Page 16

Mandy

I woke to warmth and the steady rhythm of Thor's heartbeat against my back. For a moment, I kept my eyes closed, savoring the cocoon of his massive arms around me. We were still in the oversized reading chair where I'd drifted off during his bedtime story, my body nestled in his lap, my pink onesie soft against my skin.

His breathing remained deep and even, his face relaxed in sleep, making him look younger somehow. The intimidating Sergeant-at-Arms of the Heavy Kings was nowhere to be seen in this gentle giant who'd read Winnie the Pooh to me until I dozed off against his chest.

I shifted slightly, taking in our surroundings. Thor's sanctuary, as he called it, was a secret even within his already private cabin. A hidden room, a space no one else knew about.

No one except me.

The thought made something warm flutter in my chest. He'd trusted me with this—his most closely guarded secret—a room filled with plush furniture, soft blankets, and a bookshelf of children's classics. A place where he could be tender and nurturing in ways the outside world would never allow a man with his reputation.

His arm tightened around me reflexively as I moved. I froze, not wanting to wake him yet. The soft fabric of my pink onesie—complete with little white bunny ears on the hood—brushed against his tattooed forearm. The contrast should have been comical: me, a respected CPA in kiddie pajamas, cradled by a feared biker whose arms were covered in Norse symbols and Heavy Kings insignia. But it didn't feel comical. It felt right. Like we'd both finally found someone who understood our contradictions.

I carefully extracted myself from his embrace, moving his arm with gentle precision that came from years of trained attention to detail. His breathing hitched, then steadied again. Good. I wanted to surprise him with breakfast, a small token of gratitude for everything he'd given me last night—not just the physical pleasure, though God knows that had been mind-blowing—but the acceptance.

The wooden floor was cool beneath my feet as I padded toward the kitchen. I passed the rumpled quilt on the floor where we'd made love before transitioning to our gentler connection. The memory made heat rise to my cheeks. I'd never experienced anything like it—the way Thor had handled me with such reverent care one moment, then such commanding strength the next.

That’s not to mention the spanking he’d given me that set it all off . . .

I started the coffee maker, the familiar gurgle grounding me in the present. Thor took his coffee black, strong enough to strip paint. I preferred mine with cream and sugar—a fact he'd remembered with surprising attention to detail. I smiled at the carton of half-and-half he'd specifically purchased for me, sitting in his otherwise spartan refrigerator.

While the coffee brewed, I reached for my phone, which I hadn’t looked at since yesterday afternoon. Several notifications displayed on the screem—work emails, a reminder about Amy's next appointment, and . . .

My stomach dropped.

Multiple text messages from an unknown number. I opened them with the sick curiosity of someone who already knows bad news awaits.

The first contained a photo that made my blood turn to ice. Thor and me on the quilt in his sanctuary. My naked body beneath his, my head thrown back in obvious ecstasy, his mouth on my breast. The angle was from the side, as if a camera had been mounted in the window.

My hand flew to my mouth. I scrolled to the next message.

Another photo. Thor between my legs, my ankles locked behind his back, his face intense with passion as he drove into me.

My fingers trembled as I continued scrolling.

Worse, somehow. Me in the pink onesie, cuddled in Thor's lap while he read to me. My thumb in my mouth, eyes half-closed with contentment. His massive hand stroking my hair with infinite tenderness.

Another. Me examining the stuffed animals he'd kept hidden away, my expression innocent and childlike.

The final message was text: "Pretty little accountant has a dirty little secret. If anyone at Heavy Kings finds out we have these, Prestige Partners gets copies too. Think they'd keep their star number-cruncher if they knew she dressed like a baby? Meet me at The Copper Kettle on Main Street, 3pm today. Come alone or everyone sees these. Tell no one, especially your biker boyfriend."

The phone nearly slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. I clutched the kitchen counter, my knees threatening to buckle. How? How was this possible? Thor's sanctuary was secure. Hidden. Private. No one knew about it except us.

The violation made me physically ill. I lurched toward the sink, certain I was going to vomit. Nothing came up but bile and coffee-scented air. My whole body trembled like I'd been dropped into arctic waters.

Someone had taken photos of Thor's most sacred space. Someone had watched us make love. Had seen me at my most vulnerable—not just physically naked, but emotionally stripped bare. They'd seen me in Little space. Seen Thor caring for me.

