17. 17 Tori

Chapter seventeen

17: Tori

I t's been a week since Blaze staked his claim on me. For the past six days, I've been trying to keep things at a simmer between these three boys. Can't have them falling apart before the whole thing with Bren and Nico is solved—I refuse to be charged with a crime I didn't commit. Knowing my luck, it would all somehow fall on me.

I mean, fucking Pornstache came knocking at our door with more questions. Pointless ones that got him nowhere—ones used to get a look inside the house to try to find something. As if anything would be out in plain sight for him to see. We're not guilty of Bren's disappearance, but I know the boys aren't exactly squeaky clean in all this.

Not to mention my search history is currently questionable at best. You're an idiot for looking shit up when you're under a microscope. Currently, I'm trying to distract myself with social media, but all it's doing is depressing me further as I look through past posts of Alicia.

She'd murder me right now for having slept with all three boys multiple times now. More than likely, she'd tell me to have some self respect—which I clearly don't—and beat their asses. They made my life hell, and yet, here I am, allowing them to plow me like a field, opening my legs for them when they ask, which is almost every fucking day that one of them is inside me.

I need to stop.

I place my phone face down on my chest, done with the happy memories that only serve to depress me for the day. My emotions are a whirlwind of anguish, anger, and pure lust and horniness. It's exhausting, wiping me out before I've even gotten off the bed.

I don't want to move.

Fuck it.

I'm not moving.

Today I will live on this mattress. Fuck the cooking lessons. Screw the bike rides. Forget pretending like bad shit hasn't happened. This isn't right.

So, are we back to trying to run away? Or are we making them fight?

What's the plan here, Tori?

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair as I think of what exactly it is that I want. Frustration bubbles as I'm unable to decide. Is this what Stockholm Syndrome is like? I shouldn't be here, but now I can't imagine not being in this house.

Fucking heart—you're such a little bitch. You weren’t supposed to catch feelings, dammit!

I hit my fist against the mattress before rolling over and screaming into my pillow. When I lift my head again, I'm met with the sight of all three of them. They're watching me with their own unique expressions of concern and curiosity.

“Uhm, can I help you?” I snap, not even bothering to sit up.

I said I'm not leaving this bed.

“What are you doing?” Thorne asks, eyeing me with a mixture of concern, and maybe understanding. Of the three, Thorne knows me best—knows my history, knows my quirks .

“Being a vegetable.” I lay really still as I stare at the ceiling, unable to take the looks in their eyes any longer. But from the corner of my vision, I can still see them.

Blaze crosses his arms, tilting his head with a smirk. “Can we at least pick the vegetable? I’m thinking… a sweet potato. You know, soft in all the right places, but with just the right bite.”

Ryder snorts. “Nah. She's more like a spicy jalapeno. Cute and tiny, but with a serious kick.”

Thorne’s gaze sweeps over me, his voice cool. “Either way, she's still stuck on the plate.”

Jesus! How do they manage to make vegetables sound dirty?

I see them enjoying themselves—teasing and chuckling—while I'm over here dying—stressed and depressed. Is this an existential crisis? I'm torn between wanting them and hating them for what they've done.

I raise a brow, pushing myself up on my elbows. “Glad to know I’m just a snack to you guys. Should I throw myself on the grill now, or would you like me roasted later?” I'm so done with today already, and it's only just started.

They stare at me for a moment as if actually contemplating the answer. Too annoyed, I roll my eyes and fall back against the bed, staring up at the pristine ceiling.

“See,” Ryder speaks first, a light laughter in his tone, “Jalapeno.”

“Just go away and let me rot.” I lift my hand lazily, shooing them out, but of course they don't listen, staying right beside my bed.

“No way. We have plans for you.” Ryder jumps on the bed, his body landing diagonally next to me. He props himself up on one elbow, looking entirely too relaxed as he casually brushes his fingers against my arm. The way he lounges there—half-smirking—irritates me. He's always fun and games, but I'm trying to be serious.

