Page 21

Thor

T hree Months Later

I leaned against the back wall of The Golden Crown, my shoulders too broad for the delicate gold wallpaper, my heavy boots out of place on the polished marble floor. But I didn't give a fuck about fitting in. My eyes were locked on the only person in the room who mattered—Mandy. My Mandy. My fiancée. In three months, she'd risen from the ashes of her old life like a goddamn phoenix, and watching her work that room of potential clients made my chest tight with a feeling I was still getting used to—pure, unfiltered pride.

Three months. Just ninety days since she'd come back to my cabin with tears in her eyes and hope in her heart. Since I'd dropped to my knee like some lovesick fool and asked her to be mine forever. Since she'd said yes and changed my world for good.

The event space glowed with soft lighting that bounced off crystal chandeliers and polished glasses. Duke had pulled strings to get this place—a favor from some business owner who owed the club. It was fancy as hell, with high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over downtown Ironridge. Nothing like the grimy bars and club meetings where I usually spent my evenings.

Mandy stood across the room, her copper hair swept up in some complicated twist that showed off her neck. Her emerald suit hugged her curves just enough to be professional but still sexy as sin. The color matched her eyes perfectly—something she'd planned, no doubt. Everything about tonight had been planned down to the smallest detail. My girl was nothing if not thorough.

I watched her explain her business model to a middle-aged couple dressed in conservative clothes—except for the barely visible collar peeking out from underneath the woman's blouse. They were part of the "lifestyle community," as Mandy called it. People who understood the dynamic between us because they lived it too, though everyone had their own flavor. From what I gathered, most of Mandy's potential clients were professionals with secrets they couldn't afford to have exposed—doctors, lawyers, executives who enjoyed dominance and submission behind closed doors.

"Wright Financial Solutions: Specialized Accounting for Alternative Lifestyles." The name gleamed in gold letters on the banner hanging above a display table of brochures and business cards. Simple but direct. That had been Mandy's vision—no euphemisms, no hiding. Just the truth, presented with professional confidence.

The stylized W with a small crown above it had been my suggestion. "Because you're my queen," I'd told her when I sketched it out one night at the cabin. She'd teared up at that, then bounced onto my lap with the enthusiasm of her Little side, peppering my face with kisses. Those were the moments I lived for now.

Three months ago, she'd been shattered—her career destroyed, her privacy violated, her sister's health hanging in the balance. Now Amy was responding well to treatments, and Mandy had transformed her humiliation into empowerment. Instead of hiding the Little side that those leaked photos had exposed, she'd made it part of her brand. A unique selling point that set her apart in the financial world.

I felt my lips curve into a smile as she gestured animatedly, explaining something about tax deductions for medical expenses to the couple. Her voice didn't carry to where I stood, but I could read the confidence in her posture. Back straight, chin up, one hand occasionally touching the emerald pendant at her throat—my engagement gift to her.

No diamond ring for my girl. She'd blushed when I'd asked what kind of ring she wanted. "Not diamonds," she'd whispered. "They're too flashy for accounting. But maybe something green?" So I'd found a raw emerald pendant, had it set in a silver that matched her unicorn keychain, and strung it on a fine chain that could hide beneath her professional clothes or be displayed proudly, like tonight.

A tall man in an expensive suit approached her next, leaning in with too much familiarity for my taste. My fingers twitched, instinct urging me to cross the room and stake my claim. But I held back. This was her night. Her triumph. She didn't need her overgrown caveman of a fiancé scaring off potential clients.

Besides, I knew she was mine. The engagement ring on her finger—a simple band with three small emeralds that matched her pendant—marked her as taken. And later tonight, when the professional facade fell away and her Little side emerged, she'd be all mine in a different way.

I flexed my hands, trying to dispel the heat building in my blood at that thought. Not the time or place. But damn if watching her command that room didn't turn me on. My strong, brilliant, beautiful girl.

The venue continued to fill with people—some I recognized as Duke's business contacts, others clearly new clients drawn by Mandy's unique proposition. A few older men with perfectly tailored suits clustered near the bar, eyeing the proceedings with cautious interest. Potential investors, maybe. Mandy had mentioned wanting to expand eventually, perhaps bring on another accountant who understood the lifestyle.

A group near the gift table caught my eye—three women and a man, all wearing subtle symbols of their dynamics. A tiny padlock charm on a bracelet. A discrete leather wristband. A tie pin shaped like a key. They spoke in hushed voices, occasionally glancing toward Mandy with expressions of hope. These were her people—professionals who lived double lives, who needed someone who understood both worlds.

