Chapter Six
Elijah sat on the bed with an ice pack pressed against his head, steaming mad that Matias had broken his brain without taking precautionary measures first.
Now the guy hovered by the bedroom door, his arms crossed. He was just staring like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in Elijah’s lap and let it explode.
It was as if they were in some kind of competition to see who could stay quiet the longest while staring at each other. Well, Elijah was glaring, but he had every right to.
And nope. He was not thinking about the truth bomb Matias had lobbed at him. Elijah couldn’t handle that level of insanity right now.
“I picked you up,”
he said for the second time.
“You let me fall in the first place,”
Elijah replied for the fifth time. His entire perspective of Matias had changed. A wolf?
Stop thinking about it before you pass out again.
But it made complete sense. His aggressive behavior, his dominance, and the way he made everyone move last night when—
Elijah’s jaw slowly dropped. “Is everyone here a—”
The place had been crowded last night.
Oh god. Elijah had been surrounded by— “Is Santiago a—”
“Don’t get off that bed,”
Matias warned, taking a step closer. “I don’t need you hitting your head again.”
Elijah’s brain shorted out. “Shouldn’t Santiago be a bear? He’s huge.”
Christ. Why was he even thinking about that right now? Who gave a shit what kind of animal Santiago should technically be? Matias, and the others, shouldn’t technically be… those animals.
And Elijah had been enjoying Matias’s pool “lesson”
last night. Had just made a deal to stay if Matias proved his insanity.
And he’d proven it. So, did that make Elijah the insane one?
“Smoke is coming out of your ears, conejito .”
Matias moved even closer, slow steps, like he was dealing with someone on the verge of a collapse. “You’re overthinking this.”
Instead of being afraid, Elijah was pissed. “You tricked me into that deal!”
“How?”
Matias shouted right back. “You were the one to make it in the first place, little bunny. After you accused me of having intimacy issues!”
Elijah opened his mouth, but instead of yelling, he burst out laughing. He just wasn’t sure if it was from the absurdity of the situation, because it was too insane not to laugh at, or the indignation on Matias’s face.
Or maybe he was laughing because his brain was finally breaking.
Elijah threw the ice pack on the bed when Matias started a tirade in Spanish. “I already told you. If you’re going to talk shit about me, make sure I can understand the insults!”
Matias stormed over to him then away. “I’m fine.”
He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, but there was a twitch in his jaw. The man was far from fine.
If Elijah had known accusing Matias of having a limp dick would set him off this badly, he still would’ve said it. The bastard had kidnapped him.
“I need to go this meeting.”
Matias turned toward the door.
“Just don’t…”
Elijah’s hand had shot out. He curled his fingers in when Matias turned to look at him. His eyes were narrowed, his nostrils slightly flaring.
“What, conejito ?”
“Could you not lock the door?”
Matias must’ve seen the panic in Elijah’s eyes, because his softened. “You won’t leave the tavern?”
he asked, his tone calm but mistrusting.
Elijah thought about lying, especially knowing he was surrounded by… them. But Matias had said he could become a target. He’d gone about in all the wrong ways, but Matias was trying to keep him safe.
But Elijah was just rationalizing this so he wouldn’t have another meltdown.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Elijah picked up the ice pack and placed it back on his head. Maybe he’d hit it harder than he thought, because he was going to honor his deal.
His gaze darted to the door when a deep rumble of voices carried from somewhere in the tavern. Then there was a sharp crash of wood, like something big was being splintered, followed by a rough, deep snarl.
What the? His ice pack slid down the side of his head. Matias, already halfway to the door, paused only for a heartbeat before continuing forward, his movements fluid but unhurried. Not running. Not even rushing.
Just… moving.
Elijah felt the man’s controlled power. How dangerous he truly was.
“Stay here,”
Matias ordered, already moving through the open doorway. Then he was gone, vanishing into the chaos.
“Yeah, sure,”
Elijah murmured, eyes wide. “Because I’m not the nosiest person in the world.”
