7. 7 Tori

Chapter seven

7: Tori

T here's no way Thorne was telling the truth, right? Yesterday's conversation has taken permanent residence in my mind, scratching away at my confidence until I'm riddled with self doubt. I'm not sure what's true and what's not, battling with myself all through the night.

Blaze took no chances this time, setting an alarm on my phone that buzzed away this morning so that I'm awake before them. I'm staring at this coffee machine, trying to recall everything that he spewed out to me all at once last night about how to work this delicate machinery.

Tori, for God's sake, you're a fucking barista. Don't act like you don't know how to work this thing.

“What are you doing?” Ryder's smiling, finding my actions amusing as usual. I think he finds everything amusing, really.

“Can't a girl have a moment of peace to argue with herself?” I retort as I start grinding the coffee beans.

“It's not a moment of peace if you're arguing with yourself, now is it?” He drags the black-cushioned bar stool out from under the island and takes a seat, leaning over the white marble countertop. He rests his chiseled jaw on his palm as he watches me work, his pink lips curved into a perfect little grin.

“You know, watching me won't get your coffee to you any faster.” I can feel his eyes on the back of my head like two searing rays.

“No, but it's more fun like this. You get all squirmy.”

I roll my eyes as I continue the process, so distracted, I almost fuck up and burn my hand, but I'm saved, thanks to his inked hands. Thorne looks down at me as if I'm the biggest idiot as he holds my hand.

“What's your problem, Vic? Do you think hurting yourself is going to get you out of it?” He's angry as he shoves my hand away, as if he realized what he’d just done. Like somehow saving me is worse than letting me burn myself.

You're my problem. You're all my problem.

“I don't hurt myself on purpose,” I answer plainly, getting right back to it… more cautiously this time.

After five minutes, I have their coffees ready and even manage to make myself a cup too before Blaze enters the kitchen. He's fixing the cuff links of his dark, gray shirt, which tightly hugs his lean muscles, when his eyes meet mine. He smirks arrogantly as he sees his cup of coffee on the counter waiting for him.

“Glad to see you're getting the hang of this.” He picks up the black coffee, not a drop of sugar in it, and takes a sip of scorching hot liquid.

“Today, you're staying home with Thorne while Ryder and I work. Until you learn not to break the rules, you'll be stuck here with one of us every day. Enjoy, Doll.” He grabs a banana, pouring his coffee into a to-go cup over the sink, not spilling a drop. “Cooking lessons tomorrow, just you and me. Be excited. ”

He winks at me before he gestures with his head for Ryder to follow. Ryder sighs as he sets his cup down, looking my way with disbelief, as if he can't fathom the idea of leaving me.

“Don't have too much fun without me, KitKat.”

“Yeah, cause I could have loads of fun here.” I roll my eyes, my natural defense system—sarcasm—taking over my tone.

Ryder only chuckles as he follows Blaze out, the polar opposite of the perfectionist. His hair is tousled messily about his head, while Blaze has his neatly slicked back and tied. Where Blaze wears professional clothing, Ryder has jeans and a loose t-shirt on, walking casually beside Blaze's purposeful strut. It’s a wonder how these two ever became friends, considering their personalities couldn’t be further apart from one another.

When the door closes behind them, I'm acutely aware of Thorne's presence, the way he lingers, as if he's unsure what to do with himself. With a clearing of his throat, he pushes off the wall he was leaning on and takes his cup to the sink, rinsing it out and placing it in the dishwasher immediately. I can at least say that these boys keep the house nice and clean.

“So, what now?” I'm unsure of what I am meant to be doing. Normally, I'd be heading to work, getting on the sardine bus, and feeling overstimulated by people. Yet, here I am, still making fancy-ass coffee for a completely different reason.

“Now you shower and get dressed. We're going to get your car, then I'll let you see Alicia, but I'll be nearby. Remember you can't tell her about our deal.” His eyes, dark and intense, lock with mine, rekindling a longing I've desperately tried to suppress.

It's that damn memory. You're such a motherfucker, brain. Why do you always bring it up?

“Yeah, fine.” A sense of relief washes over me, knowing I can see the only real friend I have, but it quickly washes away as I dread the conversation I'm sure to have with her. How am I supposed to tell her why I suddenly moved if I can't tell her everything that happened?

“Oh, and Vic?” He pulls my attention back to him, my gaze locked onto those dark pools of mixed emotions again. “If you break the rules, there will be consequences. Got it?”

I nod, feeling a chill travel up my spine at the tone of his voice. His words, not a threat, but a frightening vow, send shivers all through my body. I retreat to my room, gnawing at my nail, desperately searching for a plausible lie to tell Alicia. Nothing good comes to mind as I shower, too distracted with thoughts of Thorne, from what he told me yesterday, to what he told me the night we slept together.

