Chapter 3 Chapter 3

The words hung in the air. I'm your brother, Marlowe.

For a second, I honestly thought I'd misheard him. The compound seemed to disappear around me; the motorcycles, the garages, the brothers standing nearby. Everything blurred together while my brain desperately tried to make sense of what Reif had just said.

Brother.

The word echoed through my head over and over.

Reif swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving mine. Somehow, that made it worse.

Slowly, I turned my head toward Torin, then Rook, then Ginger, then Burdock. Nobody laughed. Nobody corrected him. Nobody told him he'd lost his damn mind.

The truth hit me before anyone spoke. My stomach dropped. A cold rush swept through me so fast I nearly staggered.

"You all knew?" The words barely came out.

Nobody answered. Nobody needed to. I saw it in Torin's face, in Rook's, in Ginger's silence, and in Burdock's refusal to meet my eyes.

"You all knew," I snarled. 

Torin took a step toward me. "Marlowe," he said quietly, lifting a hand.

I backed away immediately. At the movement he stopped cold. My eyes burned, the pressure behind them building faster than I could control. "No."

His expression tightened. "Marlowe, let me explain."

A laugh escaped me, broken, sharp, and disbelieving. "Explain?" I repeated, looking around the yard. "Explain what, exactly?"

I pointed toward Reif. "You all knew he’s my brother," my voice shook, "and then all of you decided not to tell me?"

"Marlowe," Rook began, taking a step forward.

I turned on him so fast he stopped moving. "No." The word cracked out of me.

Rook flinched. Good, because I was hurting, too. "You don't get to do that."

His brow furrowed. "Do what?"

"Act like you're sorry now." The words spilled out before I could stop them. My chest hurt, my throat hurt…hell, even breathing hurt. "You're my twin."

Rook looked away. The movement gutted me, because that was exactly what I would've done if I were guilty.

Memories flashed through my mind: birthday dinners, club barbecues, late-night conversations, movie nights. Dozens of moments. Hundreds of moments. How many times had I been sitting right there while everybody else knew? How many conversations had changed when I walked into a room? How many looks had I ignored?

The questions crashed into each other, one after another, relentless. 

I looked at Ginger. "You knew, too?"

Ginger sighed heavily and folded her arms tighter across her chest; that was answer enough.

My gaze shifted to Burdock. He stared toward the garages, anywhere except at me. Another answer.

I laughed again. The sound felt ugly, foreign, like it belonged to somebody else. "Wow."

Nobody even tried to defend themselves. The silence was becoming its own confession.

I looked back at Torin. The blood at the corner of his mouth was gone; he'd wiped it away at some point, and I hadn't even noticed. The sight made something twist painfully inside me. Six months ago, I would've crossed the yard to make sure he was okay. Six months ago, I would've cared that he'd been punched. Right now, all I could think about was the fact he'd spent seven months lying to me. Maybe not with words, but with silence.

Somehow, that felt worse.

"After everything?" I whispered.

Torin's jaw tightened. "Marlowe."

The warning in his voice only made me angrier. "No." I shook my head. "No. After everything?" My voice rose.

Several brothers nearby suddenly became very interested in finding somewhere else to be. Smart men. Very smart men. This wasn't a conversation anymore; it was an explosion.

"You all are no better than Brian!" The words ripped out of me, raw, painful, and unfiltered.

Torin visibly flinched. I saw it, and so did everyone else. Good, because I wasn't finished. "I spent months trying to put myself back together after what he did."

Nobody spoke, the entire compound having gone silent again.

"The one thing I thought we all had was trust." My gaze moved from face to face; Torin, Rook, Ginger, Burdock, and finally, Reif.

He looked absolutely miserable, and for the first time since this started, I realized something: Reif wasn't the one who had hurt me. He was standing here because he finally told the truth. The people who hurt me were the ones who kept it from me.

The realization settled heavily in my chest. I looked directly at Torin. "I guess I was wrong about all of you."

"Marlowe—"

I didn't wait to hear the rest. I turned and ran.

The sound of someone calling my name followed me across the compound. Maybe Torin, maybe Rook. I didn't care. My boots pounded against the pavement as I crossed the yard, past the garages, past the picnic tables, past the men pretending not to watch.

The clubhouse doors slammed open beneath my hands, then slammed shut behind me. I took the stairs two at a time. My vision blurred; whether from tears or anger, I couldn't tell. Didn't care.

By the time I reached the second floor, my chest was heaving. The hallway stretched before me, familiar, comfortable, home. At least, it had been. Now, all I could think about was how many secrets had lived inside these walls.

I shoved open the door to my and Torin’s room. The room looked exactly the same. Our room. Torin's boots sat beside the dresser. My laptop rested on the desk, a half-finished song waiting on the screen. The sight nearly broke me, because everything looked normal, but nothing felt normal anymore.

I crossed the room and yanked a duffel bag from the closet. The zipper caught. I jerked harder, the sound ripping through the room. Clothes started flying; jeans, shirts, whatever my hands touched. None of it folded, none of it organized. I shoved everything into the bag with enough force to wrinkle half my wardrobe.

The door opened behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. 

"Marlowe—" Torin began.

I grabbed another armful of clothes and didn't answer.

"Marlowe, look at me," he continued.

I shoved the clothes into the duffel and reached for another drawer. The wood slammed against the dresser hard enough to rattle.

Finally, voice soft, he murmured, "Please."

The word almost stopped me. I clenched my jaw and kept packing, because if I looked at him right now, if I saw his face, I knew I would cry. At the moment, anger was the only thing holding me together.

"Get out," I ordered.

Silence. A long silence, then finally, "I'm not leaving."

I zipped the duffel so hard the teeth screamed. "Then I will," I told him.