BLOOD AND ASHES

THE BAR WITH NO ANSWERS

The beeping of the machines still echoed in Tobias’s ears as he rose from beside his son’s bed. His wrists ached from the cuffs, the iron biting deep into his skin. But that pain was nothing compared to the hollow weight in his chest.

He bent low over Ethan, his lips brushing his son’s damp forehead. “You’re my strength, my boy. Hold on for me. Just hold on.”

The boy’s eyelids fluttered, too weak to respond. Tobias swallowed hard, his voice breaking as he turned to Nurse Ruth. “Please, Ruth. Watch over him. Whatever happens to me—don’t let him be alone.”

Her hand trembled as it touched his arm. “I promise.”

The detective cleared his throat. “Time’s up.” His voice was clipped, but not unkind.

Two officers pulled Tobias back, guiding him into the corridor. The cuffs clinked cold against his wrists, chains dragging him away from the only light left in his world.

They shoved him into the back seat of the lead police car. Rain streaked the windshield as the convoy rolled through the tense streets of Ciudad de Sanvelis. Red and blue lights pulsed against the buildings, but the sirens stayed silent.

In the passenger seat, the detective’s phone buzzed. He answered, scribbling furiously in a notepad. When the call ended, he twisted around, his face was shadowed but firm.

“They spotted the van,” the detective said, his tone grim. “East District, outside a drinking bar called El Martillo. The place is a hole — fights every weekend, cops barely go near it. Fits the kind of man we’re after. Description’s clear: medium build, scar above the eye and a rough beard.

The words slammed into Tobias’s skull. His pulse thundered. He leaned forward, his voice was raw. “If that bastard knows where my wife is—I’ll tear him apart with my own hands.”

The detective studied him for a beat, then turned back. The convoy pressed on.

The ten-minute ride felt like an hour. Tobias pressed his forehead to the window, the glare of the midday sun flashing off glass towers and rust-stained billboards.

Traffic groaned around them, horns blaring, engines coughing smoke. His thoughts spun between Ethan gasping for air, Elena swaying on the rooftop, and the man who might hold their fate.

Every tick of the clock felt like a countdown. Not just to vengeance. But to survival.

The convoy screeched to a halt outside the drinking bar. Neon light buzzed overhead, throwing sickly colors across the wet pavement. Music thumped from inside, muffled by laughter and the clink of bottles.

Parked beside the curb was a clean, silver-gray panel van, polished body gleaming beneath the midday sun.

Its windows were tinted dark, concealing the interior. The subtle black trim along its side matched exactly what Tobias had glimpsed from the rooftop—the same vehicle that carried Elena away.

The detective stepped out, speaking low to the platoon leader. “Surround the place. Seal every exit. A few of us go in.”

Armed officers moved like shadows, flanking alleys and back doors.

The detective turned to Tobias. He produced a key, and with a sharp click, the cuffs fell from Tobias’s wrists. “One chance, Sheldon. One wrong move, and you’ll regret it.”

Tobias rubbed his wrists, feeling blood return to his hands. He didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the bar’s doorway like a predator about to strike.

The bar fell into uneasy silence the moment police uniforms appeared. Smoky air hung thick with alcohol and fear. Patrons shifted nervously, some setting down their drinks, others staring hard at the floor.

Tobias moved in behind the detectives, scanning the room with eyes that burned like coals.

Then he saw him.

A man at the far corner table. Shoulders hunched. Rough beard. Scar glistening above his eye. His hand twitched under the table as though concealing something.

Their eyes met for a split second. The man froze.

Tobias lunged.

He crashed into the man, sending the table flying, bottles shattering on the floor. They tumbled into a storm of fists and blood.

Tobias pinned him down, his knuckles raining blow after blow into flesh and bone.

“WHERE IS MY WIFE?!”

The man gurgled, spitting blood. “I don’t know—”

Tobias’s fist cracked against his jaw.

“WHERE IS MY WIFE?!”

Another punch. Blood splattered the floor.

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

Again. Again. His voice ripped from his throat like fire. He shouted it five times, his fists breaking skin, his rage breaking bone.

The man sobbed through the blood. “I don’t know… I don’t—”

Tobias seized his arm, yanking up the sleeve.

Then he froze.

On the man’s bicep, burned into the skin in thick black ink, was a tattoo Tobias knew too well. The serpent curling into a crow’s wing.

His heart slammed in his chest. That symbol—he hadn’t seen it in years. Not since his past life. Not since the days he swore were buried.

“No,” he whispered. “It can’t be…”

Shock rattled him. He leaned backwards, his fists trembling.

“Enough!” Officers swarmed, dragging Tobias back. He thrashed, spitting fury. “Tell me where she is! TELL ME!”

The man coughed blood, wiping it from his swollen lips. His eyes darted like a cornered animal.

The detective stepped forward. His voice was low, steady. “Hey, you." He referred to the man with rough beard. "You’re under arrest—”

Before the words finished, the man’s hand snapped to his side.

A gun glinted in the dim light.

In one motion, he jammed it under his jaw.

The shot cracked like thunder.

The bar erupted in screams. Blood and white spray exploded across the wall. Patrons dove under tables, bottles smashed to the floor.

Tobias roared, his voice breaking the air. “NOOOOO!”

The suspect’s body slumped to the ground, lifeless. Blood pooled around him, spreading across the broken glass.

Tobias shoved against the officers holding him back, his face contorted in rage and despair. “He was the only one! He knew something—he had to!”

The detective cursed, signaling his men to secure the scene. But Tobias wasn’t looking at them. His eyes were locked on the dead man’s tattoo, burned into his memory.

That serpent curling into a crow’s wing.

A mark he could never forget.

A mark tied to a name he had once tried to erase from his life.

His voice was a whisper, but it cut like a blade.

“Senator Aurelio Delgado.”

The name hung heavy in the smoky air. Tobias’s fists trembled at his sides. Delgado. The ghost from his past. The man tied not just to corruption—but possibly to Elena’s fate.

The detective turned sharply. “What did you just say?”

But Tobias didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a fury that could swallow the city whole.