Page 39 of Tangled in Red

Two hours. Rico had a two-hour head lead with his mate.

In the parking lot, Diablo slammed his fist into the metal light pole with a fierce growl. The pole shook violently, a large dent now visible. He crouched, resting his hands over his head.

The chill in his veins turned into something deadlier than he’d ever felt before.

“Diablo, who was that guy?” Tomas demanded, hovering over him.

Rico had just taken the one thing in this world Diablo couldn’t live without. Brett. His elegido. His heart.

Brett had been with Rico for two hours. The same man who’d chained Diablo up, who’d injected him with the serum that had trapped his beasts. What was he doing to Brett right now? Was Brett hurt? Scared?

His lycanthrope snarled inside him, pushing against its cage with renewed fury. His wolf howled, desperate to track its mate.

“That was Rico. The hyena that did this to me!”

Tomas cursed. “How the fuck did he know about Brett?”

Diablo swung his leg over his bike, jamming the key into the ignition. “I’m going to find them, and then I’m going to rip Rico’s spine out through his throat.”

The hyena had just made the last mistake of his life.

“Diablo, wait—” Tomas grabbed his arm. “We need to tell Matias. Let the pack help.”

For a split second, Diablo considered ignoring him, tearing off alone to find his mate. But Tomas was right. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore. Brett’s life was at stake.

“Call him,” Diablo growled, engine roaring to life beneath him. “Tell him Rico has my mate. I’m starting at Sin's. Need to grab more firepower.”

“I’m right behind you,” Tomas promised, already pulling out his phone.

Images of Brett, frightened and alone, flashed through Diablo’s mind. His grip tightened on the handlebars until his knuckles went white. Rico had no idea what he’d just unleashed.

He would die screaming for what he’d done.

“Hold on, pajarito,” Diablo whispered. “I’m coming for you.”

* * * *

After what felt like hours of driving, they’d finally stopped. Brett had memorized as many turns as possible before Rico had forced a hood over his head.

Now the cold metal of a shackle bit into his ankle, limiting his movement to the couch and a few feet around it.

Fading sunlight streamed through the grimy windows, casting long shadows across worn floorboards. Peeling wallpaper, water stains on the ceiling, and furniture that had seen better decades suggested this place had been abandoned long ago. A perfect spot to hide a kidnapping victim.

From his position on the lumpy couch, he could see into a narrow hallway but not much else. He glanced around the room, mentally mapping exits, distances, potential weapons. Three doors, two windows, heavy lamp on the side table. Chain too short to reach any of them. Brett tugged experimentally at it. Solid.

His fingers trembled as he rubbed at his shoulder. The pain had intensified during the rough journey from the hospital, Rico’s grip unforgiving as he’d dragged Brett through hallways and eventually into this remote cabin.

“Comfortable?” Rico’s smooth voice slid into the space as he entered, sleeves rolled up and a glass of water in hand.

“Would be more comfortable at home.” Not really. He eyed the water with suspicion.

Rico’s lips curled into something resembling a smile as he extended the glass. “Drink. I need you alive.”

Reluctantly, Brett accepted it, sniffing before taking a small sip. Just water. He drained half the glass, suddenly aware of how parched his throat felt.

It was insane to drink anything a kidnapper gave him, but Brett was being cautious. He was trying to, at least. He’d seen Rico’s insanity the parking garage and didn’t want to do anything to piss him off.

“Such manners,” Rico commented, settling into an armchair across from him. “Your mother would be proud.”

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