Chapter Twenty-Four
Torin
Torin followed Sam to the guest house, the morning sun warm on his back as they walked across the ranch. The guest house was a small, cozy building tucked away from the main activity of the ranch, used for visitors or overflow workers. Today, their task was to wash and change the sheets, a chore Torin didn’t mind. It was simple, methodical work, and it gave him a chance to clear his head after the tense breakfast with Garett and the others.
As they stepped inside, Sam immediately picked up where he’d left off the day before, his tone casual but his words sharp. “You know, Torin, I still think you’re in over your head with this whole BDSM thing. Garett’s not the kind of guy you can just jump into something like that with. He’s got experience—lots of it. And his subs? They’ve been in the lifestyle for years. You’re just…well, you’re not exactly in the same league.”
Torin clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the bundle of sheets he was carrying. He was tired of Sam’s constant jabs, his attempts to undermine his confidence. “I told you to shut up about it, Sam,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sam smirked, leaning against the doorframe as he watched Torin strip the bed. “Oh, I know plenty. And I’m just saying, Garett’s not gonna stick around with someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. He’s got standards, you know?”
Torin’s patience snapped. He turned to face Sam, his eyes blazing. “For your information, I am Garett’s sub. So you can stop with the lectures, alright?”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up, and he let out a low whistle. “Well, well. Look at you, playing the part. But let me tell you something, kid—it won’t last. Garett’s not the settling-down type. Sooner or later, he’s gonna dump you for someone who knows what they’re doing.”
Torin opened his mouth to tell Sam to shut the fuck up, but before he could say anything, the door swung open. Dante stood there, his expression dark, his arms crossed over his chest. The room fell silent, the tension thickening instantly.
“What the hell did I just hear?” Dante demanded, his voice like a whip crack. He stepped inside, his gaze locked on Torin. “You’re Garett’s sub? Is that what you just said?”
Torin froze, his heart pounding. He hadn’t meant for Dante to hear that—hadn’t even thought about the consequences. But there was no taking it back now. “I…yeah,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended. “But it’s not what you think—”
“Not what I think?” Dante interrupted, his tone rising. “You don’t know a damn thing about BDSM, Torin. Not a damn thing. And you’re out here pretending to be something you’re not? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”
Torin flinched, but he stood his ground. “I’m not pretending. Garett and I are figuring it out together. It’s not your business.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, his presence towering and intimidating. “It is my business when it happens on my ranch. I promised your brother you would be safe here. And let me tell you something—if you’re going to play games with Garett, you’re not staying here. I’ll move you to the bunkhouse with the other hands, and you can spend your days cleaning up after the animals. How’s that sound?”
Torin’s stomach dropped, but he refused to back down. “You can’t just—
“I can,” Dante snapped, cutting him off. “And I will. You think this is a joke? BDSM isn’t some little fantasy you can dabble in without consequences. If you’re not serious, if you’re not prepared, you’re going to get hurt. And I’m not having that on my watch.”
“You don’t get to tell me shit on my free time, Dante.”
Dante shoved Torin hard against the wall, the impact echoing in the small space, and then slapped him with a resounding smack. Torin’s back hit the wall with a force that knocked the air from his lungs, the sharp crack of Dante’s slap ringing in his ears. His head snapped to the side, his cheek stinging as the shock of the blow coursed through him. He hadn’t seen it coming—hadn’t expected Dante to lay a hand on him. For a moment, he just stood there, frozen, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.
Dante’s hand clamped over Torin’s mouth before he could speak, his grip firm. Torin’s eyes widened, his heart pounding as he stared up at Dante, whose face was a mask of cold fury.
“You don’t get to mouth off to me,” Dante growled, his voice low and dangerous. “No one talks to me like that. Not on my ranch. Not ever. You’re going to learn some respect, Torin, whether or not you like it.”
Torin tried to pull away, but Dante’s grip was like iron. He could feel the panic rising in his chest, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Dante leaned in closer, his eyes boring into Torin’s.
“Let me tell you something—you’re not sub material and will never be. I’m not like New York mafia boss, Bishop. He has power. Respect. I find it hard to think Bishop will let you mouth off to him. You’re just a kid playing at something you don’t understand.”
Torin’s stomach churned, his mind racing. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but Dante’s hand was still pressed firmly over his mouth, silencing him. Sam had a grin on his face that could cover the entire ranch.
“Garett’s going to hear about this,” Dante continued, his tone icy. “And when he does, he’s going to punish you. In front of me. You’re going to learn what happens when you disrespect me.”
With that, Dante released him, stepping back and straightening his jacket as if nothing had happened. He gave Torin one last, hard look before turning on his heel and walking out, the door slamming shut behind him.
Torin stood there for a moment, his legs trembling, his cheek still burning from the slap. His mind was a whirlwind of fear and confusion. He’d never been treated like that before—never been physically struck by anyone in anger. The realization that Dante could do that, that he would do that, sent a chill down his spine.
Torin opened his mouth to argue, but Dante was gone. The room was silent for a long moment, the weight of Dante’s words hanging heavy in the air.
Sam let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Dante has gotten rid of people before, never to be found. And I don’t know one sub who would talk back to Dante. I don’t know a Dom who would either. Face it, you’re not sub material.”
“Just shut the fuck up, Sam.”
“Wait until Garett finds out. You’re going to be in a whole lot of pain. I wish I could be there to see you suffer.”
Torin shot him a death glare, his hands clenched into fists. “You happy now? You got what you fucking wanted.”
Sam held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t blame me. But Dante’s not wrong, you know. You’re in over your head, Torin. And sooner or later, it’s gonna catch up to you.”
Torin didn’t respond. He turned back to the bed, grabbing the sheets with more force than necessary. His mind was racing, his chest tight with a mix of anger and fear. He didn’t know what to do, how to fix this. But one thing was clear—he wasn’t going to let Dante, or Sam, or anyone else, dictate his relationship with Garett. He’d figure it out. He had to.
“I told you that you would get hurt. And you did.” Sam said.
Blindly, Torin stumbled out of the building, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he tried to steady himself. He needed to get away—away from Sam, Dante, away from the ranch, away from everything. His feet carried him blindly, his vision blurred with unshed tears as he walked faster and faster, the landscape around him becoming unfamiliar.
They had been working for hours. Before he knew it, Torin was lost. The ranch’s sprawling fields and winding paths had swallowed him up, and he had no idea where he was. Torin wrapped his arms around himself, his mind racing. He didn’t know what to do, where to go. All he knew was that he couldn’t go back—not yet. Not until he’d figured out how to face what had just happened.
As he walked, the fear settled into something heavier, something deeper. Dante’s words echoed in his mind, taunting him. I’m not like Byron. Torin’s chest tightened, and he felt a wave of self-doubt crash over him. Was Dante right? Was he in over his head? Was he just a fool playing at something he didn’t understand?
And Garett—what would Garett do when he found out? Would he really punish him, like Dante said? The thought made Torin’s stomach twist. He trusted Garett, but the idea of being humiliated in front of Dante, of being made an example of, filled him with dread.
Torin realized he had no choice but to find his way back. He couldn’t stay out here forever. But as he turned and retraced his steps, the weight of everything pressed down on him, making each step feel heavier than the last. He didn’t know what was waiting for him back at the ranch, but he knew one thing for certain—nothing would ever be the same. He shouldn’t have lied.