Chapter 16 #2
The Saints drag us apart like we’re two animals tearing into each other. For a second I fight them, instinctive, feral, then I remember why I’m here and force myself still even though my body still wants to swing.
Blood drips from the corner of my mouth onto the concrete.
I swipe it with the back of my hand and feel my cheek already swelling.
Carmen’s lip is split too, a thin line of red at the corner that makes her look less polished and more real. Her eyes stay locked on mine, furious and humiliated and something else underneath.
Threatened.
We stand there breathing hard, chests heaving, hair messy, clothes rumpled, while the room watches like it’s a show they paid for.
Then the front door slams open.
The sound cuts through everything.
The bass might still be thumping, neon might still be bleeding across chrome and ink, but the room goes quiet anyway.
Because Diablo just walked in.
He steps inside like the night belongs to him, dark and dangerous and furious in a way that doesn’t need volume. He’s dressed in black, cut hanging open, new ink crawling up his throat. He scans the chaos once, and the room yields around him without him asking.
For a heartbeat his gaze lands on Carmen first.
Then it finds me.
And he sees the blood.
Something in his face changes.
Not confusion. Not surprise.
Cold.
He crosses the room in seconds, boots heavy, presence swallowing space. The Saints holding me loosen their grip immediately without being told. Nobody wants to be the one touching me when Diablo decides he’s done playing polite.
His hand cups my jaw gently, thumb brushing the blood at my lip with maddening care. Controlled. Not soft. The restraint in it tightens my throat and does something traitorous to my pulse.
“You’re bleeding,” he utters, his voice hushed.
“I’ve had worse,” I mutter, because pride is the only thing keeping my knees from buckling.
His eyes flicker once, like the words stabbed him. His thumb pauses, then drags slow across my mouth.
He turns his head toward Carmen without taking his hand off me.
“What the fuck happened?” Diablo asks.
Carmen straightens, chin lifting, politician mask snapping back into place. “She came in accusing me of crimes I didn’t commit,” she says smoothly. “And then she attacked me.”
“I defended myself,” I snap, trying to step forward, but Diablo’s hand tightens slightly on my jaw, holding me still.
Not controlling.
Warning.
His eyes return to mine.
“Talk,” he says quietly.
The single word hits harder than a shout. It isn’t a demand for drama. It’s a demand for truth.
Adrenaline drains out of me at once, leaving shaking emptiness. My anger at Carmen still burns, but underneath it is the cold sharp panic that’s been clawing at me since Rico said Disco’s name.
“This isn’t about her,” I say, voice unsteady despite my effort to keep it firm. “I didn’t come here to fight.”
Carmen makes a soft scoffing sound like I’m always lying.
I ignore her.
“I came because I’m in trouble,” I continue, and my voice cracks on the last word like my body is betraying my pride.
Carmen’s eyes narrow. “Always.”
Diablo doesn’t look at her. He keeps his focus on me, and that alone makes Carmen’s posture stiffen. She hates being ignored more than she hates being challenged.
“I’m being blackmailed,” I say.
The words land heavy in the room.
Even the bass feels quieter, like the building leaned in to listen.
Diablo’s gaze sharpens instantly, softness gone, replaced by pure calculation.
“By who?”
I swallow hard, tasting blood and salt and fear.
“Rico,” I say.
His name changes everything.
The room tightens, physical, like every Saints Outlaws member in the building just shifted their weight. A low murmur moves through cuts and whiskey and smoke.
Diablo’s jaw works once.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “He called me. He sent a pin. I went. He said he’s leaving that place.”
Carmen goes very still, eyes sharpening like she’s taking notes.
“He hasn’t gotten far. Give me your phone,” Diablo says.
I hand it over.
“He has my bird,” I continue quickly, because if I stop talking I might fall apart. “He broke into my apartment. He stole the gifts. He wants dirt on you.”
Silence answers me, but it isn’t confused silence.
It’s lethal silence.
Diablo’s hand drops from my face slowly, like he’s afraid he might crush me if he keeps touching. His expression empties out, not from lack of feeling but from too much control.
No anger on the surface.
No emotion.
Just a void that means someone is about to die.
“What kind of dirt?” Diablo asks, voice flat.
“Deals,” I say. “Locations. Money. Anything that weakens you.”
I see Carmen swallow.
Diablo doesn’t look at her, but I can feel her watching him, measuring his response like she’s already planning her next move.
“He threatened to kill Disco if I didn’t cooperate,” I add quietly, and saying it out loud makes my eyes sting.
Something dark slides into Diablo’s gaze.
I’ve seen it once before.
The night Rafael died.
“You should’ve come to me first,” Diablo says, steel under the words.
