Page 4

4: Thorne

The smell hits me first. It’s a mix of rust, saltwater, and something I can’t quite place—something metallic and bitter, like old blood. The warehouse looms ahead, its rigid walls dented and streaked with grime, like the world gave up on it a long time ago. I can’t say I blame it.

Mia stands beside me, clutching her bag for dear life, like she’s scared of even being here. She’s trying to look composed, but her grip is white-knuckled, and her eyes dart around like she’s expecting the walls to collapse at any moment. The six-inch heels she’s wearing does nothing to make her seem less out of place.

“You’re quiet,” I say, glancing at her as we approach the entrance.

“So are you,” she counters, her voice softer than mine, but there’s a thread of grit in it.

Fair enough.

I pull open the heavy steel door, the hinges groaning in protest. The air inside is worse than outside—damp and stagnant, thick enough to choke on. A cold dread creeps up my spine, putting me on high alert instantly.

“Stay close,” I tell her as we step inside.

She nods, following a step behind me. For someone so fragile-looking, she’s got more grit than I expected. Not that I’d admit it out loud. Diablo paired me with her for a reason, and whatever that reason is, I don’t trust it. She’s part of whatever test he’s throwing at us .

The rows of crates stretch endlessly, stacked high enough to block out most of the overhead lights. I pick a random aisle and head down it, scanning the labels on the crates as we pass.

“This is where Diablo keeps his legitimate operations?” I ask, curious as to how much information she’ll let slip.

She shakes her head, eyes wide, as if being afraid is her permanent state of living. “There’s nothing legitimate about this place.”

I frown, disappointed by the lack of useful details.

We stop at a stack of crates labeled with codes that mean nothing to me. Pulling a crowbar from a nearby rack, I pry the first one open. The lid comes off with a satisfying crack, revealing rows of neatly packed electronics—phones, tablets, and a few devices I can’t immediately identify. At first glance, everything looks clean. But even knowing about the secret compartment beneath the fake merchandise, the numbers on the manifest still don’t add up, and that’s what we’re here to investigate. The drugs and weapons in the crate should make it weigh more than it says. It’s off—just enough to be noticeable to someone paying attention.

What exactly is inside the crates that don’t match up?

“Find anything?” Mia asks, her voice closer now. I didn’t even hear her move.

“Weights don’t match the manifest. Either someone’s skimming, or someone’s screwing with me,” I reply, finding nothing but stacks of hundreds in the hidden compartments.

“Or both,” she says, and there’s an edge to her tone that makes me glance at her.

She’s standing a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her gaze is on the crates, but there’s something pensive in her expression that sets my teeth on edge. For someone who’s supposed to be nervous and out of her depth, she’s holding herself together a little too well.

“What about you?” I ask. “Notice anything? ”

She hesitates for a second, then pulls out a small notebook from her bag. Flipping it open, she shows me a series of markings she’s been writing down. “These crates have similar discrepancies. Not just weights, but also the codes. They’re off by a single digit. It could be a mistake, but…”

“But Diablo doesn’t make mistakes,” I finish, my voice flat.

She nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly.”

I narrow my eyes at her, trying to figure out if she’s good at her job or if there’s something more to this. She’s raising my suspicions further with every passing second.

“You’re awfully observant,” I say, letting my tone sharpen.

Mia looks up at me, her expression oddly neutral, considering she’s looked completely terrified the entire time before this. “I take my job seriously.”

“Right,” I mutter, turning back to the crates.

The conversation dies there, but the tension lingers. I move to the next crate, prying it open to find more of the same—electronics, medical supplies, hidden money, sometimes hidden drugs. Mia stays close, scribbling in her notebook and muttering under her breath every now and then.

She’s starting to creep me out.

When I find a crate with a completely different code—one that doesn’t match anything on the manifest—I pause. It’s marked with a simple red X, nothing else. Mia notices immediately, her gaze flicking to the crate and then to me.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Don’t know yet.” I pry it open, the crowbar digging into the wood. The lid pops off, revealing rows of unmarked black cases.

I pick one up, snapping it open to find stacks of cash, neatly bundled and organized.

“Well, that’s not suspicious at all,” I say dryly .

She ignores me as I open another case to find more cash. The crates were supposed to be filled with medical supplies only, not be entirely full of cash. Something is definitely off.

“We need to report this,” Mia says, her tone urgent.

“To who? Diablo?” I close the case, my mind racing. “He already knows. This is his setup.”

“Then why have you look into it?” she asks, her voice softer now.

“Because he can.”

Her silence tells me she doesn’t like that answer, but it’s the truth. Diablo doesn’t need a reason to test us. He does it because he enjoys watching us squirm, because it gives him power.

Because he doesn’t want us with his daughter.

Maybe he thinks we’ll quit and leave.