I gripped the counter so hard my knuckles went white. Everything—absolutely everything—I'd worked for would be destroyed if these photos got out. Prestige Partners would fire me in a heartbeat. The corporate accounting world was conservative, traditional. The explicit photos alone would be career-ending in their eyes, but the Little photos? Those would make me a laughingstock. No respectable firm would ever hire me again.

That meant I wouldn’t be able to afford Amy’s treatment.

And Thor. My stomach twisted painfully. What would happen to him if the MC found out? Not just about us being together—though that alone might cause problems given my connection to their finances—but about his secret nurturing side? About the sanctuary he'd created? The Heavy Kings were hardcore bikers. Their Sergeant-at-Arms needed to be tough, intimidating, respected. What would they think if they saw him reading bedtime stories and cuddling a grown woman in a onesie?

I tried to steady my breathing. Think, Mandy. Think. Who could have done this? The Iron Serpents? They'd been watching me, intimidating me for weeks. But how would they have gained access to Thor's cabin? How would they even know about the hidden room?

My mind spun with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. The Serpents wanted information about the Kings' finances. They wanted leverage. They wanted to hurt Thor and the club. And now they had the perfect ammunition.

One thing was crystal clear: I couldn't tell Thor. Not yet. Not until I understood what they wanted. His reaction would be explosive, violent. He might do something that would get him killed or arrested. And the thought of him seeing those photos, realizing his most private space had been violated because of me . . . I couldn't bear it.

The coffee maker beeped, announcing its completion with cheerful obliviousness to my collapsing world. I wiped cold sweat from my forehead and tried to compose myself. I needed a plan. I needed to appear normal until I could meet this blackmailer and figure out what they wanted.

I heard Thor's heavy footsteps in the hallway. My fingers fumbled to lock the phone screen, the damning messages vanishing from view just as his massive frame filled the doorway.

My heart hammered against my ribs like it wanted to break free. Could he hear it? Would the guilt show on my face? I'd never lied to him before—not about anything that mattered. But I'd never had everything I cared about threatened in a single moment either.

"Morning, princess," he rumbled, his voice still rough with sleep.

He wrapped those powerful arms around me from behind, enveloping me in warmth and strength. His beard tickled my neck as he pressed his lips just below my ear, sending a shiver down my spine despite my panic. The tattooed hands that could break a man's jaw with terrifying ease rested gently on my stomach, thumbs making small circles against the fabric of my onesie.

“Had a good night last night,” he growled.

I leaned back against him automatically, drawing what comfort I could from his solid presence while my mind raced frantically. The contrast between this moment of tenderness and the violation displayed on my phone screen made me want to scream. Instead, I swallowed hard.

"Hey," I managed, relieved when my voice emerged steady. "Coffee's almost ready."

He stilled against me, his body tensing slightly. Those trained fighter's instincts picking up on something I couldn't hide.

"Everything okay?" he asked, turning me to face him.

His clear blue eyes studied me with uncomfortable perception. The eyes that had softened with tenderness last night now narrowed with concern. Nothing escaped Thor's notice—not when it came to me.

I should have known better than to think I could hide anything from him. But I had to try.

"It's Amy," I lied, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "She texted. There's been a complication with her treatment."

I felt awful lying like this, using my sister’s illness to deceive him. But I reminded myself that I needed to do this—otherwise, my life would be all but over.

I kept my eyes on his, knowing that looking away would be a dead giveaway. I'd learned that much from years of high-stakes negotiations with corporate auditors.

"Not emergency-level," I continued, hating myself with each fabricated detail, "but I need to meet with Dr. Patel this afternoon to discuss some new options."

Concern immediately flooded Thor's face, softening his features. Amy's illness was the one thing guaranteed to explain any distress on my part. He knew how much I worried about my sister, how the weight of her leukemia treatment costs fell largely on my shoulders.

"I'll come with you," he said, his tone making it clear this wasn't a request but a statement of fact.

Panic fluttered in my chest like a trapped bird. If he came with me, the blackmailer would release the photos. Everyone would see. Everything would be destroyed.

"No," I said, too quickly.

His eyebrows shot up at my sharp tone. I softened my voice, laying a hand on his chest.

"I mean, I need to do this alone. Amy's really private about her medical stuff, even with me sometimes."

The lie grew, building on itself like a house of cards that could collapse with a single wrong breath.

"And Dr. Patel has a strict one-visitor policy for consultations," I added.

Thor's eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening in that way it did when he was processing something that didn't quite add up. A muscle ticked in his cheek. He didn't believe me—not completely—but he also had no reason to think I'd invent something about Amy's health.