"She's fucking amazing, isn't she?" Duke appeared at my side, two whiskey glasses in hand. He passed one to me before following my gaze to Mandy.

"Yeah." The word came out rougher than I intended. "She is."

He clinked his glass against mine. "From financial ruin to business owner in three months. That's one hell of a comeback story."

I took a sip of whiskey, letting the burn steady me. "Not just a comeback. A fuck-you to everyone who tried to destroy her."

Duke chuckled. "That's what I like about your woman. She doesn't just survive—she finds a way to win."

My chest swelled with that unfamiliar pride again. He was right. My Mandy didn't just endure—she conquered.

Across the room, she finished with the tall man, shaking his hand firmly before turning to survey the crowd. Her eyes met mine, and the professional mask slipped just for a second. That special smile spread across her face—the one that blended her worlds. On the surface, it was the polished smile of a business owner acknowledging a supportive partner. But I saw the hint of my Little girl in the slight softening around her eyes, the quick bite of her lower lip.

My grip tightened on the whiskey glass. That look was just for me—a promise for later, when the suits and professional demeanor would be replaced by soft pajamas and vulnerable trust. My cock hardened slightly at the thought, and I shifted my stance to hide the evidence.

Later, she'd be curled in my lap, maybe with her stuffed unicorn beside her, listening to me read her favorite story. She'd be soft and pliant, my sweet little girl. And then, when that side of her had been cherished and attended to, she'd transform again—into the passionate woman who matched me thrust for thrust in bed.

All those sides of her were mine to protect, to cherish, to fuck senseless when appropriate. Just as all sides of me belonged to her—the dangerous enforcer, the gentle caregiver, the possessive lover.

The possessiveness surged as I watched a waiter lean too close while offering her champagne. Mine, growled something primitive inside me. The beast that lived beneath my skin, the one that had earned me my fearsome reputation in the MC world. But I'd learned to leash it when needed. Tonight wasn't about marking territory—it was about witnessing Mandy's ascension.

She moved gracefully through the crowd now, stopping to chat with various groups, leaving a trail of impressed expressions in her wake. Her hand occasionally rose to touch her emerald pendant—a nervous gesture she probably wasn't aware of. But I knew my girl. For all her confidence, for all her poise, there was still a part of her seeking reassurance.

"Hiding in the corner again?" Amy appeared at my side, offering a champagne flute with a crooked grin that reminded me of Mandy. The family resemblance was stronger now that color had returned to her cheeks. Three months of proper treatment had worked miracles—her previously bald head now sported a crown of copper curls, shorter than Mandy's but just as vibrant. The hospital pallor had given way to freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks like cinnamon sprinkled on cream.

I accepted the champagne even though I preferred whiskey. Something about refusing Amy still felt wrong, like kicking a puppy that had finally stopped cowering.

"Not hiding," I corrected. "Strategic observation."

She laughed, the sound lighter than I remembered from our first awkward meetings in her hospital room. "Is that what you bikers call lurking in corners looking terrifying?"

"It's a specialized skill." I clinked my glass against hers. "You're looking good, Amy."

"Amazing what not dying will do for a girl's complexion." Her humor was sharp as a knife and twice as quick—another trait she shared with her sister. But where Mandy softened her edges in professional settings, Amy brandished hers proudly, daring the world to flinch.

I liked that about her.

She wore a simple black dress with a red cardigan draped over her shoulders like an afterthought. The cardigan was several sizes too large, probably borrowed from someone without cancer-induced weight loss. Despite this, or maybe because of it, she looked comfortable in her skin for the first time since I'd met her.

"Seriously though," she said, her voice dropping to something more genuine. "Thank you again. For everything." Her eyes flicked to Mandy across the room. "For her. For the treatments. For not being the asshole I assumed all bikers were."

I shifted my weight, uncomfortable with gratitude as always. "You've thanked me enough."

"Not possible." She sipped her drink, her gaze direct in a way that reminded me she'd faced death and wasn't intimidated by much anymore—certainly not by me. "My latest scans came back clear. Complete remission."

My chest tightened with unexpected emotion. "That's . . . that's fucking great news."

"It is." Her smile was small but real. "Now I just have to figure out what to do with this bonus life I've been given."

"Any ideas?"

