Page 5 of Thor (Heavy Kings MC #2)
Mandy
I jerked awake with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs. In my dream, metal twisted and glass shattered around me, the screech of tires on wet asphalt still echoing in my ears. My t-shirt clung to my skin, damp with cold sweat. A nightmare. A bad one. The clock on my nightstand read 7:32 AM – Saturday morning, and I already felt exhausted.
The accident last night must have rattled me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw headlights cutting through rain, heard the sickening crunch as my car spun out. My subconscious wouldn't let me forget how close I'd come to serious injury.
I dragged myself to the kitchen, desperate for coffee. My apartment felt too quiet, too empty. The silence left too much room for my mind to replay the crash. I needed noise, distraction, anything to drown out the thoughts circling like vultures.
Saturdays were for Amy. My sister needed me, especially now with her latest round of treatment hitting her hard. Last night, Thor had said that he’d had my car towed, and that he’d fix it. He'd also said that he’d get me transport today. But he wasn’t here. Maybe I could get a rental? I reached for my phone, but as I did, the doorbell buzzed. The noise made me jump, sloshing coffee onto my sleep shirt. "Shit," I muttered, setting down the mug and wiping at the dark stain spreading across my chest.
Could that be Thor?
I grabbed the first decent clothes I could find – black jeans and an emerald green blouse that made my eyes look greener than they actually were. Professional enough for the hospital, comfortable enough for a long day of pretending I wasn't worried sick about my sister.
The videophone buzzed again as I was buttoning my blouse. I swiped the screen, half expecting the building manager or maybe a delivery person with the wrong apartment.
Instead, to my unexpected delight, I saw Thor. My breath caught in my throat.
He filled the lobby, his massive frame making everything around him seem small. Even through the grainy security feed, his presence was undeniable. Last night he'd rescued me from the side of the road, given me a ride on his motorcycle that still made my skin tingle when I thought about it.
"Can I come up?" His voice was a low rumble, even through the tinny speaker.
"Um, yes. Fourteenth floor. Apartment 1403." I pressed the button to unlock the lobby door, then frantically looked around my apartment. It wasn't messy, just . . . lived in. I shoved a few throw pillows into place and stuffed a stray pair of fuzzy socks between couch cushions.
The wait for the elevator to deliver him seemed endless. I checked my reflection in the hallway mirror—hair still damp from sleep, hastily combed with my fingers; minimal makeup failing to hide the dark circles under my eyes or the fading cut on my forehead from the accident. I looked exactly like what I was: a woman barely holding things together.
Three sharp knocks on my door made me flinch. I smoothed my blouse, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Thor barely fit through the doorframe. Six-foot-four of solid muscle and intimidating male presence. He'd pulled his blond hair back in a messy bun that somehow looked intentional rather than haphazard. His dark jeans and black Henley stretched across broad shoulders, highlighting the heavy tattoos that covered his arms. The leather cut with the Heavy Kings MC patches hung open over his shirt.
"Morning, princess," he said, his intense blue eyes taking in my appearance. "Sleep okay?"
"I've had better nights," I admitted, stepping back to let him in. He didn't move.
"Well, things are about to get better. Look out your window," he said instead, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
I frowned but moved to the large windows that overlooked the street below. A gleaming black Dodge Challenger with racing stripes sat double-parked, standing out among the sensible sedans and eco-friendly hybrids.
"Your chariot," Thor said, dangling a set of keys with a silver skull keychain. "Beongs to the club. It's yours until your car's fixed."
I stared at him, then back at the car. "That's . . . not exactly subtle," I said, taking in the muscle car with its aggressive lines and obvious power.
Thor's mouth quirked up at one corner. "I don't do subtle."
The simple statement was so perfectly Thor that I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped me. Nothing about the man was subtle – from his size to his intense gaze to the way he commanded attention just by existing.
"Want to go down and check it out?" he asked, the keys still dangling from his fingers. "I figured you'd need wheels to get to your sister."