"If you're sure," he said finally, still studying my face. "

I nodded, knowing I needed to maintain as much normalcy as possible. "Thank you."

He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering a moment too long. When he pulled back, his eyes held a message I couldn't quite interpret—concern, suspicion, and something else. Something that made my stomach twist with guilt.

"You want breakfast first?" he asked, finally releasing me.

"I'll make us something," I offered, desperate for any normal activity to ground me.

I moved to the refrigerator, pulling out eggs and bacon, grateful for the excuse to turn away from his too-perceptive gaze. My hands trembled as I reached for a mixing bowl.

"Let me," Thor said, gently taking the bowl from me. "You sit."

He guided me to one of the kitchen chairs, his touch gentle but firm. "You're shaking," he observed. "Is it really just about Amy?"

"I didn't sleep well," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. "And I'm worried. It’s been one thing after another with her treatment recently."

I felt awful. Like a terrible, terrible person. The guilt was almost overwhelming.

He nodded, accepting this explanation for now. I watched him move around the kitchen with surprising grace for such a large man, cracking eggs into the bowl with one hand.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked, his back to me as he worked.

"Not yet," I said. "Maybe after I talk to Dr. Patel. I need to understand what's happening first."

The sound of eggs whisking filled the silence between us. I stared at my locked phone on the counter, knowing those horrible images lurked inside it like poison. Three o'clock. I had until three to figure out what to do.

Thor placed a mug of coffee in front of me, fixed exactly how I liked it—two sugars, plenty of cream.

"Drink," he instructed. "You're pale."

I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, using it to steady the tremors I couldn't quite control. "Thank you."

He returned to the stove, his broad back a wall of muscle beneath his plain black t-shirt. The same back I'd clung to last night when he'd made love to me with such tender ferocity. The same back now visible in graphic detail to whoever had taken those photos.

Bile rose in my throat again. I forced it down with a sip of coffee.

"What time is your appointment?" Thor asked, sliding bacon into a hot pan where it immediately began to sizzle.

"Three," I said.

"I've got club business this morning," he said, "but I'll be done by two. I can drive you, wait, and take you home after."

I shook my head. "That's not necessary. I might be a while, and I want to check in on Amy afterward." Another lie. "I can catch an Uber."

He frowned at this, turning to face me. "I don't like you using those ride services, Mandy. Especially not with the Serpents still causing trouble."

The mention of the Iron Serpents sent a cold shiver down my spine. Were they behind this? It had to be them. Who else would have reason to target me, to get to Thor through me?

"I'll be careful," I promised. "Broad daylight, public places only."

He didn't look convinced. “Sorry, I’ll drive you in. Don’want anyone to know where this cabin is.”

I knew better than to argue further. Thor focused on cooking, his movements precise and efficient. In minutes, he placed a plate of perfect scrambled eggs and crispy bacon in front of me, then sat across the table with his own heaping portion.

I forced myself to eat even though each bite threatened to choke me. Thor watched me between mouthfuls, his scrutiny never wavering. Throughout breakfast, I waged war against my shaking hands and the nausea churning in my stomach.

"You'd tell me if something else was wrong, wouldn't you?" he asked finally, his voice softer than most would believe possible from the feared Sergeant-at-Arms of the Heavy Kings.

I met his eyes, hating myself for what I was about to say. "Of course I would."

He reached across the table, his massive hand engulfing mine. "No one messes with what's mine, Mandy. Whatever it is, whatever you're worried about—I can fix it."

The fierce protectiveness in his voice made my heart ache. He probably could fix it—with his fists and whatever weapons he kept locked in the cabinet I pretended not to notice. But that kind of fixing would lead to violence, maybe worse. I couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk him.

"I know," I said, forcing a smile I didn't feel. "That's what makes you my hero."

His expression softened, and he squeezed my hand gently. But as he released me to return to his breakfast, I didn't miss the shadow of doubt that lingered in his eyes. Thor knew something wasn't right. And sooner or later, he would discover what it was.

I just had to make sure that when he did, it would be on my terms—not those of whoever was threatening to destroy us both.

I n the shower, I turned the water as hot as I could stand it, letting it pound against my skin until it turned pink. Steam billowed around me, thick enough to blur the edges of the bathroom. I pressed my forehead against the cool tile, eyes closed tight, as if I could wash away the violation I felt. Someone had been watching us—watching our most private moments in Thor's sanctuary. The water couldn't scrub that knowledge from my mind, couldn't cleanse the feeling of invisible eyes on my naked body, on my most vulnerable self.