Not a chance in hell he was staying put. Because of his bargain, he was stuck at Sin & Steel. But he would be damned if Matias would confine him to the bedroom.
He shoved to his feet— big mistake. The world tilted, but he caught himself on the mattress, cursing to himself.
Dizzy or not, Elijah was taking his nosy ass out there to see what was going on. And to find something to eat. The knock on the head must’ve jarred his hunger loose, because he was starving.
Ignoring the pounding in his skull, Elijah stumbled from the room.
He glanced both ways then decided to go left. If he was wrong, he’d have to backtrack quickly.
But, holy hell, he wasn’t wrong. The bar area was a dense sea of muscle, an impenetrable wall of tattooed backs that obscured any view of Matias.
Navigating carefully along the outer perimeter of this brawny fortress, Elijah found a narrow gap. His breath caught as his gaze landed on a behemoth—chains coiled around raw, bloody wrists, a looming mass of inked fury.
Heart racing, Elijah took an unsteady step back. His foot caught on something unseen, but he steadied himself against a table, which scraped loudly across the wooden floor.
Heads turned in his direction, causing his heart to beat even faster. The table inched back a little farther. Slowly, the guy with the chains glanced at Elijah, his eyes dark and menacing. It was like staring into a bottomless abyss.
Now that Elijah knew what they were, he found them a lot scarier. He desperately wanted the guy in chains to stop looking at him, for everyone to turn away. Attention was the last thing he wanted from these men.
“Just tell us what’s going on,”
Matias demanded in a voice as steady as a heartbeat in a silent room. “Why won’t you let us remove the chains, Diablo?”
He was the devil Matias had been ready to hunt down. But the devil had found them instead. Every time Diablo breathed out, a snarl pushed out with it.
Elijah’s gaze swept over him, noting the angry, swollen redness of his feet. Each step in his restless pacing was shadowed by a grimace of pain.
“I gotta go.”
He raised his arm, chains clattering ominously, like the ghost of Jacob Marley. “Fuck!”
His arm fell, and he clutched it tightly to his side.
“I’ll take you,”
Santiago offered. A flicker of relief softened the hard edges of Diablo’s dark, watchful eyes. “But first, we get those chains off.”
Elijah doubted Diablo would let Santiago anywhere near him. He still looked cagey—like the room was too small to contain his massive size.
His mouth moved incessantly, tongue darting over his teeth. The guy was thirsty, but his gaze flickered restlessly between them all.
Elijah slipped silently behind the bar and rummaged through every cupboard beneath the counter until he found a few bottles of water. Unsure how much the guy would need, Elijah grabbed all four. Diablo had clearly suffered, and water was a necessity he shouldn’t be deprived of.
With the caution of someone nearing a dangerous beast, Elijah weaved past the men he had been standing behind moments earlier. A few cursed, but it was Matias who growled, like Elijah had lost his mind approaching Diablo while in this state.
Maybe Elijah was being reckless, but he couldn’t stand by and do nothing when Diablo was clearly thirsty.
His hands trembled slightly as he juggled the bottles, cracking open one and offering it. “Here.”
“ Conejito ,”
Matias warned in a low, tense growl, his voice thick with caution. “He is not himself. Come to me, Elijah.”
Diablo snatched the bottle, tilting it back. The plastic crinkled as he guzzled down the water.
Elijah hurried to open the next bottle and then a third, which Diablo drank more slowly. All the while, the chains clinked in a constant, eerie rhythm.
Up close, Elijah saw the gruesome injuries on Diablo’s wrists—raw and brutal, a grim mix of fresh and dried blood, the edges darkened with bruises. His eyes flicked to the unopened first-aid kit on the table beside Diablo.
With a careful, measured movement, Elijah retrieved it, stepping back cautiously. “May I?”
he asked, his voice barely a whisper against the tension-charged air.
Elijah had officially descended into madness. Diablo loomed over him, an imposing figure wrapped in inked muscles. His gaze drilled into Elijah, stretching the moment into an unbearable eternity.
