Page 11

11: Thorne

It's been two weeks of menial tasks and balancing acts. Doing things for Diablo alongside Mia while trying to make time for Vic every evening with the guys. She said she wanted us all to share, and that's what we've been doing. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss just having her to myself sometimes.

Now my balancing act is tilting, and not in the direction I want it.

A middle of the night call and here I sit, away from the person I want to be with most. Mia may not be the worst person to be around, and I definitely didn’t plan on being stuck in a car with her for the rest of the night, but when Diablo called and said to stake out the warehouse where all these suspicious crates were coming from, I couldn't exactly say ‘fuck off,’ no matter how much I wanted to.

Vic, although annoyed, told me to go, and it's not like Blaze or Ryder were sad to see me go. Hell, they're probably happy sharing with one less person for a moment.

There's no getting enough of Vic...ever.

“This is pointless. He's already had this warehouse surveilled, so why have us do it too?” I complain, gripping my pants over my knees and digging my fingers in frustration. “Nothing turned up last week. What's different about today?”

Mia shrugs, her eyes fixed on the night sky, like she's wishing on a star. No clue what for, and that makes me more wary of her. “Orders are orders, so here we are.”

“Yeah, well, these orders are bullshit.”

“Are you always this impatient?” she questions, turning her gaze towards me.

I take a handful of M&Ms a little too aggressively and mutter “When there's better shit I could be doing? Yeah,” before shoving them all in my mouth.

She smiles, almost as if she finds my answer amusing. “Like what? Holding Tori hostage in your bed?”

My eyes snap on her, but there's no malice in her tone, just wonder in her eyes. It's almost as if she's curious about what I do to her in the privacy of our room. “She's not a hostage,” I respond, my tone clipped and cold. “She's the only thing worth my time.”

“Must be nice to have that,” she whispers, propping her chin on her palm as she rests her elbow on the door, and stares out the window.

We grow silent, watching the way the wind blows against the trees that beat on the warehouse bricks. The silence lingers until she breaks it, turning her attention to me again.

“You ever think about what you’d be doing if you weren’t in this life?”

I huff a quiet laugh. “No point in thinking about shit that won’t ever happen.”

She nods like she understands, but there’s something wistful in the way she stares out the windshield. “I used to dream about being a teacher,” she says suddenly. “Back when I was a kid.”

I don’t know what to say to that. It’s too normal. Too far removed from this world.

“You would’ve been a terrible teacher,” I tell her, allowing the smallest twist of my lips to show.

She's too meek. Kids would eat her alive. They're more vicious than the kind of people we deal with in this career line.

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “Yeah, probably. ”

Another lull of silence. The wind picks up, rustling the trash littering the alleyway. A cat darts past the dumpster, but nothing human moves.

I want to go home.

I check my watch, sighing. “Another hour. If nothing happens, we call it.”

Mia doesn’t argue. Just leans her head back against the seat and closes her eyes. I keep my gaze on the darkness outside, waiting for something—anything—to give me a reason to be here.

But the warehouse remains unbothered.

“I know we're supposed to be stealthy and all that,” Mia starts, but her attention is on her phone. “But I think I’ll lose my mind if it stays this quiet. And you’re not much of a talker.”

She pairs her phone with the car’s bluetooth and starts playing her music, which oddly sounds like Vic’s playlist. The first thing on is Paint the Town Blue by Ashnikko, which Vic has been playing a lot as of late. Something to do with a tv show she really enjoyed watching.

Mia’s boots tap against the floorboard as she tries to restrain herself from dancing, but in no time flat, her hands start beating against her lap and then she’s humming along.

“I sometimes wish I was that bold. You know?” she randomly starts again, her eyes on the lot but her mind somewhere else completely. “Leave my mark everywhere.”

“You know how superheroes have secret identities?”

She turns her head to look at me like I’m some weirdo for asking, even though she’s the one who keeps saying random things. “Yeah,” she responds almost wearily.

“Well, we have to be the same way. You don’t want people knowing you unless you’re ready to risk the people you love. So maybe leaving your mark isn’t exactly what you want to do.”

“Yeah, maybe not. ”

We grow silent again, and the very faint music keeps switching, a mixture of Ashnikko, Le Tigre, and Billie Eilish invading my ears for the next twenty minutes. I’m half tempted to tell her that we’re going to stake the place out by walking around the warehouse’s perimeter instead, but she cuts in again.

Her lips press together, something flickering in her eyes—frustration, maybe. Or something else entirely. “Do you ever question him?”

I scoff. “Every damn day since coming here. But questioning and disobeying are two different things.”

Even Vic has learned that.

“Why did you come here?”

“It's simple.” I grab another fistful of chocolate, but this time I pop it into my mouth one at a time. “Vic wanted to come.”