Lies. All lies.

Wrapped in a towel and dripping water from the ends of my hair, I walk toward the walk-in closet, picking out a white shirt with a dark green jumper. I find the underwear drawer, remembering once more these boys think a drawer full of thongs is sufficient.

Asshats. I'm buying granny panties the second I get a chance.

I drop my towel, pulling my underwear up and putting a lacy, white bra on. I’ve barely clasped the bra together when I sense Thorne, turning to find him leaning against the closet door jamb. He's holding the ointment that Blaze uses on me almost every morning, swirling his finger at me to turn.

“I can do it myself,” I argue, holding my hand out for the ointment, when all I really want to do with it is try and hide my brown nipples behind this almost see-through bra.

“According to Blaze, I need to be the one to do it—to make sure it's rubbed in right over the whole area.” He walks toward me, closing the gap between us in four quick strides. “Now turn, Vic. ”

I roll my eyes, but turn, hiding my front half, but leaving my ass cheeks nice and exposed, thanks to the lack of fabric on this supposed underwear. It takes less than a second to feel his strong fingertips brush the area, causing me to wince for a moment. He freezes as if he's afraid of hurting me, despite having done so many times before. I guess physically hurting me is different for him.

No shit, Tori. Think of his dad.

A very small moment of empathy passes over me as I recall all the abuse Thorne endured growing up, the bruises he'd have to tend to. The moment is washed away at the reminder of what he did the last time I showed him compassion over the fact.

I shake the thoughts, the memories, and the regrets out of my head as he rubs further. It feels nice, the dull pain fading with each circle of his fingers. My eyes are closing, feeling relaxed for a moment when he stops.

“I think that's good,” his voice breaks the silence, startling me despite the whispered tone. “Get dressed.”

He's gone before I can say or do anything, which is for the better, considering how lustful I suddenly feel. Shaking off the idiocy from my body, I pull my shirt on and shimmy into my jumper, putting on black high top Converse.

When I leave the closet, I find him sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me, his eyes straight ahead, looking at the sun peeking through the hills of the valley in the distance.

“I never meant to hurt you,” slips from his mouth as he gets up, noticing I'm out.

“Then, or now?” I retort, believing neither.

He doesn't answer, pretending not to have spoken as he leads the way out of my room and into their large garage. I'm not even sure I should call it that since it looks more like a parking lot with the amount of cars that are stored there. Ten vehicles, all of different makes, models, and colors, the only similarity being they're all expensive.

Thorne heads for his truck and I follow suit, climbing into the passenger side. The car ride is silent—like, torturously silent—due to the lack of music. His jaw is as tight as his hands on his steering wheel as he heads to the shop, eyes glued to the road. I decide now is as good of a time as any as I open my mouth and ask a stupid question.

“How did you know he was going to sell me?” I don't look at him, staring at the asphalt ahead as my hands bury themselves in my pockets. I don't want to know the answer to this question, to know that I truly almost suffered a fate worse than death.

“Would you believe me if I told you?” His hands twist at the steering wheel as he keeps his gaze ahead.

“Maybe?” I'm honestly not sure. It all depends on how outlandish it sounds, but anything that paints the members of the Iron Triad as heroes has to be wrong. They're not heroes. They're the monsters of my nightmares.

“Then what's the point of telling you?” he shrugs, becoming heavy footed with the gas pedal as we speed past the slower traffic. We end up at the small auto shop I left my car in, seeing my baby hanging out in the back.

I want to get all giddy and jump out happily when I realize—I never told him what shop it was at. My head turns to look at him cautiously, unsure what he was gaining from this; even more uncertain of how he knew where it was. But, I guess if he can know that I was going to be sold, he can know where my car is.

“Let's go.” He gets out first, noticing my lack of movement. I watch him round the hood of his truck and open my door for me, only, he doesn't help me out. He leaves my door open and heads for the entrance to the auto shop .

You're a big girl, Tori. You can jump out of the car just fine.

I don't want your help anyway, Thorne. You can keep your cooties.

I stick my tongue out at him knowing he can't see me, but just as I do, he turns and furrows his eyebrows at the sight. “What are you waiting for? You better not be licking my truck!” he yells out, trying to embarrass me in front of the other customers.

I unbuckle and hop down, following him inside. By the time I get to him, I see he's inserted his credit card into the machine, essentially paying off my bill for me. I hate knowing that he's paid for my car, well aware that he'll lord it over me at some point.

Well, shit.

“Here.” He shoves the keys into my hand, causing my Calcifer keychain to poke my palm. Howl's Moving Castle has always been my favorite movie, so of course I would have a handmade Calcifer keychain.

“I could have paid for it myself!” I bark, following close behind him until we reach outside again.

I'm the one telling lies now, seeing as I'm a very broke bitch.

