Claimed by El Diablo

Chapter 11: The Glass Wall

The deafening cheers of the Kings of Chaos faded into a muffled, distant rumble the moment Javier kicked the heavy steel door of the loft shut behind us.

The deadbolt slid into place with a definitive clack, sealing us inside the quiet, dimly lit sanctuary. Javier didn't walk further into the room. He leaned his broad back against the steel door, his chest heaving as he stared down at the crisp, state-sealed marriage certificate gripped in his massive hand.

I stood a few feet away, my heart pounding a frantic, bruised rhythm against my ribs.

We were married. The words felt foreign and impossibly heavy. I was Valentina Vargas, the legally bound wife of the most feared outlaw in the city. And outside those iron gates, an army of bounty hunters and corrupt cops were mobilizing to hunt me down for a million dollars.

The adrenaline that had carried me through the impromptu wedding ceremony finally abandoned me, crashing like a tidal wave against the shore. My knees buckled.

Before I could hit the hardwood floor, Javier was there. He dropped the certificate, his massive arms wrapping around my waist, catching my weight effortlessly. He pulled me flush against his solid, unyielding chest. The intoxicating scent of his cedar cologne, gunpowder, and pure male heat wrapped around me, a physical shield against the terror trying to claw its way into my brain.

"I've got you," Javier murmured, his voice a dark, vibrating rumble against my ear. His heavy hand stroked the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my dark waves. "You're safe, chica. Nobody is coming through that door."

"A million dollars, Javier," I whispered into his black t-shirt, a fractured sob tearing from my throat. "It's a million dollars. They aren't going to stop."

"Let them come," he growled fiercely, his grip tightening. "I will stack their bodies at the gates until they understand that what belongs to El Diablo is untouchable. You are my wife. My blood. Do you understand me?"

I nodded against his chest, the tears finally spilling over. I wasn't crying because I was afraid of him; I was crying because, in a world that had suddenly turned entirely hostile, the arms of this kind of man were the only place I felt truly safe.

Javier let me cry until the violent tremors wracking my body slowly subsided. He pressed a long, searing kiss to the crown of my head before slowly pulling back. His obsidian eyes swept over my pale, exhausted face, the possessive fire from downstairs morphing into a deep, agonizing tenderness.

"Go get in the shower," he ordered softly, his thumbs brushing the tears from my cheeks. "Wash the day off. Wash the cartel dirt off. I'll make sure the perimeter is locked down."

I nodded, my limbs feeling like lead as I turned toward the massive master bathroom.

The bathroom was a sprawling, luxurious cavern of dark slate and frosted glass. I stripped off the oversized leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor, followed by my ruined, blood-stained clothes. I stepped into the massive walk-in shower and cranked the water as hot as I could stand it.

The scalding spray hit my skin, washing away the smell of the bar, the metallic tang of Dallas's blood, and the lingering chill of Judge Rossi’s terror. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cool slate tiles, letting the steam fill the room and wrap around me like a cocoon.

I didn't know how long I stood there, lost in the heavy white noise of the falling water, until the distinct click of the bathroom door opening pierced through the steam.

I gasped, spinning around.

Javier stood in the doorway. He had stripped off his combat boots and his weapons, wearing only his dark denim jeans hanging low on his hips. His broad, heavily tattooed chest was bare, moving with deep, measured breaths. Over his massive forearm, he carried a large, fluffy white towel.

He had walked in to bring me a towel, but the moment his eyes landed on me, he froze entirely.

The shower enclosure was made of crystal-clear glass. There was absolutely nothing hidden. The steam clung to my bare, flushed skin, the water cascading over my curves, plastering my dark hair against my collarbones.

The air in the bathroom instantly turned to liquid fire.

Javier’s obsidian eyes darkened to an absolute, fathomless pitch. His gaze dragged over my body from the slope of my neck, down to my breasts, tracing the curve of my hips and the long line of my legs. A heavy, guttural groan tore from the back of his throat, the sound of a starving man pushed to the absolute edge of its leash.

"Javier..." I whispered, my voice trembling. I didn't cross my arms. I didn't try to hide. The raw, desperate hunger in his eyes made my pulse hammer wildly between my thighs.