“And what if I don't want to be part of those plans?” I turn my back on them as I roll to my side, away from their searing gazes.

“That's too bad. You don't have a choice,” Blaze's authoritative voice cuts through, spiking my annoyance to another level.

“Just give us a moment. I got this.” Thorne speaks up, ruffling up my defiant nature. I assure myself that no matter what, his charms won’t affect me.

“No. How about you two leave and let me do the convincing? I'm already on the bed,” Ryder argues, suddenly latching himself onto me as he wraps his arm and his left leg over my body, clutching me tight.

“For fuck’s sake! How about all of you leave?!” I yell, finally snapping, doing my best to push Ryder off me to no avail.

They're all silent, probably surprised at my outburst, but it doesn't take them long to recover. “No one is going anywhere without you, Doll. I'm grabbing your clothes, you are getting dressed, and then we’re all going out. Get used to the idea.” Blaze is crystal clear, not an ounce of leeway in his tone.

I hear my closet door open, and I can only assume he's in there rifling through all the shirts and pants. Thorne makes his way over, sitting on the floor beside me as he looks into my eyes, resting his chin on the edge of the bed.

“Want to talk?”

You're the reason she stopped being my friend!

“Not to you,” I bite back, seeing the quick second of hurt flash through his eyes. My stomach twists at the sight, a pang of guilt settling in my gut.

“Right.” He nods his head like he should have known the answer, standing back up and dusting his ass off.

I know him well, too, and right now, he's mentally berating himself .

Dammit, Tori! Which is it? Are we mad at him or not? Do you want to comfort him or let him rot in self-deprecation?

I sigh, knowing I won't be okay with the fact Thorne is mentally torturing himself. For a hot, successful guy, Thorne has terrible self-esteem, thanks to the issues that stem from his father's abuse. It's hard to feel loved when your only parent beats you, treats you like shit, and then blames you for your mother's death.

How do you blame a baby—hate a baby—for being born? It's not his fault his mom died giving birth to him.

“I just miss Alicia. Not to mention, I'm really stressed about Nico, and I'm beating myself up about Bren.” I clutch the sheet in front of me, needing to grip the fabric so I won't dig my nails into my palm.

Thorne looks down at me, a moment of realization in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak just as Blaze reemerges, cutting him off before he can begin.

“Here. Now, get dressed.” He places the outfit of choice beside me on the pillow.

“I can't exactly move with Ryder clutching onto me.” Not that I want to move, anyway.

“Ryder!” Blaze scolds him, as if he's telling a puppy to get off the couch.

“I can get you dressed,” he whispers in my ear, clearly not ready to let me go.

“The hell you will!” Blaze snaps, not liking the idea of Ryder touching me. I've stupidly told all three of them that I'm theirs.

Is this cheating? Am I cheating? Can you be cheating if you're not even sure of what you are?

“I can if she wants me to!” Ryder argues back, sitting up, ready to defend himself .

My simmer is turning into a boil, and I don't know if I have the energy to turn the flame back down.

Actually, I think I want to see this play out.

“She doesn't, and she won't. So get off her bed,” Blaze speaks through clenched teeth, his arms crossed with his hands holding tightly to his biceps—probably afraid he'll punch Ryder otherwise.

“What the hell do you know? She can speak for herself. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time I've undressed her.” Ryder throws his hand back, gesturing to me while never breaking eye contact with Blaze.

“Isn't that the problem?” Thorne suddenly joins, stepping closer to the two. “We've all undressed her.”

“So what?” Ryder continues, prepared to win a losing argument. “She loves it when I fuck her, probably better than you.”

Oh shit. That's dirty, Ryder. Not to mention inaccurate.

I'm not sure who fucks me better, actually. They're all equally delicious.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing as the three of them glare at one another. Blaze steps closer, that dark look in his eyes again.

