Page 40 of Bad Luck, Hard Love (Heaven’s Rejects MC #6)

CHARLOTTE

I've seen the inside of enough hospitals in the past forty-eight hours to last several lifetimes. The antiseptic smell clings to my clothes like a second skin—a reminder that I survived.

It’s been two days since Terrance. Two days since Thor and the club tore that hangar apart to find me. Two days of bandages, and fitful sleep plagued by nightmares that leave me gasping for air.

I stand in the doorway of Thor's hospital room, watching his chest rise and fall beneath the thin blanket. The doctors say he's lucky—the bullet went through his thigh without hitting any major arteries, and despite three broken ribs, there's no internal bleeding.

Lucky. As if anything about this situation deserves that word.

“You going to stand there all day or come in?” Thor's voice, rough with pain medication and exhaustion, startles me from my thoughts.

“I thought you were sleeping.” I move into the room, settling carefully on the edge of his bed. My body still aches in places I don't want to think about.

“Hard to sleep when I can feel you watching me.” His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with a gentleness that belies their strength. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm alive.”

It's true, if incomplete. The doctors cleared me of any life-threatening injuries, though the list of what Terrance did to me fills half a medical chart. Contusions. Lacerations. Sexual assault. The clinical terms for a nightmare I'm still living.

Thor's jaw tightens. “That's not what I asked.”

I look down at our joined hands—his knuckles still scabbed and swollen, my wrists wrapped in gauze where the restraints cut too deep. We're a matching set of broken pieces.

“I don't know how to answer that question,” I admit. “I feel...everything and nothing at the same time. Like I'm watching myself from outside my body.”

“Dissociation,” he says, surprising me. “V's wife explained it to me. It's how your brain protects you from trauma.”

“Is that what this is? Protection?” I laugh, the sound hollow. “Doesn't feel very protective.”

Thor's fingers tighten around mine. “He can't hurt you anymore.”

“Can't he?” I gesture to my bandaged body. “He's still here. In every bruise, every nightmare. In the way I flinch when someone moves too quickly.”

Anger flashes across Thor's face, quickly replaced by something softer. “Come here,” he says, shifting painfully to make room beside him on the narrow bed.

I hesitate, suddenly unsure. The hospital bed seems too small for his massive frame, let alone both of us. But the need for contact overpowers my hesitation.

“You'll pull your stitches,” I protest weakly, even as I'm carefully arranging myself against his uninjured side.

“Worth it,” he murmurs, his arm coming around me with exquisite care, as if I might shatter under too much pressure. Maybe I will.

We lie in silence, the steady beep of his heart monitor marking time. Through the thin hospital gown, I can feel the heat of his skin, his solid strength. Alive. We're both alive.

“Ratchet's being discharged tomorrow. Stubborn bastard threatened to remove his own IV if they tried to keep him another day.”

“And V?”

“Still in ICU, but stable. Presley's with him.” His fingers trace gentle patterns on my arm, avoiding the worst of my bruises. “They’re hoping he can move down to a regular room tomorrow so Raze’s wife can bring his kids to see him.”

“I'd like to meet them someday,” I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. “His family.”

Thor's chest rises and falls in a deep breath. “You will. Once all this is over.”

“Over,” I repeat, the word hanging between us like a promise still waiting to be kept. “When will it be over, Thor?”

His body tenses slightly beneath mine. We both know what I'm really asking about. Who I'm asking about.

“When you're ready, Raze has him secured. He'll keep until you decide.”

My mind flashes to Terrance—zip-tied and bloody, being loaded into that van. Is he in pain? Afraid? Does he feel even a fraction of what he made me feel? The thought should satisfy me, but it just leaves me hollow.

“And if I'm never ready?”

Thor's fingers pause in their gentle tracing along my arm. “Then he stays where he is. Forever.”

No ultimatums, no pressure. Just the steady assurance that my choice matters. That I matter.

“I need to see him. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon.”

“Okay,” Thor says simply, as if I'd asked for a glass of water instead of a confrontation with the monster who nearly destroyed us both.

A nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She gasps at finding me curled against Thor's side, but her professional mask quickly returns.

“Time for pain management and vitals, Mr. Erikson,” she says, already moving toward the IV stand.

I watch silently as the nurse adjusts Thor's medication, the clear liquid dripping into his veins. She checks his vitals with efficiency, making notes on her clipboard before adjusting his blanket with a small smile.

