Chapter 26

A s I continue staring into the unyielding darkness, time seems to stretch and warp, slipping through my grasp like water through clenched fists. The echoes of my past mistakes haunt me in this inky abyss, and I find myself drowning in the choices I've made, particularly in underestimating the depth of my father's malevolence.

His insanity.

How could we have been so stupid? Of course, he'd make a move when we least expected it. I just don't understand why.

Beneath the never-ending questions and self-loathing is worry. I'm so fucking terrified for my family.

My thoughts are consumed by my brothers. Are they alive? Are they okay? Are they here? God, I hope they aren't fucking here. Nothing good comes from this hell. And Maddox. How bad was the gunshot?

I groan, shaking my head, the only body part I can move.

The guilt of not being able to protect them gnaws at me, a relentless reminder of my failure.

You did this.

It's your fault.

Your fault.

I grit my teeth, shaking the thoughts away.

My mind doesn't clear for long, because under all that shit is what I'm really hiding from. Under all that, it's Ella who occupies my mind the most. Her gorgeous freckled face. Her sweet, husky voice. The warmth of her soft touch. All of it flashes before my eyes, taunting me with the unknown.

Is she okay?

Is she hurt?

Cold?

Sad?

Is she alive?

I'm tormented by thoughts of her. Consumed by them. I've survived this place before, but I've always done it alone. Now, I have so much to live for. I have a family. A future. Fuck .

A beautiful future with a beautiful girl—one I never thought I'd be lucky enough to deserve.

I've been in this darkness before, but this time it's different. This time she's outside these walls and I can't reach her. The realization of my helplessness claws at my chest. I feel like half of my soul is fucking missing.

I have no doubt that's why he's had me shackled to the wall, naked and unable to move, not even to take a piss. He did it because he knows I'd pull this cell apart, brick by fucking brick to get to them, to her. He knows there's nothing that would kill me more than feeling so damn stripped of myself and the fragile control I hold on to.

Each agonizing moment spent in this inescapable situation intensifies my need to find her, to hold her close, to make sure she's safe. To never let her out of my sight again. But for now, all I can do is hope and pray to a god I don't believe in that she's unharmed and somehow, against all odds, we'll find a way back to each other.

I can feel the gnawing hunger clawing at my stomach, demanding attention, but I ignore it. My focus is elsewhere, locked on the haunting memories of those final moments when I last saw my brother and Ella, covered in blood, her screams echoing in the air as she was mercilessly torn away from us.

Time blurs as I slide in and out of fitful sleep, each time thrusting me back into the nightmares that replay those traumatic scenes. They mix with my childhood, memories of Madd tied to chairs while being forced to watch me take a beating for him. I see him crying. I see my mother crying. And then I'm tossed into a memory that doesn't even belong to me.

Ella's.

Hunter's.

The horror show they shared with us just the other night. I wasn't there, but fuck, I feel like I was. I've heard her screams when the nightmares have woken her up. I've held her while she's been thrown into the past. And Hunter, God, I've seen the poor fucker ask to be killed because he's so wrecked over it.

Again and again I see her, see them, tortured and abused. I see that sick fucker Madd and I killed, touching, taunting, taking .

Again and again.

I gasp for air, my heart pounding. I blink rapidly, my body covered in sweat despite the cold. Vomit crawls up my stomach and I hang my head, just in time to let it fall.

I don't know how much time has passed, maybe a day or two, but I'm launched from another restless sleep with a jolt. My mouth is dry as sandpaper, and a violent cough racks my body, choking me on nothing but the darkness that surrounds me. My throat burns, but there's no relief, no water to quench the unbearable thirst.

For a second, just a split second, I think it can't get any worse.

And then it comes—a sinister laugh that pierces the void.

It's so cold, so utterly terrifying, that it sends shivers down my bare spine. My breath hitches in my chest, and I strain my senses, trying to locate the source of the wicked sound I'd know anywhere.

The chillingly familiar voice slices through the oppressive silence like a knife. "Still just a frightened little boy, I see."

I swallow hard, my jaw clenched so tight it feels like it might shatter.

"?Todavía tienes miedo del hijo oscuro?" Are you still afraid of the dark, son?

I scoff, even as my father's taunting words send my heart into overdrive. I know better than to answer, knowing that his twisted mind thrives on any signs of fear or weakness.

