Page 6

Thor

M otorcycles were so much easier to understand than people.

The transmission parts lay spread before me on the workbench like a steel jigsaw puzzle. Grease blackened my fingernails and webbed the creases of my knuckles—battle scars from a war I actually enjoyed fighting.

I twisted a gear shaft, feeling the satisfying resistance of metal against metal. Motorcycles made sense. They didn't hide their damage or lie about what they needed. Unlike people, bikes were honest—break them down enough times and you learned their language.

Guns N' Roses played low from the ancient speakers mounted in the corners of the garage. The familiar guitar riffs of "Sweet Child O' Mine" blended with the metallic ping of tools and the occasional hiss of the air compressor. Iron Kings Auto was my kingdom—a temple of mechanical precision where everything had its place.

Mandy, on the other hand, was a puzzle I couldn’t solve. I got this feeling from her, like there was more to her than met the eye. It was Little energy, for sure. Did she know she was putting it out? Was she a little? If she was, did she want me to know?

My hands moved automatically while my mind whirred. This particular Harley needed a complete transmission rebuild—the kind of job that drove most mechanics crazy but settled something in me. I'd ordered the parts special, had them shipped overnight. The customer—a retired vet with more respect for his bike than most people had for their marriages—trusted me to bring his baby back to life.

"Damn it," I muttered, finding a hairline crack in one of the bearings. Would've caused trouble six hundred miles down the road. I set it aside, making a mental note to call my supplier about a replacement.

The bearing had a subtle copper tint which sent my mind straight back to Mandy.Her hair had caught the late afternoon light when I'd picked her up from the hospital yesterday, turning it to liquid fire against the black leather of the Challenger's passenger seat. She'd been quiet, exhausted from sitting with her sister during chemo, but when she'd smiled at me—just a small thing, barely a curve of her lips—something in my chest had tightened like an over-torqued bolt.

I rolled another bearing between my fingers, remembering how carefully she'd entered my car, how she'd sat with perfect posture despite her exhaustion. Everything about Mandy Wright was controlled, precise. The opposite of the chaos I usually brought into a room. I couldn't stop thinking about her—the way her green eyes assessed everything, the hint of freckles she tried to hide under makeup, the unexpected steel in her voice when she spoke about her sister’s recovery.

"Focus, dumbass," I muttered to myself, forcing my attention back to the transmission. The club's accountant wasn't someone I should be fantasizing about. Duke would kick my ass if he knew the direction my thoughts had been heading lately. Mandy was off-limits—too valuable to our legitimate operations, too professional for someone like me. Too good.

The metallic buzz of my phone against the workbench jerked me from my thoughts. I almost ignored it—probably Duke checking on the progress of the Miller job, or Tyson with more questions about our latest shipment of parts. Nothing that couldn't wait until I finished this section.

But something—instinct maybe, or just dumb luck—made me wipe my hands on a nearby rag and reach for the phone. The grease never fully came off no matter how hard I scrubbed; it became part of you after enough years in this business, worked its way into your skin like ink.

The text message preview glowed on the screen. Mandy's name. My heart kicked against my ribs before I even read the words.

"Someone was in my apartment. Please help."

Cold dread washed over me, instant and complete. I read the message again, as if the words might somehow change. They didn't.

"Fuck," I hissed, already on my feet. The transmission parts scattered as I shoved away from the workbench, tools clattering to the floor. I was halfway to my cut—the leather vest hanging on a hook by the office door – before I even registered moving.

"Thor? What's wrong?" Wiz looked up from the Sportster he was tuning, graying eyebrows drawn together in concern. He'd been with the club longer than anyone except Duke, had seen every crisis we'd weathered. His weathered face showed he already knew this wasn't good news.

"Mandy's in trouble." I yanked my cut on, checking for my knife in the inside pocket. "Something at her apartment. Watch the shop."

Wiz straightened, wiping his hands methodically on a shop rag. "The accountant? You think it's Serpents?"

"Who the fuck else would it be?" I grabbed my keys from the pegboard, mind already racing through scenarios. "Call Duke. Tell him I'm heading to The Pines—that fancy apartment complex on Ridgeway. She's there now."

"Alone?" Wiz asked, already reaching for his phone.

"Not for long." I strode toward the door, pointing at the dismantled Harley transmission. "And tell Jonesy to finish that job if I'm not back. Vet needs his bike by Saturday."

"Be careful, son," Wiz called after me. "Venom's been quiet lately. Too quiet."

I nodded grimly. Wiz was right—the Iron Serpents had been laying low for weeks. In the decade-long war between our clubs, periods of silence from Jax "Venom" Malone usually meant he was planning something big. The last time they'd gone dark this long, we'd lost Duke's uncle in an ambush that still haunted my dreams. I'd been there, taken a bullet in the shoulder, watched a man I respected bleed out while we waited for backup that came too late.