It was unexpectedly touching to hear.
"Let me grab my purse," I said, surprised by the gesture and trying to hide how much it affected me.
I locked my door and turned to find him waiting, closer than I'd anticipated. The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, too intimate. His body radiated heat, and I caught the scent of leather and something woodsy that made my pulse pick up. Our arms brushed as we walked toward the elevator, and I felt that contact like a current running through my veins.
The elevator doors closed with a soft ping, trapping us in a box of mirrors and silence. Thor's reflection multiplied around us, his size even more apparent in the confined space. I stood straight-backed, clutching my purse strap, and tried not to fidget under his gaze. In the mirrors, I could see him studying me, his blue eyes lingering on the spot where my makeup didn't quite hide the cut on my forehead.
"Wounds's healing well," he said, breaking the silence. He gestured toward my forehead with a surprisingly gentle motion for such large hands.
"It’s no big deal," I replied, resisting the urge to touch it. "And thank you again for last night. I would've been stranded if you hadn't come along." The memory of clinging to his back on the motorcycle made my cheeks warm. I'd wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed against him as rain pelted us. The whole ride had been terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
"Just lucky I was headed that way," he said.
“What were you doing out there?”
"Just patrolling. Nothing specific.”
The elevator felt smaller with each passing second. I focused on my breathing, counting the floors as we descended.
"Hey," Thor said, his voice dropping to a register that seemed to vibrate through me. "Got a question for you."
I glanced up at him, trying not to notice how his henley stretched across his chest. "Yes?"
" I was wondering if you could bend your ear about some financial stuff later. For the auto shop."
My stomach dropped as the elevator did. Another responsibility. Another demand. Another plate to keep spinning while I was already juggling Prestige Financial's demanding client load, Amy's treatments, and the MC accounts.
I knew that his help wouldn’t come for free.
We reached the lobby and stepped out, but I froze mid-stride, my brain racing through my already impossible calendar. My breath quickened, a familiar tightness spreading across my chest. Not now. Not a panic attack in front of Thor of all people.
He noticed immediately. His expression shifted, brows drawing together as he took in my reaction. He lowered his voice, stepping closer so no one in the lobby could hear.
"Hey, forget it," he said, his tone softer than I'd ever heard from him. "Not important."
"No, I can make time—" I started to protest, professional instinct kicking in.
"Mandy," he cut me off, the use of my name startling me. "I shouldn’t have asked. You've clearly got enough going on."
We pushed through the lobby doors into the cool morning air. The Challenger gleamed black and threatening under the gray sky, its aggressive lines a stark contrast to the sensible vehicles around it.
To my surprise, Thor walked me to the passenger side and opened the door. The gesture seemed oddly formal coming from a man who looked like he could tear the door off its hinges if he wanted to.
“Sorry things are so stressful at the moment.”
"How can you tell?" I asked, pausing before getting in. No one ever normally noticed my stress. I'd perfected the mask of calm efficiency. It was my entire professional identity—the unflappable accountant who handled outlaw bikers and corporate executives with equal composure.
Thor's blue eyes studied me with an intensity that made me want to look away. I didn't.
"You're stretched thin," he said finally. "I recognize the signs. The way you hold yourself, like you're afraid you'll crack if you relax even a little. The way you immediately tried to accommodate me even though you clearly don't have time." His gaze softened slightly. "The circles under your eyes that you tried to hide with makeup."
My hand instinctively moved toward my face before I caught myself.
"Do you ever take time for yourself?" he asked. "Just to . . . relax?"
The way he emphasized "relax" sent a jolt through me. Did he know? How could he possibly know about my Little space? The pink room hidden behind the spare bedroom door in my apartment. The place where I could escape from being Mandy Wright, the responsible adult who everyone relied on. The stuffed animals, coloring books, and onesies that helped me cope when everything became too much.
No. It was impossible. No one knew about that part of me. Not even Amy.
