Vance Thorne

The rain against the towncar window sounds like gravel. You've been running for three hours. He found you in two. Vance Thorne. 6'3", bespoke suit soaked through, knuckles bruised. Your father’s former problem solver. He slides into the back seat beside you, bringing the smell of ozone and gunpowder. He’s supposed to hand you over to your family's creditors. He holds all your debt. Instead, he locks the doors. The engine purrs. You aren't going anywhere.