Clearly, he doesn’t know anything about us if he thinks we’d ever leave Tori’s side.

We move deeper into the warehouse, the air growing colder as the natural light from outside fades. The dim overhead bulbs do little to cut through the shadows, casting long, jagged lines along the floor and walls. Mia follows a step behind me, her earlier confidence slipping the farther we go. She stops suddenly, her hand clutching the strap of her bag tightly.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice low, keeping the edge out of it. I don’t need to startle her more than she already is.

Mia hesitates, her eyes flitting to mine before she looks away. “Nothing. It’s just...this place. It’s suffocating.” Her voice wavers, the veneer of composure cracking just enough for me to see through it.

I glance around the warehouse. It’s nothing special—just rows of crates and the occasional piece of forgotten machinery.

“You want to wait outside?” I ask, softening my tone as much as I can manage. “I can handle the rest.”

“No.” She shakes her head quickly, her grip on her bag tightening. “I’m fine. Let’s just finish this. ”

She’s not fine. I’ve seen enough fear to recognize it, even when someone’s doing their best to hide it. But I also know pushing her won’t help. So I nod and keep moving, slowing my pace a bit so she doesn’t have to rush to keep up.

Mia stays close, her steps quieter now, almost hesitant. The contrast from earlier is striking—yet again, she flips on me. Maybe she has multiple personalities?

For a brief moment, she reminds me of Vic, of how she used to be. Always breaking beneath the surface but never letting it show.

The thought hits me harder than it should, stopping me in my tracks. I glance back at Mia, her eyes scanning the area like she’s bracing for something to jump out at her. It’s not the same as Vic, not exactly, but it’s close enough to twist something in my chest.

I remember the way Vic used to flinch when we got too close, how she’d fold in on herself to hide the cracks she didn’t want anyone to see. I remember the nights she looked at me like I was the enemy, and I didn’t know how to fix it. Seeing that same vulnerability now, in someone else, makes my stomach churn.

“Thorne?” Mia’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, her brows furrowing as she watches me.

“Sorry, it’s nothing,” I say quickly, shaking off the memory. “Let’s keep going.”

We reach another stack of crates, these marked with a different set of codes. I pry one open, letting the lid fall to the floor with a dull thud. Inside are rows of neatly packed medical supplies, just like the manifest said. No discrepancies here.

Mia steps closer, her eyes scanning the contents like she’s trying to memorize every detail. Her hand brushes against the edge of the crate, and I notice the slight tremor in her fingers.

“You sure you’re okay?” I ask, keeping my tone as neutral as possible .

She hesitates, her gaze lingering on the crate before she finally speaks. “It’s not the warehouse,” she says quietly. “It’s...everything. This whole situation. I’ve never been in something like this before.”

Her voice is steadier now, but there’s a rawness to it that wasn’t there earlier. She’s not just talking about the task at hand—she’s talking about all of it. Diablo, the assignments, the constant pressure to perform. It’s a lot, especially for someone who looks like a simple breeze would blow her away.

“First time working in the big leagues?” I ask, taking a page out of Ryder’s book and trying to lighten the mood without brushing her off completely.

She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Something like that.”

I lean against the crate, crossing my arms as I study her. “You’ll get used to it.”

She looks up at me, her expression hard to read. “Did you?”

It’s a simple question, but it knocks the air out of me for a second. Did I? Vic floods my mind again, the way she’s learned to carry the weight of everything we’ve put her through, and I wonder if it’s the same for me.

“Eventually,” I say, because it’s the closest thing to the truth I can give her.

Mia nods, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. Not entirely. And honestly, I don’t blame her.

We finish checking the crates in silence with my mind stuck in the past. By the time we’re done, Mia’s composure is fraying at the edges. But she’s still standing, still trying, and I have to give her credit for that.

As we head back toward the entrance, I catch her glancing at me out of the corner of my eye. There’s something in her expression I can’t quite place—gratitude, maybe, or something close to it. I don’t say anything, but I make a mental note to keep an eye on her. Liability or not, I can’t ignore the fact that she’s here, in this with me, whether I like it or not. For all I know, she’s being forced to be here by Diablo.

The moment we step back out, Mia takes a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing somewhat as the fresh air hits her. I don’t say anything as I watch her, but the image of Vic lingers in my mind, comparing the two of them when I know I shouldn’t.

Whatever Diablo’s game is, I’m starting to see the pieces fall into place. And I don’t like it.

The ride back to the estate is quiet for the first few minutes. Mia sits stiffly in the passenger seat, clearly uncomfortable. I focus on the road until Mia suddenly sits up, pairs her phone to the vehicle and starts some music. My heart lurches as Deftones begins to play.