In the inky blackness, anticipation builds with every leather-soled footstep that reverberates through the cold, damp prison cell. The tension is suffocating, and my body tenses.

As my father moves through the darkness, his direction changes. The sound is an ominous drumbeat, and try as I might, it's hard to separate the fear I felt as a child with my present. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can almost feel his presence looming over me, an ugly force that promises only torment and suffering.

Fingers slide gently over my exposed arm, and I jolt, but the restraints anchoring me to the cold concrete wall keep me from moving.

My father's laughter echoes somewhere in the distance and I quickly realize it's not his touch gliding across my body.

Panic surges through me.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" My bellowed words bounce off the walls and my panting breaths follow quickly behind.

The fingers continue their invasive trail, tracing up my arm and across my chest. My body trembles uncontrollably. Nausea churns in my stomach at the unwanted contact.

"What? You don't like my gift?" my father chides, his disappointment evident in his voice. "I figured it was the least I could do after being forced to lock you up like an animal."

My heart races and my body spasms.

I have to get out of here.

Why? Why do I keep fucking underestimating him?

But then he clicks his tongue and the person hovering just before me starts up again. Dread settles like a stone in my gut.

I let my eyes drift shut once more. I need to focus, to calm down. I need to figure out a fucking plan. Slow, deliberate breaths fill my lungs, helping me center my racing thoughts.

My body's shaking, my teeth grinding together, but beyond that, I show no sign of panic. I keep my mouth shut, my words trapped deep in my lungs.

With my eyes closed and my mind narrowed in on my surroundings, my senses sharpen. The familiar scent of rot and mold still clings to the stagnant air, a result of the bloodbaths that've stained these walls over time. But beneath that grim familiarity, there's something new—an unsettling, cloying sweetness that wafts through the air like a corrupted memory of flowers.

It's a scent that's wrong, out of place in the middle of hell. It makes my throat tighten with an involuntary gag.

Despite my best efforts, my attention is once again drawn to the fingers that continue their gentle exploration. They trace a maddening path across my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. But there's no pleasure or excitement in my response, only a rising sense of fear and discomfort.

Biting my cheek so hard so I taste blood, I focus on the touch. I know he's trying to tell me something, trying to make a point. It's what he does. He finds your weakness and exploits it.

But I'm not the little na?ve boy I once was, and my weakness is no longer something small or insignificant. I'm not a teenager who believes himself invincible, stepping in front of my baby brother so the Devil can't get to him.

No. I'm a man, and my only weakness is the love of a woman far better than me.

The touch glides lower, but my cock is utterly unimpressed, my mind and body disturbed. Somehow, in the back of my head, I already know the game.

The skin is too soft. The fingers are too small. The scent is too sweet.

It's a woman.

The realization strikes me like a physical blow.

"Get the fuck away from me!" I roar, my hands jerking against the cuffs so hard I can feel blood dripping down my arms.

Augustus chuckles somewhere in the cell, and my restraint starts to shatter like my plan to stay silent.

The woman pauses, her fingers retracting ever so slightly. She sucks in the tiniest of breaths and whimpers. Is she scared? What the fuck is going on?

My father, never one to tolerate interruptions, sighs impatiently. " Luces ."

As if under his command, the lights above us flicker on abruptly. The harsh, unforgiving brightness blinds me momentarily, my eyes stinging as they struggle to adjust. Black spots dance in my vision, their intensity burning like hot coals. I blink rapidly, determined not to be left vulnerable without sight when he's near.

Fuck that.

The sudden illumination reveals the surroundings I'd only sensed in the inky darkness. The cold, damp concrete walls, the rusted shackles that bind me, and the woman hovering just before me.

Her face remains hidden beneath a curtain of long, dark hair, but from the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of golden tan skin. I quickly look away, taking in my surroundings.

The cell materializes before me in all its grim, disturbing glory.

It's a desolate chamber, a nightmarish abyss carved from cold, unforgiving concrete, just like I remember. The walls are gray and crumbling, fitting of the old prison. The floor beneath me is covered in dried stains, blood, and other bodily fluids, some of them mine. Rust climbs the bars of a narrow window and the only exit.

My eyes flicker to the window again, just for a second, and my brows narrow a fraction before I look away.

I haven't seen light the entire time I've been here.

It makes no sense.

No, don't get distracted. Focus.

