It was selfishness of keeping Sol safe that kept Torrie down to just herself for her vigilantism; maybe a little fear mixed in, but not altruism or bravery. In retrospect she realizes what it might’ve done to her brother if it’d gone worse than it did, but it’s only when she mentally reverses the roles. So often she wants to protect him so she knows he’ll be there when she needs him. “Next time,” she retorts honestly, not focused on what Lita might think of that.
When she takes away her own selfish reasoning she knows realistically Solomon is better equipped than she is. She won’t feed either Lita or Sol the lie that she’ll leave the North Loop alone. Torrie’s a great many things, but a liar doesn’t make the list.
Torrie is tense and trying not to be when Lita and Solomon get to putting her arm back into place. Capable only of an eye roll and a huff at Lita’s joke.
And god, did she only think that ‘on three’ bit was a fabrication of television and movies. “What the hell,” she grinds out between clenched teeth, not a yell, but a guttural mince of words. Torrie’s certain the spots in her vision aren’t supposed to be there either. “Son of a bitch. Fuck.” and a few more curses slip out for good measure.
But she stops at throwing insults at either of them.
“Give me a minute?” she asks, pain resonating in her expression. It’s still radiating out from her shoulder uncomfortably; maybe more from having it out of place for as long as it was, or something else, she’s no medical expert.