Page 14 of The Collector

Cyndi nodded reluctantly, her bottom lip quivering. "I promise."

Mynx forced a small, encouraging smile and pulled her sister into one last embrace. "I'll come back," she said, more to reassure herself than anyone else.

Raven rose from his seat, his imposing frame casting a long shadow across the room. "Settled then," he said evenly. "Let's go."

Mynx shouldered her backpack and straightened her spine, her expression hardening as she turned to follow him.

"Take care of her," she said to Stoker and Raven, her voice low and dangerous. "If anything happens to either of them, you'll have a bigger problem than my father's debt to deal with."

Stoker raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly at her tone. "Noted, but over time, you will come to find we make better friends than enemies."

Mynx glanced over her shoulder one last time, drinking in the sight of her sister and the home she'd fought so hard to keep. Her throat tightened, but she didn't allow herself to hesitate. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped out into the night, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Chapter 4

Raven

The rhythmic hum of the tires soothed Raven as the car drifted through downtown Culver City, its gentle sway lulling him into a rare, reflective calm. The silence from the girl in the backseat disrupted it slightly—her silence so pointed it felt like a held breath.

He understood her bitterness. Leaving her family, bearing the weight of her father's recklessness—anyone would be angry. If their roles were reversed, Raven would be plotting someone's death as penance. He wondered if she was doing the same now. Replaying every choice, every betrayal, every moment that led her here. Maybe she was already crafting her revenge.

To her, he was the villain. The one who forced her hand. The one who made decisions she didn't get to refuse.

He cast a glance at Stoker; he was the villain in his story, too.

If he had just realized that Mateo's actions were what caused the situation to unfold the way it did, they could have finally moved past it and returned to the way things were.

The incident neither of them spoke of—but both carried like a splinter—was buried deep. And really, it wasn't either of their fault.

Stoker later found out that Hector, Raven's father, had been calling the shots. The move that turned Raven into a puppet for the Kings wasn't his idea.

But it didn't matter.

Not to Stoker.

Not once Mateo got caught in the crossfire.

From that day on, their relationship as cousins began to bleed out—a slow, silent death. Raven's loyalty to the Kings over his father's safety felt like a betrayal Stoker couldn't shake. He'd said as much over the years.

He hadn't forgiven him. Not fully.

The resentment over that stray bullet—Raven's bullet—that nearly took Mateo's life settled between them like dust in a room they no longer entered.

"How's Uncle Mateo's health been?" Raven asked Stoker casually, hoping to make the time in the car pass faster.

"He's doing okay, had another bypass surgery two weeks ago to repair the last of the damage to his heart. I was doubtful that his heart would ever function as it did before, but the doctors are hopeful this will be the last surgery he needs to recover fully. He and Mama finished marriage counseling last month. After two years the affair with the Presidente's wife seems to have faded from her heart. They almost seem happy again.

"I'm glad to hear they are both doing better. You know I have nothing but love for them both."

Stoker shifted in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him. "Your capacity to love has never been in question, Raven. Nor your loyalty—to your father, to the Kings." His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching Mynx's reflection. Then, in Spanish, low and deliberate, so she wouldn't understand:

“La familia debe estar por encima de todo.”

Family must come before everything.

Recently, they had begun to find solid ground again, slowly rebuilding what had once felt unbreakable. And if Raven was honest with himself, he understood his anger with him. He just needed to have more patience.

From the passenger seat, he had a clear view of the blonde woman in the back. She shifted uneasily. She seemed acutely aware of his gaze each time he glanced back, sensing it like a quiet weight in the air. Yet she remained silent, her eyes fixed on the passing scenery, squinting out into the darkness as though memorizing the route. He wondered if she was already planning her escape—if not immediately, then eventually. Wondered if she'd figured out who he was yet.