Chapter Twenty-Six
Torin
Torin sat at the kitchen table; his hands wrapped tightly around a steaming mug of coffee. The warmth of the cup did little to ease the icy knot of fear in his stomach. He was still shaking, his mind replaying the confrontation with Dante over and over. No one had ever frightened him as much as Dante—not even Byron, with all his mafia bravado. Dante’s anger was different. It was calculated, controlled, and utterly terrifying. The thought of being humiliated and beaten in front of him made Torin’s chest tighten, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
When Garett walked into the kitchen, Torin’s eyes blinked briefly before dropping back to his coffee. Garett looked calm, as always, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from Torin, his gaze steady and searching.
“Dante wants to see us in fifteen minutes,” Garett said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m telling you now because the last time, you accused me of not protecting you because I didn’t inform you why he wanted to see you. I’m not making the same mistake again. And you can trust I’ll protect you from Dante.”
Torin’s stomach churned at the mention of Dante’s name. He nodded, his fingers tightening around the mug. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Garett studied him for a moment, his expression softening. “Before we go, I need to know what happened. I don’t want to walk into his office blind, and I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
Torin hesitated, his throat tight. He didn’t want to relive it, didn’t want to admit how scared he’d been—how scared he still was. But Garett’s steady gaze gave him the courage to speak.
“I…I lied to Sam,” Torin began, his voice trembling. “I told him I was your sub. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but then Dante came in and had heard me. He…he got mad. Said I had no business getting involved in a BDSM relationship when I know nothing about it. I mouthed off to him, and he…he slapped me.”
Torin’s voice broke on the last word, and he looked down, his cheeks burning with shame. “He said he wanted you to punish me in front of him. That’s why I ran. I couldn’t…I couldn’t face that.”
Garett’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he listened. But when he spoke, his voice was calm. “Torin, look at me.”
Torin hesitated, then slowly raised his eyes to meet Garett’s. There was no anger there, no judgment—just a quiet strength that made Torin’s chest ache.
“First of all,” Garett said, his tone firm but gentle, “no one is going to punish you in front of Dante. Not me, not anyone. What happened between you and Dante is between you and Dante. I’ll handle him. But you need to understand something—lying about being my sub, about being in a BDSM relationship, isn’t something to take lightly. It’s not a game, Torin. It’s about trust, respect, and communication. If you’re not ready for that, that’s okay. But we need to be honest with each other and to others around us.”
Torin nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He knew Garett was right, but the fear of what was coming next was overwhelming.
Garett reached across the table, placing a hand over Torin’s. “We’ll get through this. Together. But you need to trust me, okay?”
Torin swallowed hard and nodded again. “Okay.”
Garett gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before standing. “Let’s go. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Torin stood on shaky legs, his coffee forgotten on the table. He followed Garett out of the kitchen, stopped to put on their boots, then walked across the ranch, his heart pounding with every step. The walk to Dante’s office felt like a death march, the weight of what was coming pressing down on him.
When they reached the office, Garett knocked once before opening the door. Dante was seated behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he looked up at them. Torin’s stomach twisted, but he forced himself to stand tall, to meet Dante’s gaze even as his hands trembled at his sides.
Garett stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “We’re here. Let’s talk.” Torin stepped into Dante’s office, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure the others could hear it. The room was sleek and modern, a stark contrast to the rustic charm of the rest of the ranch. The walls were a deep charcoal gray, lined with framed black-and-white photographs of the ranch’s history. A large, polished desk dominated the center of the room, its surface cluttered with papers, a laptop, and a sleek silver pen set. Behind the desk, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the sprawling ranch. Dante sat in a high-backed leather chair, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp and calculating.
“Sit,” Dante said, his voice cold and commanding, gesturing to the two straight-back chairs in front of his desk.
Torin hesitated, his legs feeling like they might give out at any moment, but Garett placed a steady hand on his back and guided him to one chair. Torin sat down, his hands gripping the edge of the seat, his knuckles white. Garett took the chair beside him, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, watching Dante carefully.
Dante leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he steepled his fingers. “Torin,” he began, his tone icy, “you disrespected me. You mouthed off to me when I called you out on it. That kind of behavior doesn’t fly here. Not on my ranch.”
Torin’s throat tightened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Dante cut him off.
“Garett,” Dante said, turning his gaze to him, “I want you to use your belt. Twenty strikes. Torin needs to learn respect, and I expect you as his Dom to teach him.”
Torin’s stomach dropped, his chest tightening with fear. He glanced at Garett, his eyes wide and pleading, but Garett’s expression was calm, his voice steady as he responded.
“I can’t do that,” Garett said firmly. “And I won’t. Torin isn’t my sub. He’s not in a BDSM dynamic with me, and I will not punish him for something that was a misunderstanding.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Misunderstanding? Explain it to me, then.”
Garett turned to Torin, his gaze softening slightly. “Torin, tell Dante what happened. Be honest.”
