120

~Torin~

The second I saw Mace standing at the bottom of the stairs, every instinct I’d ever honed snapped awake. My body moved before my thoughts caught up, stepping in front of Marlowe just enough to block half her body from his view. She tried to shift around me, but I kept a hand pressed lightly behind me at her hip. Not to trap her. To anchor her. To anchor myself.

Because Mace showing up here — after years of silence, after a lifetime of half-truths — meant something. And I wasn’t naïve enough to believe it was coincidence.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Mace said.

“I already buried you once,” I replied, voice low. “But apparently I didn’t dig deep enough.”

He snorted, amused. “Still dramatic as hell, Montaro.”

Beside me, Marlowe stiffened, not from fear but from recognition. She’d only heard the name in old stories, pieces of Torin’s past he never intended to put in her lap. But Mace — Mace was one of the few people Torin Montaro had ever called brother in the old Raven days.

Before the MC disbanded. Before the shitstorm with the Sons of Morning Star. Before everything broke.

Mace shoved his hands in his pockets. “Relax. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“That’s exactly what people say right before they do,” I replied.

He lifted one shoulder. “Fair.”

The silence stretched tight between us. Marlowe slid closer, her fingers brushing my arm — not a plea, not a warning, just a quiet reminder that she was here. Not seventeen anymore. Not the terrified girl Skye tried to keep caged. She was grounded now. Anchored. Loved. Mine.

Mace’s gaze flicked to her, then back to me. “She looks like her,” he said softly.

I didn’t need to ask who her was. Marlowe’s mother. The woman who’d been tossed out of the Sons’ compound and forced to leave her daughter behind.

Marlowe inhaled sharply.

I spoke before he could continue. “How do you know that?”

Mace’s expression changed, something caught between regret and something like shame. I’d never seen Mace ashamed a day in his life.

“I knew your mom,” he said, eyes shifting to Marlowe now, but he kept his body angled to me, like he wasn’t stupid enough to give me a reason to swing at him. “Not well. Not long. But… enough.”

Marlowe stepped up beside me so we stood shoulder-to-shoulder. “Enough for what?” she asked.

“To know she was scared out of her mind,” Mace said. “And to know she didn’t walk away from you by choice.”

Anger rose up my spine, hot and familiar. “Skye told her she was dead.” I ground the words out between my teeth. “Told everyone that.”

Mace nodded once. “Yeah. Because he couldn’t risk anyone knowing the truth.”

Marlowe’s voice shook. “What truth?”

Mace let out a long breath. “That the Sons weren’t just keeping you. They were planning to trade you.”

My blood iced.

Marlowe blinked. “What?”

“You were a bargaining chip, Marlowe,” Mace said quietly. “Your mom found out. Tried to get you out. Skye caught her. He blamed her for stepping out on him with Lucien’s dad, twisted everything, made her leave without you.”

Marlowe’s lips parted. “So she left Rook too?”

“No,” Mace said. “She got Rook out while she still could. But by the time she got help to come back for you… the Sons hid you. Moved you. Threatened anyone who tried to interfere.”
He paused. “And I was one of the idiots who tried.”

My heart hammered. “You never told me this.”

“You weren’t exactly open to heart-to-hearts back then,” Mace muttered. “And telling you would’ve put a target on both our backs. You were already fighting half the damn club to protect her, and you didn’t even know why.”

I stared at him, shock sliding cold against my ribs.

Marlowe’s breath trembled. “Why didn’t she ever come back again?”

Mace’s jaw tightened. “Skye had her killed.”

The words fell heavy. Merciless.

Marlowe pressed a hand to her mouth. I reached for her instantly, pulling her close, cradling her against my chest. She wasn’t crying, not yet, but the tremor running through her body was enough to rip something vital in mine.

“When?” I forced out.

“Couple weeks after she left the compound,” Mace said. “Rook never knew. Thought she was staying with friends, trying to figure things out. Then she didn’t come home. The club passed it off as an accident.”

Marlowe’s voice broke. “And no one told us.”

“No one knew the truth but Skye,” Mace said. “And he took it to his grave.”

I wanted to punch something. Break something. Burn everything Skye ever touched. But Marlowe was shaking, and I wasn’t about to let my rage out in front of her. Not when she needed steadiness. Not fire.

“You said someone else kept us apart,” Marlowe whispered. “Someone besides Skye.”

Mace nodded slowly. “Your mom’s sister. Your aunt. I don’t know her name. I just know she showed up right after your mom died. She talked with Skye. I overheard only pieces… but she said you were ‘better off without that line of blood.’”
His gaze softened. “She didn’t want you.”

Marlowe flinched.

I tucked her closer. “You don’t need her,” I murmured into her hair. “You never did.”

Her fingers twisted in my shirt.

Mace looked at her with something like regret. “Your mom did everything she could with the time she had. She fought for you. Harder than anyone.”

Marlowe lifted her chin. “Then why leave the picture and letters? Why now?”

“That wasn’t her,” Mace said. “She gave those to someone she trusted. Someone who was supposed to bring them back to you once the Sons fell apart.”

“So who—” She broke off, eyes widening. “Jess.”

I exhaled. It made sense. Jess had connections everywhere — law enforcement, street channels, old informants. If anyone could get those items into her hands safely, it was him.

Mace nodded. “He visited your mom before she died. Promised he’d find you when it was safe. He didn’t expect you to be shoved into a damn biker dungeon, but…he kept the promise. Even if it took years.”