He's snapped.

I'm in for a show.

“Eat your words, Ryder. Eat them now before I make you regret them!” Blaze's voice rolls out, gravelly and low, like a growl that hasn’t fully broken free yet. It’s the kind of tone that should send people running for cover, but here I am, savoring every bit of it.

“Try and make me!” Ryder puffs out his chest, all arrogance and defiance, like some cocky ape beating his chest daring anyone to step up. His lips curl into a smirk as he squares his shoulders, eyes gleaming with a challenge, practically inviting Blaze to take a swing .

“Gladly.” Blaze’s fist shoots up, aimed directly at Ryder’s jaw, his knuckles tightening like he’s more than ready to follow through. The intensity in his eyes promises he won’t hold back.

Blaze’s fist collides with Ryder’s jaw in a sickening crack, the force sending Ryder stumbling back into the wall. For a second, it looks like Ryder might go down, but he catches himself, running the back of his hand over his split lip. His grin only sharpens, blood smearing across his teeth.

“That all you’ve got?” Ryder’s voice is a low, mocking drawl, practically dripping with provocation. He squares his shoulders, cocky as ever, like he’s enjoying the pain.

Blaze doesn’t wait for another word. With a low growl, he charges, tackling Ryder into the dresser. The impact rattles the whole room—lamps crash to the floor, furniture skids across the hardwood, and drawers burst open, spilling socks and t-shirts everywhere.

“Blaze!” Thorne steps in, his tone a sharp warning as he grabs Blaze’s shoulder. “Enough!”

Blaze spins toward him, eyes wild, his hands already curling into fists. “Stay out of it, Thorne,” he snarls, voice rough with barely contained rage.

But Thorne doesn’t move, planting himself firmly between the two, his broad frame acting as a wall of reason neither seems inclined to respect.

“You’re both acting like idiots,” Thorne bites out, his voice tight and controlled, though there’s an edge to it—a dangerous calm that says he’s running out of patience.

“Move,” Blaze’s growl is low and guttural, the kind of sound that usually makes people step back.

But Thorne holds his ground .

Before Blaze can shove him aside, Ryder lunges. He throws a wild punch toward Blaze, but Thorne shifts just slightly, and Ryder’s fist connects with the side of Thorne’s face instead.

For a moment, time seems to freeze. Ryder’s eyes widen, Blaze’s lips part in shock, and Thorne… Thorne slowly raises a hand to his cheek where a red mark is already forming.

“Shit,” Ryder murmurs, knowing he's fucked up.

Thorne doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even curse. He just moves.

“You want me involved? Fine.” His voice is low and even, but there’s a rawness to it, something simmering just beneath the surface.

In one swift motion, Thorne shoves Ryder back so hard, he crashes onto the bed, the mattress bouncing under the weight.

Blaze lets out a harsh laugh, but it’s cut short when Thorne turns on him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “You’re not off the hook either,” Thorne growls before slamming him into the wall.

And just like that, it’s chaos. Thorne’s no longer playing peacemaker. Now, he’s swinging just as hard as Blaze and Ryder, fists flying in every direction.

They’re a blur of motion—grappling, cursing, and slamming into anything in their path. The air is thick with the sounds of their struggle, and for a moment, I just… watch.

Wait. Why am I not enjoying this?

I should be, shouldn’t I? After everything they’ve done to me—Ryder tormenting me, Blaze trying to control me, Thorne always playing the martyr—I should love seeing them tear each other apart.

But I don’t.

Instead, my stomach churns, a sick knot tightening in my gut as I watch them fight. It’s brutal and messy, but more than that, it’s heartbreaking.

Because I remember. I remember how close they were—how Thorne called them his family, how Blaze and Ryder had each other’s backs even when they hated the world.

And now, here they are, ripping that bond apart.

Over me.

A pang of guilt hits, sharp and unforgiving. I probably should stop them. Dammit.

