When I finally found Torin, he was in his room and glancing around at the destruction, I knew that we were in for a fight. He was spiraling out of control. I’d noticed he’d been limping earlier, so I put two and two together. Pills, whiskey, pain and anger did not mix, and I feared this time he might just go over that edge he’d been walking. With an about face, I went to find Marlowe. The mother fucker may kill me for it, but Marlowe was fixing to meet Torin again.
MARLOWE
Pouring tequila into the shot glass, I pushed it at the bushy man in front of me, trying to keep my distance as I feared what might climb out of the nest on his face. *Good Lord, had the man never heard of grooming*? Stepping quickly back as he reached out to grab the glass, I bumped into the body behind me and gave a startled, "Oh."
Turning, I found Burdock behind me and without a word, he grabbed my arm and began dragging me out from behind the bar and across the room. “Hey!” I protested. But he ignored my objection and kept plowing forward. *What the hell*? I thought. Has everyone in this damn place lost their freaking minds?
“What *is* this, Burdock?” I huffed out as we picked up speed across the floor.
“Somebody needs you,” he growled out.
*Okaay*.
When Burdock finally came to a stop in front of Satan’s door, I could hear things being broken on the other side, and my eyes rounded. “What the hell is going on in there?” I gasped.
“A little too much of this and that,” was his cryptic reply.
“Huh?” I breathed before, shaking my head, I muttered, “And what exactly is this and that?”
With another loud crash, Burdock thrust the door open, and still gripping my elbow, he pulled me into the room with him.
*HOLY SHIT*! Is all I could think as I peered at the destruction about us, then flinched when Satan turned his eyes on me before he angrily jerked them to Burdock as he bellowed, “Get her the fuck out of here!”
Burdock never faltered as he continued moving forward with me still attached to his hand, and I started trying to pull loose; I wanted nothing to do with Satan when he was this angry. Hell, even the real Devil would be reduced to trembles right now. I’d seen hints of the anger Satan carried in him, but this… This was so much more than anger. This was heartbreaking. Satan had flipped. I had no idea what had triggered him, but it was wrenching to see such a strong man fracture in the way he obviously had; the glass had shattered as I’d feared.
I couldn’t help the small utterance of sound that left my lips and Burdock snarled, “You tell her, or I fucking will! Goddamit, you are breaking, brother!”
Satan lunged at Burdock, and finally letting go of my hand, Burdock met him halfway, as grabbing a hold of the front of Satan’s kutte, he began shoving him backward until he had him pinned against the wall as he snarled, “Do it, motherfucker!”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I SHUT YOU UP!” Satan thundered at Burdock.
Open-mouthed and staring, I watched as Satan wrapped his arms around Burdock and began shoving forward, moving Burdock across the floor. Burdock, in turn, ducked his head and came up under Satan’s chin, clipping him. Satan let loose with a roar and suddenly they were on the floor. Satan, legs to either side of Burdock, sat on Burdock’s middle, as fists pounding like a jack-hammer, he pummeled Burdock’s face.
I had to give it to Burdock though, for though Satan’s arms were swinging like a well-oiled machine, Burdock never called uncle under the assault. Instead, he clubbed Satan up side the head with a fist, then using the slight slowing of Satan’s fists from the action, he threw Satan off him. Of course, it obviously wasn’t the smartest thing to have done, as Satan really went berserkers. In a flash, Satan was all over Burdock, and grabbing a handful of hair, he began pounding the other man’s head onto the hardwood floor.
Fearing he was about to crack Burdock’s skull under the fierce bombardment, I ran over to Satan and grabbing the arm sockets of his kutte I began jerking at him.
Rounding on me, Satan’s fist flew through the air, smashing me in the face and knocking me backwards onto my butt. Pain splintered across my nose, and my lip immediately started swelling. As I sat, stunned, I could taste the blood in my mouth from my busted lip and what was probably a broken nose.
Leaping off Burdock, Satan scrambled in my direction, then raising his hands he cupped my jawline, as using his thumbs, he began wiping at the blood on my face, at the same time breathing, “Oh fuck, Marl, I’m sorry.”
I shook his hands off me, and still on my butt I began using my legs to put distance between us, afterward, picking myself up off the floor, I wiped at the blood that was still free-flowing into my mouth with the back of my hand, as I stared down in shock at the man on his knees before me. Suddenly, I didn’t need to be told what Burdock had been trying to get Satan to say, for I already knew. There was only one man who had ever called me *Marl* and he has been dead for four years now.