“I’m sorry. I really can’t stand it when it’s too quiet,” she admits shyly, sitting back as she starts to uncoil. All I can do is nod my head, hating how Mia reminds me of a deep-in-trauma Vic.

The ride is rather calm until we hit a stoplight, and I notice her glancing at me out of the corner of her eye like she’s debating whether or not to say something.

“If you’ve got something to say, spit it out,” I command, keeping my tone light.

Mia startles, her grip tightening before she forces herself to relax. “I was just wondering...how long have you been doing this?”

I glance at her, noting the faint hesitation in her voice. “Depends on what you mean by ‘this.’”

“This,” she says, gesturing vaguely. “The...dangerous, illegal side of things. The kind of life where warehouses full of cash and drugs are just another unremarkable day.”

Her attempt at humor falls flat, but I can tell she’s genuinely curious. I consider brushing her off, but something about the way she’s watching me—like she’s trying to piece me together—makes me answer.

“Long enough,” I say .

“That’s vague,” she replies, her voice soft but not timid.

“On purpose,” I counter, smiling ever so subtly.

She doesn’t push, but the silence that follows feels heavier. I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, my thoughts drifting back to the warehouse, to the way she froze and then flipped back into composure, like a switch had been thrown.

“What about you?” I ask, glancing at her again. “How long have you been working for Diablo?”

Mia hesitates, her fingers tightening around her bag. “A few months,” she says finally.

“And before that?”

“Different jobs,” she says vaguely, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery. “Nothing like this, though.”

I raise an eyebrow, my suspicion piqued. “So, why this? Why now?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and when she does, her voice is quieter than before. “Because I didn’t have a choice.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. I don’t press her, but my mind starts turning, trying to connect the dots. She’s scared, that much is obvious, but there’s something else—something she’s not saying.

We hit another stoplight and I glance at her again, noting the way she’s staring down at her hands, her expression tight.

“Diablo forcing you to be here?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intended.

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide. “No,” she says quickly. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

She hesitates, her gaze dropping again. “It’s...complicated.”

“Complicated,” I echo, my voice flat.

She nods, her grip on the bag loosening a touch. “Let’s just say I owe someone a favor, and this is how I’m paying it off. ”

It’s a half-truth at best, but I let it slide for now. Pushing her won’t get me anywhere, and I’ve got enough on my plate without trying to unravel her secrets.

“Fair enough,” I say, my tone neutral.

We fall into silence again, but this time it’s less strained as we continue to listen to her music. Mia leans back in her seat, her fingers tapping lightly against the strap of her bag. I keep my eyes on the road, my thoughts drifting back to Vic and the others.

Ryder’s probably running his mouth somewhere, charming his way out of trouble or into more of it. Blaze is likely neck-deep in logistics, his perfectionist streak keeping him too busy to notice the cracks forming in the foundation of this entire operation.

And Vic...

She’s strong, stronger than any of us give her credit for, but this place isn’t safe—not for her, not for any of us. Diablo’s playing games, and we’re all just pawns on his board.

Mia’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“You care about her, don’t you?”

The question catches me off guard, but I don’t let it show. “Who?”

“Tori,” she says, her tone careful but not hesitant. “I saw the way you looked at her yesterday.”

I glance at her, my expression revealing nothing. “What about it?”

Mia shrugs, her gaze meeting mine briefly before returning to the window. “Just an observation.”

I don’t respond, but her words linger. Of course I care about Vic. Fuck that. I love her. She’s the reason I’m here, the reason I’m putting up with Diablo’s bullshit.

“You think Diablo’s testing her, too?” Mia asks after a moment.

I nod, my grip on the steering wheel tightening. “She may be his daughter by blood, but blood doesn’t always make a family. He’s testing all of us.”

“Why? ”

“Because he can.”

The words come out harsher than I intended, but they’re the truth.

Mia doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts, a flicker of unease crossing her features. I wonder, briefly, what her connection to Diablo is.

“Do yourself a favor,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Don’t trust him.”

Her gaze flicks to mine, her eyes narrowing just a tad. “And I should trust you instead?”

The corner of my mouth lifts. “That’s up to you.”

She doesn’t respond, but the tension in the car eases just enough. It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it. Maybe if I get her comfortable enough with me, make her believe I’m her friend, she’ll open up more.

By the time we pull into the estate, the sun is dipping below the horizon. I can see Blaze is already back and so is Tori, but no Ryder yet. I park the car and cut the engine, glancing at Mia as she gathers her things.

“Get some rest,” I tell her. “Tomorrow’s probably going to be worse.”

She nods, her expression unreadable as she steps out of the car. I watch her walk toward her vehicle, her shoulders squared but her steps slightly hesitant.

As I head inside, I can’t shake the feeling that whatever game Diablo’s playing, it’s only just begun, and we’re not the only pieces on the board.