I scrubbed my skin raw, working shampoo through my hair with mechanical precision. Each movement methodical, controlled—the exact opposite of the chaos spinning through my mind.

I shut off the water with a vicious twist and reached for a towel, wrapping it around myself like armor. Think, Mandy. Think like the accountant who handles million-dollar portfolios without breaking a sweat. Think like the woman who manages the books for a tattoo parlor full of bikers without flinching when they bring in blood-spattered cash.

What did the blackmailer want? Money was the obvious answer. I had savings—not much, but a little put aside for Amy's treatments. Would my savings be enough to buy this person's silence?

But what if they wanted information instead? Details about the Kings' finances, their legitimate businesses, their less-than-legal operations. Information I had access to because they trusted me. Because Thor trusted me.

I dried myself with the same methodical precision I applied to spreadsheets, to ledgers, to the neat rows of numbers that made sense when nothing else did. Water dripped from my hair onto the bathroom floor. I ignored it, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

The woman who looked back at me appeared calm on the surface. Only the tightness around her eyes and the slight tremble in her hands betrayed her fear. I could do this. I could meet this blackmailer, find out what they wanted, protect Thor from knowing his sanctuary had been violated.

I dressed methodically, armoring myself in the clothes I'd worn yesterday—dark jeans and a fitted blouse. No trace of the woman who'd worn a pink onesie and called Thor "Daddy" remained visible. I blow-dried my hair, taming the naturally wavy copper strands into submission, pulling it back severely into a tight ponytail at the nape of my neck. Professional. Controlled. The Mandy Wright that clients saw, that colleagues respected.

My makeup came next. Foundation to cover the freckles Thor loved to kiss. Concealer to hide the shadows under my eyes from a night of too little sleep and too much emotion. Subtle eyeliner and mascara to make my eyes look alert, focused. A neutral lipstick that said "corporate professional," not "woman who'd been thoroughly kissed last night." Each product applied with precision, creating a mask that would show nothing of what I felt inside.

In the mirror, I watched my transformation. From the vulnerable woman who'd fallen asleep in Thor's arms to the competent CPA who handled high-pressure situations without flinching. The woman who never let emotion cloud her judgment. The woman who kept secrets for a living.

I straightened my shoulders, checking my appearance one final time. Perfect. Controlled. Hidden.

Behind this carefully constructed facade, terror churned like a living thing. Not just for myself—though the thought of those photos being released made me physically ill—but for Thor. For what this would do to him.

I'd seen glimpses of his rage before. The barely contained violence when Duke mentioned the Iron Serpents at a club meeting. The feral gleam in his eye when a drunk tried to grope me at King's Tavern. But that was nothing compared to what would happen if he discovered someone had invaded his sanctuary, had watched our most intimate moments.

He'd kill for this. And he wouldn't stop until he'd eliminated everyone involved, regardless of the consequences. I couldn't let that happen. I needed to handle this myself, contain the damage, protect him from his own protective instincts.

I exited the bathroom to find Thor waiting in the hallway, dressed in his typical uniform of dark jeans, black t-shirt, and his Heavy Kings leather vest. The patch on the back marked him as Sergeant-at-Arms, the club's enforcer. The man responsible for violence when violence was needed.

"Feel better?" he asked, his eyes tracking over my composed appearance.

"Much," I lied, managing a smile that felt like it might crack my face. "Ready when you are."

He nodded once, sharp and decisive. "Let's get going then."

T he drive into Ironridge felt endless, the silence in Thor's truck broken only by the low rumble of the engine and the occasional crackle of his club radio. I stared out the window, cataloging my options like items on a balance sheet. Assets: $7,000 in savings, my negotiation skills, the public setting of our meeting. Liabilities: the blackmailer's unknown identity, their connection to the Iron Serpents, the devastating photos they held. My fingers fidgeted with the strap of my purse, the only outward sign of the panic churning inside me.

Thor drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, tattooed knuckles still slightly bruised from whatever club business had required them last week.

The mountains loomed in the distance, indifferent to my personal crisis. Fields and scattered houses gave way to the outskirts of Ironridge, a town that seemed to grow from the rugged landscape like it belonged there—all brick buildings and weathered storefronts, a place with history etched into every corner.

Thor kept glancing at me when he thought I wasn't looking, his concern palpable in the confined space of the truck cab. I could feel the weight of his stare, assessing, analyzing. He knew something was off. The man missed nothing, especially when it came to me.

