Ravens MC Series; Marlowe & Torin-Book 2 (Bad Boys Collections)

NOTE: Please be advised this story is being revised. Thank you for your patience as I make changes. I expect to have the revision complete toward the end of November 2026.

It is strongly recommended that you read Ravens MC Series; Marlowe & Torin-Book 1 before beginning Book 2.

Marlowe

Six months, twenty-nine days, three hours, and fourteen seconds. That's how long bliss lasts before reality rubs its big, fat, ugly ass all over your happiness. Not that I was counting. Okay, maybe I was…a little.

Life had been annoyingly good lately, the kind of good that made you suspicious. Torin and I were solid. My deadlines were under control for once. The Ravens felt less like a motorcycle club and more like home. Even Ginger had only threatened to kill three people this week.

The afternoon had settled into one of those rare stretches of calm that seemed almost foreign around here. Music drifted from the clubhouse patio. A few of the brothers worked on bikes near the garages, while others lounged around, smoking and arguing over absolutely nothing. Business as usual. It was the kind of day that made it easy to believe everything had finally settled.

I should have known better. Nothing around the Ravens ever stayed peaceful for long.

I was halfway across the compound carrying two coffees when the first shout split the afternoon. Heads turned, including mine. The voice belonged to Reif. My pace slowed, then another shout followed; louder.

"What the hell do you mean, not now?" Reif demanded, his voice echoing off the garages.

Several prospects immediately found reasons to be elsewhere. One disappeared into a workshop. Another suddenly became fascinated by a motorcycle tire. A third grabbed a broom and started sweeping concrete that didn't need sweeping.

I quickened my pace, and the second I rounded the corner, I knew something was wrong. Torin stood near the open garage bay. Rook was beside him. Burdock leaned against a toolbox, and Ginger stood with her arms folded. Directly in front of them stood Reif.

He looked wound so tight I wasn't entirely convinced he wouldn't explode. His hands opened, closed, and opened again. His gaze bounced between Torin and Rook. When it landed on Torin, something ugly flashed across his face.

The sight made me slow down, because I knew Reif. He was one of the most stubborn people I'd ever met. So, whatever was happening here wasn't ordinary anger. It looked personal…deeply personal.

Fear prickled along my skin. "What happened?" I called out as I moved closer.

Nobody answered. Not Reif, nor Torin. Not even Rook.

The silence caught my attention immediately. Usually, somebody would've said something. Anything. A joke, a curse, a sarcastic comment. Instead, everyone seemed tongue dead.

Reif noticed me then. The laugh that left him sounded rough. "Yeah," he muttered, scrubbing a hand across his face. "That's about right."

Something twisted in my stomach, because whatever he meant by that, it wasn't directed at Torin…it felt directed at me.

"Reif," Torin warned, shifting his weight and squaring his shoulders. Usually, that voice solved problems. Today, it didn't seem to matter.

"No," Reif snapped, taking another step forward. "I'm sick of this."

Rook pushed away from the workbench. "Take a walk with me," he suggested, jerking his head toward the far side of the compound.

Reif laughed, and the sound wasn't pleasant. "Why?" he shot back. "So you can tell me to keep lying to her?"

Everything around me seemed to slow. The breeze moving through the compound. The distant music drifting from the clubhouse. The rumble of motorcycles…all of it faded into the background.

My gaze moved to Torin, Rook, Ginger, then Burdock. Nobody looked confused or asked what he meant. The knot in my stomach tightened.

A memory surfaced unexpectedly. A few weeks ago, I'd walked into the clubhouse and found Reif and Rook arguing. The conversation had stopped the second they noticed me. At the time, I'd thought nothing of it. Now, I wasn't so sure.

Another memory followed: Torin stepping outside to take a phone call, returning twenty minutes later looking distracted. When I'd asked what was wrong, he'd kissed my forehead and changed the subject.

The knot tightened further. Suddenly, I wasn't just looking at the people standing in front of me; I was remembering every conversation that seemed to end when I entered a room. Every look that lasted a second too long. Every strange silence I'd dismissed.

"What is he talking about?" I asked, looking directly at Torin.

His jaw flexed, once, twice, but the answer never came.

I stared at him, waiting. Torin always answered me, even when the truth sucked, even when it started a fight. He answered. The longer he stayed silent, the harder my pulse pounded.

Beside him, Rook dragged a hand over his face. Ginger muttered something beneath her breath. Burdock stared at the ground. Nobody looked comfortable. Nobody looked surprised. And suddenly, I realized something that made my chest tighten: whatever Reif was talking about, this wasn't news to them.

Reif followed my gaze before barking out another humorless laugh. "You know what?" he muttered, nodding slowly. "Fine."

"Reif," Torin warned again.

This time, Burdock pushed away from the toolbox. "Son, don't," he cautioned, starting forward.

The warning came too late. Reif crossed the distance in three fast strides. For a split second, my brain expected Torin to stop him. Everybody standing there knew he could. Instead, Torin stayed exactly where he was.

Reif's fist connected with Torin’s jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways. The crack echoed across the compound.

The coffees slipped from my fingers. One hit the gravel, then the second, and hot coffee splashed across my boots, but nobody reacted. No movement, not a word, then Torin slowly turned his head back. I could see blood forming at the corner of his mouth, but he didn't wipe it away. Didn't lunge at Reif. Didn't retaliate in any form. He'd just let Reif hit him.

What the ever loving fuck?

Reif's chest rose and fell, his eyes glistening. For a second, he looked angry, then the anger cracked, and something else showed through, something that looked painfully close to guilt.

Finally, swiping a hand across his face, he looked at me and quietly stated, "Ask your boyfriend. Ask him why he's been lying to you for seven months."