Chapter 3

~TORIN~

It had taken every ounce of restraint I had not to torch the fucking club after I got Marlowe out.

Every fucking ounce.

I’d known what she did. Hell, I’d been avoiding that hallway for weeks because of it. Told myself it wasn’t my business. Told myself she was grown. Told myself wanting her didn’t give me the right to interfere.

Lies. Every damn one of them.

When I’d come back from the run that night, dusty and wired and half-dead from road noise, I should have gone straight to my room. Should have shut the door. Should have left well enough alone.

Instead, I’d walked into that room and asked for her.

Just once. That’s what I’d told myself.

One dance. Get it out of my system. Prove to myself I could sit there and handle it like a man.

God, I’d been a fucking idiot.

The second she’d stepped in front of me, all long legs and fire in her eyes, I known I’d miscalculated. She wasn’t a kid anymore. She wasn’t my shadow. She wasn’t the girl who used to glare at me when I told her to go inside.

She was a woman, and she’d moved like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Need had hit me fast and hard. I’d wanted her for years. I’d buried it. Denied it. Hid it behind brotherhood, loyalty, and bullshit excuses about age and timing.

But watching her move for me? It had stripped all that away.

I’d gotten hard so fast it hurt. Swelled to the point I thought my zipper was going to give out. My hands had curled into fists because if I’d reached for her, I wouldn’t have stopped. And that was the line. I would not be another man taking from her.

Not like that.

I’d been seconds away from hauling her into my lap and ruining both of us when something felt off.

Too fluid. Too uninhibited. Her pupils were blown wider than the room lighting called for. Her movements…reckless. Not just confident. Not just bold. Reckless.

In her right mind, she would have never begged me, and she had begged. WIth her body, her words.

“Touch me.” The way she’d said it. Not coy, not teasing…desperate. That’s when it had clicked.

Rage had come in hot and blinding.

Not with her. With him. Stye. That goddamn piece of filth had drugged his own daughter so she’d dance harder. So she’d draw bigger bids. So men would pay more for a fantasy that hadn’t even been sold yet.

I’d known what he was capable of. I’d grown up inside that rot. Seen the way greed hollowed a man out from the inside. But this? This was a new low.

He hadn’t prostituted her yet. I knew that because Dillon had made sure I knew. Stye was saving her. Building value. Waiting for the right buyer.

Prez’s daughter. Virgin. Untouched.

The auction price would be obscene.

The thought made something in me snap, and before I’d even fully processed what I was doing, I’d shoved her behind me, ripped the door open.

Darius had tried to stop me.

Wrong move.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” I’d snarled.

“Stye ain’t gonna be happy—”

“Fuck Stye,” I’d hissed. And I’d meant it.

I’d pulled her into my arms because if I hadn’t, I might have gone back and killed her father right then and there.

She’d felt too light. Too warm. Too trusting. That had gutted me.

She didn’t even understand what was happening yet.

By the time I got her to my room, my mind was already racing ahead.

She was going to crash. Hard.

Whatever they’d put in her system wasn’t a one-off party hit. It was maintenance. Conditioning. Keep her pliable. Keep her compliant.

They were grooming her. And I had been sitting on the sidelines unaware because wanting her made it complicated.

No more.

I’d locked the door, set her on the bed, and stepped back before I’d done something stupid. Before I’d let the rage decide for me. But I was done tolerating her being sold piece by piece under my nose.

I turned away before she’d seen what was on my face. Because if she’d seen it, she’d know. She’d know how long I’d wanted her. How badly. And I’d needed her angry at me. Not aware of my feelings.

I’d needed distance so I could think. Could plan. Could burn the entire operation to the ground without taking her down with it.

Getting her clean was step one. Getting her away from Stye permanently was step two.

After that? War.

I knew now too, that Dillon had lied to me. He knew bout routes. About buyers. About how far this shit had spread. And if he and Stye thought he was going to sell their own blood to the highest bidder? They’d miscalculated, because Marlowe wasn’t just Stye’s daughter or Dillon’s sister…she was mine to protect.