Chapter Thirty-Three
Garett
Garett pulled his truck into a discreet parking lot just outside the city, the soft glow of a red neon sign casting shadows over the pavement. “The Crimson Lock,” it read, in bold, looping script. The windows were dark, giving no hint of what lay inside. Garett killed the engine and glanced over at Torin, who sat rigid in the passenger seat, his fingers curled against his thigh. The last time he shopped at this store, it was for Manny. Five years ago seems like yesterday. Manny would always hold a spot in his heart, but now, with Torin, Manny’s spot grew smaller. He had loved Manny like no other, but as deep as the wound was, he was ready to train Torin and make him his sub if he agrees to it after his training.
“You good?” Garett asked, amusement lacing his tone.
Torin exhaled, his lips parting like he was about to say something, then shut them again. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. Just…I don’t know what to expect.”
Garett smirked. “Then let’s find out.”
He pushed open the door, stepping inside, and Torin followed hesitantly. The store was dimly lit, but not unwelcoming—rather, it was designed for privacy, the warm glow of soft lighting reflecting off dark wooden shelves and gleaming metal accents. The faint scent of leather, sandalwood, and something sweet—maybe vanilla—hung in the air.
“Well, look who is here. Master Garett. I haven’t seen you in years,” the owner said.
Garett shook hands with Master Burns. “This is my boy, Torin.”
“Welcome to The Crimson Lock, Torin. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Yes, Sir. We will,” Torin said, sticking close to Garett.
Torin’s eyes darted around, widening slightly as he took in the walls lined with carefully displayed items. It wasn’t just the sheer variety that had his pulse kicking up a notch, but that Garett would choose some things for them—things they would use together.
Garett wasted no time leading Torin toward a section lined with collars. Some were simple and sleek—black leather with silver buckles—while others were adorned with intricate stitching, metal studs, even delicate gemstone accents. Garett picked up a sturdy black one, running his fingers over the inside lining.
“This one’s soft on the inside, won’t chafe,” he said, passing it to Torin.
Torin hesitated before reaching out, his fingers ghosting over the smooth leather. “What would it mean?”
Garett turned to him with a slow, deliberate nod. “Eventually.” His voice was low, carrying a promise. “For right now, I want it to be your Cowpokes’ collar from me, so everyone knows you’re mine. Then when and if you’re ready to be my sub, I’ll collar you with one I make.”
“Oh, wow! I didn’t know you knew how to make one.” Torin swallowed hard and quickly put the collar back on the shelf, his cheeks burning. “Please pick one for me,” Torin suggested.
Garett found a leather collar with studs. Inside it had soft material. “Do you like this one?”
Torin felt the inside of the collar and nodded. “Love it.”
He put it into the basket. They moved on, deeper into the store, past shelves stocked with neatly coiled lengths of silk rope in various colors—black, red, deep violet—next to the instruction books on shibari and knot techniques. Nearby, wrist and ankle cuffs hung from a metal rack, some lined with fur, others made of heavy-duty leather with chains dangling from the rings.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Red.”
Garett picked up a pair of adjustable red leather cuffs, testing the buckle. “These will keep you exactly where I want you.”
Torin’s breath caught, and he quickly turned his attention to the next aisle, studying the selection of paddles and floggers. The display was arranged by intensity—soft suede on one end, progressing to thick leather and even wooden paddles toward the other.
“Are you willing to try impact play?” Garett noticed Torin was studying all the implements.
“What does that mean?”
“These are impact implements which are used to spank you or discipline you if you’re bad.” Garett watched Torin’s face turn red.
“I want to be a real sub.” Torin’s impassioned words resonated through the room.
“Spanked or not doesn’t define a real sub. It’s what you and I agree on. If you don’t want it, there are other things for us to do.”
“I want to try everything.”
It was evident Torin attached spanking with being a real sub. Garett reached for a leather flogger, trailing the ends over his palm. “Good for warming up,” he murmured, before smirking and handing it to Torin. “Give it a feel.”
Torin hesitated, then grasped the handle, letting the leather strands slide over his fingers. He shivered slightly, probably imagining how it might feel against his skin. He had no experience with this.
“Not too bad,” he muttered, placing it into the basket.
Garett chuckled but didn’t push. He led them toward the back, where more advanced items were locked inside a glass display case—electrostimulation devices, intricate chastity cages, heavy-duty spreader bars. Torin’s eyes widened slightly, and he stepped closer, inspecting the unfamiliar designs with both curiosity and apprehension.