“So just like that, you packed up and came here to work for him? ” She’s almost too shocked, like the thought of someone dropping everything for the person they love is too much to believe.

“Just like that.” I nod, popping a blue M&M into my mouth.

Everyone says the colors don't have flavors.

But then why does blue taste the best?

“You must really love her,” she whispers, sounding almost wishful, like she wants the same kind of care.

“More than she comprehends.”

Mia hums softly, nodding like she understands that better than she should. I don’t press. If she wants to talk, she will. If not, I’m not about to waste energy dragging it out of her.

Minutes pass, long and slow. The only sound is the low hum of Mia's music and faint creak of metal in the distance as the wind rattles the warehouse’s siding. I glance at my phone, checking the time.

Such a waste of my fucking time .

I lean back, rolling my shoulders, but Mia’s still tapping away beside me. Her gaze flickers across the lot like she’s expecting something to jump out at any second and she’s keeping her mind busy with music.

I’m ready to call it but before I can say anything, a sharp crack splits the silence—a gunshot, distant but clear. Mia jerks, sucking in a sharp breath, and for a second, she looks like she’s somewhere else entirely, her hands trembling before she clenches them into fists.

I know I said this was pointless, but that didn’t mean I wanted it to have one.

You’re always against me, universe, aren’t you?

“Mia,” I say firmly, my hand already reaching for the door handle. “Stay in the car.”

She shakes her head quickly. “What if—”

“Stay. In. The. Car.” I cut her off, my voice edged with authority. “That’s not a request.”

Her breathing is fast, her hands white-knuckled against her lap, but she nods. Barely.

I don’t waste another second. Pushing the door open, I step out, adjusting my grip on my gun as I scan the lot. The night just got a hell of a lot more tense.

With my gun held high, I creep my way through the lot, sticking to the shadows. It's stupid to go toward the sound of a gunshot, but here I am, doing just that. Because that's what belonging to a gang is like, running toward bullets to fireback.

I turn the corner ready to shoot, but there's nothing. In fact, it was never anything. What I thought was a gunshot turns out to be a pipe hitting against the siding.

My shoulders relax and I release the tension in my finger. I holster my gun, cursing myself for jumping the gun, quite literally.

I head back to the car, only a few feet away .

I'm almost there, the handle in reach, when I realize Mia is missing.

Was the pipe a distraction? Did someone want to take Mia? And if so, why?

I don't know enough about her to tell why she would be a target.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Where the fuck did she go?

I’m turning on my heel, spinning in circles and making myself dizzy. What direction would they have taken her? My ears strain, listening for sounds of an engine or tires screeching against the asphalt, but there’s nothing. After another second, I make a decision, running down the road away from the warehouse.

A scuffle to my left catches my attention as a piece of tarp flaps in the wind, and there, hidden beside a large blue barrel tucked away by the tarp, is Mia. She’s curled into a ball, shaking all over, but seemingly unhurt.

My feet pound against the earth as I race to her side, picking her up and taking her to the car. I quickly shove her into the passenger side, race around the hood, and take my seat, tires peeling away as I head for the estate.

I’m watching the rearview mirror the entire time, waiting for a car to start giving chase, but nothing happens. My body is tense, on edge and ready to pounce. I’m jumpier than ever as I turn down strange streets to try and lose the invisible car chasing after us.

“What did you see?” Mia suddenly asks, pushing against the door so she doesn’t slide into it as I turn the corner.

“What do you mean?” My focus is torn between her, the road, and the people I’m sure will appear any second now.

“Why are you driving so crazy? What did you see back there?”

My foot hits the brake so fast and so hard, Mia almost hits her head on the dashboard from the sudden jolt. The tires screech, burning against the road, echoing through the night. “No one took you? You didn’t almost get kidnapped?”

Suddenly, nothing makes sense. Then again, nothing seems to make sense anymore.

“What? No!” She shakes her head, brows furrowed, unable to comprehend how I ever got to that conclusion.

“Then why the fuck were you hiding?” I snap, because at this point, my frustration is overriding my tolerance of this entire thing.

“I…” she pauses, eyes swimming with uncertainty, searching me for something, some kind of symbol that will tell her she can trust me. “It was the sound,” she admits in a whisper of shame.

“The sound of what?” My fingers pinch at the bridge of my nose, a headache brewing with this conversation—with this whole damn night, really.

“The gunshot.”

I stare at her, waiting for more. When nothing comes, I exhale sharply, pressing a hand against the steering wheel to keep my grip from tightening into a fist.

"You're telling me," I say slowly, "that you hid like that because of a gunshot that wasn’t even a gunshot?"

Mia swallows, turning her face toward the window. Her fingers dig into her sleeves, clutching the fabric like it's the only thing keeping her centered. "Yeah."

