Page 24 of Tangled in Red

“No te merezco,” Brett repeated, making Diablo chuckle.

“That means, I don’t deserve you.” He kissed his mate’s temple, inhaling his scent.

“Oh!” Brett hugged him tighter. “I guess neither of us no te merezco.”

Diablo grinned, feeling the heat of the man’s blush. “Never change, pajarito.”

Chapter Six

So much had hit Brett in such a short amount of time. It was like a never-ending day that just kept getting weirder and weirder.

Had it really been only seven hours since Diablo showed up to take him out for a bite to eat? That dinner was the only normal part of his day, and even that felt like it’d happened in another lifetime.

Brett needed a freaking blunt, and he didn’t even smoke. Not after he’d snuck one from his uncle’s stash and choked so hard he thought he was dying. He didn’t even drink, thanks to Frank. Brett was terrified of ending up like his uncle.

So what in the hell could he do to settle his frayed nerves?

Seriously, what even happened at that bar? Something had been coming out of Diablo, and it wasn’t a cute puppy.

And it hadn’t been just Diablo. Brett had seen that dark-haired guy’s eyes doing some freaky glow-in-the-dark thing too.

What kind of bizarre, alternate dimension had Brett stumbled into? Maybe Diablo really was the devil.

But wait, that made zero sense. The devil wouldn't make Brett feel safer than he ever had. Or treat him with such sweetness.

Or kiss like he was on a mission to rewrite Brett’s reality.

Scratch that, melt his brain? Yeah, that was more like it. Diablo had already rewritten Brett’s reality half an hour ago.

Whatever Diablo’s deal was, observing him all shaken and wrecked after what happened, Brett knew he had to be there for him.

It was rattling to see a guy who was usually so confident looking that vulnerable. Way more frightening than whatever was trying to take over Diablo. Because, if someone as strong as him could fall apart, what chance did Brett have at fighting his own monsters?

He sat back in his seat, raking a hand through his hair as Diablo emerged from the kitchen with a tray.

Sweet mercy, even knowing there was something bizarre under the hood, the guy was still ridiculously gorgeous.

Brett resisted the urge to drool over the walking wall of muscle heading his way. Seriously, the guy was at least six-four and built like a military-grade tank. No chance he was going to wonder if Diablo’s cock was as impressive as a tank’s artillery. Oh crap! He went there! Shit. Now Brett was gawking at the man’s crotch while his mind performed laps around his taut thighs!

He bit his lip as Diablo set the tray on the table, feeling both mortified and praying the hunk didn’t have mind-reading powers. Brett had no clue what Diablo was, so who knew what was possible?

The chair scraped loudly against the floor as he pulled it out, and the wood groaned under his weight, making Brett wonder if it could support all that mass.

Stop thinking about the size of his cock!

The bar had settled down, with the crowd dwindling to just a few guys. The music was no longer blaring, and the chatter was more like a quiet hum.

Brett’s gaze swept across the table, shamelessly checking out biceps sculpted from granite and a chest broad enough to nap on.

Sweet baby Jesus.

“I grabbed something light for us to eat.” Diablo gestured at the tray. “Figured some food might help.”

“That’s light?” Brett’s eyebrows shot up, not just because of the sheer quantity but the bizarre assortment. Pancakes, chicken wings, cinnamon rolls, potato chips, and…was that a wedge of pumpkin pie?

“I swear you have the strangest taste buds on the planet. And I love it.” Brett swiftly nabbed the pie. “Please tell me you grabbed some whipped cream.”

With a wink, Diablo removed the lid from a dipping cup. “I scored the last one.”

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