Page 101 of The Collector

Luck smiled upon him again that day, and Raven believed him. From that day on, he made it his mission to learn how the Kings operated, say the right things, and hope it aligned with what his brother would have done. Remarkably, it worked—he managed to navigate through it all, relying on fate to see him through.

It took weeks to embody Stoker fully. He meticulously recreated every scar and tattoo on Stoker's body on his own. Most of the work he did himself, but a few tattoos had to be etched on by a backstreet tattoo artist who risked his life by tattooing the King's insignia without permission, knowing that being found out would mean death.

The women were just enough to complete the montage of his own crown, made from the skin of every person who had hurt him. He realized that he did not have the life he deserved—the life the Kings owed him. Each piece of skin that comprised his artwork connected the world to the pain and suffering he had endured as a child, restoring to him the power the Kings had stolen. The Angel and the Butterfly would symbolize the transformation and rebirth he was about to experience. A representation of his new start. Their deaths would provide the ultimate release, serving as the last two pieces to complete the montage that was his glory. His crown.

He could almost hear the commotion beginning; the gunshots at her house would have drawn the police by now. Raven would be notified by the enforcers guarding Mynx that she was missing after they discovered the fact. He'd been stealthy enough to escape the back of the house without notice.

But by the time he pieced it all together, it would be too late for the Angel and the Butterfly. They would be pinned in place next to the others on the wall.

He orchestrated Pierre's death with precision—every bullet positioned carefully, every clue left intentionally, including the hair sample found at the site of the Sugar abduction. Pierre's tattoos were identical to those worn by the Collector. While every member of the group had the same tattoos, the similarity was significant enough to make him a plausible suspect. Pierre had even stalked Mynx on her first night at Blood Lust. None of this was a coincidence. Each detail was deliberate on his part, a thread in the tapestry of deception that he had woven to tell the story he wanted them to see.

The clues left behind by The Collector were not randomly placed. But carefully curated to fit the narrative the FBI wanted to impose on the Collector. These were orchestrated acts of violence, designed to revive the myth that the public had constructed around the Collector. Each clue contained just enough information to suggest Pierre's involvement, leading the FBI to believe that they had found the Collector.

They would perceive what he wanted them to see: a killer unmasked, and a case closed. They would conclude that the women had been present, think they were responsible for Pierre's death, and assume they had fled to find safety out of fear of prosecution. The gun he placed under the bed, with Mynx's fingerprints on it, would further solidify this conclusion. Finding them wouldn't be a priority, which gave him the time to finish out his plans.

Only Raven would understand that the story hadn't ended. He would see through the illusion, past the carefully arranged scene the Collector had left behind, designed to close a chapter for the FBI. Raven would read between the lines and in the margins where the truth often hides, after finding the real Stoker. Hewould know that the man he was hunting wasn't dead—not yet, not even close. Or that held in his possession what Raven valued most in the world. The Collector was counting on that knowledge, relying on Raven's obsession with Mynx to lure him.

He would search for the woman he loved, following the blood trail left behind. And when he found it—when Raven saw what he had done—he wouldn't care that they shared blood, that Marcus was Stoker's twin. Family ties wouldn't matter anymore. Not after this. Not after what Marcus would take from him. Not after what he had carved into the bodies of the innocent.

Raven would come—not as family, but as a reckoning to him. He'd set Raven's fate in motion—death, disposal, no different from the others.

Cloning his phone had proven to be not just useful, but essential. It allowed him to orchestrate this ending with precision. He was aware of the call from the hospital and understood its significance. Ever since Stoker escaped the compound and vanished without a trace, he had been waiting and watching. It was only a matter of time before his brother resurfaced, inevitably drawn back to the only world he knew.

To family. To Raven. The cousin he claimed as his brother while his own suffered. Pinning Pierre as The Collector had always been his plan. But his brother, Stoker, the Collector, planned to make it seem like he and Elanah had pulled the strings, hiring Pierre to take Raven out of the picture and put Stoker in command. He'd even taken the time to impregnate Elanah to seal the illusion of their bond in the eyes of the world.