Blaze lands a punch to Ryder’s ribs, and Ryder retaliates with a knee to Blaze’s stomach. Thorne catches Blaze off guard with a shove, sending him into the wall, and they’re all too far gone to notice me anymore.

“Enough!” I shout, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it into the fray.

It hits Thorne in the back of the head, but it’s enough to jolt them out of their madness. They freeze, tangled in a mess of limbs, panting like they’ve just run a marathon.

“Really?” I say, crossing my arms. “Three grown-ass men beating the crap out of each other over what? Bragging rights? Or do you all just really hate my furniture?”

They untangle themselves, all looking at me with varying levels of guilt and annoyance.

“She said she’s mine,” Ryder mutters, wiping blood from his mouth.

Blaze glares at him. “She said that to me, too.”

Thorne’s voice cuts in, cold and sharp. “She told me the same damn thing.”

Oh, for the love of—

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising in my face. “Seriously? This is what we’re doing now? Comparing notes?”

They glare at each other, but none of them speak .

They're not wrong, though. You knew what you were doing when you told each of them you were only theirs.

“You’re all idiots,” I say, tossing another pillow at them. “Now, if you’re done wrecking my room, how about we move on? I thought we had plans—or are we skipping the part where we pretend to be functional adults?”

Ryder’s lips twitch into a reluctant smirk. Thorne shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, and Blaze sighs, running a hand through his hair like he’s reevaluating all his life choices.

And me? I plaster on a sarcastic grin and hope they can’t see the cracks underneath. Because deep down, I’m still reeling from that guilt, from the realization that I actually don't want this—don't want to be the reason they destroy each other.

“So now you want to go?” Blaze teases, seeing the sudden flip in my demeanor.

“Shut up and get out. I'll get myself dressed.” I roll my eyes, waving their bloodied and bruised faces away.

They hesitate a beat, but eventually they pick themselves up and stride out of my room. It's tense, and I'm no idiot. They're still fuming, but for now, they simmer their anger back down and close the door behind them.

Dressed in clothes Blaze picked out for me—a simple long-sleeve, shoulder-exposing white sweatshirt and black tight pants that accentuate my ass a little too much—I meet them downstairs, seeing them in separate corners of the room, still sulking and hardly talking.

We all pile into a black SUV, Blaze driving. Thorne has me sit in the passenger seat while he sits in the back with Ryder, essentially splitting us all up without giving anyone the advantage of being closer to me. Playing the peacekeeper again. Blaze, however, has other ideas as he places his hand on my thigh, massaging it as he drives .

Even with the cold air blasting through the vents, it hits a thousand degrees in here with the way Ryder's heated anger radiates from the back.

“You want to not?” Thorne adds, anger rising in him all over again, as he tires of these two's antics.

“What? I can't even touch her now?” Blaze snaps, removing his hand all the same.

The rest of the ride is tensely quiet—no teasing, no touching, and absolutely no talking. I thought I would enjoy seeing these three fall apart—witnessing their downfall—but all I have is a bitter taste in my mouth and an ache in my stomach.

Dammit, conscience. Why do you have to be so kind?

To my horror, Blaze pulls into a popular shopping mall, finding a close parking spot as if it was reserved for him. I'm not one for in-person shopping, always buying things online with ease, considering my size hasn't changed since graduation.

“This was your plan for me?” I gawk, clenching down on the seat like I can glue myself to the leather.

“You need better underwear, and clothes you're more comfortable in,” Blaze answers with an unfamiliar softness to the way he speaks, as if each word drags a little more than the last, carried with guilt.

“I'll live without. Let's just go back home.” I shake my head, suddenly fine to live the rest of my life wearing thongs.

“No. You're not going without your basic needs. I'm sorry I left Ryder in charge of your clothes.” He side-eyes Ryder with annoyance, placing all the blame on him, not inaccurately. Sounds like something he'd do.