"I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice stiffer than I intended.
Thor shrugged those massive shoulders. "Everyone has their thing. Their escape." He moved to the driver's side, effectively ending the conversation but leaving me rattled in a way I hadn't expected.
I slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool against my jeans. The interior smelled new, with hints of Thor's woodsy scent already permeating the space. As he folded his large frame into the driver's seat, the car seemed to shrink around him.
“I don’t have the time for a thing.”
“You should make time.”
I laughed at the thought.
“Anyway, let me take you to the hospital. I’ll be there for you today—you went through a lot last night.”
The Challenger's engine purred as we pulled away from my apartment building. It was nothing like my sensible Civic—this car vibrated with power, eager to be unleashed. Thor had insisted on driving, claiming I needed to see how she handled before taking over. I watched his large hands grip the steering wheel, strong fingers tapping occasionally to the beat of a song playing low on the radio. The strange intimacy of being in a car with him struck me—this enclosed space where I could smell his cologne and see the slight stubble on his jaw.
"I don't have time for myself," I admitted, answering his earlier question after a few minutes of silence. "Not really."
Thor glanced at me briefly before returning his eyes to the road. His profile was striking—strong jaw, straight nose, blond hair pulled back revealing the sharp line of his cheekbones. I wondered how many women had traced those features with their fingertips.
"Too many demands?" he asked.
I nodded, then realized he wasn't looking at me. "Work takes fifty, sometimes sixty hours a week. Amy's treatments are three days a week, and she needs help with paperwork, insurance fights, meal prep. And then there's the MC accounts . . ." I trailed off, realizing I was complaining to a man who probably worked just as hard.
"Duke says you're the best he's ever had," Thor said. "For the books, I mean."
Something about his phrasing made heat spread across my cheeks. "It's just numbers. I'm good with numbers."
"Better than good, from what I hear."
I shrugged, uncomfortable with praise. "It keeps me busy."
Thor navigated through a yellow light, the acceleration pushing me gently back against the leather seat. "Everyone needs something that's just for them," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Something that lets them escape."
My heart thudded harder. His words struck too close to the secret part of me, the pink room behind the spare bedroom door. My sanctuary where stress melted away, where I could be small and carefree in a way I never allowed myself otherwise.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling exposed despite knowing he couldn't possibly know about my Little space. "What do you do?" I asked, deflecting. "To relax, I mean."
"I rebuild motorcycles," he said without hesitation. "Work with my hands."
I pictured those large hands delicately assembling engine parts, the contrast of gentle precision from a man who looked capable of crushing metal with his bare fists. The image was oddly appealing.
"Just me and a bike that needs love," he continued. "No club business, no phones, no bullshit. Just focusing on one thing at a time. Making something broken work again."
There was something almost poetic about it. I hadn't expected that from Thor.
He turned his gaze toward me, those intense blue eyes somehow both ice and fire. "What about you? Before all this—what did you love doing? You know? When you were little?"
The question caught me off guard. No one asked about my past hobbies or passions anymore. Everyone saw me as I presented myself now: professional, responsible, reliable. The accountant who kept everyone's secrets and balanced everyone's books. Not a woman with desires or interests beyond serving others' needs.
"I used to rock climb," I confessed, surprised by how easily the truth slipped out. "In college. I was actually pretty good."
The memory bloomed vividly—the feel of chalk on my hands, muscles straining as I found the next hold, the triumphant exhaustion when I reached the top of a difficult route. The pure focus that pushed everything else from my mind.
"Interesting," Thor said, and I was grateful he didn't seem surprised or skeptical. No "you don't look like a climber" or "isn't that dangerous for someone like you?" Just acceptance.
"I haven't gone in years," I added, suddenly wistful. "No time."
"Always time," Thor replied. "If something matters enough."