I swallow slowly, controlling my nerves, and turn back to the cell. There, in the far corner, stands my father, Augustus Luna, like a specter from my worst nightmares. He leans casually against the unyielding concrete, his arms crossed over his narrow chest, one leg kicked up as if he doesn't have a care in the fucking world.

If I didn't know him the way I do, I'd believe it.

But Gus does care. He cares about what people think of him, about his status, clout, money. He cares about honor in the Diablos, when he has none of his own. He cares about making something of himself, even if it's becoming the scum of the earth. He cares, just not about anything that fucking matters.

My eyes slide down his body, taking in the subtle changes. It's been over a month since I've seen him. He looks different.

More so than he should.

My father isn't a physically imposing man. He's smaller than me, shorter, more slender in build. In his late fifties, he bears the weight of his years, but now, he looks far older than I remember.

The toll of the past month has etched itself onto his features, carving lines of weariness and marking his face like scars. His salt and peppered black hair is now mostly gray. His deeply tanned skin now appears pale, which makes no sense since he was supposed to be on a Mexican vacation visiting his buddy, Raul Diaz.

But it's not his physical transformation that sends a shiver down my spine. It's the sinister smile that dances on his thinning lips. It's a smile that reeks of malice, a knowing, smug curve that conveys a dark secret he's holding onto until the right moment.

He looks like a man who holds all the cards, who revels in the power he wields over my fate.

And in that chilling moment, I realize that this encounter is far different than all the past ones—it's a calculated, twisted game, and he's the puppet master, orchestrating horrors that I can only begin to fathom.

I just don't know why.

Though it feels like we've been staring at each other for hours, I know it's only been seconds. Still, I can't stand to look at him.

I tear my eyes away from my father, my stomach churning with disgust. Finally, I look down at the woman standing before me, a small, fragile figure that's almost swallowed up by the cell. Her head is pointed to the ground, her posture one of either submission or fear, perhaps even shame. I can't tell.

She's wearing next to nothing, a tiny dress that barely hides her minimal curves. Bruises and cuts cover her exposed skin. Her body appears impossibly thin and my fists tighten, making the chains rattle.

I'm the one pinned to the wall like a bug caught in a web, unable to move even an inch, but as I take in her fragile appearance, it becomes painfully clear that she's the one who looks imprisoned.

Gus stomps over to her and she tenses in anticipation of his cruelty.

"Don't," I growl, my voice low and lethal.

Smirking, his hand slides down her bare back, her tiny dress offering no protection, and grips her hip before his hand comes down harshly on her ass. A pained breath escapes her lips, and she flinches, the sound echoing through the cell, making me shake.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Meet Diamond, son," my father taunts proudly, his voice laced with amusement. "She's a well-trained little thing, don't you think?" His laughter fills the room as he enjoys the spectacle of her suffering. "Say hello, Diamond," he snaps, commanding her compliance with another harsh blow.

"Enough!" I roar as the cuffs collide with the wall, again and again.

Gus chuckles and slowly, so painfully slowly, the poor girl looks up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Her voice is a fragile whisper as she utters a broken, " Hello ."

I swallow hard, the taste of copper and rocks in my throat, my breath stalling in my chest.

No.

Fuck. No.

Katarina Garza, Dolores' daughter.

Her dark eyes flicker with recognition, with sadness, and my heart breaks. We tried, we tried so fucking hard to find her after that day in my father's clubhouse. The day he raped her while we had no choice but to watch while held at gunpoint, all because we'd made a decision to save her instead of kill her weeks prior.

She'd gotten wrapped up in some bullshit job Gus sent us on and for that, she was forced to suffer the weight of our failure. I promised then and there that I'd rescue her, I'd get her out somehow. But then she disappeared off the fucking planet. Gus said he was going to sell her. I had no idea she'd ended up right back in the Devil's hands.

"Here's what's going to happen," my father snaps, his voice dripping with malice. "I'm going to ask you questions, and if you don't answer, Diamond will make you."

My eyes flit down to the tiny, fragile girl before me, and a wave of nausea twists my gut. Horror and desperation flood my senses, and my head begins to shake involuntarily before I can even formulate a response.

"Leave her out of this," I manage to grit out, my voice a low, trembling growl.

Gus chuckles, running his fingers through Diamond's hair in a twisted display of mock kindness. Her eyes squeeze shut, as though she senses the lie, feels the danger in the air.

"No," my father replies, a single word that carries the weight of cruel determination.

I clench my fists, every muscle in my body coiled with fury. "What do you want?" I manage to force out through clenched teeth, my gaze locked onto him with a burning intensity.