My Harley roared to life beneath me, the familiar vibration running up through my bones. I kicked it into gear and tore out of the parking lot, ignoring the blaring horn of a sedan I forced to brake suddenly.

The Pines was fifteen minutes away in normal traffic. I'd make it in eight.

I weaved through cars, splitting lanes when traffic slowed, the needle pushing past ninety on open stretches. Wind tore at my face and hands, but I barely felt it. My mind cycled through possibilities, each worse than the last. If the Serpents had targeted Mandy—made it into her apartment—this wasn't just random intimidation. Venom was smart, strategic. He wouldn't risk entering Heavy Kings territory for a simple scare tactic.

What did they want with her? What had they done to her?

My knuckles whitened on the handlebars as I pushed the bike faster. Horns blared as I cut between a delivery truck and an SUV, the gap barely wide enough for my shoulders. I didn't care. The image of Mandy's text burned in my brain, the six simple words carrying a weight of fear I couldn't ignore.

I'd seen what the Serpents could do when they wanted to send a message. The scars across my back and chest weren't just from motorcycle accidents. Some of the worst had come courtesy of Venom's favorite enforcer during a three-day "conversation" five years back, before Duke and Tyson had found me.

Then there was the recent kidnapping of Mia. That had ended in Venom’s brother being killed. He hadn’t taken retribution for that it. It was a matter of when , not if .

Another bike fell in beside me at a stoplight—Crusher, one of our prospects, obviously sent by Wiz for backup. I gave him a curt nod but didn't slow down when the light changed. If he could keep up, fine. If not, I wasn't waiting.

The familiar rage was building in my chest, that cold, focused fury that had earned me my reputation in the club. But beneath it was something new, something that felt dangerously close to panic. Mandy wasn't club—she was a civilian, a professional woman who organized our legal books and was helping with investments. She color-coded her planner and wore those little reading glasses that slid down her nose when she concentrated.

She had no place in our war with the Serpents.

The Pines appeared ahead—all glass and steel and pretentious landscaping. The kind of place where the security guards eyed me like I was there to steal the copper wiring. I cut the engine at the entrance, swung off the seat, and stalked toward the lobby doors.

Behind me, I heard Crusher pull up, his bike's rumble cutting off as he parked beside mine. "Watch the bikes," I called over my shoulder, not breaking stride. "Anyone comes near them, call me."

I pushed through the glass doors, scanning the lobby for copper hair and green eyes, heart hammering harder than it had any right to.

I spotted her immediately. Mandy sat hunched on a leather bench in the corner of the lobby, clutching her laptop bag and a small duffel like they contained every valuable thing she owned. Her usual perfect posture had collapsed, shoulders curled forward as if trying to make herself smaller. Her face, when she looked up and saw me, transformed—fear giving way to relief so naked it punched me in the gut.

"Thor," she whispered, her voice barely carrying across the polished marble floor. The security guard at the front desk watched me with undisguised suspicion—a tattooed biker in a leather cut didn't exactly blend in at The Pines.

I crossed to her in four long strides, scanning the lobby for anything out of place. There were cameras in each corner, a few residents collecting mail, the guard now speaking quietly into his radio. Nothing obviously threatening, but my skin prickled with the sense of being watched.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.

She shook her head, auburn hair falling across her face. "I didn't know who else to call," she said, voice shaking. "There was a package—"

"Not here," I cut her off, offering my hand. She took it, her fingers ice-cold against my palm. Our hands clasped, and a current ran between us – fear and adrenaline making the simple contact feel electric. I helped her stand, noting how she swayed slightly, like someone who'd been running on nothing but nerves for too long.

"We need to move," I said quietly, taking the duffel from her shoulder and slinging it over my own. "Can you walk?"

Mandy nodded, straightening her spine with visible effort, trying to reclaim some of her usual composure. I placed my hand at the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. Her cream-colored blouse was wrinkled, so unlike her usual meticulous appearance. The fabric trembled beneath my palm with each shuddering breath she took.

"My car—I mean your car—is in the garage," she said as we reached the doors. "I should—"

"Leave it," I ordered. "We'll send someone for it later."

Outside, the afternoon had cooled, shadows stretching across the parking lot. Crusher straightened as we emerged, hand moving instinctively toward the weapon I knew he carried beneath his cut.

"All good, boss?" he asked, eyes scanning Mandy with practiced assessment—not checking her out, but cataloging details like the club had taught him. Looking for injuries, signs of duress, threats.

"Watch our six," I replied, steering Mandy toward my Harley. "Anything moves wrong, call it in."