It was like being examined by the embodiment of darkness, and Elijah felt his very soul withering under Diablo’s penetrating stare.
The room was deathly still. Yet, Elijah sensed a silent promise from Matias. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
But the fallout from this was going to be intense.
“ Sí .”
Diablo’s voice was a deep rumble as he extended his arms.
A piece of the metal had burrowed under Diablo’s skin. Elijah grimaced, working the piece out, feeling horrible for inflicting more pain. “I’m sorry.”
But Diablo didn’t even flinch. He simply stood there watching intently, a metallic, coppery scent lingering around him. It emanated from both Diablo’s blood and his breath, as if he had been sucking on pennies.
The chains hit the floor with a harsh clatter. Elijah wanted to wrap them around whoever had done this to Diablo. What did it say about his life if he hadn’t even winced?
What are you doing? You have no medical training! Except for the time he’d had to patch Percy up when his best friend had shown up on his doorstep, battered and bruised.
Carter had been violent, leaving Percy with a split lip and deep, angry scratches on his arms. Carter had tried to restrain him, only for Percy to tear himself free.
Elijah used the last bottle of water, watching as it cascaded over the wounds, mingling with blood before splattering onto the floor.
The first-aid kit was surprisingly well stocked. He applied ointment with meticulous care, wrapping gauze around Diablo’s wrists then securing it with tape. Throughout the entire process, Diablo watched Elijah in silence.
Miraculously, Elijah’s hands remained steady despite the pressure of Diablo’s gaze.
When the final piece of medical tape was pressed into place, Diablo inclined his head slightly. “Thank you, conejito .”
Oh, hell no!
“Elijah. My name is Elijah, not bunny,”
he corrected. Surrounded by wolves, Elijah refused to be perceived as prey.
Even if he was.
Diablo’s lips curled into a subtle smile. “Thank you, Elijah.”
“You’re welcome.”
He turned away, focusing on tidying the small mess on the table.
But it was more than just cleaning.
Too many eyes were on him, as if he’d performed some miraculous feat. All he’d done was bandage a wound.
A trained chimp could’ve done it.
When Elijah finally glanced over his shoulder, Matias was watching him through the crowd of men. And Elijah swore he saw a touch of pride in the man’s light brown gaze.
* * * *
“Are you sure you can ride?”
Santiago asked Diablo as they headed toward their motorcycles parked in front of the tavern under the late morning sun. Diablo had changed clothes, and now had boots on his feet, but he didn’t look any better than he had twenty minutes ago.
“Do I look like I need a nanny?”
Diablo grinned and winked, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Matias had wanted to question Diablo to find out what happened, but they had a long ride ahead of them if they were going to make it to the gravesite in time.
Santiago’s gut told him something was off, but knew how important this trip was to the guy.
After swinging a leg over his hog, Santiago fired it up, the engine roaring to life with a deep rumble. He revved it a few times, the bike responding with a throaty growl. He pulled out behind Diablo, the two navigating through the streets. As soon as they passed the town limits, they accelerated, their bikes roaring down the winding countryside, the scenery blurring past them.
Santiago kept a steady pace behind Diablo, watching the man closely. His riding was solid, controlled, but something about his posture was off. Diablo was too rigid, his movements not as effortless as usual.
The late morning sun blazed overhead, the heat rolling off the pavement in shimmering waves. Sweat clung to the back of Santiago’s neck, but his focus stayed locked on the road and on Diablo.
They weaved through the back roads, the hot air whipping past them. Diablo took the curves without hesitation, but Santiago’s instincts were telling him something wasn’t right.
Then Diablo veered left.
Santiago frowned. That wasn’t the route they were supposed to take. He twisted the throttle, closing the distance. Where the hell was he going?
The turn took them off the main path and down a sunbaked road riddled with cracks and weeds sprouting through the asphalt.
The farther they went, the quieter everything felt—the kind of quiet that made Santiago’s gut twist.