“Oh really? Well then, you can forward me the money when we get home.”

He knows I'm lying. It's clearly visible on his face by the way the right corner of his lips curves up in an arrogant smirk. He wants me to admit that I can't do it.

“Okay. Great. I will!”

Don't be stupid, Tori. Just admit you don't have the money.

I stomp my way to my car, fully aware that Thorne is following me there, too. I lift on the handle of my ‘02 Kia Optima, having to pull hard, as it likes to get stuck.

They must have taken it upon themselves to fix it as my door flies open with more force than intended, hitting Thorne right in the abdomen. The release of his breath is loud against my ear as the air is knocked out of his diaphragm. His eyes instantly lock with mine, a fury so deep, I'm surprised he doesn't retaliate immediately. Instead, Thorne stays quiet, gripping the side of my door as he gestures for me to climb in.

I'm still in shock as I take my seat, and he lightly closes the door for me, but I can see it in his dark eyes—I'm going to pay for that later. My stomach is turning, anxious as I think of the many things he could do to me, punish me with. I watch him climb into his truck and follow me out of the garage parking lot.

I'm so lost in thought, I almost forget to turn down Bloom Lane to see Alicia. I take the turn sharper than I would like, climbing the curb like it's my first day driving.

Jesus Christ, Tori! Wake the hell up.

Thorne blares down on his horn, shaking his head at me like some scolding parent. I shrug, the adrenaline pumping through my veins from my mistake making me more vigilant. In two minutes, I'm parking in front of the record shop Alicia works at part-time with a pounding heart and an aching stomach.

Get ready, scaredy cat. She's going to eat you alive.

My feet are dragging, and my hands are sweating, pulling on the metal bar of the shop, hearing the familiar chime of bells as I enter. The record shop is owned by an older cool cat, once part of The Commodores, full of soul to this day. He'd regale Alicia and I with tales when he found us hanging out on slow Friday nights.

The walls are full of records, old and new, with the best-looking covers, while the others were stored in the middle bins, organized alphabetically by genre or vibe. Alicia was great at keeping these organized, coming up with a system that the owner promises to continue using even after she stops working here .

I take a step in, finding the black record-shaped welcome rug is missing. More than likely, someone spilled something on it again. The ‘No Food or Drink’ sign is staring me, posted over the face of a Gene Simmons cutout. She's always hated him for some reason.

My fingers find a string to play with inside of my pocket, fidgeting with it as if it's my only source of security. My eyes dart around the store until they land on her in the back corner, busily arranging records. I inhale a slow, deep breath before taking my first step towards her. A nervous smile tugs at my lips as I approach, avoiding eye contact with her, shifting from foot to foot.

“It better be good, Tori.” She doesn't bother to stop what she's doing, thumbing through the merchandise, her voice harsh and irritated. I know she's pissed at me for making her worry the way I did. Too bad I can't explain it away.

“Just good? Not legendary?” I flinch at the way she sighs like she's done with me, standing straight as she stalls her movements.

“So help me God, Tori. If you don't start explaining what happened soon…” She doesn't finish her sentence, so upset she's not sure what exactly she'll do.

“Okay, so, what do you want to know first? Why I haven't been home? Why I suddenly moved out? Or why Bren is in the hospital?”

Oh, fuck.

Alicia turns so fast, snapping a glare so harsh on me, I think she's pierced through my body with laser rays. I take a step back, worried at how badly she's going to lose it on me, and rightfully so.

“No need to explain that last one. It's pretty fucking obvious what happened there. I realized it the moment Bren described them.” She sighs a breath so heavy, it places the weight of the world on my shoulders. “I want to know why your stuff suddenly vanished from the apartment, and why when I ask the neighbors if they saw you move, they tell me it was a very handsome, young man with blond hair and blue eyes, and a very charming smile.” She rolls her eyes as she says it, knowing full well they're describing Ryder, and hating the way they see him.

“It's not what you think.” I shake my head so fast I make myself dizzy, spinning the old record shop in my head. “After what happened with Bren, I thought it would be a good idea if I—”

“Stop it!” She slams her hand down on the edge of the crate she's been working on, her eyes blazing with a fury she was trying to hold back. “Don't you dare lie to me!”

I bite the inside of my cheek as I try to come up with something better to say. The knot in my stomach is twisted so tight, it hurts to breathe. Her eyes don't release my own, waiting for me to respond. We're so focused on one another, we don't bother to look and see who came through the door, only hearing the bell chime in the distance.

“Welcome to Rocko's. Let me know if you need help finding anything,” Alicia manages to bite back the anger as she greets the customer, her eyes never leaving my own.

“Alicia, it's… I can't really—” My mind refuses to form a cohesive sentence, unwilling to lie to my closest friend.