We lapsed into silence as the hospital came into view. Ironridge Memorial loomed ahead, its windows reflecting the cloudy sky. My stomach knotted as it always did before visiting Amy. I hated seeing my vibrant, sharp-tongued sister confined to a hospital bed, her body betraying her despite her fierce will. After the emergency yesterday, though, I just wanted to see that she was doing better.
Thor pulled into a parking space near the entrance, then turned to face me. "I'll wait. Give you privacy with your sister, but I'll drive you back."
It wasn't a question or an offer. Just a statement of fact.
"You don't have to do that," I protested weakly. "I can drive—"
"I'll wait," he repeated, his tone making it clear the matter wasn't up for debate. "Take your time. I've got nowhere I need to be."
There was something both unsettling and comforting about his declaration. On one hand, I valued my independence fiercely. On the other, the thought of not having to worry about transportation, of knowing someone was waiting for me—it eased a burden I hadn't realized I was carrying.
"Thank you," I said simply.
Thor nodded, settling back in his seat and pulling out his phone. "Go on. Your sister's waiting."
As I walked toward the hospital entrance, I couldn't help glancing back. Thor sat in the Challenger, his large frame somehow fitting the powerful car perfectly. He'd claimed responsibility for my safety as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
It might be nice, just once, to let someone else shoulder some of the burden. To not be the one who always had everything under control.
I pushed that thought away as I entered the hospital. Amy needed me to be strong, capable Mandy. Not the woman who was starting to wonder what it might be like to let go, even for a little while.
I pushed open the door to Room 342 and found my sister sitting up in bed, scrolling through her phone with one hand while adjusting her colorful headscarf with the other. Amy looked dramatically better than she had the night before—her skin had regained some color, and the dark circles under her eyes had faded. When she spotted me, her face lit up with a mischievous smile that immediately put me on alert. That look always meant trouble.
"Holy shit, was Thor real? I thought I dreamed him," Amy blurted before I could even say hello. "Giant blond guy, looks like he could snap a telephone pole with his bare hands? Please tell me he was real and not just some morphine-induced hallucination."
I laughed despite myself, setting my purse down on the visitor chair and leaning in to kiss her forehead. Her skin felt cooler than yesterday, another good sign.
"Very real," I confirmed. "He's waiting downstairs."
Amy's eyes widened to comical proportions. She grabbed my wrist with surprising strength for someone who'd been too weak to sit up unassisted the day before.
"Wait—you're dating a Viking biker? When the hell did this happen? And why didn't you lead with that information?" She demanded, her voice rising with each question.
I nearly choked. "God no! He just—he helped me after the accident." I explained about the car being in the shop and Thor bringing the loaner Challenger.
"So he rescued you in the rain, gave you a ride on his motorcycle, and now he's supplying you with a hot car and chauffeur service?" Amy's eyebrows disappeared beneath her headscarf. "And you're not dating him? Are you stupid?"
"It's not like that," I protested, though my cheeks betrayed me with their warmth. "He works for Duke—the MC president. It's professional courtesy."
Amy snorted. "Professional courtesy my ass. I was high as a kite last night and even I could see the way he looked at you."
"And how was that?" I asked despite myself.
"Like you were a steak and he hadn't eaten in a week," Amy replied with relish. Her grin turned knowing. "But you like him."
It wasn't a question. My sister had always been able to read me, even when we were kids. No matter how carefully I constructed my professional facade, Amy saw right through it.
"He's . . . intimidating," I mumbled, adjusting the flowers on her bedside table unnecessarily.
Amy laughed. "You mean hot as hell."
I smiled shyly, caught. "Maybe that too."
"You know, for someone so smart with numbers, you can be really dumb about men," Amy said, leaning back against her pillows. "That guy is definitely into you. And you clearly haven't gotten laid in approximately forever."
"Amy!" I glanced at the door, mortified. "Can we please not discuss my sex life in the oncology ward?"
"Why not? Sex and cancer are the two most interesting topics anyway." She winked, then softened. "You look better today, too. Less like you're about to shatter into a million pieces."