Garett leaned in, his breath warm against Torin’s ear. “Not for tonight,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “But it’s good to know where your limits are.”
Torin quickly straightened, clearing his throat. “Right.”
By the time they reached the register, their basket was filled with carefully chosen items—collars, cuffs, rope, a flogger, and a sleek black paddle. Each piece felt like a promise, an unspoken agreement of trust, discovery, and surrender. Garett added a few other items to the basket without Torin seeing them.
As they walked back to the truck, Torin exhaled a slow breath, clutching the bag to his chest. Garett was eager for Torin to dive into something new—and he was diving into it with Garett. And that? That made all the difference.
When they arrived at the restaurant, the vibrant colors and lively atmosphere immediately caught Torin’s attention. The walls were painted in warm shades of orange and yellow, adorned with colorful papel picado banners and framed photographs of Mexican landscapes. The air was filled with the savory scent of spices and grilled meat, and the soft strum of a guitar played in the background. They were seated at a cozy booth near the back, the dim lighting creating an intimate ambiance.
Garett ordered a margarita for each of them, and they sipped the tangy drinks as they perused the menu. Torin seemed to light up as he talked about the different dishes, his enthusiasm making Garett smile. They settled on sharing a plate of nachos and each ordering enchiladas—beef for Garett and chicken for Torin. As they waited for their food, Garett felt a quiet determination settle over him. It was time to tell Torin about Manny. He’d been putting it off, not wanting to dredge up the past, but he knew Torin deserved to know.
“Torin,” Garett began, his voice soft but steady, “there’s something I need to tell you. About my last sub.”
Torin’s expression shifted, his curiosity mingling with a hint of apprehension. He set his margarita down, his eyes locking onto Garett’s. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Garett took a deep breath, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “I met Manny in California. He was…magnetic. Charismatic. We had an intense relationship for a while. I even moved him here to Montana with me. But things weren’t perfect. We had our issues. He was impulsive and reckless sometimes. And then…he went back to California to visit his sick mother. That was what he had told me. He was supposed to come back after a week, but he never did.”
Torin frowned and whispered. “What happened?”
Garett’s chest tightened and had a difficult time breathing. The memory was still raw, even after all these years. “One day, I got a call from his mother. I asked her how she was after her surgery. She said she never had surgery or was ever hospitalized. Then she told me Manny had been gunned down. It was…it was a lot to process. I blamed myself for a long time, wondering if I could’ve protected him, to keep him safe. But the truth is, Manny made his own choices. When he said he was visiting his mother, he knew he would never come back to Montana. And that’s something I’ve had to come to terms with.”
Torin reached across the table, his hand covering Garett’s. “I’m so sorry, Garett. That must have been…I can’t even imagine.”
Garett nodded, his throat tight. “It was hard. But it was five years ago. And now…now I’m here with you. And I don’t want to compare you to him, Torin. You’re not him. You’re you. And that’s exactly what I want.”
Torin’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, his voice trembling. “I’ve been so scared I wouldn’t measure up to him. That I couldn’t be what you needed.”
Garett squeezed Torin’s hand, his gaze steady and sincere. “You don’t have to measure up to anyone, Torin. You’re enough. More than enough. What I have with you…it’s different. It’s real. And it’s everything I’ve been looking for.”
Torin’s breath hitched, and he looked down at their joined hands, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just…I want to be good for you, Garett. I want to be someone you can count on.”
“You already are,” Garett said firmly. “You’re not Manny, and I don’t want you to be. I want you. Just as you are.”
The food arrived, but for a moment, neither of them moved. They sat there, hands clasped, the weight of Garett’s words hanging in the air. Torin finally looked up, his eyes searching Garett’s face. “Thank you for telling me. For trusting me with that.”
Garett nodded, his thumb brushing over Torin’s knuckles. “You deserve to know. And I want you to know I’m here with you because I choose to be. Not because of the past, but because of what we’re building together.”
Torin smiled, a small, genuine smile that made Garett’s chest ache with affection. “I choose you too, Garett. Always.”
They ate their meal in comfortable silence, the conversation lingering in the air between them like a shared secret. For the first time in a long time, Garett felt a sense of peace, a quiet certainty he was exactly where he was meant to be. And as he watched Torin laugh at something the waiter said, he knew whatever the future held, they would face it together.