Page 2

2: Tori

The kitchen smells too clean—lemony and metallic, like it’s never seen a spill, a stain, or a splash of oil in its entire life. It’s so pristine it practically begs to be ruined, which is exactly what’s about to happen. The stovetop looks like it belongs in a sci-fi movie, more spaceship console than something a person would use to cook food. I’ve been glaring at it for the last five minutes, hoping it’ll reveal its secrets to me if I stare hard enough.

“Who needs this many settings just to boil water?” I mutter, squinting at the controls.

“You do,” Ryder says, perched at the island like he owns the place, spinning a knife lazily between his fingers like some delinquent circus performer. “I’ve seen you burn water before, Tori. This setup was probably designed with people like you in mind.”

I whip around, glaring. “Excuse me?”

Blaze doesn’t even look up from his phone. “To be fair, he’s not wrong. You’re better off letting someone else handle dinner before you burn this place down.”

“Oh, gee. Thanks.” I roll my eyes, planting my hands on my hips. “I’ll have you know I’ve improved since the last time I cooked.”

Thorne, leaning against the fridge with his arms crossed, raises one unimpressed brow. “Last time you cooked, Ryder was sick for two days.”

You try to cook a man a nice meal for taking a bullet for you and you never live it down .

“That wasn’t my fault,” I shoot back, spinning toward the pantry to avoid their stares. “And for the record, I wasn’t the one who told him to eat three servings.”

“It wasn’t three servings,” Ryder says, beaming from ear to ear. “It was one—and it definitely felt like food poisoning.”

“It wasn’t food poisoning!” I yank the pantry doors open with more force than necessary, grabbing flour, sugar, and vanilla extract like they’ve personally offended me. “And maybe cooking isn’t my thing, but baking? I could bake circles around all of you.”

“Baking?” Blaze finally glances up, his tone full of skepticism. “As in...with measurements and precise timing?”

“Yes, baking,” I reply, slamming a mixing bowl onto the counter for emphasis. “You think I was going to bake cookies for you guys while you were busy tormenting me back in high school? Please. And after Nico? Baking wasn’t exactly at the top of my priorities. ”

That shuts them up. The air shifts slightly, the teasing replaced by an awkward silence. Blaze looks like he’s about to say something, guilt flickering across his face, but Ryder beats him, jumping in, in typical Ryder fashion.

“Oh, this I’ve got to see,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows, his grin back in full force. “You’ve got a lot to prove, Cupcake.”

I grab a whisk and start cracking eggs into the bowl, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. “You’re all going to eat your words—and my cookies.”

Blaze leans against the counter, arms crossed, full attention on me now, his guilt swallowed down. “This better not end in disaster.”

Watch and learn, boys.

The teasing dies down as the scent of vanilla and sugar fills the kitchen. Slowly, the sharp edges of the moment soften. When I glance over my shoulder, I catch all three of them watching me. Ryder tilts his head like he’s trying to figure out how I’ve been hiding this skill from them. Blaze looks almost… impressed.

Holy fuck.

Thorne, as usual, watches me with that quiet intensity that makes me feel like he sees more than I’d ever willingly share.

By the time the cookies come out of the oven, golden brown and perfect, Ryder grabs one immediately, ignoring the heat as he takes a bite.

“Holy shit,” he says through a mouthful of cookie. “These are amazing.”

Blaze takes one, inspecting it from all angles as if he’s unsure how it could look so normal. He takes a very slow bite, chewing slowly before giving me a short nod. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” I cross my arms, glaring at him. “That’s all I get?”

That's what he said about the fucking chicken wrap that I know was a lot worse than this.

Thorne picks up a cookie, his lips twitching into the faintest smile as he takes a bite. “Impressive.”

I smirk, raising a brow at Blaze. “See? They appreciate me.”

Ryder polishes off his first cookie and grabs another, speaking around the crumbs. “These are delicious. But this doesn’t erase your cooking crimes.”

I grab a dish towel and fling it at his head. He ducks with a laugh, and for the first time all day, the tension eases.

After we’ve thoroughly demolished the cookies—and the dinner Blaze insisted on making because “we can’t live on sugar alone”—we migrate to the living room, the scent of vanilla and chocolate trailing after us like a cozy blanket.

