2. Mr. Thorne
Chapter two
Mr. Thorne
NOAH
Tonight, I headed home instead of to another bar as per my typical routine. Maybe it was the high, but for some reason I chose to take a back way, one that I seldom crossed. Perhaps, I could reach my destination faster, taking this little shortcut while avoiding humanity.
I was well aware of the dangers that occur in places like alleys at night time, especially around bars, but I was compelled to take this path regardless of the turning feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I shrugged off the unease as nothing. As long as I made it home, I didn’t really care what happened to me along the way.
It’s not like I actively looked for trouble; I just sort of attracted it.
In a way, I got a rush from potentially dangerous scenarios.
That feeling of hairs rising on the back of the neck, never knowing what might happen when turning an unknown corner—I lived for those feelings.
Almost like a shot of heroin right to the vein, before you take off the tourniquet—you never know if that’s your last glorious high.
You might close your eyes and never wake up.
But damn, it feels so good when it’s happening, doesn’t it?
The alley I crossed through was desolate, and the air was heavy with the smell of damp decay. The dim glow of a distant streetlight casted a long shadow across the cracked pavement beneath my feet. Each step I took seemed to echo off the brick walls, reminding me of my isolation.
Generally speaking, I was a man of solitude. Being alone was what I craved, except when it comes to risk and reward. I was a magnet for the sinful, and I was learning to love it.
More so than I would ever love myself.
I was so fascinated with my inner monologue that I didn’t even notice the group of men turn down the end of the alley until they were a few feet away from me.
They headed in the opposite direction of me without pause.
I continued my pace without stalling or looking up once.
I barely made out the low rumble of conversation between them, because I was more interested in the lovely mist clouding my mind and frying my brain cells.
As our paths crossed, one of the men’s shoulders knocked into mine, catching me off guard.
I grunted, stumbling slightly to the left as my feet shifted to catch myself.
Instantly, my eyes shot up to see who thought they had the right to invade my space.
“Watch where you’re going,” I snapped, and my senses perked at the thought of a potential alley brawl.
That’s another thing about me.
My temper.
It took a lot to tick me off, but the right triggers, under the right influence, and you might meet my fist.
And with my family being police, I didn’t stress about arrests. I had been in the back of a police car before. I never stayed long.
“My fault,” the smoothest voice answered and all bodies in motion halted.
After a brief moment of glaring, I realized that the penetrating gaze I matched was of someone I recognized. I placed the joint back between my lips, the trace of smoke twisting up and above my head as I inhaled.
Exhaled.
Silas Thorne stood before me, the young heir of Pinnacle Investments. His eyes were silvery grey flames, not quite blue, and just looking into them gave me a delicious feeling to accompany my buzz. I smirked.
“Ah, hello, Thorne,” I said quietly.
Silas was the twenty-three year old nephew of infamous business mogul, Jace Thorne, who owned over half of the companies in the surrounding area.
Because of his stature, Silas was set to inherit the entirety of the corporations owned by Jace upon his death, assuming the role as head of the family and CEO of several of the major companies.
I, on the other hand, had an equally wealthy and prominent family, with my father being Chief of Police.
Needless to say, Silas’s family was always “complicating” things for my father’s task force, and their constant run-ins with the law and shady stock deals kept our families clashing frequently.
Admittedly, he’s been a part of my life longer than I can remember.
Even though we had a four year age difference, we coexisted in the same societal habitat, performing similar duties regarding responsibility and constantly saving face for our family reputations.
Granted, Silas was more in the public eye than me.
I sort of found it easy to fall into my brother’s shadow, him being twenty six and significantly more mature than me.
Silas, on the other hand, had no siblings.
He was an only child and his upbringing was …
complicated. I sized him up in the darkness, noting how formally dressed he was, wondering what he was doing down the back alleys at this hour, with company like me.
Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to his ambiguity. Our paths kept intersecting. I yearned to unmask him and his secrets. Sensing the thickness in the air around us, I considered if he was interested in unmasking me too.