"You know you can tell me anything," he said as we approached the town center, his deep voice so sincere it nearly broke my resolve. The tendons in his forearm flexed as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "Whatever it is, we can handle it together."

For a moment—one dangerous, tempting moment—I considered telling him everything. Laying out the blackmail messages, the violation of his sanctuary, the threat to us both. His blue eyes, so piercing even in profile, would harden with fury. His hands, now relaxed on the wheel, would clench into the weapons they could become. He would protect me with everything he had.

But it wouldn’t be enough. The moment I told him, the blackmailer would release the photos to my workplace. And all the retribution in the world wouldn’t fix that.

And that's exactly why I couldn't tell him.

"I know," I forced myself to say, attempting a smile that felt brittle on my face. "It's just Amy. I'll tell you everything after I meet with the doctor."

He nodded, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. He knew I was lying—not about everything, perhaps, but enough.

We passed The Copper Kettle, the quaint brick coffee shop with its copper accents gleaming in the midday light. Outdoor tables sat beneath forest-green umbrellas, occupied by a mix of locals and tourists enjoying the mild spring weather. My stomach clenched. In a few hours, I'd be sitting at one of those tables facing whoever had those photos.

Thor pulled up outside the Ironridge Public Library, a redbrick building with large windows and stone steps leading to the entrance. My fabricated first destination—the place I'd claimed I needed to research treatment options before meeting Dr. Patel.

"Call me when you're done," Thor said, shifting in his seat to face me. His blue eyes searched my face with an intensity that suggested he was committing every detail to memory. "I'll be close by."

The promise sounded like both comfort and warning. I nodded, gathering my purse, checking that my phone was secure in the side pocket.

"Thor, I—" I started, then stopped. What could I say? I'm sorry for lying to you? I'm trying to protect us both? I'm terrified?

He waited, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Thank you," I finished lamely. "For understanding about doing this alone."

His expression softened slightly, though the doubt never left his eyes. "Just remember what I said, Mandy. No one messes with what's mine." He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with surprising gentleness. "And you're mine. Whatever's going on, whatever you're not telling me—remember that."

The possessiveness in his voice should have bothered me. Instead, it felt like a lifeline in the storm brewing around us. I leaned into his touch for a brief moment, allowing myself that small comfort.

"I'll remember," I promised. Then, before I could lose my nerve, I climbed out of the truck.

As I walked toward the library entrance, I could feel the weight of his gaze on my back. I didn't turn around. I couldn't risk him seeing whatever might show on my face.

Inside, the library welcomed me with hushed quiet and the comforting smell of books. I nodded to the elderly librarian behind the front desk, then made my way to a secluded corner far from the windows, where Thor couldn't see me if he drove past.

I selected a random medical reference book from a nearby shelf and opened it on the table in front of me, creating the appearance of research. Then I checked my watch. 12:37. Over two hours before my meeting with the blackmailer.

I pulled out my phone, checking to see if any new messages had arrived. Nothing. The original threats remained the last communication from the unknown number. I tried to analyze the messages, looking for clues about who might have sent them. The language was direct, efficient. No slang or distinctive phrases I could use to narrow down the sender.

I opened my banking app, confirming my available balance. The money represented years of careful saving, extra tax preparation jobs on the side, my emergency fund for Amy's treatments. Would it be enough?

I tapped my fingers silently against the table, thinking through scenarios like chess moves. If they asked for money, I'd negotiate. Start low, settle as high as necessary, but not all at once—installments would give me time to find out who they were, possibly turn the tables. If they wanted information, I'd stall, pretend to cooperate while finding another solution.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward. Other library patrons came and went, their quiet movements barely registering in my consciousness. I was too focused on what awaited me at The Copper Kettle.

At 2:30, I closed the medical book and returned it to the shelf. Time to position myself at the coffee shop before the blackmailer arrived. I needed the psychological advantage of being there first, of choosing my seat, of watching them enter.

I slipped out of the library's side exit, checking carefully to make sure Thor's truck wasn't visible anywhere nearby. The coffee shop was three blocks away—an easy walk through the center of Ironridge.

My phone buzzed in my hand. A text from Thor: "Everything OK? Need me to pick you up?"

My fingers hovered over the screen. Another lie. "Still researching. Will head to Dr. Patel's office from here. I'll call you after."

I hit send, then immediately silenced my phone. No more distractions. No more guilt. I needed all my focus for what came next.