She shrugged one shoulder, the oversized cardigan slipping slightly. "Travel maybe. I always wanted to see Europe. Or I might go back to school—oncology social work or something. Help other cancer patients navigate the bullshit bureaucracy." Her eyes sparkled with tears she blinked away quickly. "Options are nice."

I nodded, understanding the weight behind those simple words. Options. Choices. Freedom. The things money—my money—had bought for both Wright sisters.

Our relationship had evolved in strange ways over the past three months. At first, Amy had been all prickly defensiveness, convinced I was some kind of controlling Neanderthal taking advantage of her vulnerable sister. Hospital visits had been tense, with Amy watching my every move like I might suddenly reveal my true colors and start dragging Mandy around by her hair.

But somewhere between the fourth chemo session and Mandy's excited wedding planning meetings, something had shifted. Maybe it was the dollhouse I'd built for Mandy's Little side, where Amy had discovered me painstakingly painting tiny roses on miniature wallpaper. Or maybe it was the night she'd found me holding Mandy while she cried after a particularly brutal round of online harassment, my whispered reassurances meant only for my girl's ears.

Whatever the catalyst, Amy had gradually stopped looking at me like I might sprout horns and started treating me like . . . family.

The thought still disoriented me. The club was brotherhood, but this was different—messier, more complicated, rooted in something beyond shared patches and loyalty oaths.

"Your sister did all the hard work," I said, nodding toward Mandy. "I just provided capital."

Amy snorted. "Right. And emotional support, and a business plan, and a safe place for her to be herself, and—"

"Alright, alright." I held up a hand in surrender, unused to having my contributions listed so plainly. "I get it."

"Do you? Because sometimes I think you don't realize what you've given her." Amy's gaze turned serious. "It's not about the money, Thor. It's about the freedom. The acceptance."

Before I could respond, the main doors opened, drawing both our attention. Lena Rivera made her entrance with the precise timing of someone who understood the power of being fashionably late. The crowd parted instinctively as she strode in, her presence as commanding as any club president's despite her petite frame.

I heard Amy's quiet whistle of appreciation beside me. "Damn."

Lena wore skin-tight leather pants that hugged every curve, paired with a blood-red top that dipped low enough to showcase both cleavage and the intricate tattoos spreading across her collarbones. Her black hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, revealing the multiple silver hoops climbing up each ear. She looked dangerous and beautiful—a perfect representation of where the club world and Mandy's new professional life intersected.

"That," Amy murmured, "is a woman who knows exactly how good she looks."

I grunted in agreement but was more interested in watching where Lena was headed. Her eyes had locked onto Tyson, who stood guard near the entrance, his military-straight posture and watchful eyes scanning the room for threats.

Lena adjusted her trajectory immediately, her walk transforming into something more deliberate. Her hips swayed with each step, shoulders pushed back to emphasize her chest, head held high with the confidence of a woman who knew her target was already interested.

"What’s going on with those two?" Amy chuckled, following my gaze.

Tyson noticed Lena's approach, his usually stoic expression flickering briefly. I'd known Tyson nearly all my life, had fought alongside him, bled with him, trusted him with my back in the worst situations imaginable. But I'd rarely seen that particular look on his face—a mixture of anticipation and wariness, like a man facing both salvation and danger rolled into one petite, tattooed package.

"Those two been dancing around each other long?" Amy asked.

"Since forever," I replied. "Ty's too disciplined to make a move on a club associate. And Lena's too proud to make it easy for him."

Across the room, Lena reached Tyson and laid her hand on his arm, the gesture casual but lingering. His eyes dipped to her touch for the briefest moment before returning to her face. The smile tugging at the corner of his normally stern mouth was subtle but unmistakable.

I remembered the night I'd told Tyson about proposing to Mandy. We'd been at the clubhouse, sharing a bottle of rare whiskey Duke had acquired from some Irish connection. Tyson had studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable.

"About time someone tamed you," he'd finally said, clinking his glass against mine. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Not tamed," I'd corrected, the whiskey making me philosophical. "Just . . . anchored. She gives me somewhere to belong that isn't just the club."

Tyson had gone quiet then, staring into his drink with unusual intensity. "Lucky man," he'd murmured, so softly I almost didn't hear it.

Now, watching him with Lena, I wondered if he was ready to seek his own anchor. God knew they'd circled each other long enough. Lena had been doing the club's tattoo work for years, and the tension between her and Tyson had become something of a running joke among the brothers. Both too stubborn, too cautious, too afraid of disturbing the careful balance of club hierarchy and personal involvement.