With a sob, I turned and began pushing my way through the men who had gathered in the hall and doorway, obviously having been watching the fight, but as I passed Rook, he reached out, trying to stop me. With a shake of my head, I continued forward, I couldn’t deal. I couldn’t emotionally handle what I had just learned, and I needed time. Time alone. Satan…was Torin.
# # #
The courtyard was lit up like Wrigley Field, but I kept to the shadows. Phantoms within the bright lighting. The same type of phantoms that wandered within my mind. A collection of shapes and ghost events. Torin was alive, yet he wasn’t. Satan was Torin, and Torin was Satan. But they were definitely two different men. The Torin I had said goodbye to, the Torin I had grieved, was not the man I had come to know as Satan. And Satan was not the Torin I had known, the Torin whom I had loved. Yet there was so much of Torin in Satan, my heart had recognized him, had reached out to him, but my mind had told me Torin was dead, that I was just wanting to see the man I had lost, within the face and actions of another. It was all so damn confusing. The bottom line? Torin was alive and had kept the fact from me. Even after Rook had introduced Satan to me, Torin had withheld the fact he was alive. Hurt bled within me. Anger stripped my reasoning. What kind of person could do that to another? *Why*, would a person do that to another? But most of all, why would Torin do that to me?
Reaching up, I wiped at a tear, then examined the moisture on the tip of my finger. I felt betrayed. Lied to. I had even shown my hurt, my pain of Torin’s loss when Satan and I had first been introduced and I had told him he reminded me of the man I had loved and lost—I had told him I was fucking in love with him, and he’d still bald-faced lied to me, denying it was him. No, I had to back up, he had never actually denied he was Torin.
I had deeply loved Torin, had fallen apart at his loss, and though Satan’s birth name may be the same as Torin’s, I had, indeed, buried Torin, and out of that six foot hole, had arisen Satan.
Now, if he told me he needed me, I wouldn’t help him. He had become my enemy, I’d seen this game—played this game, and if he didn’t know who I had become after his death, as well now because of his lies…he would. I’d never show him my heart again. He’d turned me inside out for the last time, and I wouldn’t allow him to have what remained of me. He’d eventually come in search of me, and when he did, Hell would be waiting.
TORIN
The next morning I sat on the edge of my bed, my head in my hands. I didn’t know which hurt the worst, my head or my heart. The hangover, I would get over, but tearing Marlowe to pieces again—what a wicked thing—so, with little doubt, I knew it was my heart that suffered the most. I’d never dreamed in my life, that I would need to hurt her like I have over and again in the past four years, and in the struggle to keep my secret, as I hadn’t been ready to be so sacrificial as to give what little of her I had gotten back yet, I had fucking broke her. In the end, neither Burdock, nor myself had had to tell her, it was a simple slip of the tongue. I knew just as soon as it slipped from my mouth and her eyes had dazed, she’d put it together. Dear God, the look she had given me as she’d walked out the door… She hated me. She had emotionally walked, closed her heart—and I couldn’t blame her.
Now what I had to tell her would help her cement it closed forever. Sliding the picture I kept of Marlowe out of my wallet, I whispered for the second time, “Bye, baby.”
An hour later, having showered, and trimmed back my beard and mustache for the first time since the explosion, as well let my man-bun down so the thick Mocha-brown locks fell around my waist in their natural state, I slid into my jeans and kutte, then made my way out of my room. I no longer had reason to hide my identity.
I wasn’t going in search of Marlowe yet, I just couldn’t. Not yet. But I knew It would be me going to her and not the other way around. She’d just as soon spit in my eyes than listen to anything I had to say right now. And I needed her to listen.
Just as I was stepping into the bar to get some breakfast, the alarms just outside the compound went off. With a swear, I turned and began hunting for Rook. I didn’t know where Marlowe was, but if anybody knew, Rook would. As I slipped out of the bar, men were shoving knives into their boots and loading guns, many already heading out the door.
As I ran passed several of the men still locking and loading, I yelled out, “Anybody seen Rook or Marlowe?” I got headshakes in return. *Fuck*. *Where were they*? Spotting Jitter, I ordered, “Find Marlowe and get her to safety." I didn’t have time to hunt any longer. *It was time to get dirty in battle.*