“Tori, you better start talking, or you can leave,” she points to the door with her index finger. “And this can be the end of it. I'm not interested in anything but the truth.”

I give her a small nod of understanding, letting out a long, heavy breath before looking back up at her. “Okay, Alicia. The truth is when Bren and I left the theater, we ran into them. They were waiting on us, and they grabbed him and started to beat him, and I couldn't just stand there and watch. Not anymore. So I–” A hand pressed firmly against my throat shuts my mouth fast .

Alicia pales so badly, she looks a sickly shade of gray as she stares up over my shoulder. I slowly lift my head to find Thorne looking down at me, his warning ringing in my head.

He said you'd regret telling her about the deal. Is this what he meant?

My breath comes in fast and shallow as I start to panic, my brain refusing to pick fight or flight, staying in a state of shock. His hand slides up my throat, gripping my jaw, and tilting my chin up further. The top of my head is pressed against his chest as he practically bends me backwards. He says nothing, but I know this is the punishment he was referring to, though I'm not sure what his end goal is.

He leans down, his face inches away as he whispers into my ear, audible to only me. “I warned you. Now, she's going to hate you, too.” He leaves my ear, hovering over my face, his nose brushing against my own. “I didn't want to wait any longer. I missed you too much,” he says suddenly, his voice loud enough for Alicia to hear. I can't see her face, blocked by big-headed Thorne here. I'm sure it's deadly, scary, hurt, and shocked. It's everything, and it's aimed at me.

He's right. She's going to hate me.

Next thing I know, his lips are lightly pressed against my own, and despite wanting to hit him, to scream, to squirm and get away, I do the opposite and melt into him, longing for his kiss for years without even realizing it. My body comes to life, as if it'd been dormant since he last touched me. The hairs on my arms rise as my heart rate picks up. In fact, my traitorous body seals my fate as the smallest of moans leaves my lips. When Thorne pulls away, there's a genuine smile there, and I know it's because I played into this better than he thought I would.

Shit, no.

He lets me go, forced to face my best friend after that stunt. Her eyes are equal parts furious and hurt as they mist with tears she refuses to relinquish in front of me. It wasn't but a week ago that I was helping fix her hair a stunning shade of blue that reflects light like a shimmering lake.

“Leave,” she points toward the door once more, her voice barely audible as it shakes with betrayal. No matter what I say now, she'll never believe me. Thorne made sure of that.

My shoulders slump, and my head hangs as I stare at the painted Converse I customized for her. “I'm sorry, Ali.”

My fingernails are digging into my palms as I exit the shop, my eyes full of tears, dropping to the floor as I head for the car. Thorne is right behind me, holding his head up high like he couldn't be happier.

Of course he's happy. He just caused you so much misery.

I hate him!

I'm yanking my car door open ready to leave, he shuts it closed in front of me, crossing his arms and leaning against it so I can't open it.

“What the hell is your problem?!” I blow up as silent tears streak my face. He takes notice of them, his hands clutching his biceps even tighter. It's almost as if he's angry I'm crying.

If you don't like it, asshole, then maybe you can stop making me cry.

You can also just turn the fuck around.

“You were going to tell her. I warned you, Vic. I told you—you'd regret it. Maybe now you'll listen to me when I tell you something.”

Is he referring to Bren and what he'd told me? Did he do all this to prove I could trust what he said? I could kill him for it, if it is.

No, you really can't, Tori. He's huge, and way too in shape. The most you'll do is scratch his eyeballs. Calm down, pussy cat.

“Am I supposed to thank you? Or are you expecting me to retaliate in some way?” I cross my arms back at him, waiting for him to do something, because I suddenly feel like I don't have the energy for anything .

The memory of his kiss ignites a frustrating, undeniable hunger within me; a need I despise, yet can't escape. He shouldn't have done that—not just because it hurt Alicia, but also because it tore me open like the Grand Canyon. He reminded me of how much I loved him, of how truly fucked up I am.

His lips took me back to that night—the night I felt pleasure like no other. It's the night that left me spiraling out of control, seeking the same high from other men, but never finding it. His stunt revealed more than I care to know… he truly is the only one that can make me feel alive.

How fucked up is that? Only my tormentor can make me orgasm.

My tears increase as I angrily stare at him, waiting, and waiting until he finally gets off of my car. His thumb brushes against my cheek, wiping away my tears too delicately. It makes my head spin.

“Stop crying or you're driving with me. I can't have you crashing because you can't control your emotions.” The delicate touch turns into a small pinch before he condescendingly pats my cheek with his palm. “Dry them up.”

Then he stands back up, going around my car, and walking two parking spots over to his truck. He opens the door and steps on the running board, stopping there to face me, staring at me over the other vehicles.

“You better hurry up. We have shit to do.”

You have shit to do. I'm going to go cry on a pillow.