I sat on the edge of her bed, relieved to change the subject. "You're one to talk. Yesterday you were gray. Today you've got color in your cheeks and you're back to harassing me. What changed?"
"Dr. Patel adjusted my meds," Amy explained. "The new cocktail isn't hitting me as hard. Still killing the bad cells, just not quite as determined to kill me along with them." She tapped the IV bag hanging beside her. "Plus, they're pumping me full of the good stuff to counteract the side effects."
We chatted about her treatment plan, the blog post she was working on about hospital food ("It's like they're trying to give us a second reason to die"), and how her online support group was growing. Amy had always faced challenges head-on, with humor and unflinching honesty. Even leukemia couldn't dull her spirit.
After about forty minutes, I noticed her energy flagging slightly. She still tired easily, despite her improved condition.
"I should let you rest," I said, gathering my purse. "I'll come back tomorrow with those books you wanted."
As I stood to leave, Amy grabbed my hand. Her fingers were thinner than they used to be, but her grip remained firm.
"Mandy," she said, her tone unusually serious. "If this illness has taught me anything, it's to take the chances life gives you." Her eyes held mine, no trace of her usual sarcasm. "That includes gorgeous bikers who rescue you in the rain."
I swallowed hard, caught off guard by her earnestness. "It's complicated, Amy. He's—"
"—exactly what you need right now," she finished for me. "Someone strong enough to handle you."
"Handle me?" I echoed, frowning. "I don't need to be handled."
Amy's smile turned knowing. "Everyone needs someone who sees them for who they really are, not just who they pretend to be." She squeezed my hand. "When's the last time you let anyone see the real you, Mandy? All of you?"
My heart thudded painfully in my chest.
Amy's voice was gentle as she continued. "You've been taking care of everyone else for so long—me, your clients, even those bikers. Who takes care of you?"
The question hit me like a physical blow. I'd never thought of it that way. Taking care was what I did. It was my role, my purpose.
"I'm fine," I said automatically. "I don't need—"
"Yes, you do," Amy interrupted. "Everyone does. And maybe Thor is exactly the kind of guy who could give you what you need without making you feel weak for needing it."
I looked away, unsettled by how close she was getting to truths I wasn't ready to face. "You've known him for all of five minutes while you were drugged to the gills. You're not exactly a reliable character witness."
Amy laughed. "I don't need to know him. I know you. And I know your eyes light up when you talk about him." She leaned back against her pillows, suddenly looking tired but satisfied. "Just think about it, okay? Life's too short to hide from the good stuff because you're scared."
I kissed her cheek and promised to return soon, but as I walked back to the elevator, her words followed me. The truth was, I was scared. Not of Thor specifically, but of what he represented—the possibility of someone seeing past my carefully constructed walls to the vulnerable parts I kept hidden. The parts I had to keep hidden, for the sake of my career.
"K eep the car as long as you need. I'll let you know when yours is fixed." Thor's words hung between us as he idled in front of my apartment building. The ride back from the hospital had been mostly silent, a strange tension filling the car like smoke. I mumbled thanks and climbed out, feeling his eyes on me until I disappeared through the lobby doors. Inside the elevator, I leaned against the wall, my heart racing from something other than exertion.
The day had knocked me off balance. Thor's unexpected appearance, Amy's knowing looks, the fact that this intimidating man had sat patiently in a hospital parking lot for over an hour just to drive me home—it was too much to process. He hadn’t needed to do it, but he had—like he really wanted to protect me.
I stripped off my clothes the moment I locked my apartment door behind me, desperate to wash away the hospital smell and the confusing emotions clinging to my skin. The shower's hot spray pounded against my shoulders, loosening knots of tension I hadn't realized were there. I closed my eyes and saw Thor's face—those intense blue eyes that seemed to see right through me.