“Hansen,” Silas affirmed with a sharp nod. He reached out and took my hand, slowly guiding my fingers with the joint up to his mouth. His lips enclosed around the near finished bud and he took a drag without bothering to remove the joint from my grasp.
I watched as he took the hit, a look of satisfaction on his face that I surely displayed also.
Silas’s hand still encased mine, dexterous in nature, holding a history of calluses despite his privilege.
Someone of Silas’s affluence would be thought to have smooth hands, silky, those of the unworked and overpaid.
But I was aware of his track record of fighting.
He too, had a knack for getting into trouble, and perhaps, this is why we both got along, despite our families’ being at odds with each other.
“Put a bit extra in this one, did you?” He asked with a raise of his brow, knowing full well that it wasn’t rolled with just good ole MJ.
“How are you?” I countered, deliberately dodging his question.
I brought the smoke back to my lips, noticing how Silas’s fingers lingered on my hand longer than they should have.
I took the puff, knowing I had met my limit.
I shouldn’t have many more. The blend of weed and cocaine in addition to my earlier drinks were a dangerous combination.
My vision was already starting to blur, one more and I’d be rolling. Blackout.
Probably not a bad idea to forget this night all together, I contemplated. How boring and uneventful the evening had been.
Until now.
“I’ve been better,” was the answer Silas provided. I chuckled and handed the joint over to him to finish it off.
I observed him take his fill. The street lamp illuminated his face perfectly as he turned back to me. Our eyes deadlocked, and he released the smoke around us both, the second hand flowing so freely into my face, that I couldn’t help but part my lips to take in more. The hit sent me.
There we go. I was fucking flying now.
I secretly admired his attributes while the darkness shaded the direction of my prying.
Silas was tone, and devilishly handsome.
His shoulder length, flowing, chocolate hair was bound loosely in a bun, the color contrasting beautifully with his pale skin.
His angelic colored eyes were the most defining quality about him. Deep pools of the finest sin and lies.
Silas shifted, placing his hands in his pockets. “Work shit, you know,” he continued awkwardly, trying to fill the silence.
I didn’t know, actually, because unlike him, I hadn’t held a job for more than a few days. Compared to Silas, I remained blissfully unaware of working responsibilities. I intended to remain that way.
“All that’s on my plate. It’s fucking suffocating me,” he huffed, and I watched as a strand of hair drifted down his face and past his jaw. I couldn’t really focus on anything he was saying at the moment. I was awestruck by him in the midst of my high.
“What?” he questioned my scrutiny. His nerves were elevated. I couldn’t recall a time when I saw Silas expose his emotions, so I knew I was making him uncomfortable.
I kind of liked it.
Ever since our teen years, I understood that Silas was different.
Though unspoken, it was known. Silas was orphaned at a young age and essentially adopted by his uncle.
As we grew older, we both resorted to drugs, alcohol, and sex to get by our fucked up lives.
I never judged. Who was I to judge, honestly?
I could relate. In fact, if I had an autobiography, the title would read as such: The Incredibly Fucked Life of Noah Hansen.
Speaking of fucked up, I was exactly that.
I burned for touch and was ready to rock the boat.
Regardless of the source, sex was sex in my mind.
On the other hand, I was highly aware of what Silas preferred.
For the longest time, I had suspected that the proper Mr. Thorne had a thing for me.
Even if it were true, I knew he’d never admit it. At least, in public.
So here we were: Alone, except for the two idiots that Silas brought along, nobody else here to bear witness to what I was about to do.
I released a shuddered breath. Our eyes never broke contact, and I decided to test the waters.
“And what do you think would make you feel better?” I asked, tentatively fingering the buttons on his shirt.
Silas’s eyes shifted to the idle pace of my wandering fingers, his eyes igniting. “What the hell are you thinking, Hansen?”
I licked my lips. “You tell me.”
Silas was struck silent, staring at me. I observed the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His hands twitched before clenching together tightly at his side. He did not protest my touch. My hands slid down his shirt slowly, from button to button, stopping where the shirt met pants.
Silas tensed. “What are you doing?” he nearly whispered. His eyes glanced sharply upwards into mine. They sparked with curiosity and lust.