Chapter Thirty-Eight
Torin
As promised, Garett drove to Cowpokes to play with Torin after some of his training. Torin stepped into Cowpokes behind Garett, his boots scuffing against the sticky floor as the heavy thud of bass rattled through his chest. The air hung thick with the mingled scents of leather, sweat, and something faintly being cooked in the kitchen area. It was alive, chaotic, and overwhelming, a world Torin wanted to belong in.
Garett clapped him on the shoulder. “Stay here, Torin. I’ll grab us some soft drinks.”
Before Torin could protest, Garett melted into the throng, swallowed by the sea of leather clad men near the bar.
Torin lingered near a high-top table, its surface scratched and ringed with old spills, feeling exposed with a capital E. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching for something to hold on to as he scanned the crowd. Luckly he was wearing his training collar so he should be safe. That was when Cherry emerged from the haze, a lean figure with an annoying swagger, his dark eyes glinting like the chipped edge of a blade. His pink hair was spiked to the max, and a smirk curled his lips as he sidled up to Torin, too close for comfort.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Cherry drawled, his voice cutting through the music like a dull knife. He leaned an elbow on the table, tilting his head as if sizing Torin up. “Garett drag you out of your cave?”
Torin stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Something like that,” he muttered, keeping his tone flat despite the prickle of unease creeping up his spine.
Cherry’s smirk widened, venomous. “You know you won’t last with him, right? Garett’s a storm—wild, loud, burns through everyone he touches. You?” He gave Torin a once-over, his gaze lingering on the scuffed leather jacket and the way Torin’s shoulders hunched slightly. “You’re a candle flicker. He’ll snuff you out.”
The words landed like a punch, low and dirty. Torin’s stomach twisted, but he forced his face to stay blank, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve. He opened his mouth to retort, but Cherry pressed on, relentless.
“Seen it before,” Cherry said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. “He picks up strays, plays the hero, then gets bored. You think you’re special? You’re just tonight’s project. Give it a week—hell, maybe two if you’re lucky—and he’ll be onto the next one.”
Torin’s fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. He wanted to shove Cherry back, to tell him to piss off, but the words stuck in his throat, tangled in the sudden, suffocating fear that Cherry might be right. The club’s chaos seemed to close in, the lights too bright, the noise too loud, amplifying the cracks Cherry was prying open.
Before Torin could muster a response, Garett reappeared, two glasses of Pepsi sloshing slightly in his hands. His grin faltered as he clocked Cherry’s proximity, his eyes narrowing. “What’s this, then?” he asked, his voice light but edged with steel as he set the drinks on the table.
Cherry straightened, his smirk unshaken. “Just chatting with your new pet. Telling him how it is.”
Garett stepped closer, his broad frame cutting between Cherry and Torin like a wall. “That so?” His tone was still easy, but there was a hardness in his eyes now, a warning flare. “And how is it, Cherry? Enlighten me.”
Cherry shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just saying he’s not built for your speed, Master Garett. You’ll chew him up, spit him out. Doing him a favor, really—giving him a heads-up.”
Garett laughed, a sharp, barking sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re a real saint, aren’t you?” He turned to Torin briefly, his gaze softening for a split second—just enough to steady Torin’s fraying nerves—before snapping back to Cherry. “Here’s the thing, boy. Torin’s not some fragile little thing I need to coddle. He’s tougher than you think, and a hell of a lot more interesting than you’ll ever be. So how about you toddle off and spare us your sad little prophecy act?”
Cherry’s smirk twitched, faltering under Garett’s glare. He held up his hands in mock surrender, backing off a step. “Whatever you say, Sir. Enjoy your night.” His eyes flicked to Torin one last time, a parting shot of disdain, before he vanished back into the crowd.
Garett handed Torin a drink, his grin returning full force. “Ignore that asshole. He’s just jealous he’s not half as fun as you are.” He clinked his glass against Torin’s, the sound sharp and grounding amidst the club’s roar.
Torin managed a small, shaky smile, the weight of Cherry’s words still lingering but dulled by Garett’s presence. He took a sip, letting the sweetness of the drink steady him, and decided—for now—to believe Garett meant it.
“We’re booked for our private room. So, let’s take our drinks with us.”
“Yes, Sir.” Torin had looked forward to this day after months of practicing in their playroom at home. He followed Garett to the private room. He remembered the set up from the first he had gone to work with Master Garett.
“Before anything happens, discuss your feelings when Cherry showed up.” Garett pointed to a small table with two chairs. They set their drinks on the table.
Torin sat on the chair around the table in the dimly lit private room. The low hum of music from the club vibrated through the walls. He was still tense, his hands clasped together in his lap, his leg bouncing slightly. Across from him, Garett leaned back in an armchair, watching him with that steady, unreadable expression.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Tell me what happened with Cherry,” he repeated.
Torin exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “He cornered me at the table. Said you’d dump me sooner or later. That I was just something to pass the time.” His jaw tightened. “He wanted to get under my skin, and it worked.”
Garett’s expression darkened, but he said nothing, letting Torin continue.
“I was pissed,” Torin admitted, fingers curling into a fist. “I wanted to hit him—really wanted to. But I didn’t, because I knew it would just cause more problems. And because of you. I didn’t want to make a mess of things for you at the club.”
Garett’s lips curled slightly, something like approval flickering in his eyes. “Go on.”
Torin let out a slow breath. “For a minute, I let it get to me. I started thinking…what if he was right? What if I’m just temporary for you? I let myself doubt what we have, and I hated that. But then you came back, and suddenly, it didn’t matter what Cherry said. I know what I feel when I’m with you, and I trust you. That’s what brought me back.”
Garett leaned forward. “Good,” he said simply, his voice warm with approval. “I’m glad you didn’t let him rattle you. And I’m proud of you for keeping your cool.”
Torin met his gaze, searching for any sign of doubt, but there was none. Just confidence. Just reassurance.
“Cherry’s a jealous prick,” Garett continued. “He wanted to see you lose control because he doesn’t have any. But you handled it, and that tells me a lot about you.”
Torin felt the last remnants of anger dissolve, replaced by something steadier—something strong. Garett believed in him. He wouldn’t let someone like Cherry make him question that again.
“Yeah,” Torin said, his voice surer now. “I know.”
Garett reached over, gripping Torin’s chin between his fingers. “Good.” His thumb brushed lightly over his skin before he let go. “Next time, you come to me before you let asshole get in your head.”
Torin nodded. “Got it.”
Garett leaned back, satisfied. “That’s my boy.”
And just like that, Torin knew he’d won. Not against Cherry, but against his own doubts. Garett’s praise sent chills down his back.
“Are you up for a scene?”
“Yes, Sir.”