After toweling off, I reached automatically for my comfort clothes—pale pink cotton shorts and a soft t-shirt with a rainbow on it. Not full Little gear, but the gateway pieces that helped me transition when I needed to decompress. I'd planned to retreat to my Little room, to lose myself in simple pleasures and push away adult complications.
Instead, I found myself lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling as Amy's words echoed in my mind.
"When's the last time you let anyone see the real you, Mandy? All of you?"
Never. That was the answer. No one had ever seen all of me. I kept my life in neat compartments—professional Mandy for work and the MC, responsible sister Mandy for Amy, and secret Little Mandy hidden behind a locked door that no one even knew existed.
My thoughts drifted to Thor. The way his large hands handled the steering wheel with surprising gentleness. How his voice deepened when he said something important. The solid wall of his chest when I'd been pressed against him on his motorcycle.
Heat bloomed low in my belly, a slow-burning ember coming to life. I shouldn't be thinking about him this way. He was a Heavy Kings enforcer. Duke's right hand. A dangerous man who lived in a world of violence and illegal activities.
But I couldn't stop. The memory of his body against mine on the motorcycle flared bright and insistent. His broad back between my thighs, the rumble of the engine vibrating through both of us, my arms wrapped around his waist as rain lashed against us. I'd been scared and exhilarated, every nerve ending alive with awareness of him.
Almost unconsciously, my hand slipped beneath the waistband of my pink shorts. I should stop. This was inappropriate, unprofessional. But the house was empty, and the need pulsing between my legs didn't care about professional boundaries.
I closed my eyes and let myself imagine those large, calloused hands on my skin instead of my own. What would Thor do if he saw me like this, wearing my Little clothes, vulnerable and needy? In my fantasy, he didn't laugh or turn away disgusted. Instead, his blue eyes darkened with desire mixed with something else—understanding.
"Princess," fantasy-Thor growled, the nickname taking on new meaning as he recognized what I needed.
My fingers moved faster, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as wetness gathered. In my mind, Thor's strong hands held me down, gentle but firm. He took control, something I never allowed anyone to do in real life.
"Let go," he commanded in my fantasy. "I've got you."
The image shifted, intensified. Thor discovering my Little room, but instead of rejection, his face showed fascination. He picked up a stuffed animal, looked at my coloring books and pastel decorations, then back at me with heat in his eyes.
"Is this what you need, princess? To let someone else be in charge sometimes?"
I gasped aloud in my empty bedroom, fingers working frantically now. The fantasy was too perfect, too consuming. Thor accepting all of me—the competent accountant and the Little who sometimes needed care and protection.
In my mind, he lifted me onto his lap, his hand replacing mine between my legs. "You can be small with me," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "I'll keep you safe."
The mixture of dominance and tenderness pushed me closer to the edge. My back arched off the bed as the pressure built, my free hand gripping the sheets. I was close, so close.
Fantasy-Thor's voice deepened further. "Come for me, princess. Show me how pretty you look when you let go."
My release crashed through me with unexpected intensity, waves of pleasure making my thighs tremble and my breath catch. Thor's name escaped my lips in a broken whisper as reality blurred with fantasy for those few perfect seconds.
As the aftershocks faded, I lay panting on my bed, eyes still closed. When I finally opened them, the empty room confronted me with cold reality.
Shame crept in, followed quickly by confusion and longing. I'd never included my Little space in sexual fantasies before. It had always been separate, innocent, a refuge from adult complications. But Thor somehow bridged those worlds in my mind—the man who called me "princess" without knowing what that word meant to me, who offered protection without making me feel weak.
I stared at the ceiling, my body still humming with satisfaction even as my mind raced with worry. I had spent years keeping the different parts of my life in separate boxes, never letting them touch or overlap. It was how I maintained control, how I survived.
But in less than twenty-four hours, Thor Eriksson had somehow inserted himself into all those carefully separated compartments—my work with the MC, my personal life with Amy, and now even my most private fantasies. The boundaries were blurring, and that terrified me more than any outlaw biker ever could.