Chapter 210

Chapter 210
 ~Marlowe~

The dark came and went in pieces, dragging me under one second before loosening just enough the next to let awareness bleed back through again. My head hurt, not pounding exactly, more a dull pressure behind my eyes, fogging every thought before it fully formed while the cold concrete I lay on, settled through my clothes and into my skin the longer I stayed against it.

My fingers twitched faintly against the floor beneath me, rough texture scraping against my palm as I tried to move. But everything felt too heavy, my limbs heavy while my breath pulled in slow.

The car, hands, the needle.mMy stomach turned hard as memory hit in flashes too fast and too broken to fully grab onto: headlights, the door opening.

My eyes opened too quickly, and pain slammed behind them instantly, forcing them shut again while nausea rolled through me hard enough to make me swallow it back down.

“Easy,” a male voice muttered from somewhere nearby, calm in a way that instantly made my skin crawl.

I instantly reacted, my muscles tightening as I forced my eyes open again slower this time, blurred shapes moving through dim light while something shifted near the far wall.

I pushed up too fast, my elbow slipping beneath me before I caught myself, breathing harder now as the room tilted violently sideways.

“Careful,” the voice warned quietly.

I ignored him, forcing myself upright anyway while my hand pressed harder against the floor and I dragged myself backward until the solidness of a wall met my spine.

The room slowly started coming into focus after that, small concrete walls, no windows, single steel door, one chair sitting near the opposite side beside a table with nothing on it. No chains, no ropes. That almost made it worse because it meant they thought they didn’t need them.

My pulse kicked harder then, not panic exactly, awareness settling through me instead.

The man standing near the table finally settled fully into view. Brian.

The realization hit so violently my stomach dropped straight through the floor. Not some rival biker. Not mafia. Brian. My roommate.

The man who made coffee in the mornings and watched documentaries with me on the couch while pretending to be safe.

He stood there quietly in dark clothes, hands loose at his sides while his eyes tracked every reaction crossing my face with an intensity that immediately made nausea twist harder in my gut.

“Surprised?” he questioned softly, tilting his head slightly.

My mouth opened once before closing again because my brain still refused to fully connect what I was seeing to the man standing in front of me.

“You…” My voice cracked roughly. “Why?”

Brian’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly, almost offended by the wording.

“I removed you from a dangerous situation,” he corrected calmly.

A cold chill crawled straight up my spine. “You drugged me,” I muttered while my pulse started hammering harder beneath my ribs.

“You fought,” he replied quietly, like that somehow justified it. “You left me with limited options.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Not because anything was funny, but because the alternative was panic, and I couldn’t afford panic right now.

“You’re insane,” I hissed.

His jaw tightened instantly at that. “You don’t understand what he is,” Brian replied while taking a slow step toward me. “What he turns people into.”

My stomach rolled harder as memory flashed through me suddenly. The apartment. The questions Brian asked sometimes. The way he watched Torin every time he came near me. The subtle disapproval hidden beneath concern.

God. How long had this been building?

“How long have you been planning this,” I questioned quietly, trying to keep him talking while my eyes tracked the room automatically. Door. Hinges. Distance. Anything useful.

Brian noticed immediately.  “You won’t get out yet,” he stated calmly. “The door’s reinforced.”

“Brian,” I muttered carefully, forcing my breathing steadier. “This is kidnapping.”

“No,” he corrected again, stepping closer. “This is intervention.”

The sheer conviction in his voice chilled me worse than if he’d screamed, because Brian genuinely believed this.

That made him dangerous in a completely different way than Torin ever was.

Torin knew he was violent. Knew he was morally twisted sometimes. There was honesty in that. Brian wrapped obsession in righteousness and called it love.

My throat tightened painfully. “You don’t get to decide where I belong,” I whispered.

Something flickered across his face then. Hurt maybe. Frustration. “I’m trying to save you,” he replied quietly.

“No,” I shot back while forcing myself fully upright despite the dizziness still clawing through me. “You’re trying to control me.”

His expression hardened instantly while tension pulled through his shoulders beneath the calm exterior he kept trying to maintain.

“He’s poisoning your life,” Brian muttered. “You stopped sleeping normally. You stopped eating right. You walk around that clubhouse like you’re waiting for violence every second.”

Violence followed Torin, that part wasn’t wrong. But this? This was worse, because Torin never pretended I belonged to him.

Brian already acted like I did. “You don’t love me,” I whispered, my voice rougher now. “You love the version of me you think needs you.”

The silence afterward stretched too long. Too heavy.

Brian stared at me without blinking while something colder slowly settled into his expression. Not explosive anger, a quiet disappointment. Like I’d failed him somehow.

“You’ll understand eventually,” he muttered finally.

Fear slid through me then because men who talked like that usually planned on time fixing everything force couldn’t.

My pulse kicked harder while my brain raced desperately through possibilities. Ten feet to the door, one table, one chair. Brian between me and both.

Not good odds. But I’d fought bigger men before. And the second an opening appeared? I was taking it.