I wait, but she doesn't offer anything else. The silence between us stretches, thick and unbearable. My pulse is still hammering from the unnecessary panic, my adrenaline still dumping into my veins like I’m gearing up for a fight that isn’t coming.

I drag a hand down my face. "You wanna tell me why? Because this line of work has gunshots ringing from all sides, so I'm guessing this isn’t just a general fear of loud noises."

Mia flinches, like I hit too close to something raw. Her nails press harder into her sleeves .

"I was twelve," she says after a moment, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. "My dad was drunk. He was always drunk, but that night was worse. He was screaming at my mom, accusing her of things she never did. She tried to talk him down, like she always tried to do, but he wasn't listening."

Her breath shudders, and she shifts in her seat like she's trying to curl into herself. "He pulled out his gun. Waved it at her, at me, at my siblings. Said if she wanted to leave so bad, he'd make sure she never walked out the door alive."

My grip on the wheel tightens. I don't say anything. Don't interrupt. I just let her talk. All the while, the image of my drunk father invades my mind.

"My mom fought with him, and the gun fell. I don’t know what happened after that. Something inside me just—snapped. I remember grabbing the gun. I remember the way it felt in my hands, too big, too heavy, but somehow I held it steady. And then—"

She stops, sucking in a breath like she's trying to force herself to keep going.

"I shot him. I just wanted him to stop. I wanted him to leave my mom alone, to leave me alone."

The words drop between us, stark and cold.

"I didn't even think. One second he was screaming, and the next, he was on the ground, bleeding. My mom was crying, shaking me, but I couldn't move. I just stood there, staring at the gun in my hands."

I don’t look at her, but I can feel the weight of everything she's saying, seeing how close my story could have been to hers had my dad owned a gun. The quiet thickens long enough that I almost think she won’t say anything else, but then she takes another breath, shaky and uneven.

"I was arrested. They called it self-defense, but I was still a kid with a record. Juvenile detention wasn’t any better. It was just a different kind of hell. You learn quickly that no one cares why you did something—just that you did it. I spent six years in that place, trying to stay invisible, trying to survive. And when I finally got out, I had nothing. My mom didn't want to have anything to do with me, suddenly too afraid of me to let me stay with her. I had no home, no job, no money. Just a reputation that followed me everywhere."

I glance at her now, and she looks so much smaller than she usually does. Like the weight of that night still clings to her, wrapping around her like an old, tattered coat she can’t take off, no matter how hard she tries.

"Cassandra found me," she continues, voice thick. Tori’s Cassandra? "Took me in when no one else would. She said people like us don’t get second chances—we have to take them for ourselves. So I did. I learned how to survive in this world because I didn’t have another choice. Because being helpless once was enough."

Her hands are trembling. She shoves them between her knees like that’ll stop it, but I still see it.

I exhale through my nose, staring straight ahead. "So that’s why you were hiding."

She nods, barely moving. "Every time I hear it...it’s like I’m back there. Like I’m twelve again, standing in that kitchen with the gun in my hands. I can’t—I don’t know how to stop it."

I don’t know what to say to that. I’ve seen a lot of shit, lived through worse. I know what it’s like to have a past that never really leaves you. But I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know if it can be fixed.

"You tell anyone else about this?" I ask, my voice quieter than before.

She shakes her head. "Cassandra knows. Diablo knows. But you’re the first person I’ve actually told."

I glance at her again, surprised. But she isn’t looking at me. Just staring out the windshield like she’s afraid to see whatever’s on my face .

I let out a slow breath, my grip loosening on the wheel. "I'm sorry you went through that. No one should have to."

Mia scoffs, but it’s weak. "Yeah, no kidding."

The tension in the car shifts, not quite comfortable but not as suffocating as before. I reach for the center console, flipping it open, and pull out a pack of Skittles. I shake a handful into my palm and hold them out to her.

She blinks at me, confused. "What—"

"Just take it."

She hesitates before reaching out, plucking a few from my hand. I toss the rest into my mouth, crunching down, the sugar helping to cut through the leftover frustration knotting in my chest.

Mia stares at the candy in her hand before sighing and popping them into her mouth. "Thanks."

"Don’t mention it."

She nods, and I start driving again, heading back home to Tori, to hold her close and pretend that what Mia told me didn't just drag up some trauma of my own.

I check the time. "We're leaving. If Diablo wants us to sit around and wait for nothing, he can come do it himself."

Mia doesn’t argue, just leans her head back against the seat and closes her eyes.

I drive, my mind still turning over everything she just told me. And for the first time, I see Mia not just as Diablo’s pawn, or some girl I was forced to deal with—but as someone who survived hell and still kept going.

Doesn’t mean I trust her. But I understand her more now, and that's got to get me somewhere. Maybe soon she'll tell me the real reason she's always assigned to me.