Claimed by El Diablo

Chapter 2:The Monster's Office

The silence in The Iron Horse was absolute, save for the muffled, relentless pounding of the rain against the roof. Dozens of heavily tattooed bikers, men who looked like they chewed glass for breakfast, were staring at me. Or rather, they were staring at the massive hand still clamped firmly onto my hip.

My knees gave another treacherous tremble. If it weren't for Javier's iron grip, I would have collapsed into the puddle of rainwater currently pooling around my ruined sneakers.

"Show's over," Javier’s voice boomed. He didn't yell, but the deep, gravelly baritone commanded the room with effortless authority. "Get back to your drinks. Someone secure the perimeter. If Hector or his cartel rats so much as sniff the gates, I want to know about it."

Instantly, the tension snapped. The jukebox flared back to life, though at a lower volume, and the low hum of conversation resumed. A few of the bikers shot me curious, lingering glances, but nobody dared question their President.

Javier finally looked down at me. Up close, the sheer size of the man was suffocating. He smelled of rain, expensive tobacco, and a dark, musky cologne that made my head spin. His obsidian eyes scanned my soaked, shivering frame, lingering on the bruises forming on my arms where Hector had grabbed me. A muscle feathered in his clenched jaw.

"Walk," he commanded softly, his hand sliding from my hip to the small of my back. It wasn't a suggestion.

He guided me through the maze of pool tables and sticky leather booths, heading toward a heavy oak door at the back of the bar. I stumbled, my numb legs barely functioning, but his hand was a constant, burning anchor against my spine, keeping me upright.

He pushed the door open, ushering me into a dimly lit hallway, and then into a spacious office at the end. The room was a stark contrast to the chaotic bar outside. It was clean, smelling of aged leather and polished wood. A massive mahogany desk dominated the space, covered in neat stacks of paper and a sleek laptop. The walls were lined with filing cabinets and a locked gun safe that looked like it belonged in a bank vault.

Javier shut the door behind us. The heavy click of the lock sounded like a gavel falling.

He walked past me, pulling off his leather cut and tossing it carelessly over the back of a leather chair. Underneath, he wore a tight black t-shirt that stretched over a chest and shoulders corded with thick muscle. Intricate tattoos coiled up his arms, disappearing under the dark fabric.

He moved to a small side table, poured two fingers of amber liquid into a heavy crystal glass, and turned back to me. He held it out.

"Drink," he ordered.

I shook my head, my teeth chattering so hard I could barely speak. "I-I don't want water."

"You're going into shock, chica. Drink it, or I'll pour it down your throat myself."

His tone was flat, devoid of any teasing. I took the glass with trembling hands. The liquor burned a fiery trail down my throat, but almost instantly, a heavy warmth began to bloom in my chest, dulling the sharpest edges of my panic. I choked, coughing into my hand, and thrust the empty glass back at him.

"Thank you," I whispered, wrapping my arms around my freezing torso. "For... for out there. You saved my life."

Javier leaned back against the edge of his desk, crossing his massive arms over his chest. He watched me with the detached calculation of a predator evaluating its prey.

"I didn't do it for you," he stated, his voice a low rumble. "I did it because I don't let the Rojas Cartel come into my house, disrespect my club, and drag a woman out by her hair. It's bad for business."

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "I understand. And I appreciate it. I'll get out of your hair now. The storm is bad, but if I can just use your phone to call a cab—"

"You aren't calling a cab," Javier interrupted smoothly.

"I have to," I insisted, a hysterical edge creeping into my voice. "My car crashed in the ditch a half-mile from here. If Hector is waiting out there—"

"He is waiting out there," Javier confirmed casually. "Hector isn't stupid enough to start a war inside my walls, but he's prideful enough to wait at the edge of my territory. The second you step past the gates of this compound, they'll throw you in the back of an SUV, take you to a warehouse, and take a very slow, very painful inventory of your organs to pay off whatever you owe them."

The blood drained from my face. I backed away, hitting the leather sofa behind me, and sank onto the cushions. I buried my face in my hands, a strangled sob tearing from my throat. "I'm dead. I'm already dead."

Silence stretched in the room, broken only by the ticking of a clock on the wall.

"Who are you?" Javier asked. His voice had lost a fraction of its harshness, replaced by a demanding curiosity. "And what did you do to piss off Marco Rojas?"

I dropped my hands, looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes. "My name is Valentina. Valentina Ortiz. And I didn't do anything. My father did."

"Arturo Ortiz," Javier murmured, recognition flashing in his dark eyes. "Small-time smuggler. Heavy gambler. Word on the street is they pulled him out of the river yesterday."

"They shot him," I said, my voice hollow. "And they left a fifty-hundred-thousand-dollar debt. Hector showed up at my nursing school dorm yesterday. He told me the debt transferred to his next of kin. He said I had forty-eight hours to come up with the money, or I belonged to them."

Javier let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Half a million. Your old man was an i***t. And Marco Rojas is a greedy bastard."

He pushed off the desk and began to pace the length of the room. He moved with a terrifying grace for a man of his size, like a caged panther. I watched him, entirely at his mercy.

"So, what was the plan, Valentina?" he asked, stopping in front of me. "Drive until the gas ran out? Hide in a motel? The cartel owns the police in four different counties. They have eyes on the bus stations, the airports, the highways. You wouldn't have made it to the state line."

"I didn't have a plan!" I cried out, frustration and fear boiling over. "I was just running! I'm a nursing student, not a criminal! I don't know how any of this works!"

Javier stared down at me. For a long moment, the only sound was my ragged breathing. Then, he crouched down, bringing his face level with mine. The scent of him enveloped me again, dark and dangerous.

"Well, you're going to have to learn fast," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

He reached out, his calloused thumb brushing a stray, wet curl away from my cheek. The gentleness of the gesture was entirely at odds with the violence in his eyes. I flinched, but I didn't pull away. I couldn't.

"I claimed you in front of a cartel lieutenant," Javier stated, his voice a low, hypnotic drawl. "I told him you were my Old Lady. In my world, that is a blood pact. It means you are under my absolute protection. It means an attack on you is an attack on the Kings of Chaos."

"But it was a lie," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You just said it to get him to back off."

"Hector will report back to his boss," Javier continued, ignoring my interruption. "Marco Rojas will test that claim. He will watch. If he finds out I was bluffing, he will see it as a sign of weakness. And I do not show weakness. Ever."

He stood back up, towering over me once more. The commanding, ruthless President was back.

"So, here is your new reality, Valentina. You are going to stay here. In this compound. In my bed."

My jaw dropped. "What? No! I can't—"

"You will," Javier snapped, his eyes flashing with a dangerous fire. "You will wear my cut. You will sit on the back of my bike. You will smile, and you will play the part of the devoted, claimed woman. If you step out of line, if you try to run, I won't have to kill you. I'll just open the front gates and let Hector have you."

I stared at him, horrified. He wasn't offering me a sanctuary. He was offering me a different kind of cage.

"Why?" I demanded, my voice shaking with equal parts anger and terror. "Why would you go through all this trouble for a stranger?"

Javier walked to the heavy oak door and wrapped his hand around the brass knob. He looked back at me over his massive shoulder, his expression unreadable.

"Because I despise the Rojas Cartel. And because out there, you're a dead woman." His gaze dropped to my lips for a fleeting, burning second. "And in here... you're mine. Get some sleep, chica. Tomorrow, you meet the family."

He opened the door and walked out, the heavy lock clicking shut behind him, sealing me in the monster's office.