Page 24 of Bad Luck, Hard Love (Heaven’s Rejects MC #6)

CHARLOTTE

It's the click of the door shutting that jolts me from sleep, my body tensing before my mind even registers why.

I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. For a moment, I just breathe, trying to center myself in this strange new reality where bikers, abduction attempts, and my ex-husband are somehow all part of my daily existence.

The sound of another door opening down the hall pulls me from my thoughts.

I slip from the bed, bare feet silent against the hardwood floor.

I creep to my door and ease it open just enough to peek through.

Thor strides down the hallway, his broad shoulders hunched with exhaustion.

He looks like hell, clothes rumpled, hands curled into fists at his sides.

There's something dark smeared across his knuckles. Blood.

My breath catches. Where has he been? What has he done?

He disappears into the bathroom. A few minutes later, the shower turns on. Steam begins to seep under the bathroom door, and I find myself standing in the hallway like some kind of stalker, heart hammering against my ribs.

I should go back to my room. Mind my own business. Let him clean up whatever he's been a part of today.

Instead, I pad closer to the bathroom door.

“Thor?”

The water stops abruptly. “Charlotte?”

“Are you...are you okay?”

Silence stretches between us, broken only by the drip of water hitting tile. When he speaks again, his voice is rough, “I'm fine.”

“You're bleeding.”

Another pause, “It's not mine.”

Those three words hit me like a physical blow. Not his blood. Someone else's. My stomach clenches as images flash through my mind. Thor's fists connecting with flesh, the sound of bone breaking, the metallic smell of blood.

“Go back to your room.”

“No,” the word surprises me with its firmness. “Not until you tell me what happened.” I press my palm against the cool wood of the door. “I have a right to know if this is about me.”

The lock clicks, and suddenly the door opens.

Thor stands there in nothing but a towel.

Steam billows around him, framing his massive frame like some kind of mythological being emerging from the mist. Water droplets cling to his shoulders, tracing paths down the intricate tattoos that cover his chest and arms. My eyes follow one droplet as it slides down his sternum, disappearing beneath the towel.

Why does he have to look so good? It’s not fair.

I need answers, and his abs are really distracting.

I force my gaze back to his face. There's a bruise forming along his jawline, and his lip is split at the corner.

“Tell me what happened.” I cross my arms, refusing to be intimidated despite the way my heart hammers. “If this is about me, I deserve to know.”

Thor exhales slowly, running a hand through his wet hair. “We found them.”

“All of them?”

He nods. “Three of them were trying to abduct another woman at The Dice Club. I managed to stop them. They’re in custody now. The man hired to take you is in the basement.” Thor pauses. “We have reason to believe your ex-husband hired him.”

The floor seems to tilt beneath my feet.

“Terrance,” the name comes out like a curse, bitter on my tongue. My legs suddenly feel unsteady, and I reach for the doorframe to steady myself. “He found me.”

“We're handling it.”

“Handling it how? By beating people up? By keeping prisoners in basements?”

“By doing whatever it takes to keep you safe.” He steps closer, and I can smell the soap on his skin, see the water still beading on his shoulders. “This isn't a game, Charlotte. These men were trafficking women. Selling them.”

The words hit me like ice water. “Selling them?”

“Your ex didn't just hire someone to bring you back. He hired someone connected to a human trafficking ring. Do you understand what that means?”

I can't breathe. The hallway feels like it's closing in around me. All those months of looking over my shoulder, of jumping at shadows, and it was worse than I imagined. So much worse.

“I need to sit down.”

Thor's hand shoots out to steady me as I sway. His touch burns through the thin fabric of my shirt, anchoring me to the present moment. “Come on.”

He guides me toward the living room, his towel riding dangerously low on his hips. I should tell him to get dressed, but shock has stolen my words. I sink onto the couch, my hands shaking as I try to process what he's telling me.

“Human trafficking,” the words taste like poison. “Jesus Christ, Thor. What kind of man did I marry?”

“A monster.” He disappears for a moment, returning with a pair of jeans slung low on his hips, the towel abandoned. “But he's not going to get you. I promise you that.”

“You can't promise that.” I look up at him, this man who's turned my world upside down. “You don't know Terrance. He has money, connections. He doesn't give up.”