“I'm not a shopping kind of gal,” I continue to protest, as if I can convince them to just let me be .

“And why is that, Babe?” Ryder chimes in, resting his chin on the back of my chair, a genuine curiosity in his tone.

It takes me a moment to find it, to understand it, and then to embarrassingly voice it. “I don't know. I guess I was always worried about running into one of you. I stopped shopping at malls or in stores. I just got everything I could delivered to me.”

They were always my nightmares, my greatest fears, but as I sit here with all of them, their eyes full of guilt at my confession, I realize… I'm not scared of them anymore. At some point during all this, my heart stopped fearing them, and started caring for them.

How fucked up is that?

They're silent as I continue to stare at my lap, fiddling with my thumbs in need of a distraction. I hate to admit to them just how scared they made me. It isn't until I finally look up to meet their gazes, locking eyes with each of them, that Thorne speaks up.

“I'm so sorry, Vic. This is all my fault.” His eyes gloss as he frowns, a hurt so deeply etched across his features, I worry it'll permanently stay there. Is he… is he crying? “All I ever wanted for you was to be happy, to be safe. I messed it all up. I messed us up.”

A slow tear defies him as it slips from the corner of his eye, sliding down his cheek and leaving a trail of evidence. Thorne has a heart.

“Fuck,” Ryder murmurs under his breath, gaining my attention as he slides back in his seat. He looks upset at the fact he's letting his emotions get the better of him. “I'm sorry, too. I just—” he pauses, probably trying to find the words, as I've never once heard Ryder apologize for anything and truly mean it. His hands fist over his lap as if he's angry at himself for what he's about to admit. “I’d just never felt this way about anyone. So consumed with the need to have you, and knowing I couldn't. Not just because of these two idiots, but because you would have rejected me on the spot. ”

He puffs his cheeks out with his breath, slowly releasing it as he tries to keep himself from tearing up with the rest of us. He's staring out of the backseat window, unable to hold my gaze, but I see the way his lips twitch in a frown.

“Me, too,” Blaze grabs my hand, being the only one able to do so from where he's sitting. “When we got locked in the basement, I got scared. I had never let anyone in like that, told them my secrets, and felt safe in knowing they wouldn't be spilled. You made me feel something I hadn't felt all my life, and it frightened me so bad, all I could do was push you away, too afraid you'd consume me whole.”

He swallows as if what he's about to say is the hardest thing he'll ever say in his life. “I love you, Victoria. And if loving you means having to share you with these two, then so be it. If that's what will make you happy, I'll gladly do it.”

“For you, I guess I can share,” Ryder reluctantly chimes in.

“Whatever keeps me by your side,” Thorne affirms, leaning forward and placing his hand on my forearm. Feeling left out, Ryder leans forward and places his hand on my shoulder.

“So, what? A good brawl and you're suddenly all okay with sharing?” My voice is shaky, a hope crawling in me that I don't like. I shouldn't want this, but I do.

“Seems that way.” Blaze gives me a kind smirk, his eyes caring, and only on me. The soft expression is a stark contrast to the slight swelling and bruising happening on his face.

“But that doesn't mean I'm in a relationship with these fuckers. Just you, okay?” Ryder feels the need to add on, gesturing to Blaze and Thorne with his thumb, breaking the extremely intense atmosphere with his antics.

I laugh as I wipe the tears sliding down my cheeks. For the first time in—God, my whole life—my heart feels whole, so full it could burst.

“But know one thing, Doll.” Blaze’s expression shifts, his features tightening as he locks eyes with me, all traces of humor gone. “I'm not sharing outside of these two. If you try, we'll all just beat the shit out of the guy.”

“You're ours ,” Ryder affirms, his eyes just as intense and demanding.

“And only ours,” Thorne finishes, the promise of a threat hanging heavy in his words.

My nightmares have become my dreams, and my dreams have become a reality.

Did I just enter into a relationship with all three of my bullies?