With another slap to her ass and a harsh gesture I can't see, but makes her whimper in pain, he spins around, giving me his back. My eyes fly around the room to check for backup, for cameras, for guards. Anything to tell me he's unprotected, as if I can actually break free and snap his fucking neck.

Nothing.

I look back at Katarina, but she's already staring at the ground. Gus sighs as he shrugs nonchalantly, sliding his hands into his pockets. Then, he does what he always does and begins to pace, slowly, as if he's got all the time in the world.

It's infuriating.

"Information," he rasps, his accented voice taking on a weaker, less commanding tone. Even his gait is different—a limp, a stumble, a sway. My eyes narrow as I watch him closely, and a chilling realization dawns upon me.

He's different. Something's changed.

"What information?" I grit out.

"Where is your little girlfriend?" my father asks, the words dripping with malice, and my stomach plummets into a pool of dread.

My body tenses involuntarily at the mention of Ella, the mere thought of her near him making me want to rage. But beyond that physical reaction, I show no other sign of the aching chasm building inside me.

Ella? He wants to know about Ella?

What the fuck for?

I grit my teeth, trying to keep my emotions in check. Fear runs through me as I remember how she was taken from us. Anger bubbles up, furious at everything she's been through while I wasn't there. And underneath it all, there's this deep longing—I just want her to be safe, far away from this messed-up situation.

Away from me. Away from all of this.

Nyx's words from months ago come spiraling back so hard, so fast, I get dizzy.

Mark my words. Our world will ruin her.

My heart softens a fraction when I remember the way she fought him every step of his accusation. Every time any of us have tried to push her away, my little warrior has fought us tooth and fucking nail.

Nah. Our world won't ruin her. She's already a fucking queen.

As I run my tongue along my teeth, suppressing a smile that threatens to betray my thoughts, I realize something crucial—a glimmer of relief.

If he's asking about Ella, it means she's not here in this hell with me.

Thank God.

I don't know what he wants from her, but I have to find out. A sound pulls my attention back to the woman who's as still as a statue before me, and I swallow thickly.

Ella may not be here, but Katarina is. I am. My brothers might be.

I have to play this smart.

I have to play the game.

"I have no idea who you're talking about," I finally drawl, my voice cocky and arrogant, though every word I utter is a lie.

Truthfully, Ella is the very core of my existence, the one human who makes it possible for me to breathe in a world hell bent on suffocating me to death.

My father's reaction is icy. He tilts his head back and lets out this cold, mocking laugh that cuts through the air. It grates on my nerves, a harsh reminder of the man I've come to hate.

"Don't start lying now, Gage," he sneers, his voice dripping with a venomous blend of disdain and amusement. He shakes his head, not even bothering to fully look at me. "It's a weak man's trait, and you know it." He clicks his tongue and scans me over his shoulder, his lip curling. "Thought I beat that shit out of you."

My jaw clenches with the effort of holding back my seething anger. He knows exactly how to get under my skin, to push my buttons, and it infuriates me.

But I shove it down because I know how to get under his too.

"You'd know all about weak," I retort sharply, my patience slipping like sand through my fingers. I watch the girl before me, swaying on her feet, her bruised and battered form clearly at the brink of exhaustion. I need to get her attention.

My father freezes, his gaze locking onto mine with a chilling intensity. He points a trembling finger in my direction, his threat clear. "Don't."

One word because he's too cocky to think he needs more.

I don't give a fuck.

I laugh. "Oh, I think I will." I shake my head and wiggle my toes. Anything to make her see me while he's distracted. "You have to pick on people who are half your size. Have to terrorize woman and children because you're too fucking pathetic to fight your own battles with a man your size?"

She sucks in a breath, and her eyes flick up to mine. Gus growls, but he's across the cell so I quickly glance at the small toilet and sink tucked in the corner furthest from him, hoping she understands me.

" Pendejo ."

Once again, it's a one-word warning that hangs heavy in the air, and I roll my eyes in disdain, unable to help myself. "You've lost your touch, old man," I taunt, a calculated move.

I know the dangers of provoking him, but at this moment, I want his anger to be focused on me, to keep his attention away from her, to spare her even a brief respite from his cruelty. For now, I'll bear the brunt of his torment, if it means protecting her.

Me. Not her.

Me. Not her.

I promised I'd protect her, and I will.

