“Eh... Enough,” Mack snarls, his voice garbled by the hammering thud of repeated punches. “Enough! Enough!”
When Arno finally manages to haul Lucifer backward, Mack staggers away from them, spitting out blood. His bottom lip is split, but he’s laughing, clinging to the wall with one hand.
“And there he is, ladies and gentlemen—therealfucking Kitten.” He swipes at his mouth while chuckling maniacally. When his gaze meets Lucifer’s, there isn’t any rage in his eyes. Just glee. Insanity. Hatred. “Thisis the bastard I wanted to face in the cage. We’ll have our rematch soon, eh, Dante? And next time...we’ll play for keeps.” He winks, but Lucifer stares right past him. Through him.
For a terrible second, he’s not human anymore, and a monster stands in his place, searching for the nearest prey to bite, gnaw at, and kill. When I start to move, he spots me and takes a step forward, his hand flying out.
I should flinch back like I’ve been trained to do. I should run—but, when I finally react, it’s only to catch his hand before it can even touch me, pressing my palm to his. Only with this does Dante return, glaring out through hooded eyes.
He grips me in turn and hauls me to my feet, but I can’t keep up when he starts for the door, pulling me along after him while Mack still cackles. Outside, a steady rain continues to fall, and with every step he takes, I’m forced to stagger forward three. He doesn’t care when I trip as he hauls me inside the detached garage and heads for the stairs, dragging me up every single one. After wrenching the door to the apartment open, he shoves me through it, barring the only escape.
I shiver even before he wrestles the door shut—slamming it fiercely—and shoves me back against the counter. I gasp out when the edge juts against my spine, but Dante continues to stalk forward. His face is expressionless, his gaze dark. I wish to everyangel in heaven that I could feel fear. God, Ineedto be afraid. I try to force the terror, digging my nails into my palms so hard that I wince. Even that pain isn’t enough.
I hold my breath, feeling my pulse race as his body towers over mine, his eyes hovering over my throat. When he opens his mouth, I think he really means to tear into it, but he inhales, and I don’t resist when he tugs on my hips, positioning his bloodied, mangled hands on either side to pivot me around so that my back faces him.
He’s too close. His chest presses against my shoulders, forcing me down onto the counter. I think I could be truly afraid now if it weren’t for the way my own wide-eyed reflection watches me from the polished surface of the sink. What a greedy little bitch. She’s hungry. Her tongue trails her parting lips while she starts to pant, her back arched toward the man standing behind her.
He catches my chin on the palm of his hand, his thumb prodding my split lip. He smears each drop of blood and doesn’t seem satisfied until I lick all traces of it away. The heat in his eyes grazes my skin, erasing whatever evidence Mack may have left behind. Vincent Stacatto doesn’t exist at this moment, either. To prove it, the devil strips me naked himself, wrenching the white shirt over my head, growling when he realizes I’m wearing nothing underneath. The jeans, too. I’m already bare for him.
And, God, I should be terrified by the possession rolling off him in waves—but I’m spineless for another reason. My skin sears beneath the hand he rakes down my back. He scratches me, and the sharp lines of pain make me clench my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut.
Scream,I tell myself.Fight. Run. Resist.Only Vinny had eyes like that. Ravenous. Vicious. Hungry. Starving eyes. His lust should be poison. I shouldn’t crave... I shouldn’t...
I nearly trip over my own two feet when he yanks me from the counter by my shoulder and manually steers me down the hallway, I see as my eyes open again. He forces me into thatnarrow, darkened room. He makes me crawl onto the center of the bed, and he positions me on my hands and knees. The mattress protests when he mounts it after me, his body a heavy, solid weight against mine.
Searching fingers trace the back of my skull and find the hair tie I got from the duffel bag the blonde had sent. He tugs it down, freeing my hair to spill over my shoulders. The sound he makes—it’s part growl, part groan. His lips graze the nape of my neck, and I half expect him to bite there, holding me in place like a true wolf while he thrusts deep.
His fingers tangle in my hair instead, wrenching my head back. My gaze is on the ceiling when he slides a hand down my backside and nudges my legs farther apart.This is it, some part of me murmurs. Vinny may have claimed my soul, but Lucifer...he breaks it, grinding himself into me so hard that I see double. From far, far away, I hear a woman scream, sharp and piercing—he doesn’t enter me in the usual place, and without the preparation from before, it hurts. It burns. I’m on fire, and I don’t know what creature is reborn in the ashes when the flames finally die down and he starts to move.
He’s slower than before, grinding into my inner walls and testing the give of my body. It tenses, every inch of me unsure whether to shut him out or let him in deeper. My body wants him out. My head—it lets him in, overriding the instinctive clenching of my muscles until his thrusts become easier while my vision clears again.
When I blink, I see his shadow thrown over the wall in front of me, tense and endlessly black. He stiffens up, and I make out the shape of his hand as it falls against my lower back for leverage—did he even realize where he chose to thrust? Before he can change his mind, I flex my hips, urging him deeper, conveying what I can’t with words.I want this. I need this...
Grunting, he starts to move again, and I don’t force his pacethis time. I dig my nails into the comforter, arch my back, and I...I just let him fuck me.
I don’t think. I don’t feel. I breathe him in. I taste his scent on my tongue. I let his thudding heartbeat set the pace of mine. I let him own me and take whatever the hell he wants. I don’t resist.
And, this time, he doesn’t hold back.
The mattress sways with every harsh, violent motion of our bodies. Somewhere in the chaos, he starts to increase his pace, finding a pleasure that makes him grit out curses that set my cheeks on fire.
“Fuck. So fucking tight. Fuck. Fuck.”
I’m half mindless when he finally slows, his body heavy against my back. I don’t react when he pulls out and comes against me. I just lie here, relishing the heat he gives off in the otherwise cold room. He doesn’t shift his weight from me when I slump facedown against the mattress. He braces a hand against my spine instead, once again rubbing his release into my skin, using his thumb to meticulously paint me with every single drop. Once finished, he hits the mattress beside me, his breathing harsh and unsteady.
“Lynn,” he grits out. “Is that your name?”
I flinch and shake my head, though I’m not brave enough to lift my face from the pillow. I inhale the dust that’s embedded in the cotton along with the sweat from my own skin and his particular brand of musk. Seconds pass before I realize I never gave him the correct answer. All this time and he hasn’t cared to ask my name. Maybe he still doesn’t; the devil is as curious as he is volatile.
In the end, I lift my head just enough to free my mouth and whisper, “Danny. My name is Danny.”
He grunts in acknowledgment, but I can’t tell what he thinks of it. Did he expect something different? Something prettier? I nearly laugh out loud at the fact that his approval actually seems to matter to me.
“Only Vinny calls me Lynn,” I add, though I’m not sure why. “My real name is Daniela. He thought it wasn’t good enough for me.”
It’s strange how detached I sound, as if the silly matter of a name didn’t bother me in the slightest when, for fifteen years, it’s been one of the shackles Vinny has used to keep me under his control. He’s turned me into three different women. Only now can I start to somewhat reconcile those broken parts into one cohesive person again—though I don’t seem to be the only one with a nickname hovering above my head.
I wait for nearly a minute before I gather up the nerve to ask him. “Why do they call you Kitty?” By “they,” I mean Mack, who wielded the moniker like a weapon.