“Try not to move around too much,” she advises, giving me a pointed look. “Those stitches need to heal properly.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Thor replies with that charming half-smile that somehow works despite his battered face.

When the door finally clicks shut behind her, I shift carefully to look at him, suddenly curious about something I've never thought to ask before.

“Erikson,” I say, testing the name on my tongue. “That's your real name?”

His eyebrow lifts slightly. “You sound surprised.”

“I just realized I've only ever known you as Thor. Your road name.” I trace my finger along the edge of his hospital bracelet where his full name is printed. “Soren Erikson.”

“Soren Thor Erikson,” he corrects, his voice softening. “Thor's my middle name. The club just ran with it.”

“So, you really are like a Viking?” I can't help the small smile that forms.

“Yeah,” he laughs, the sound warming something cold inside me. “Dad's side of the family. Straight from Norway, four generations back. Mom used to joke that's why I was born so damn big—Viking blood.”

I try to picture him as a child—already too large for his age, towering over classmate. A permanent scowl on his face. The image makes me smile wider.

“Your parents,” I say, realizing how little I know about this man who's risked everything for me. “Are they still...?”

“Dad died when I was fourteen. Heart attack.” His fingers resume their gentle patterns on my arm. “Mom's still around. Lives in Oregon now with my stepdad. Good guy, treats her right.”

“Do they know? About the club, about what you do?”

Thor's chest rises with a deep breath. “Mom knows enough. Not the details. Just that I found my family when I needed one.”

“What about your family?” he asks gently. “You never talk about them.”

The question catches me off guard. It's been so long since anyone asked about my life before Terrance. “My parents died in a car accident when I was nineteen. No siblings. Just an aunt who sent birthday cards until she passed a few years ago.”

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to my forehead.

“It's why Terrance was able to...” I swallow hard, the words sticking in my throat. “There was no one to notice when I started disappearing. No one to question the bruises or the excuses. No one other than Minny, and she was so busy starting her family that it took her a while to realize he’d cut us off from each other.”

His arm tightens fractionally around me. “You have me now and the club. You'll never be alone like that again.”

The medication is making his eyes heavy, pupils dilating as the painkillers take hold. I should let him rest, but something keeps me anchored to his side, unwilling to break this fragile moment of peace.

“What happens after?” I ask the question that's been haunting me since the rescue. “When we're both healed. When Terrance is...gone.”

Thor's gaze finds mine, surprisingly lucid despite the drugs. “Whatever you want to happen.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It's the only one I have right now.” His thumb traces the curve of my cheek, careful to avoid the fading bruise. “I won't pressure you, Charlotte. You've had enough people making decisions for you.”

“But what do you want?” I press, needing to hear it.

He’s silent for a long moment, his heartbeat steady beneath my palm. “I want you,” he finally says, the words simple but carrying everything unspoken. “In whatever way you’ll have me. For as long as you'll have me.”

“I don't know if I can be what you need.”

“You are everything I need, sweetheart. Don’t ever fucking question that.”

A sharp knock interrupts our moment, and I instinctively tense against Thor's side. The door swings open before either of us can respond, revealing a hulking figure that fills the entire doorway—broad shoulders encased in worn leather, a Heaven's Rejects president patch prominent on his cut.

Behind him, three more men file in, their faces vaguely familiar from that night.

“Raze,” he says, nodding to him.

“You look like shit,” the leader says to Thor.

Thor's arm tightens around me protectively. “Still prettier than you, Prez.”

His presence fills the small hospital room, commanding attention without effort.

“You must be Charlotte,” he says, inclining his head in greeting. “Heard a lot about you. Glad to see you both made it out in one piece.”

“Thank you for coming for us.”

“It wasn’t us, darling. We were hours away when shit hit the fan.”

“Then who helped us?” Thor asks.

Raze nods to the three guys behind him.

“That would be us,” the new guy mentions. “Name’s Karma.” He points to the rest of his crew. “The big guy over there is Stone Face, the older big bastard is our club president Judge, and this guy,” he nods to the smaller of the group, “is Priest.”

“Did you call them in?” Thor asks Raze, who shakes his head.

“Come to find out that my wife, Lindsey, knows Voodoo’s wife. Who would have thought. Two different clubs with guys who married therapists. Small fucking world.”