Thorne was something else. He wasn’t a mirror. He was my stolen lighter, the flame blazing. Magnetic and cruel, the kind of beautiful that split you open before you even realized you’d been cut. My eighteen-year-old heart wanted to worship him for being everythingViktor told us we weren’t allowed to be—reckless, untouchable,alive. I couldn’t believe such a person even lived in that fucking house, but there he was, leading our entourage to the check point.
I know now that desire and danger share the same face. Back then, I only knew I couldn’t look away.
The checkpoint was a gutted warehouse on the edge of the city, its windows boarded, its walls sprayed with graffiti. We pulled the bikes into the shadows, engines still growling as we dismounted one by one. The others clustered around Thorne, waiting for him to speak.
He didn’t waste time. He pulled a folded scrap of paper from his pocket and started calling names, his voice rough, cutting through the night. Pairings, routes, orders. Everyone listened.
When his gaze landed on me, it lingered. A slow drag up and down, not hungry exactly, but assessing, like he was deciding whether I was worth the space I took up. He stepped close enough that the grease and sweat of him reached me. “You,” he said, dropping a ring of tools into my palm. “Sedan on Fourth. Park it in the back lot by dawn.”
Our fingers brushed, and although I held my breath, half-expecting to combust from his proximity, all I felt was cold. It was the way he looked at me. Like I was breakable. “Try not to crash it, Doll,” he added, the corner of his mouth curling into a cruel smirk. “Pretty face like yours won’t do Viktor much good if they’re scraping it off the asphalt.”
The toolset bit into my hand as he turned away, already barking the next order. The others snickered, but no one spoke against him.
I stood there burning under the weight of it, hating him, wanting him. I’d never felt that before, but I did know I had every intention of making him swallow his disbelief. I wasn’t going to bring him the sedan. I was going to bring him something that would make all of them shut their fucking mouths.
I moved like I always moved back then, small and quick, a shadow that had learned to fit in where it didn’tbelong. The lighter in my pocket felt like a second pulse. I always carried it. Kind of like a talisman. Although, it ended up bringing me a fair amount of bad luck. There were two cars parked side by side on Maple. One was ordinary and beige. The other was a black BMW coupe, low in the nose and dangerous by design. It sat like a promise, the kind of car men polished with their dick hard.
It was perfect.
I pried the lock with a flat bit of metal from the toolset. The glass sighed, the door opened on citrus and warm vinyl, and I slid inside. My pulse rocketed as I skimmed my hands over the wheel. I studied the rest of the interior, making sure to check off each mark on Viktor’s list of what would make for a high selling point. Then under the passenger seat I found a leather jacket.Realleather. It was soft and well-worn but in a timeless way. Wetting my lips, I pulled it on over my hoodie and it settled around my shoulders. It was two sizes too big, but I instantly loved it. It would make the bike ride back to the estate more bearable, too.
Focus, Arden, I reminded myself.
As I worked the wires, my palms turned slick. The coupe required patience and then a brutal, sudden motion. I copied Leah’s movements from memory and then improvised, tongue stuck between my teeth. When the engine caught, it answered with a dark, delicious purr, its vibration rattling up through the driver’s seat and into my spine.
I smiled and gripped the wheel.
But across the street, a club bled light into the night. Girls my age sweated under strobes, laughing and throwing their heads back to music. For a second the world narrowed. I was…captured by the sight of them. They seemed so free, so normal, their smiles bright and their hands raised high. I wanted to know what that was like. So, so badly.
A security guard walked out, beer in hand, squinting across the street. He saw movement in the coupe and frowned, but I peeled out, the engine roaring, tires shrieking against the wet asphalt. I didn’t realize how much noise I’d made until the wail of a siren rose behind me.
My chest caved in. Blue lights washed over the rear view, sharp and merciless. A police cruiser swung into the lane, gaining fast.
I floored it. The car leapt, eating blocks of city in great lunges. I cut corners hard enough to scrape metal against stone, sparks flashing, the whole car shuddering, and I cursed under my breath. I had a prime product, and I wasruiningit. It would take Leah months to polish out the dents and scratches.
The siren screamed closer. My breath broke into gasps, and panic turned my fingers clumsy. The wheel jerked under me when I tried to take a turn too sharp, and the tires lost traction. The car spun, fishtailing. Neon smeared, streetlights became a blur, and a scream peeled out from my throat.
The world slammed sideways as the coupe crashed into a row of trash bins, metal shrieking, glass exploding around me. My body snapped forward, ribs cracking against the wheel. For a heartbeat there was only silence, thick with smoke and ringing in my ears.
Then the door wrenched open.
Rough hands grabbed my arm and dragged me out. I thought it was the cops at first, but when I lifted my head, it was Thorne.
His face was lit in red and blue strobing light, jaw tight, eyes sparking with fury. “Stupid Doll,” he spat, hauling me upright. “Can’t follow one simple fucking order.”
He tugged me into a cradle in his arms and jerked into a full-on sprint. I tried to answer but coughed instead, each slam of his boots against the pavement knocking my ribs. I just hoped they were bruised, not broken.
“Fuck.Fuck!” Thorne gritted out, turning down one alley and another, cops chasing behind us. He ducked into an abandoned building, carrying me through construction toward a broken-down wall. He hiked over it and slid around another corner, dropping me to the ground like a sack of flour, his sneer terrifying in the moonlight.
“You’re lucky I was watching,” he snarled. He crouched down and gripped my arms, shaking me. “Next time you want to play hero, remember you don’t get second chances. Viktor doesn’t waste resources twice.”
Then he let me go, disgusted, and I crumpled, my stolen jacket swallowing me whole.
“Go get the fucking sedan,” he growled over his shoulder.
I pressed my fingers to the marks his hands had left on my arm and felt my heart race faster, knowing I’d never forget the sound of his voice or the way it felt to be in his arms. Yeah, I know, not a great look, but I was young and stupid, and Thorne looked, sounded, andfeltlike the perfect kind of stupid.
I’d gotten onto my feet, clutching my ribs, and chased after him. “Thorne!”
