Page 7 of Endo

I can’t help the corner of my mouth twitching, but I quickly shut it down. “Screw off, Thorne.”

“Oh, come on, mate, you know you missed me. Admit it. Life’s dull without my sparkling commentary.”

“Sparkling’s not the word I’d use,” I mutter, but the jab is half-hearted.

Talon chuckles, shaking his head. “Ignore him. You know Thorne’s never serious.”

“Seriousness is overrated,” Thorne says, spinning a wrench in his hand like a baton. “And you lot are depressing enough without me adding to it. So, Reign, what’s the latest? Besides the whiskey-scented cloud you brought with you.”

“I’m fine,” I say sharply, the words harsher than I intended. I glance at Draygon, who’s been watching me quietly, his hands working methodically on a set of handlebars.

Draygon raises an eyebrow. “You don’t look fine.”

“Christ, not you too,” I snap. “What’s the deal? Did you all have a meeting and decide to stage some kind of intervention?”

Thorne pipes up before anyone else can respond. “Intervention? Nah. But if we did, I’d bring balloons. Maybe a stripper. Spice things up a bit.”

“Thorne,” Talon says warningly, but the Brit just grins.

“What? I’m just saying, if we’re going to do this, might as well do it right.”

“Shut up, Thorne,” I growl, my patience wearing thin.

“Touchy, touchy,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, I’ll be good. For now.”

The tension eases slightly, and for a moment, it feels like old times. Like, I can handle being here. But then Draygon ruins it by opening his damn mouth again.

“You’ve been fighting at The Iron Pit, haven’t you?” His voice is calm and measured, but it cuts through me all the same.

“So what if I have?” I snap, turning to face him. “It’s none of your damn business.”

“Reign, we’re just trying to—” Talon starts, but I cut him off.

“Don’t. Don’t give me that ‘we’re worried about you’ shit. I don’t need it. Especially from you guys.”

“Maybe you don’t, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to stop,” Draygon says firmly.

“For fucks sake, Draygon,” Thorne mutters. “Give it a rest, what are you, his fucking mother? It’s not fucking helping, bruv.”

“I’m not trying to help. I’m trying to make him see that beating the shit out of people isn’t going to fix what’s fucking broken.”

“Fix what’s broken?” I bark, my voice rising. “You think I don’t know I’m fucked up? You think I needyouto fucking tell me that?”

“We’re not saying—” Talon tries again, but I’m already too far gone.

“You’re all the same,” I snarl, pointing a finger at each of them. “Acting like you’ve got the answers like you know how I should feel, how I should deal with this. Well, guess what? You don’t. So stop trying to fucking fix me!”

“Jesus, Reign,” Talon mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face.

Thorne’s smirk fades, and he tilts his head, studying me. “You know, for someone who doesn’t want to be fixed, you sure spend a lot of time breaking yourself.”

The room goes dead silent.

“Fuck you, Thorne,” I say, my voice low, dangerous.

Thorne shrugs, but his usual bravado is gone. “Just saying what everyone else is thinking, mate.”

I glare at him, my chest heaving, and for a second, I think about decking him. But I don’t. Instead, I spin on my heel and storm out of the garage, the door slamming shut behind me. I climb into my car, the tension in my muscles refusing to ease as I grip the steering wheel. My hands shake with adrenaline from the argument mixing with the leftover buzz of alcohol. My head is a mess, but my thoughts keep circling back to one thing since last night: Lena. AlwaysfuckingLena.

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