Page 47 of Tangled in Red

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Frank’s slurred voice made Brett freeze. He turned to see his uncle swaying in the doorway, bloodshot eyes narrowed in anger.

“Leaving,” Brett said, surprised at how steady his voice sounded. “I’m done, Frank. I can’t live like this anymore.”

“You ungrateful little shit.” Frank took a step forward, fists clenched at his sides. “After everything I’ve done for you? I took you in when your bitch mother kicked you out!”

Diablo moved in a blur, slamming Frank against the wall with a hand around his throat. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he snarled. “You don’t get to talk to him like that. Not anymore.”

Frank’s eyes bulged, his face turning an ugly shade of red as he clawed at Diablo’s iron grip. Choked sounds escaped his gaping mouth.

“Diablo,” Brett said softly, placing a hand on his mate’s tense shoulder. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

For a moment, he thought Diablo might not listen, might crush Frank’s windpipe right there. But slowly, his fingers uncurled, letting Frank drop to the floor in a gasping heap.

Brett zipped the bag and slung it over his shoulder, wincing as it pressed against tender bruises. Diablo took it from him without a word, shouldering the strap.

Brett didn’t look back as they descended the stairs, Diablo’s hand a steadying presence at the small of his back.

They were almost to the front door when it swung open, revealing Jack’s leering face. “Where you off to, Brettie boy?” His gaze raked over Brett, making his skin crawl.

Unconsciously, Brett rubbed at his wrist, the fading bruises a stark reminder of Jack’s cruelty. Diablo’s eyes tracked the movement then slid to Jack, his expression darkening.

“You put your hands on him.” It wasn’t a question.

Jack snorted. “How is that any of your business?”

Brett was surrounded by idiots. “Jack, meet my boyfriend, Diablo.” He narrowed his eyes, tired of people thinking they could do whatever they wanted to him. Those days were over. Brett didn’t consider himself tough, but after his ordeal with Rico, Jack no longer intimidated him. “That means devil, in case you didn’t know.”

Diablo’s lips curled back in a snarl, revealing elongated canines. “Debería arrancarte las manos por atreverte a tocar lo que es mío.”

Jack’s face paled, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He took a step back, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to put distance between himself and the enraged shifter.

“What did you just say?” Brett whispered to his mate.

Diablo grinned. “I told him I should rip his hands off for daring to touch what’s mine.”

“Oh.” Brett felt himself blushing like crazy. “That’s so sweet.”

“Look, man, I didn’t know he was yours, okay?” Jack held up his hands in a placating gesture. “No hard feelings, right?”

“No hard feelings?” Brett glared at him. “You cornered me in the kitchen like a straight-up creep and grabbed my wrist. I have all the hard feelings in the world for you.”

Diablo stalked forward, a predator sizing up his prey. “You put your filthy hands on my mate. Bruised him. Scared him.” Each word was punctuated by a step closer, backing Jack against the wall. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t rip your throat out right now.”

Brett placed a gentle hand on Diablo arm, feeling the coiled tension thrumming beneath his touch. As much as he would love to see Jack get what he deserved, he didn’t want Diablo’s hands stained with the bastard’s blood. He’d already killed for Brett. Once was enough.

“I think you made your point, cariño,” Brett murmured, echoing his earlier words. “You promised me lunch.” At Smack Yo Mama. Brett couldn’t get enough of that place.

Diablo’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. For a tense moment, Brett thought he might lunge for Jack anyway. But then, with visible effort, Diablo stepped back.

“Touch him again, and I’ll paint these walls with your entrails,” Diablo growled. “That’s a promise, cabrón.”

Jack nodded frantically, plastered against the wall like he hoped it might swallow him whole. Brett almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Diablo’s hand found his, their fingers lacing together as he tugged Brett toward the door. Brett followed with a huge grin, leaving behind the only home he’d known for the last few years. But it had never really been a home, had it? Just a place to exist, to endure.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, Diablo’s motorcycle gleaming at the curb, Brett felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He was free. Finally, truly free.

He climbed onto the bike behind Diablo, arms wrapping around his mate's waist. The engine roared to life beneath them, and then they were flying, wind whipping through Brett’s hair as they sped down the street.

Brett rested his cheek against Diablo’s back, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and spice. This was home. Wherever Diablo was, that was where Brett belonged.

THE END

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