Lena said something that made Tyson laugh—a rare, unguarded sound. His hand moved to the small of her back, brief but possessive, as he guided her further into the room. The touch was subtle, but in the context of Tyson's usual reserve, it might as well have been a public declaration.

"Another biker about to fall to a redhead with attitude," Amy commented, echoing my thoughts with uncanny precision. She tilted her head, studying the pair with amused interest. "Though I guess she's a brunette. Still has the attitude, though."

"Lena's got attitude to spare," I agreed. "Been keeping Tyson on his toes for years."

"I like her already." Amy's grin turned mischievous. "Think she'd give me a tattoo if I asked? I've been wanting a phoenix on my shoulder."

I studied Amy's face, realizing she was serious. "Lena's the best. I'll introduce you sometime."

"Yeah?" Her expression brightened. "Thanks, Thor."

Across the room, Lena was whispering something in Tyson's ear, her red-painted lips close to his skin. The disciplined former soldier looked decidedly less composed than usual, a flush creeping up his neck as he nodded at whatever suggestion she'd made.

"Twenty bucks says they leave together," Amy wagered, eyes twinkling with mischief.

I snorted. "I’ll gladly take that bet. There’s no way Tyson would give in to his impulses. Even though he’s in love with Lena."

"Really? In love? How can you tell?"

"Because I recognize the symptoms." My eyes found Mandy in the crowd again, her copper head bent toward a client, her hands moving expressively as she explained something complicated with effortless clarity.

Amy followed my gaze and smiled. "Yeah, you've got it bad, big guy." She bumped her shoulder against my arm—the highest point she could reach. "It looks good on you."

As Amy drifted away to mingle, Duke approached with two amber-filled glasses. The champagne flute in my hand had barely been touched—fancy bubbly shit wasn't my style. Duke knew this, like he knew most things about his brothers. He extended one of the whiskeys toward me, a peace offering of liquid courage. "Thought you might need something stronger than that fizzy piss," he said. The familiar burn down my throat centered me, a welcome reminder of who I was beneath the tailored jacket Mandy had insisted I wear tonight.

Duke nodded toward Tyson and Lena, who were still engaged in what appeared to be intense conversation near the entrance. "Think Ty’s finally gonna make his move?" he asked with a knowing smile.

“You know Tyson. Gotta evaluate all the eventualities. Check and recheck everything. He’ll get around to it in a couple of decades.”

Duke chuckled. “You know I’ve been thinking that Tyson might be interested in being a Daddy. And Lena has some serious bratty Little energy.”

I snorted. “Maybe. But Ty still wouldn’t make his move.”

"Some men need a push," Duke said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp as they studied me. "Others need a fucking avalanche."

I acknowledged the dig with a slight tilt of my glass.

"So," Duke continued, "how are the wedding plans coming along? Still set for next month?"

"Yeah." I couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at my lips. "Small ceremony at the cabin. Just family and close brothers."

"And my goddaughter as flower girl," came a soft voice behind us.

I turned to find Mia standing there, elegant in a simple black dress that hugged her petite frame. The transformation from the frightened, half-starved girl Duke had brought to the clubhouse six months ago was remarkable. Under his protection, she'd blossomed—gaining healthy weight, standing taller, her dark eyes no longer constantly scanning for threats.

"Diesel's practicing his ring bearer duties," Mia continued, her smile gentle as she mentioned her beloved dog. "Duke's been helping him learn to walk nicely down the aisle."

The mental image of Duke—feared MC president and legendary hard-ass—teaching a rescue mutt to carry rings on a velvet pillow was almost too much. I raised an eyebrow at my oldest friend, who had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.

"Dog needs discipline," he muttered.

Mia's laugh was soft but genuine. "He's a natural." Her eyes moved to mine, warmth replacing her usual caution around men. "Mandy asked me to remind you about the final fitting for your suit next Tuesday. And she wants to talk about the flowers for the arbor."

I nodded. "Tell her I'll be there. And the arbor's almost done—just need to seal it."

"Perfect." Mia squeezed Duke's arm affectionately before gliding away to help Mandy with something at the display table.

"You did good there," I told Duke once Mia was out of earshot. "She's come a long way."

His expression softened imperceptibly—a change only those who knew him well would notice. "She's stronger than she looks."

"Like someone else I know," I replied.