Thorne (Bensotti’s Boys #1)

Prologue

THORNE

Ten years ago

I wince as my arms are wrenched behind my back, the beefy police officer taking no mercy on me, even though I’m a minor.

“Get off me, pig,” I growl, trying to pull my arms free of his hold. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah,” he says in a heavy New York accent. “And I’m the queen a fuckin’ England.”

Once I’m cuffed, he sits me on the sidewalk, my spray paint lined up beside me. “It’s illegal to tag buildings, you know that right?”

I don’t answer, knowing my rights.

He sighs, then gets down to my level so I can look him in the eye. “You can do a lot more with your life than fightin’ and vandalism.”

Scoffing, I eye his name tag. A. Bensotti. “Maybe,” I sneer, “but I like fighting and vandalism.”

A. Bensotti smirks, though his partner doesn’t seem to like my little joke. “Yeah, I can tell. Where ya live, kid? I need to have a chat with ya parents.”

I shrug, not wanting to be driven home in a cop car. My dad would have a fucking field day, and it’ll scare the shit out of my sister.

“Either ya house,” Bensotti says, “or they’re gettin’ ya from the station.” When I still remain silent, he sighs and pulls me up off the sidewalk. “Station it is. You can make a new friend.”

He stuffs me in the backseat with another kid I’ve seen a few times making fucking murals and shit. His work is dope as fuck. I’m too angry to tell him though. Better he thinks I’m an asshole than someone that can become his friend.

“This is bullshit,” I say under my breath, the stuffy car making it hard to breathe.

“Tell me about it,” my buddy in the back says. He’s a Black kid with a close fade, starter gauges in his ears and a piercing in his lip. I stare at his piercings in envy, wishing I had money to get some of my own. “I almost got away.”

Despite myself, I grin over at him. “That Bensotti is fast for such a big fucker.”

“Unfortunately.” We give each other a quick smile before Bensotti slides behind the wheel.

As he pulls onto the road, he peeks in the rearview mirror at us. “If ya not careful, this is just the beginning of ya troubles.”

I snort, wiggling my arms to get some blood flowing into my wrists. “From graffiti to murder because of some childhood trauma I can’t articulate. Watch out, Freud.”

Bensotti smirks, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “You know Freud?”

“Yeah, and he doesn’t apply here, so don’t psychoanalyze me.”

He hums. “You’re smart, kid. I like that. Try to make better choices or you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”

“Let’s fucking hope not.”