I led Mandy to a concrete planter at the edge of the lot, partially shielded from street view by an ornamental tree. Only when I was certain we weren't being obviously watched did I turn to face her completely.

"Tell me everything," I said, keeping my voice low. "Start with the package."

Mandy's hands twisted together in front of her, professional reserve crumbling under pressure. "It was delivered this morning. No shipping label, just my name written on the box. I thought—" She swallowed hard. "I thought it was from a client. I opened it at my desk before leaving for work."

Her eyes darted over my shoulder, scanning the parking lot. I shifted, blocking her view, forcing her to focus on me instead of potential threats I was already monitoring.

"What was in it?" I prompted.

"Photos." She reached for her laptop bag with trembling fingers, unzipping a side pocket. "Eight of them. All of me."

She pulled out a manila envelope, hesitated, then handed it to me. The flap was unsealed, the contents sliding easily into my palm. Eight glossy photos, professional quality. I flipped through them with mounting anger.

Mandy entering Prestige Partners, her accounting firm.

Mandy at a coffee shop, typing on her laptop.

Mandy walking into King's Tavern, looking over her shoulder as if sensing she was being watched.

Mandy visiting the hospital, timestamp from three days ago when she'd visited Amy.

Mandy getting into her car in the Prestige parking garage.

Mandy talking to Tyson outside the tattoo parlor.

Mandy at her apartment window, silhouetted against the light.

Mandy asleep in her bed, photo clearly taken through her bedroom window from outside.

The last one made my blood run cold. Her apartment was on the fourth floor. Someone had gone to significant effort to get that shot.

"This came with them," Mandy said, reaching into the envelope again. She withdrew a small object wrapped in tissue paper.

I unwrapped it carefully, jaw clenching when the item was revealed. A black wooden snake, carved with meticulous detail, coiled as if ready to strike. Six inches long, polished to a dull sheen. I knew this work. Had seen these carvings before.

"There was a note too," Mandy whispered.

She handed me a small card, expensive stock with a black border. The message, written in elegant script: "The Heavy Kings' new pet accountant should be careful where she sleeps."

"Iron Serpents," I confirmed, the familiar cold rage building in my chest. The snake was Venom's calling card—he had them custom made, left them as warnings before strikes. "They're watching you."

Mandy's face paled further, freckles standing out against her skin. "Why would they care about me? I just do your books. The legal ones."

I tucked the photos and snake back into the envelope, mind racing through implications. "You make us stronger. Legitimate. That threatens them." I didn't add what I was thinking—that they might also be targeting her because they'd noticed my interest. Venom had a nose for weaknesses, and I'd been careless, picking her up at hospitals, driving her to meetings.

"What do I do?" she asked, voice small but determination flashing in her eyes. Not hysterical, not falling apart. Scared but fighting it. My respect for her ticked up another notch.

"You stay with us until we handle this." I touched her elbow, guiding her toward my bike. "First stop is Duke. He needs to see this."

Her steps faltered. "I can't just—my job, my apartment—"

"Your life's more important," I cut in. "The Serpents don't make empty threats." I gestured toward the photos. "They've been watching you for a while. Planning. The fact they sent a warning means they want you scared, but it also means we have time to respond before they move."

We reached my Harley, and I handed her my helmet. She took it automatically.

I secured her duffel and laptop to the back of the bike, then held out my hand. After a moment's hesitation, she put on the helmet and took my offered hand. Our fingers brushed, and I felt a jolt – not from static, but from the trust she was placing in me. With careful movements, she climbed onto the back of the bike, her thighs pressing against mine, hands hovering uncertainly at my sides.

"You need to hold tighter than that," I said, voice gruff. "Unless you want to fall off the first time I accelerate."

She hesitantly wrapped her arms around my waist. I could feel her trembling, whether from fear of the bike or fear of the Serpents, I wasn't sure.

"Tighter," I ordered.

Her arms locked around me, her chest pressing against my back. Despite the circumstances, I felt a wave of heat that had nothing to do with protection or club business. I pushed it aside. Now wasn't the time.

"Hold tight," I instructed. "We're going to see Duke."

I kick-started the Harley, feeling Mandy jolt behind me at the roar of the engine. She pressed closer, face buried between my shoulder blades. The helmet bumped against the back of my head, her body tense against mine. I patted her hands where they locked around my waist, a silent reassurance.

Crusher pulled up alongside us, eyebrow raised in question.

"King's Tavern," I told him. "You ride ahead, clear a path if needed."

He nodded, revving his engine before pulling away. I followed more sedately, mindful of my passenger's inexperience. As we turned onto the main road, movement caught my eye—a black sedan with tinted windows pulled out of a space near The Pines' exit. Nondescript, American-made, the kind of vehicle that blended in anywhere. Perfect for surveillance.

