pieces of fried chicken, a hunk of mashed potatoes, and some macaroni and cheese. It’s not enough to share with the woman in the bedroom—a fact I can’t ignore. Darcy was never rude, so the only other explanation is that she, for whatever reason, didn’t think there would be another mouth left to feed.

I drag my gaze along her face, searching the smooth planes of it for any hint of what Mack could possibly be planning. I know she’s aware of the suspicion, but she just smiles and pushes the plate toward me.

“Eat up. I don’t think Mack brought along any snacks on your little ‘boys’ outing—”

“Not hungry.” I cut my gaze over to the door and wonder if the little bitch would stick her nose up at it over fucking Thai though—that is, if Darcy were being honest about Mack’s having been nowhere near it.

“I thought Arno would have taken her back by now,” Darcy admits, swirling the edge of her thumb along the rim of the plate.

“Why?” The question comes out more harshly than I mean it to, and Darcy flinches. After all, the bitch is Arno’s problem. His responsibility. His prize.His...

And he can fucking try to take her if he wants to. My fingers flex at the thought of it, burning hot. He cantry.

“He said that was why she was here.” Darcy nods to the bedroom, but I’m already scanning the scarred wood as if I can see her leaning against the other side of it. Hell, I can smell her, the nosy little cunt. “He said that she was part of his plan for getting revenge for Parish—”

“You can tell Arno that he can have her...when I’m donefuckingher.” I make my voice loud enough for her to hear and hate that I can only picture her reaction.

How would the little princess react to being referred to as my whore? If she lets out a haughty little gasp in disgust, I don’t hear it above the sound of Darcy choking.

Clutching her throat with one hand, she lunges for the sink while I swipe a plastic cup from the cupboard above her head.

“Here.”

She downs two glasses and then sets the cup aside. Her cheeks are red, and I do a double take, my eyebrow raised. If I’m not mistaken, she’s blushing, and a woman who—at one point, at least—fucked strangers for a living has some damn nerve blushing at the mention of the word.

If she notices the look I give her, she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she wipes her mouth off with the back of her hand and then tucks a blond curl behind her ear. Mack must like her to dress like a bar bunny, even in the middle of October. The jean shorts and the pink, low-cut top leave little to the imagination, but the tattoo above her right breast proves without a doubt just who owns her.Mack. I try to remember how she dressed before, as one of the girls Dino kept on his payroll to please the men riled by the violence of a cage fight. Apart from a hazy image of her lurking around the outskirts of the ring, I don’t recall much.

“It’s been a while,” she says softly, as if sensing the thoughts circling my head. “Oh! I brought you something.” She reaches into her pocket and withdraws something clasped in her fist. “Do you remember when I first gave this to you?”

She opens her hand and lying on her palm is a silver necklace—the cheap kind women like her seem to love trading the money they’ve earned on their backs and knees for. Hanging from a silver chain is a line of script that forms a single name:Dante.

“I remember,” I admit.

Birthday present,she claimed, though seeing as how she didn’t know the exact date of mine, I assumed the gift was more or less a “so you didn’t die during your first round in the cage” present. She gave it to me right after I’d gotten my tattoo. Maybe it was her way of reminding me that, at some point, I used to be this person namedDante—though she didn’t know just how eager I was to shed that weak, pathetic bastard.

“You left it behind,” Darcy says, dangling the chain from her finger. “When... I want you to have it.” She curls it gently within her fingers and presses it against my palm.

I snatch for it and tuck it, chain and all, into my pocket. “Thanks.”

She shrugs, but an odd expression tugs at her mouth. A smile? She can look back at the old days and smile. I look back...and I find nothing worth grinning about.

“See you around, Dante.” Darcy slips past me and leaves, wiggling her fingers in a parting wave.

I wait until the door shuts behind her and I hear her descend the stairs. Then I turn to the bedroom and swipe the plate closer to me with an outstretched hand. “You hungry?” My voice could be heard from the pit, but the bitch doesn’t answer.

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