Another turn. Then another.
Santiago’s grip tightened on the handlebars. A rush of unease crawled up his spine. He didn’t know why, but he knew Diablo wasn’t just taking a detour. He was heading somewhere with purpose.
Shit.
Santiago gunned the throttle, roaring past Diablo, cutting him off before he reached the entrance. Tires screeched as he skidded to a stop, blocking the road ahead.
Dust kicked up around them as Diablo slammed on his brakes, his bike jerking to a hard stop just feet away from Santiago.
Santiago swung off his hog, stepping right into Diablo’s space before the man could move. “You didn’t mention anything about a side trip.”
Diablo seemed unfazed at Santiago’s outburst. He just sat there, his engine rumbling, staring at the building ahead, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flared.
“Talk to me, man,”
Santiago said. “Tell me what you’re up to.”
“That building.”
Diablo jutted his chin toward it as sweat began to bead over his brows, his eyes a little unfocused.
Santiago glanced over his shoulder at the structure then glanced back at Diablo. “What about it?”
“I just need to go there,”
he replied in an almost detached tone.
No one knew what happened to Diablo when he was taken, but his dark eyes were haunted, like he’d lived through some kind of horror.
Santiago took a step closer, his brows furrowed. “What did they do to you, Diablo?”
He dragged his gaze to Santiago. “I want to look around, see what I can find.”
“Find?”
Santiago said with exasperation. “D, tell me what you hope to find there? What’s going on?”
Instead of answering him, Diablo drove around Santiago’s bike, only inches between the chrome as he passed, then drove on.
With a curse, Santiago hopped onto his hog and followed. But he was taking precautions. Pulling out his cell phone, he shared his location Matias before sending a text.
Looks like rain. Devil in the details. Could use some pitchforks for possible roast.
Santiago tucked his phone away and parked behind Diablo, who was already standing by a rusted side door, rubbing his bandaged wrists.
Thick clouds moved in, blocking out the sun, but not the heat. Even in the shade, sweat slid down Santiago’s back, soaking into his shirt.
Diablo gripped the handle and pulled. The door groaned, a slow, high-pitched creak that seemed too loud in the silence, then he disappeared inside.
Santiago glanced around at the desolate area. Despite the wide-open space around the building, he didn’t like this, not one bit, but he followed behind Diablo.
If something went down, this time Diablo would have someone watching his back. Santiago was instantly hit with the smell of hot metal, dust, and stagnant water, making his nose twitch.
Inside, the air was sweltering. It was like stepping into an oven set on broil. Sweat slid down Santiago’s scalp, making him miss the central air at the tavern.
To his right, a single metal folding chair sat beside a card table, a small rotating fan on top, blowing around the oppressive heat. The fan was on… in an abandoned factory. Not good.
Diablo stepped deeper into the open-area room then stopped, tilted his head back, and gazed at something above him.
Santiago followed his line of sight.
A hook bolted into a metal overhead beam. Diablo stood beneath it, shoulders tight, eyes unfocused, like he was remembering something.
A bead of sweat rolled down Diablo’s temple, but he didn’t wipe it away. Somewhere in the building water dripped in a precise rhythm, seven seconds apart.
Diablo tilted his head, as if he was listening to it, timing the drips.
“You were here,”
Santiago murmured. “This is where you were held.”
He jutted his chin toward the beam. “Your chains. You were hung by that hook.”
Diablo glanced around, causing Santiago to do the same, but he couldn’t see anything that would indicate Diablo had even been there.
A large fly landed on Santiago’s hand, biting him. He cursed and knocked it away, only for three more to buzz around him.
Diablo walked over to the card table and examined it then lowered to one knee. The scent of hyena was strong, which meant they’d been here recently. Santiago scanned the room, his skin prickling as the fan blew hot air toward him.
“Diablo.”
Santiago had barely moved his lips, his voice low enough that only Diablo heard him.
“I feel it too,”
he replied in the same, low-pitched whisper. “We’re not alone.”