He took a step forward, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the towel. The muscles in his neck strained, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter. He looked at the glass door handle, his hand twitching, fighting a visible, agonizing war with his own primal instincts.

Downstairs, he had promised to make me feel like his wife tonight. And standing here, stripped bare and shivering under his consuming gaze, I wanted nothing more than for him to open that door and shatter the final wall between us.

"You're beautiful," Javier rasped, his voice sounding like gravel grinding against stone. "Amazingly perfect."

He took another agonizingly slow step, closing the distance until he was inches from the glass. The heat radiating off his body warred with the steam of the shower. He raised his hand, pressing his heavy, scarred palm flat against the wet glass, right where my heart was racing on the other side.

I placed my small hand against the glass, perfectly aligning it with his.

Javier closed his eyes, a sharp, ragged breath shuddering through his massive chest. When he opened them again, the feral hunger was locked down, buried beneath a wall of iron-clad restraint.

"I promised you," he whispered fiercely, his eyes locking onto mine with uncompromising intensity. "I promised I would make you mine tonight. But I won't take you when your hands are still shaking from terror, Valentina. I won't let our first time be fueled by the adrenaline of a bounty on your head."

"I want you," I breathed, the confession slipping out honestly.

"And I am going to have you," Javier swore, his eyes flashing with a dark, scorching promise that made my knees weak. "But when I take my wife, she isn't going to be thinking about Marco Rojas. She isn't going to be thinking about survival. Her mind is going to be completely, entirely consumed by me. I want you present for every single second of it."

He stepped back from the glass, his chest heaving with the sheer, agonizing effort of his self-control. He tossed the large white towel over the top of the shower enclosure.

"Dry off," Javier commanded, his voice thick and rough. "Then come to bed."

He turned and walked out of the bathroom, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

I leaned back against the wet tile, letting out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding. The restraint he had just shown proved everything I needed to know. He was a ruthless killer to the rest of the world, but to me, he was a king who valued my soul more than his own immediate gratification.

I turned off the water, wrapped the heavy towel tightly around my body, and stepped out into the cool air of the bedroom.

Javier was already in bed, lying on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the dark ceiling. The sheet was pulled to his waist, leaving the lethal canvas of his tattooed chest exposed.

I dropped the towel, slipping into another one of his clean, oversized black t-shirts, and climbed into the massive bed beside him.

The moment the mattress dipped under my weight, Javier shifted. He reached out, his heavy arm wrapping around my waist, and hauled me effortlessly across the sheets until I was flush against his side. I curled my body against his, resting my cheek on his pectoral muscle, listening to the steady, rhythmic thumping of his heart.

His calloused hand slowly stroked my damp hair, the gentle, rhythmic motion lulling my exhausted brain into a state of heavy lethargy. The intoxicating tension still crackled between us, a simmering, slow-burning fire that was destined to explode, but for tonight, the safety of his arms was exactly what I needed.

"Sleep, mi reina," Javier whispered into the darkness, his lips brushing the top of my head. My queen. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness pull me under.

But the peace didn't last.

It felt like I had only been asleep for minutes when a harsh, blaring siren suddenly ripped through the silence of the loft. The shrill sound echoed off the high ceilings, accompanied by the frantic, flashing strobe of a red emergency light above the door.

Javier was out of bed in a fraction of a second. The tender husband vanished, replaced instantly by the lethal President of the Kings of Chaos. He grabbed his Glock from the nightstand, racking the slide with a terrifying, mechanical clack.

"What is it?!" I yelled over the blare of the alarm, scrambling up against the headboard.

The radio on the dresser crackled to life, Mateo’s voice cutting through the panic, breathless and urgent.

"Prez! We have a breach. Three heavily armored SUVs just rammed the south gates. They're heavily armed, Boss. It's not the cartel."

Javier’s eyes darkened to pitch, his jaw locking into a murderous line as he strapped his holster across his bare chest.

"Who is it?" Javier barked into the radio.

"Bounty hunters," Mateo yelled, the sound of automatic gunfire already echoing through his transmission. "And there’s dozens of them."