Page 102 of The Collector
In that moment, something inside him shifted—seismically, and he knew. This was Stoker. Some memories could be faked, rehearsed, whispered into an imposter's ear, but not that one. Not the one about his mother. No one knew he'd cried—not even his father. He was nine then, still soft in places she'd touched, still carrying pieces of her in his soul, not just the harshness of the man who raised him, hadn't been fully transitioned into the hardened killer his father made him into.
Stoker had spoken the one truth that only he and Raven shared, which would undoubtedly confirm his identity.
Raven nodded. "There's something you should know. The man who took you—Santiago and I—believe he's your twin. That's why I asked you to prove your identity. You're identical. I needed to be certain. I hope you can forgive me."
Stoker didn't speak. He didn't blink. The words hung in the air around him like smoke— impossible to grasp but also impossible to ignore. Twin. Not just a stranger. Not just a monster. Blood. Raven could almost see the pieces clicking into place on Stoker's face.
"My brother?" he finally spoke, his voice cracking at the edges. "Then why would he do this to me? Why wouldn't he just come home to us if he belonged to the Cordoba family?"
Raven's gaze didn't waver. "Your guess is as good as mine. But if I had to wager... I'd say he feels like he's owed your life over his own. He's been living as you for two years, after all."
Stoker's breath hitched. "Two years," he repeated, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less cruel. "Then why not kill me? Why keep me alive? If he just wanted to assume my identity."
Raven hesitated, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "If I had to guess... there's a bigger plan in motion. And we're only seeing the edges of it."
"I know you need time to process this. I had to confirm you were who you claimed to be—before we left. But right now, I need to get you out. Your brother's with someone I care about deeply, and if anything happens to her…"
"He wore my clothes," he whispered. "Sat at my table. Touched people I love. And I was just... a ghost of myself in a locked room. That has to be the worst invasion of someone's life possible. But there's one thing I do know, he won't live long to regret it."
Raven moved to get Stoker out of the bed, pushing him into a waiting wheelchair.
Stoker's voice hardened as he continued working through his anger, hardly registering Raven moving him. "Take me with you, let me be the one to beat the answers out of his ass. Let me have that. Let me show him how the real Stoker hands shit."
Raven leaned in, his voice steady, low. "We'll get answers. You're not ready. You need more rest first. But when you are, he'll be the only one who knows what it feels like to be erased."
Stoker didn't respond. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, as if he were still trying to stitch together the fragments of his stolen life.
"I need to find him—fast. He said he was heading to Mynx's house to oversee her security personally—" Raven paused, the word catching in his throat. It wasn't fear; it was recognition, the kind that rewires a man. "Mynx is important, Stoker, I love her," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Stoker looked up, seemingly startled by the confession, by the vulnerability in Raven's face.
"I need to make sure she's safe," Raven said, regaining the edge in his voice. "I need to get him into an interrogation room and find out what I can. There are numerous moving pieces in the King's world right now—too many to discuss at the moment. I'll ask Uncle San to explain after we get you situated. I'm going to have to ask you to trust me, even though that might be hard for you right now."
"I've always trusted you, Raven. Should have trusted that you had this family's best interest at heart two years ago. And maybe I wouldn't have gone through this bullshit. Let's get outta here. Come on, move."
Raven nodded.
"You don't have to worry; we'll get to the bottom of this. Because this isn't just about you anymore—it's about us. And ifthere is one thing, we Cordobas are good at, it's breaking a man to get what we want."
Raven opened the door and motioned for San to come into the room, just as his phone rang.
"Yeah!" Raven shouted into the phone.
"Boss, it's Jeremy. I'm with Mynx—part of her detail today—but something's happening at her house. The police are here, and they've detained us. Blackwell only let me use my phone to call you. They want you here. Now."
Raven felt his pulse race. Sirens wailed in the background—distant but getting closer. His chest tightened with anxiety. He should have gone with her. He should have protected her himself.
"Where the hell is Mynx?" he snapped.
Jeremy hesitated. "We heard gunshots— Before we could get inside, the FBI showed up. Word is Pierre Le Grange is inside— dead. If the women are inside, they've hidden themselves really well. Blackwell said Peirre was alone inside. I'd say they're gone, boss."
Raven froze. "What about Stoker? Is he there with you? "He paced the room as the words sank in.
"No, haven't heard from him. Is he supposed to be here? There's something else," Jeremy added, voice dropping to a whisper. "The FBI says Pierre was the Collector. Well—they didn't exactly tell us that piece of information—we overheard two of the lab techs talking about being extra careful so the evidence would hold up."
Raven's blood went cold. The urge to find Mynx—to see her, touch her, shield her— no longer a flicker of thought, but a need, raw and consuming. He needed to know she was alive, to feel it. To hold her in his arms. It was time to go now.
"Don't give them anything," he said, voice like steel. "Do they know the women were there?"