The oversized sectional couch is impossibly comfortable, swallowing me whole the moment I flop down onto it. The cushions seem to mold around me, cocooning me in a way that feels far too luxurious.

I could fall asleep here .

Blaze takes the seat on my right, his arm brushing mine briefly as he leans back, as if he’s still deciding how comfortable he’s willing to let himself be. Thorne claims the spot to my left, his quiet presence grounding as always, his knee pressing lightly against mine.

Ryder, predictably, stops mid-stride, narrowing his eyes at the arrangement like he’s just been told his favorite dessert is off-limits. “No fair,” he mutters, his lips tugging into a pout that would be laughable if it wasn’t so perfectly Ryder.

“Life’s not fair,” Blaze says without looking up, his tone as dry as the Sahara.

Ryder doesn’t bother responding to Blaze. Instead, he drops down dramatically in front of me, grabbing my ankles and gently tugging my legs over his shoulders. “Fine. I’ll take the floor. See? Problem solved.”

I stare down at him, fighting a smile. “You’re cute when you pout.”

“Ridiculously adorable, you mean,” he counters, leaning back and hugging my calves to his chest. “I now have the best seat in the house.”

Blaze lets out a long-suffering sigh but doesn’t comment, while Thorne just shakes his head faintly, his lips twitching as though he’s trying not to smile.

From his spot by the doorway, Gabriel watches us silently. He’s been hovering like a shadow since we moved into the living room, keeping just enough distance to make it clear he’s not part of this scene but that he's still there. I can feel his presence like a prickle at the back of my neck—a constant reminder that, despite the comfort of this moment, our new reality isn’t exactly normal.

I glance at the remote Blaze has picked up. “What are we watching?”

“Something tolerable,” Blaze replies, scrolling through the options with practiced efficiency .

“No rom-coms,” Thorne says, his tone as calm as ever but leaving no room for debate.

“What about Mean Girls ?” Ryder asks, tilting his head back against my legs with a mischievous grin.

Blaze barely spares him a glance. “Absolutely not.”

I roll my eyes, snatching the remote from Blaze before the argument can spiral. “If you can’t agree, we’re watching Spirited Away .”

Thorne nods immediately, his expression unreadable. “That works.”

I blink at him, surprised. “Seriously? You’re okay with that?”

“It’s a good movie,” he says simply.

Ryder twists around to stare at him, his jaw dropping in playful astonishment. “Thorne’s secretly an anime fan. I knew it.”

Thorne doesn’t respond, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips gives him away.

Ryder groans, resting against my legs again. “Fine. But next time, I’m picking.”

The opening scenes of the movie fill the room with soft, whimsical music, and for a while, everything feels easy—normal, even. I forget about the supposed assistant my father brought in. I don't let my mind linger on the fact that I'll have another overprotective male lurking around. I even let myself forget, for just a moment, that I killed someone.

I tuck my legs a little more firmly onto Ryder’s shoulders, leaning into Blaze’s side as Thorne settles into me more comfortably, his hand resting on my thigh warmly. Gabriel remains by the doorway, silent and watchful, but again I don't let myself linger on him.

As the movie continues, my thoughts drift. This was supposed to be a new beginning, a fresh start. Instead, it feels like I’m walking a tightrope over an abyss.

Maybe I made the wrong choice?

Too bad, Tori. It's too late to change your mind .

I just need to remember why I chose this. How I felt when I accepted that dark part of myself. I need to lean into that feeling and embrace it fully. Maybe then this won't feel like a horrible choice.

“You’re overthinking again,” Thorne murmurs, his voice so low it feels like it’s been plucked straight from my thoughts.

I glance at him, startled. His dark eyes meet mine, staring into my soul again. “How do you always know?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer, just tilts his head a bit, his lips curving just the slightest.

Ryder’s commentary breaks the moment. “How is this frog guy the one in charge? He’s got the leadership skills of a wet napkin.”

I laugh softly, nudging his shoulder with my knee. “Shh. Just watch.”

He falls silent, leaning forward as he gets caught up in the magic that is Studio Ghibli. When the credits roll, the room feels lighter, as though the tension of the day has been absorbed into the soft glow of the TV screen. Ryder stretches out dramatically, stretching and lifting my legs with a contented sigh.