I think she sees it in my eyes, too, because slowly, so fucking slowly, she creeps toward the corner as he storms toward me, his eyes so black, so rage-filled, I know he's forgotten her. At least for now.

So I smirk, guaranteeing my future.

"I thought you were powerful, Father." I chuckle, clicking my tongue as I look down at him. Even here, latched to a wall, I still have a good three inches on him, and I make every one of those inches count. "Why the fuck would you have to go to such extremes to lock me up just to ask me a stupid question?" My grin grows. "If you were as smart as you pretend to be, you'd already know."

I expect the first punch to my gut, but I'm unprepared for how hard he can still hit with how weak he's become. Still, I laugh through it. I need him to snap. I need him to lose it.

"That all you got?" I taunt.

His face turns red as he arcs back and sends his fist through my jaw.

I spit blood right at him. "You used to hit harder, Gus. What happened? Diaz's lackeys get a hold of you?" My eyes scan his body, finding his legs already shaking, and something tells me I might not be that far off. "What'd you do to piss him off?"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" he snarls, his voice thick with fatigue already. "You know nothing, boy, nothing!"

Boy.

The word used to piss me off when all I wanted was to be a man. Now, his words, his taunts, his violence, they mean nothing to me.

He hits me once, twice, three times, taking aim at my exposed gut. I grunt and bite my tongue, keeping the sounds of pain tucked deep inside. He gets none of them.

With him distracted, I slide my gaze to my left, finding Katarina tucked in the corner, her body so small she fits under the filthy sink. It's dark enough that with her head dipped low, I think he might actually forget her.

I give her a quick, pained nod of approval before looking back to Gus just as he bellows his question again. "Where is she?"

"Who?" I snarl back, panting from the pain slowly blooming across my body.

His fists clench at his sides as he glares up at me. "Don't play stupid, Gage." From this close, I can tell he's falling apart. I can tell something is far more wrong with him than I'd originally thought. "Where is the Moreau girl?"

It takes every fucking thing inside of me to hold back my reaction to his question.

Moreau girl?

Moreau girl.

Your little girlfriend.

The Princess of the Bay.

So it's true. Ella, my sweet Isabella, is the prodigal daughter. The heir to the Moreau empire, Les Beaux Voyous' new Godmother.

Holy fucking shit.

Mixed emotions swirl through me. I've spent a lifetime hating the Moreau's for what they did to my mother. To the guys' families. But even as a teenager, I knew there was a chance that anger was misplaced. Any story, any version of events that are relayed by Gus, runs the risk of being lies and slander. He's nothing if not consistent.

Regardless, I know who Ella is. If her family truly was as disgusting and hateful as I've been taught to believe, then she'll be the change they desperately need.

"I don't know who you're talking about," I calmly say, even while panic continues to claw at my insides. Panic and awe . "You said they were dead." Because he did. Long ago, he said the entire family died with Charlotte.

I should have known everything he said was a lie.

Like I said…consistent.

Gus doesn't answer as he punches me again. Once across the jaw, my nose, my stomach. When he hits my kidney, I can't hold back the grunt of pain. Luckily, he misses it as he huffs a heaving breath and doubles over, coughing harshly.

I breathe through my teeth, watching him continue to cough up a fucking lung. When blood starts to spill from his mouth, he quickly wipes it on his dark jeans, turns on his heel, and storms out.

My tongue darts out, licking up the trail of blood spilling from my nose just as the lights flicker out and the door clangs shut. I don't speak, barely breathe as I wait for him to disappear. When everything's gone silent, I hold my breath, waiting, waiting…

Finally, after minutes have passed and I'm sure he's not coming back, my body finally goes limp.

"Are you okay?" she whispers into the darkness.

I swallow blood. My body is throbbing, my stomach aching in hunger and pain, my face pulsating, but it's my heart that hurts the most.

If Ella is truly the heir to the Moreau empire, she's in more danger than I could have ever imagined. Because through all of his mania over the years, the one thing my father has wanted more than life itself is power. When the Les Beaux Voyous collapsed, he made it his mission to find that power on his own, to create it.

Now, with Ella coming of age, of taking the metaphorical throne, he has his in.

I thought I knew fear before, but here, trapped to this wall, bloody and broken, I'm more terrified than I've ever been before. Not for me, but for her, the love of my life.

With that thought swirling through my mind, I answer Katarina honestly.

"No. I'm not."