“I didn’t want you killing him,” I whisper, because that’s the truth that makes me hate myself. Some part of me still flinches at blood. Some part of me still wants to believe monsters can choose not to bite.
Diablo’s eyes snap back to mine, sharp and immediate.
“Now I have to.”
Carmen’s voice cuts in, smooth as a blade wrapped in velvet. “Think before you react. If he’s asking for information, someone’s backing him.”
Diablo doesn’t answer her.
That silence is violence.
He looks at me again, really looks, taking in my swollen cheek, the blood at my mouth, the tremor I’m trying to hide. His gaze drops briefly to my throat like he’s checking my pulse without touching.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says.
The possessiveness in his voice isn’t romantic.
It’s command.
It’s survival.
It’s a promise that the world just got smaller and I’m trapped inside it.
I swallow hard. “I didn’t come here to be locked up.”
Diablo steps closer, just enough that I feel his heat through the humid air, just enough that I can smell him over cigars and whiskey. Leather. Smoke. Salt. Miami clinging to him like it owns him.
“You came here because you had no other move,” he says quietly. “Now you let me handle it.”
“And what if I don’t want you handling it?” I push back, because backbone is the only thing I have left.
His eyes narrow, not angry at me, more like he’s trying to hold himself still.
He lifts his hand again. This time he doesn’t touch my mouth. He slides his knuckles lightly along my cheekbone, careful of the swelling, almost gentle.
The tenderness wrecks me more than the violence.
“You walked into my world,” he murmurs. “You don’t get to pick the rules when the sharks start circling.”
Carmen’s laugh is soft and sharp. “Listen to him, Darling. He’s very good at rules.”
I turn toward her, rage sparking again. “Shut up.”
Carmen’s smile is thin. “Or what? You’ll hit me again?”
Diablo’s voice drops colder. “Carmen.”
She stills at his tone, eyes flicking to his face like she’s surprised he used her name like a warning instead of a comfort.
I look back at Diablo, chest tight. “My bird is a living thing,” I say. “He’s not leverage.”
Diablo’s gaze goes darker. “I know.”
“Rico said he has pictures,” I add quickly, dread ripping through me. “He said he’s been watching. The yacht. The helicopter. The beach.”
Carmen’s expression flickers, a tiny crack, like she didn’t like hearing Rico had that angle.
Diablo’s eyes flash. “He’s had eyes on you.”
“And I think those eyes come from somewhere,” I say, letting my gaze drift pointedly to Carmen.
Carmen’s face stays calm, but her fingers curl slightly at her side.
Controlled.
Not unaffected.
Diablo’s expression doesn’t change, but the air around him does. It thickens. Sharpens.
“You’ve been acting like I’m the chaos,” I say, voice steady now. “Like I’m the problem that followed him in.”
Carmen’s smile returns, slow and poisonous. “Maybe because you are.”
“My apartment got trashed,” I snap. “My bird got taken. A white rose was left on my counter.”
Carmen tilts her head. “White roses are common, querida.”
“Not in a destroyed apartment,” I shoot back.
Diablo’s jaw flexes. His body angles subtly between us, a barrier without words.
“I’m not doing this in front of my men,” Diablo says quietly.
Carmen’s brows lift. “Doing what? Pretending she’s not a threat?”
“I said not here,” Diablo repeats, and the finality makes even Carmen pause.
He turns back to me, eyes pure command.
“Vice.”
From behind us, Vice moves instantly, like he’s been waiting for the call. “Yeah, Prez?”
“Lock the doors,” Diablo says. “No one in or out until I say.”
A murmur ripples through the room. A few Saints grin like they’re excited. Others look grim like they know what comes next.
My stomach drops. “Diablo.”
His gaze cuts to me. “You wanted me to handle it.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
Because he’s right.
Because I walked into this building knowing what he is and I still came anyway. Now I’m bleeding, desperate and furious.
Diablo’s hand slides to my lower back, firm, not gentle. He steers me forward, not dragging, but guiding with control that doesn’t leave room for argument.
“You’re staying where I can see you,” he says close to my ear.
Heat and fear twist together under my skin.
This isn’t just Carmen’s war anymore.
It’s Diablo’s.
And he’s about to end it.
I can feel it in the way the room holds its breath, in the way Vice’s eyes go hard, in the way Carmen’s composure tightens like she’s bracing for impact.
I feel it in Diablo’s touch on my back, and the cold calm that settles over him like a death sentence. And for the first time since Rico called, I realize something that makes my blood run colder than the AC blasting from Lady’s SUV outside.
Rico didn’t just threaten me.
He challenged Diablo.
In Miami, that’s the same thing as signing your own execution.
And if Carmen had anything to do with it, she’s not coming at me with fists again.
She’s coming at me with consequences.