Torin swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he clasped them in his lap. “I…I told Sam I was Garett’s sub,” he began, his voice shaking. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just…I wanted to fit in. I didn’t think it would get back to you. I’m sorry for disrespecting you. I didn’t mean to.”
Dante’s expression didn’t change. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes cold and unyielding. “Apologies don’t change the fact that you disrespected me. You will be disciplined—by me or by Garett. No one disrespects me without consequences. And let me make one thing clear, Torin: I can make you disappear if I want to. Don’t test me.”
Torin’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with fear. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible.
Garett’s hand rested on Torin’s knee under the table, a silent reassurance. “Dante,” he said, his tone firm but calm, “neither of us is Torin’s Dom. Neither of us has the right to discipline him. This isn’t about BDSM. This is about respect, and Torin’s already apologized. Let it go.”
Dante’s eyes flashed with anger, and he slammed his hand on the desk, the sound making Torin flinch. “It doesn’t matter if he’s our sub or not! He disrespected me, and he needs to suffer for it. Lying, mouthing off—that kind of behavior doesn’t go unpunished here. He’ll end up like his parents if he continues this behavior.”
Torin’s breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening as if a vice had clamped around his ribs. Dante’s words hung in the air like a death sentence, sharp and unrelenting. He’ll end up like his parents if he continues this behavior . The room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in as the memories surged forward, unbidden and unstoppable.
He was a child again, only seven years old, sitting in his grandparents’ cozy living room in southern Jersey. The air smelled of freshly baked bread and the faint tang of salt from the nearby ocean. He and his older brother, Liam, had been playing a board game on the floor, their laughter filling the room. It was supposed to be a fun weekend away, a break from their parents’ busy lives. But then the phone rang.
Torin remembered the way his grandmother’s face had paled as she listened to the voice on the other end. Her hands had trembled as she set the phone down, her eyes filled with tears. She didn’t have to say anything—Torin had known something was wrong. His grandfather had taken him and Liam into the kitchen, his voice steady but his face grim.
“There’s been an accident,” he had said, though Torin would later learn it was no accident. His parents were gone. Murdered. Shot and burned in their home by his father’s enemies.
Torin hadn’t understood it then, not fully. He had been too young to grasp the finality of death, the cruelty of the world. But he had understood enough to know that his life would never be the same. The safe, happy world he had known was gone, shattered in an instant. And the emptiness that followed—the aching, unrelenting void where his parents had been—was something he had carried with him ever since.
Now, sitting in Dante’s office, those memories crashed over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in grief and horror. Dante’s threat— He’ll end up like his parents —cut deeper than any physical blow. The thought of meeting the same fate, of being torn away from the people he cared about, was unbearable. It wasn’t just the fear of death that gripped him; it was the fear of leaving behind the same pain he had felt as a child. The thought of putting someone else through that—of putting Garett or Liam through that—was almost too much to bear.
Torin’s hands trembled violently in his lap, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep himself together. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. The weight of his loss pressed down on him, crushing him under its enormity. He had been so young when his parents died, too young to fully understand what had happened. But he had understood enough to know that the world was a cruel, unforgiving place. And he had carried that knowledge with him ever since, a heavy burden that no amount of time could lighten.
Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He couldn’t break down, not here, not in front of Dante. But the pain was overwhelming, a raw, gaping wound that had never fully healed. He had lost everything that day—his parents, his home, his sense of safety. And now Dante used that loss against him, twisting the knife deeper.
Garett’s voice cut through the haze of Torin’s thoughts, sharp and angry. “That’s enough, Dante. You don’t get to use his past against him.”
But Torin barely heard him. His mind was still trapped in the past, in the phone call and the tears and the unbearable emptiness that had followed. He felt like that little boy again, lost and terrified, with no one to protect him. The fear was paralyzing, a cold, suffocating dread that made it impossible to think, to move, to breathe.
Dante’s words echoed in his mind, over and over. He’ll end up like his parents. The thought was unbearable. He didn’t want to die like they had—betrayed, abandoned, their lives snuffed out in an instant. He didn’t want to leave behind nothing but ashes and memories.
But deep down, beneath the fear and the grief, there was something else—a flicker of anger. Anger at Dante for using his pain against him. Anger at the world for taking his parents away. Anger at himself for being so weak, so powerless.
He wanted to scream, to lash out, to make Dante understand the depth of his pain. But he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. All he could do was sit there, trembling and silent, as the weight of his loss threatened to crush him.
He turned to Garett, his eyes pleading, but Garett’s expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched as he stared at Dante.
“We’ll see what Liam says,” Garett said finally, his voice tight. “But until then, Torin stays with me.”
Dante’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “We’ll see.”
Torin felt like he was going to be sick. The fear was suffocating, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to run, to escape this nightmare. But Garett’s hand on his knee kept him grounded, a small anchor in the storm. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, but he knew one thing for certain: he was terrified.