“Neither do I.” Thor sits beside me, the couch dipping under his weight. “The man we captured—he's going to tell us everything. Where your ex is, who he's working with, how deep this goes.”

“And if he doesn't talk?”

Something dark flickers across Thor's features. “He'll talk.”

I've seen glimpses of the violence he's capable of, but this is different. This is cold, calculated. Professional.

“You're going to torture him.” It's not a question.

“I'm going to do whatever it takes to get the answers we need. Answers that will keep you safe and permanently remove your bastard ex-husband from your life, Charlotte. That’s the only way this ends. You understand that, right? Men like him have enough money to pay off judges, make witnesses disappear. The only way this ends is with him taking his last breath.”

The finality of that statement should terrify me.

It should send me running for the door, calling the police, doing something normal and rational.

Instead, I feel a strange sense of relief wash over me.

For the first time in years, someone is willing to go to the same lengths Terrance would to protect what matters to them.

“You're talking about murder,” I say the words quietly, testing how they sound.

“I'm talking about survival. Yours and mine. Because if we let him walk away from this, he'll never stop coming for you. And eventually, he'll succeed.”

I know he's right. I've known it since the day I ran. Terrance doesn't accept defeat, doesn't accept loss. In his mind, I'm still his property, and he'll spend whatever it takes to reclaim me.

“The man downstairs—Vincent. Will he suffer?”

Thor's jaw tightens. “Do you care if he suffers?”

The question hangs between us like a loaded gun.

Three days ago, I would have said yes. I would have believed in justice, in the system, in doing the right thing.

But three days ago, I didn't know that my ex-husband was connected to human traffickers.

Three days ago, I still believed there might be a normal life waiting for me somewhere.

“No,” I whisper, and the admission feels like stepping off a cliff. “I don't.”

Thor's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his stare—approval, maybe, or recognition. He reaches for my hand, his calloused palm engulfing mine.

“You're stronger than you think. Most people would be falling apart right now.”

“Who says I'm not?” I try to smile, but it feels brittle. “I'm terrified, Thor. Not just of Terrance, but of how easy it is to sit here and talk about...” I can't finish the sentence.

“Violence,” he supplies. “Revenge. Justice. Whatever you want to call it.”

I nod, unable to meet his eyes. “What does that make me?”

“Human.” His thumb traces circles on my wrist, “There's nothing wrong with wanting your tormentor to suffer, Charlotte. Nothing wrong with wanting to be free, whatever it takes.”

Free. When was the last time I felt truly free? Not since before I met Terrance, that's for sure. Maybe not ever.

I find myself moving without thinking, closing the distance between us on the couch. The need for comfort, for connection. For something to drown out the horror.

“Charlotte—” he starts, but I'm already climbing onto his lap, my knees on either side of his powerful thighs, my hands finding his bare shoulders.

When my mouth finds his, he freezes for a second. His hands seize my waist, fingers digging into my skin like he can’t decide whether to pull me closer or push me away. I press harder, giving him no room to choose. I need this. Need him.

He tastes like something I should stay away from, but can’t.

His kiss is consuming. For a moment, he lets me take the lead, lets me lose myself in him.

I pour every tremor, every ounce of fear and fury from the past few days into that kiss, and little by little, the tension in my chest starts to fade.

Then it shifts.

His grip tightens, anchoring me to him. He tears his mouth from mine with a shaky breath, the space between us charged and electric. His forehead rests against mine, and I feel him trying to steady himself.

“This isn’t what you need right now. You’re upset. You’re scared. I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

“Don’t.” My fingers slide across his shoulder and down his chest, tracing the edge of a tattoo I’ve stared but never touched until now. His heart pounds beneath my palm, fast and hard like mine. “Don’t tell me what I need. I already know.”

For a moment, I think he’ll pull away completely. He’s looking for something. A sign that I know what I’m doing. But there’s nothing left in me but this moment. This need.

“Maybe I don’t want what’s good for me,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his again. “Maybe I just want you.”

That’s all it takes.

Whatever restraint he was holding onto snaps. His hands slide down, gripping my hips and dragging me against him. I feel how hard he is through his jeans. The heat between my thighs flares, sharp and immediate.

His mouth finds mine again, fiercer this time. Desperate. Claiming. His teeth catch my bottom lip before his tongue meets mine, and a soft sound slips from my throat.