Page 20 of Little Bunny

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Each drip of water echoed precisely seven seconds apart. Every four seconds, a rush of hot air swept from right to left then reversed its course. A metal chair groaned under shifting weight, followed by the deep, weary exhale of someone nearby.

Diablo kept his eyes shut, feigning unconsciousness. Pain radiated through his arms, shoulders, and back, searing like fire. Chains bit cruelly into his wrists, suspending him in midair. His bare feet throbbed with a dull, relentless ache.

Another deep sigh broke the silence. Identical pitch. The same person. The chair groaned again, longer this time, interrupted by the distant blare of a horn. A semi, perhaps, yet the noise faded too swiftly, indicating a highway nearby.

The sharp smell of mildew hung thick. Diablo took a shallow breath—stagnant water, faint tang of oil. Machinery nearby?

Birds chirped faintly, their songs dampened, as if trapped behind closed windows. The air was stifling, oppressive, clinging to his skin and drawing sweat from every pore. Beads of perspiration trickled down his spine, his scalp, and dripped from his nose.

The drips of water. The relentless swipes of hot air. The drawn-out sighs. The groaning metal chair.

And now, the scurrying sound of a rodent.

Diablo was in an abandoned building. The faint wail of a police siren reached his ears, followed six seconds later by the shriek of a fire truck.

A small town or city? The absence of traffic sounds, aside from those already heard, only deepened the mystery.

Insects landed on his bare back, biting him. The sweat made his nose itch. Diablo kept his breathing shallow and even.

How long had he been out? What day was it? Had he missed the anniversary of his parents’ deaths?

Don’t do this to yourself. Focus. How many men? Just the one? More? What in the fuck was that drug? Even now, Diablo couldn’t feel his beast, and that disturbed him to his core. Scared him on a level he didn’t want to think about.

And what was with the foul taste in his mouth? It was like he’d been sucking on a blend of rubbing alcohol and pennies.

The chair scraped against a concrete floor. Approaching footsteps. A huff of air. Cheap cologne or bad-smelling deodorant?

“How in the hell did I get stuck watching your big ass?” Pressure at Diablo’s gut, causing him to sway. The chains cut deeper into flesh. Pain intensified in his limbs and straining muscles. “Twenty more minutes and I can get the hell out of here.”

A sharp pinch in his side. Fingernails. The bastard was testing to see if Diablo was awake. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

“You better stay unconscious until it’s time for me to leave.”

The voice was low, somewhere near his chest. No, slightly lower. Diablo focused, visualizing the man’s position as clearly as if his eyes were open. His muscles screamed, stretched beyond their limits, shoulders burning from being suspended by chains for so long.

But pain had never stopped him before. It wouldn’t stop him now.

He moved in an explosive surge, snapping forward and locking his powerful thighs around the captor’s neck. The chains screamed as his body weight shifted abruptly, tearing mercilessly at his already raw wrists. Pain shot like lightning down his arms, leaving trails of agony that threatened to rip a roar from his throat.

He swallowed it down, channeling it into rage instead.

They crashed violently to the concrete floor, metal rattling in harsh echoes. Diablo landed hard, the impact shaking through him, intensifying the agony burning along his stretched, abused muscles. Yet adrenaline surged hotter, drowning out the torment.

His captor thrashed wildly, fingers clawing desperately at Diablo’s thighs, but there was no breaking free from that iron grip.

“You picked the wrong wolf,” Diablo snarled, voice low and savage.

In a swift, brutal motion, he looped the chains around the man’s throat, yanking tight until the body went limp beneath him.

Panting, Diablo rolled aside, every muscle screaming in protest. The numbness in his arms vanished, replaced by scorching fire. The pain exploded, nearly driving him to his knees. He growled, forcing himself upright, shaking violently as sensation began to return with merciless intensity.

“Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth, trails of sweat trickling down his bare chest. But he stood anyway, refusing to break. He was free now, and someone was going to pay.

“That goddamn pinch hurt, you son of a bitch,” he snarled.

The guy had said relief was coming in twenty minutes. Diablo had about ten to get far enough away from wherever in the hell they had him.

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