Thorne stands first, reaching down to scoop me into his arms before I can protest. His grip is sure and steady, and I don’t bother fighting it.

“You’re tired,” he says simply, cutting off my argument before it even starts.

Before we can leave the room, Gabriel steps forward, his gaze settling on Thorne. “Carrying her like that up the stairs might not be the safest option,” he says, his tone calm but firm. “If you were to fall—”

Thorne stiffens, his dark eyes locking onto Gabriel’s. The shift in his posture is subtle, but the weight of it is undeniable. “I’m not going to fall,” he says, his voice low and threatening. “And if you think I’d ever let her get hurt, you don’t know me.”

The tension in the room crackles, sharp and electric, but Gabriel doesn’t flinch. He holds Thorne’s gaze for a moment longer before stepping back, his silence louder than any retort.

Thorne doesn’t wait for another word. He adjusts his grip on me and carries me up the stairs, fighting back the stomping I'm sure he'd like to do.

He kicks the door shut with his foot once we’re all inside my room, and then sets me down gently on the oversized bed. His hands linger at my waist for a moment before he steps back, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there’s a tightness in his jaw that gives him away.

I’ve slowly learned how to read Thorne’s all too serious face.

“I already don’t like him,” he mutters, his voice low.

“Who? Gabriel?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“Obviously Gabriel,” Thorne replies, running a hand through his hair. “The way he looks at you like you’re more than an assignment.”

Ryder drops onto the bed beside me, stretching out like a cat claiming its territory. “Finally, something we can all agree on. The guy pisses me off, all arrogant and quiet. That's my act. Charming on the outside, devil on the inside.”

Blaze leans against the door, quiet as ever, but when his gaze meets mine, the frustration in his eyes is clear.

“You don’t like him either, do you?” I ask, tilting my head toward Blaze.

“No,” he says after a pause. “I don’t trust him. He’s here for more than just to be your bodyguard. Diablo didn’t send him to babysit; he sent him to watch.” Blaze’s gaze sharpens. “And report.”

Great. Not only do I have a shadow, but my shadow is also wired for surveillance.

“I don’t know,” Ryder says, stretching out his arms like he’s trying to take up even more space. “If I were Gabriel, I’d be suspicious of us too. Look at us—three ridiculously good-looking guys and one badass girl all wrapped up in this...whatever you call this.” He gestures vaguely. “He’s probably wondering how we haven’t imploded yet.”

I roll my eyes, nudging his leg with my foot. “This ‘whatever you call this’ is a relationship, Ryder. Keep up.”

The lightness in Ryder's tone fades. “Still doesn’t explain why Diablo thought we needed assistants. Or why they all look like they've been specifically tailored to us. l mean, did you see Eve? She’s just Blaze with boobs and no penis.”

Blaze snorts, crossing his arms. “She’s not me.”

Ryder raises an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, she’s basically you in a business suit. You can tell she just loves planning. She's got silent, judgy vibes, the way she—”

“Don’t,” Blaze cuts him off, his tone clipped.

Ryder grins widely, clearly enjoying himself. “Fine, fine. But you can’t deny the resemblance.”

Blaze doesn’t reply, but the tightness in his stance says enough. I glance between them, trying not to laugh. But Ryder isn't wrong. In fact, I'd say Lila is a lot like him, too. The only one who didn't have a female version of themselves would be Thorne, but he's a strange breed. You can't duplicate Thorne.

“And Mia?” Ryder continues, turning his attention to Thorne. “She practically screams ‘save me, Thorne.’ Don’t tell me that doesn’t push all your protective buttons.”

Fuck, he's right. That's why she's with him. Thorne has a hero complex, always has. Well, except for those years he took part in my torment. Although he was the one doing the least of it.

Thorne’s gaze darkens, his voice even but sharp. “Mia is not Tori. No one is Tori.”

My stomach flips at his words, the sheer conviction in them making my chest ache. But Ryder doesn’t miss a beat .

“Obviously,” he says, shrugging. “But Diablo didn’t just throw us random people. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tailor-made distractions. It’s almost impressive.”

