Page 67 of The Collector
Raven couldn't believe his ears. Did his dad compliment him?Clearly, Hell had frozen over. He took a sip of his own. To clear away the emotion of the moment.
"There is something else I needed to discuss with you, Dad." Raven's voice was steady, but his shoulders were tight with tension.
Hector exhaled, slow and bristling—like the air had turned sour before the words even landed. He sighed. "What is it?"
Raven glanced toward the stage, then back. No turning back now. "I wanted you to know before the rest of the room did. I've claimed someone."
The glass in Hector's hand froze mid-air. He turned slowly, eyes narrowing with sharp disbelief.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me." The words dropped like knives; each syllable carved from venom, twisting to something so much different than just moments ago.
"One of these whores? Tell me this is temporary— A distraction—Nothing permanent —Nothing stupid."
Raven fidgeted with his glass, the ice clinking louder than it should have. He kept his eyes on the amber swirl, avoiding his father's gaze. Words crowded his throat, but none felt safe. Not yet.
His first instinct was to defend her. To say, she's not just some whore.
To make his father see Mynx the way he did—sharp, loyal, untamed.
But he let the insult hang in the air, untouched. Now wasn't the time to argue.
It was the time to plant the seed.
To let his father sit with the idea that things were shifting, that Raven wasn't just following orders anymore. That the woman he'd chosen wasn't a mistake—she was part of the future.
He took a slow sip, steadying himself.
"Didn't you just say you had faith in me? That I'm stronger than you were? That I'm the one who'll lead the Kings when you step down? Then maybe it's time you trusted my judgment—especially when it comes to who I choose to stand beside me. You know I wouldn't pick a woman who'd do more harm than good. So if you believe in me, believe in that."
Hector adjusted in his seat, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. It was clear that his blood pressure was high, as his face reddened, and sweat trails began to form along his temple line.
"Fine, let's talk about the elephant in the room, then. My contact with the FBI just reached out to me before I arrived; it seems they have just caught a major lead in their investigation. The car used in the suspected abduction of that Sugar girl has been found, abandoned, and remains a mostly burned-out shell. But they found a piece of forensic evidence. A piece of hair melted into a knit cap that was between the seats of the car. They are in the process of analyzing it and running it through the databases to see if they can come up with a match."
It was Raven's turn to adjust in his seat as the tension of the conversation began to rub him the wrong way.
"I'm not sure how much that affects us, Dad. Other than getting them off the King's backs. I don't suspect anyone in the club of the killings. I accounted for all of on the day of the abduction—"
"Well, that surveillance footage of the tattoo we all wear on our hands wasn't made up, Raven. You need to call a meeting. Get everyone in the same room. Use those interrogation techniques I've been teaching you your whole life. Step up and address this problem before it escalates into a bigger issue. Having federal eyes on our organization will not bring about anything good. It's time you woke the fuck up, son.
"You think scare tactics will keep this club from crumbling? We just talked about the fact that we have enemies. Don't you think they might be smart enough to try to frame one of us to get us out of the way? There is more to consider than just surveillance. The FBI's breathing down our necks, and all you can do is beat your chest and spit warnings. I know how to resolve the issue. If you would just let me take care of it, that would be great. It will no longer be a threat to us."
"I hope you're right. I hope you know what you're doing. If that car leads back to us, it won't be because I didn't warn you. You think you're being strategic, but all I see is hesitation masquerading as control. Stop running from the violence you need to inflict on others and fully embrace your responsibilities to me, to this organization. You're a great leader, Raven. Take the fuck care of it. Now or I will. Clean house, get rid of every untrusted associate we have. Take advantage of Stoker's skills; he has a way of getting information from people."
"We're at war with the system, Dad. And half the time, you can't tell friend from enemy. When are you going to wake up and get with the times? Brutality isn't always the answer—it doesn't always get results."
Raven leaned forward, voice low but firm. "I'll deal with the problem tomorrow. I'll have Stoker investigate potential connections and lead the interrogations. A killer this sloppy, this brutal—he left a trace. Somewhere. I'll find it."
Stoker never showed when Raven needed him. The man had a reputation for loyalty, but it rarely translated into presence. When things got messy, Raven stood alone.
His father didn't seem to mind. He valued Stoker's fists—his ability to dominate, intimidate, break things. Strategy didn't matter. Planning didn't matter. Not when brute force could clear a room.
Raven clenched his jaw. He'd spent years proving he could lead with more than violence. But in his father's eyes, power still came from blood on the floor—not the mind behind the move.
"You wear the mark I designed," his father said, voice gravel-thick. "For a club I bled for. It took your mother from me. Building it made me hard. Distant. But you still answer when I call—because it's in your blood too."
He pointed at Raven, eyes burning. "It's time to show me what that means. Show the Godfathers. You want power? Then prove you can hold it when the club's weak. This is your moment."
Raven didn't flinch. "Then do me a favor. Please show me the least bit of respect and stop comparing me to the blind fools you surround yourself with. They're chimps waiting on your command. Even Uncle Tony and Uncle Mateo—they're lap dogs."