Semua Bab Raven's MC Series; Marlowe & Torin -Book One of the series: Bab 81 - Bab 90

Half an hour later, walking back into Jess’s Place felt like stepping into a life I wasn’t sure still belonged to me.The front door creaked the same way it always had, a familiar, tired sound that punched straight through my chest. The smell hit next: beer, citrus cleaner, wood soaked in spilled whiskey, and something fried that had overstayed its welcome. The lights were low despite the early hour. The bar was still half asleep, clinging to the ghost of the night before.For a moment, I just stood on the welcome mat. My hand lingered on the brass door handle while my pulse hammered like I was walking into a trial instead of my own workplace. The jukebox hummed softly in the corner, playing some blues track barely above a whisper. A couple of early regulars sat hunched at the counter nursing coffees, their backs turned and shoulders rounded. They had the look of men who had nowhere else to be.Jess was behind the bar. He looked up, and the pint glass slipped from his hand before he co

By the time my shift started the next evening, word had already spread. Not officially. There was no announcement, no dramatic reunion scene with balloons or speeches. There was just the quiet, dangerous way news traveled in places like this: a look held a beat too long, a murmur that stopped when I turned, or a bartender down the block texting someone who texted someone else. Marlowe’s back. Jess didn’t say anything as I picked up my apron from the back hook. He just gave me a long, solemn look from across the glass rack. I tied the strings behind my waist anyway, my fingers steady even though my nerves buzzed violently under my skin. The bar filled fast. Too fast. By nine, every stool was taken. By ten, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, heat and noise rising until the walls felt closer than they had any right to be. High-tempo rock music thumped from the speakers, louder than usual, as if Jess was trying to drown something out—or maybe just keep things normal. Normal didn’t st

~Torin~I stayed where I was long after she walked out. The bar door closed softly behind her. Not slammed. Not dramatic. Just final. That somehow hurt worse than if she’d yelled or thrown something across the room.Silence settled into the empty space she left behind, thick and unyielding. Jess didn’t say a word. He just picked up his damp towel and wiped down the mahogany bar again, slower this time, like he was intentionally giving me a chance to leave with what little dignity I had left. Near the back exit, Tannin leaned against the office doorway. She crossed her arms over her chest, her dark eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Neither of them told me to go. They didn’t have to.I exhaled hard through my nose and ran a hand through my hair. The tension buzzed under my skin like static electricity. A suffocating crowd of words choked my throat—the ones I should’ve said weeks ago, months ago.Marlowe, I was wrong.Marlowe, I didn’t trust you with the truth because I didn’t trust myself

~MARLOWE~Ladybug carried me home like she always had. No hurry. No panic. Just the steady hum of an engine that knew my moods better than most people. The city slipped past in streaks of sodium light and shadow, storefronts closing up for the night, traffic thinning as if the world itself were exhaling. For once, I didn’t replay the bar over and over in my head.That surprised me. Normally, moments like that stuck. Lodged themselves behind my ribs and replayed on a vicious loop. Every word analyzed. Every look dissected until nothing was left but regret and second-guessing. I expected the ache to rise up eventually, sharp and insistent. The what-ifs clawing their way up my throat, demanding to be fed.But instead, there was a strange, almost uncomfortable calm riding shotgun beside me. Not peace. Not relief. Just the absence of chaos.I stopped at a red light and rested my forehead briefly against the steering wheel, breathing in the familiar scent of worn leather and oil, the faint r

By nine, I’d cleaned the same stretch of counter twice and reorganized the spice rack like it had personally offended me. It wasn’t about the spices. It was the quiet. Quiet left too much room for thoughts to pace.I set the rag down and stared out the window, watching the city move with the careless momentum of people who had places to be and problems small enough to solve with coffee and traffic lights. Somewhere below, a delivery truck double-parked without apology. A dog dragged its owner down the sidewalk like the leash was optional.My phone buzzed on the counter and I flinched, then exhaled, irritated at myself. I picked it up and stared at the message.Jess: You awake?I stared at the screen.Me: Unfortunately.The reply came fast.Jess: Bar. Noon. Bring your sketchbook.My chest tightened. Not fear exactly. More like a tug. A thread being pulled.Me: Why?Jess: Because I said to.I sighed and tossed the phone onto the couch.I changed without overthinking it. Jeans. Boots. A s