“Almost?” Blaze arches a brow.

“Okay, fine. It’s completely diabolical,” Ryder admits, throwing his arms up. “No pun intended. But the point stands—none of them are Tori. He's testing us, and we're not about to fail.”

“Testing us for what?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

Blaze meets my gaze, his expression softening slightly. “To see if he can break us apart.”

The weight of his words settles over the room, heavy and suffocating. I wrap my arms around my knees, suddenly feeling smaller than I’d like.

Don't be insecure, Tori. They're strangers. You've had years with these boys, even if the first few were hell.

Ryder shifts beside me, resting his elbows on his knees as he leans closer. “Tori, come on. You know we’re not going anywhere, right? These assistants, Gabriel—they’re just noise. Background extras in our movie.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Pretty sure extras don’t flirt with the leads.”

Ryder’s eyes flicker with mischief. “Flirting doesn’t mean anything if the leads are unshakable.” He gestures between us, then leans back smugly. “And babe, we’re the freaking Titanic. Unsinkable.”

“Terrible example,” Blaze mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ryder falters for half a second. “Okay, bad metaphor. You know what I mean.”

Blaze steps closer, his presence steady as always, his gaze sharp and focused. “He’s right, though. Diablo can throw whatever he wants at us, but it’s not going to work. We’re solid, Tori. You know that. ”

“Do I?” The words slip out before I can stop them, and suddenly all their eyes are on me. My pulse spikes as I scramble to cover it up. “I mean, yeah, obviously I know that. I’m not questioning us or anything.”

Good save, Tori. Real convincing.

Thorne’s brows furrow, and his hand brushes mine where it rests on my knee. “You don’t have to pretend with us.”

“I’m not pretending,” I lie, my voice sharper than I intended. God, you’re such a mess.

Blaze sits beside me, his shoulder pressing into mine. “We haven't always treated you the way you deserve, Doll. But I promise you have nothing to worry about. We love you, and we'd burn this world down if you asked. You’re the only thing we want.”

I glance at him, surprised by the gentleness in his tone. For a guy who’s all sharp edges and precision, moments like this always catch me off guard. “I know,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just...hard. The thought of losing what we have because of someone else…”

“You’re not going to lose us,” Thorne says firmly, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Not to them. Not to anyone. You’re it for us, Tori.”

Ryder leans in, playfully grinning again as he bumps my shoulder. “Yeah, they can try, but it’s kind of hard to compete with perfection. And you, babe, are perfection.”

The tension in the room eases, but the weight in my chest doesn’t fully lift. I glance between them, my heart pounding as I try to find the words I need. “You’re all so sure,” I murmur. “But what if...what if I’m not enough?”

They didn't call me Icky for years for nothing. It's been months together, but it's not like we're on solid foundation here. We're still fucking building .

The silence that follows is deafening. My throat tightens, and I immediately regret saying anything. Way to go, Tori. Just throw your insecurities out there like confetti .

“You’re more than enough,” Blaze says quietly, his voice heavy with affection, cutting the tension instantly.

Ryder nods, his grin softer now. “He’s right. You’re everything, Tori. And nothing’s going to change that.”

Thorne doesn’t say anything right away, but the way he looks at me—intense and unwavering—speaks volumes. “You’re ours,” he says simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And nothing is going to come between us. Not them. Not Diablo. No one.”

The lump in my throat grows, and I bury my face in my hands, overwhelmed by the sheer certainty in their voices. “I hate you all,” I mumble, my voice muffled.

“No, you don’t,” Ryder says, tugging my hands away from my face. “You love us. And you know we love you.”

I shake my head, but the corners of my mouth twitch despite myself.

Blaze rests a hand on my shoulder, his touch grounding. “You don’t have to doubt us, Tori. We’re not going anywhere.”

Thorne reaches over, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “You’re stuck with us,” he murmurs, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But if you start getting distracted by the assistants, I reserve the right to stab you.”

I might mean that.

Ryder throws an arm around my shoulders. “Noted. But picturing you with a knife is only turning me on.”

I roll my eyes, shaking my head at his antics. “Sure it does.”

“Let me show you.”

Oh hell. It's going to be a long night.