Manipulative Attraction

26. ⚛️ Dog Day Night

Thorne willed his eyes to open. When they did, he heartily wished they hadn't. The daylight filtering through his window caused a macabre orchestra to play in his head.

A young boy pounded on timpani drums behind his eyes while his twin sister smashed cymbals in time with Thorne's heartbeat.

In Thorne's mouth, an old man filtered stale air through a tuba, leaving a metallic taste behind. The sharp notes from the wind section dug holes in the lining of his brain, and the brass instruments gouged his stomach as they tooted sharp notes into his gut. Violins and cellos played with the strings of his heart as reality crashed in.

Hard and swift.

Thorne groaned out his frustration in the afternoon air. His first hangover played a symphony of turmoil in his body and he vowed never to drink so much again.

Until last night, he'd limited himself to one beer or a few glasses of wine. A drunk agent could end up a dead agent and Thorne had always considered himself too careful for that.

But the night before was different.

After Jeannie had left, Thorne made a phone call to his friends. He requested they stop at the liquor store and get two bottles of Patrón Silver and some organic orange juice. He wanted to get drunk and forget his pain.

What a dumb idea that had been. It was almost as idiotic as throwing Jeannie from his home. What was in a name, anyway? Why had he gotten so upset?

She was getting too close.

Before Jeannie had kissed him, he knew he wanted her. But when she had put her lips to his, Thorne saw a vision of his future as clear as day.

They would have a house close to the ocean so the tangy sea breeze would wake them every morning. Their picket fence, weathered and crooked, contained a garden of wild grass and patches of spring flowers.

Jeannie, wearing a flowing white dress and a chain of daisies in her hair, stood in the doorway of their thatched roof home, a beaming smile on her face, just for him. Her wedding band glittered in the sun as her slim hand rested on a belly big with his child.

His fantasy was a false dream born of futile hope. Thorne couldn't change who he was. He couldn't have a life of ease—a nine-to-five job with a wife—a family. He was a top agent for The Source and the agency wasn't about to let him play house.

Thorne rested a hand on his aching head as he thought back to the night before.

When Quentin and Dalton had arrived, Thorne relayed what happened with Jeannie as if he were giving an update to H778. His voice betrayed no emotion, only the facts.

At the end of his tale, his subordinates had broken out into laughter. With their eyes squinted shut with their mirth, they'd missed the anger in their leader's expression, totally misjudging the extent of Thorne's feelings for Jeannie. When their chuckles died down, both men took turns commenting on how Jeannie had fooled them into thinking she was an easy assignment.

Thorne had fisted his hands and gritted his teeth. He'd taken their ribbing in stride until Dalton said Jeannie was the only woman who was smart enough to ditch Thorne. Quentin had chortled, spraying popcorn through his lips and onto Thorne's hardwood floor.

That was the last straw. Something snapped in their leader like a worn rubber band. Thorne had moved quickly, giving them no warning.

He'd punched Dalton in the stomach, leaving him moaning on the ground. Thorne then grabbed Quentin by his shirt, shoving him against the door. His muscled arm corded and bunched as it rested against the stocky man's windpipe.

Dalton, seeing Thorne distracted, had risen on shaky legs to smash his team leader in the temple with a hardcover copy of The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

Thorne fell to his knees and everything went dark for a few moments. When he'd come to, Dalton and Quentin sat nursing their wounds from their perch on the couch, eyeing him as if he were crazy.

"I'm sorry, dude," Quentin commiserated, tensing his thighs to run in case Thorne lunged at him again. "You two would've been great together."

At Thorne's skeptical look, Quentin felt obligated to prove his point. "I know she likes you, man, 'cause she grabbed my balls."

"She did what?" Thorne did a kick up, landing lithely on his feet.

Dalton glared at Quentin from beneath his slashed brows. "You're a douche, Quentin. You know that?"

The stocky man looked perplexed. "Was I not supposed to tell him?" He swiveled his head back and forth between an angry Dalton and a livid Thorne.

Thorne loomed over him, his mouth set in a dark scowl.

Quentin raised his hands protectively to his neck, his pupils dialing down to pinpoints. An angry Thorne was scary up close.

"Tell me everything, Quentin. Now."

Quentin shrank back against the fabric and sealed his lips shut, shaking his head back and forth like a dog worrying a bone.

"Thorne, listen—" Dalton began.

Thorne's thunderous look made Dalton zip his lips closed and pocket the key.

"Quentin?" Thorne said, his turbulent eyes pinning the stocky man to his seat.

Quentin, looking guilty, had squirmed under his leader's glare.

Thorne waited for him to break. It wouldn't take long. Quentin always had a hard time keeping secrets. Sure enough, his subordinate cracked not a moment later.

"I lied okay," Quentin said as he darted his brown eyes up to Thorne's murderous green daggers. "I hadn't talked to Jeannie at all. I checked up on her, but I avoided her in the halls. Today, she cornered me, demanding to know where you were..."

Thorne moved in further so that their foreheads almost touched. "And?"

Quentin gulped before he continued under Thorne's imposed duress, "And when I didn't answer her fast enough, she grabbed my balls like she was testing cantaloupes at the supermarket." Quentin rubbed his nether region, wincing at the remembrance of the pain.

Thorne stepped back, rocking on his heels. Jeannie had done that? He couldn't believe it. Jeannie was so shy ... or was she? Had she been playing him all this time?

Dalton's quip interrupted his thoughts. "We need to take you to the doctor, Quentin."

Quentin had shrugged it off. "Nah. I'm a'right, yo."

"Not if your balls are as big as cantaloupes," Dalton said in between snorts. A silly grin spread on Quentin's face as he took in his teammate's laughter. "Come on, man, let's get you to the van. I'll even switch the radio to that easy listening rock station you like."

Dalton had slapped his knee, doubling over in mirth. It took a moment for Quentin to realize the joke was on him. Once he did, he laughed as well.

His friends' amusement had made Thorne smile, but his mind remained on Jeannie.

She likes me? he thought.

Jeannie had given him looks, sure, yet she'd given Shon the same. Not to mention how many times he'd watched them kiss.

Contemplating, Thorne had gone into the kitchen, filled three glasses with ice, and then returned to the living room. While Dalton and Quentin debated by the stereo of what background music to listen to, he poured two-fingers of Patrón Silver in each tumbler, topping it off with orange juice.

The rest of the night comprised of coming up with a strategy to where Thorne could have his heart's desire. Only when the birds began to chirp did they have the beginnings of a plan in place.

And now that he was awake, it was time to act.