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.