The Collector—Marcus Juanito Cordoba —was the only blood relative Stoker had left. And now, it was time for Stoker to pay for betraying that blood. For aligning himself with the Kings. For not being there when it truly mattered. Thanks to his mother, he was able to track the whole family down and infiltrate hisbrother's life at the perfect moment, blending in seamlessly without anyone taking notice.

He had failed to be a brother in the ways that counted. Ways that weren't about loyalty or legacy, but about presence. About choosing him. Stoker should have felt Marcus's absence like a missing limb—a phantom pain that never stopped aching just as Marcus had his.

Now, he would leave Stoker looking like the killer responsible for the aftermath at the mausoleum. A gift to the Godfathers in Mexico. Let them find him. Let them break him. The pain and torture they'd deliver would only scratch the surface—a fraction of what Marcus had carried his entire life. But with that, and the death that followed, Stoker would finally feel it: what it meant to be the abandoned son. And that truth—that echo of emptiness Stoker would feel— was more satisfying than killing him himself.

While the FBI chased the wrong connections that looked right, the real monster would move in silence, slipping into a new life under their radar. They would pursue the shadows of Pierre's life, believing he was the Collector. They would chase Pierre's past, get caught up in the myth of the Collector and how the two were so similar, and unearth the bodies he'd piled in his wake over the years and pin them each on Pierre—all while he would be rebuilding himself in the dark.

Eventually, Raven would trace him back to the mausoleum. He'd ensure that, when ready, he could do so if needed. When he did, Raven would discover the bodies of Mynx and Cyndi—partially flayed and arranged with deliberate intention. Marcus would be waiting to finish off Raven, too. His death would be the final piece in the wicked puzzle of revenge that he'd carefully constructed.

When the Raven saw what he created, he would know: the boy his family abandoned had become their reckoning.

Chapter 27

Raven

Raven sat in the chair beside Stoker's bed, unsure whether he could honestly believe the man before him was Stoker.

"Tell me everything—," Raven said, his voice low. "I need to know I can trust what you're saying, so give me as much detail as you can."

Stoker exhaled slowly and steadily. "After the fallout between you and my father, I needed some distance. Cabo seemed far enough, so I rented a villa and planned to disappear for a while. But on the second day, someone came for me. He took me without a word."

He paused, his eyes darkening. "I never saw his face and never heard his name. Initially, he neither asked for information nor offered any explanations. I wasn't sure where I was most of the time," Stoker repeated, quieter now. "No windows. No clocks. Just a room in the dark surrounded by bars. Sometimes food. Sometimes nothing. I started counting heartbeats to stay sane. I didn't even know how long I had been gone until today."

Raven leaned forward, studying Stoker intently, his jaw clenched. The image of his closest friend—his blood—reduced to a prisoner in a locked room, made his stomach turn. "How do I know you're telling the truth? Tell me something, anything that will convince me it's you." Raven felt in his bones this was his cousin, but he needed something real, something tangible to tie it all together. Confirm it.

Stoker's jaw tightened. "I don't understand why you're questioning my identity. Don't you recognize me? I've been your best friend your entire life. I should be offended. Hell, maybe I am. Or maybe I'm just pissed off in general."

He leaned in closer, his voice low and his eyes blazing with something that looked like betrayal.

"Because if I weren't Stoker, I wouldn't remember the scar behind your left ear, or the time you shattered your wrist jumping off the bodega roof to impress Selena in high school. I wouldn't remember how you cried when your mother died—but only after the room emptied and you thought no one was watching."

Raven didn't flinch; the words struck him like a slow knife. He could feel the memories surfacing; it had been a long time since he had thought about the day his mother died. He didn't speak, didn't need to. Stoker had known how much the truth would affect him. It was why he chose them to prove himself to him.