The car turned in the same direction we were heading. Could be coincidence. I didn't believe in coincidences.

I took the first right instead of continuing straight toward the tavern, testing. The sedan followed, maintaining a careful distance. My jaw tightened.

"Change of plans," I called over my shoulder, feeling Mandy's questioning squeeze. "We've got a tail."

I gunned the engine, weaving through traffic with smooth precision, keeping my movements predictable enough not to frighten Mandy but unpredictable enough to lose our shadow. Her arms tightened around me, her body molding more completely to my back as we leaned into a turn.

Ahead, Crusher noticed our deviation from the route and circled back, falling in behind us. I caught his eye in my side mirror and jerked my head toward the sedan. He understood immediately, dropping back to place himself between us and our tail.

Three quick turns, a straightaway where I pushed the Harley to its limits, then a sharp right into an alley I knew connected to the back entrance of a shopping center. By the time we emerged on the other side, the sedan was gone from my mirrors. Crusher pulled up beside us at the next light, giving the all-clear sign.

I circled back toward King's Tavern by a roundabout route, taking no chances. Mandy remained silent behind me, her grip never loosening, her face pressed against my cut. I could feel her heart hammering against my back, her breath coming in quick bursts against my neck.

"Almost there," I told her as the familiar outline of the tavern appeared ahead. "Duke will know what to do."

I felt her nod against my back, but she didn't speak. I wondered if she was regretting calling me, regretting her connection to the club. It was too late for regrets now. The Serpents had marked her. And I wasn't about to let them take her.

K ing's Tavern hummed with afternoon quiet when we entered through the back door—the lull before the evening rush when only the dedicated drinkers nursed their beers at the scarred wooden bar. Duke sat in his usual corner booth, papers spread before him, head bent in conversation with Tyson. Both men looked up sharply at our entrance, conversation dying mid-sentence. Duke's eyes narrowed, taking in Mandy's disheveled appearance and my hand at the small of her back. He didn't need to ask if something was wrong. The answer was written all over us.

"Back office," Duke said, gathering his papers with efficient movements. He nodded to Crusher, who'd followed us in. "Watch the door. No interruptions."

I guided Mandy through the tavern, feeling the curious glances from the few patrons. She walked with her head high despite her fear, spine straight, chin up—the professional mask she wore like armor sliding back into place with each step. Her hair had come loose from its usual neat arrangement, copper strands falling around her face in wind-tangled waves.

The back office was Duke's domain—spartan but comfortable, with heavy wooden furniture and security monitors showing feeds from around the tavern and parking lot. Duke closed the door behind us, his movements controlled and deliberate. Tyson leaned against the wall, arms crossed, expression revealing nothing but his eyes missing nothing.

"What happened?" Duke asked, gesturing for Mandy to take one of the chairs positioned before his desk.

She perched on the edge, hands clasped tightly in her lap. I remained standing, too wired to sit, adrenaline still humming through my system.

"Show him," I said to Mandy, nodding toward her bag.

She withdrew the manila envelope, handing it to Duke with hands that trembled slightly before she quickly tucked them back into her lap. Duke emptied the contents onto his desk, spreading the photos methodically, examining each one before picking up the wooden snake.

"This is Venom's signature," Duke confirmed, turning the carving over in his hands. He placed it on the desk with controlled precision, his movements belying the anger I knew was building beneath his calm exterior. "He's targeting our financial operations by threatening our accountant."

Mandy shuddered visibly. "Why me? I'm just organizing your legitimate businesses."

Duke exchanged a look with me, a silent conversation passing between us. How much to tell her? How deep did she need to be?

"Because you're making us stronger legally," Duke finally said. "That threatens them."

"Venom's been trying to expand his operations into Ironridge for years," Tyson added, his voice calm and measured as always. "Our legitimate businesses make that harder. You've helped us create a paper trail that's bulletproof, connections in the business community that give us standing."

"The better we look on paper," Duke continued, "the harder it is for them to move against us without drawing attention from authorities. You're a threat to them precisely because you're helping us play by the rules."

Mandy's brow furrowed. "But I don't know anything about your . . . other operations. I only handle the clean money."

"Doesn't matter," I cut in, pacing the length of the office. "Venom sees you as our asset. That makes you his target."

"The last photo is what concerns me most," Duke said, tapping the image of Mandy asleep in her bed. "This level of surveillance indicates they've been watching you for weeks, planning carefully."

I stopped pacing, decision already made. "She needs protection. 24/7."

Duke nodded slowly. "Agreed. Safe house?"

I shook my head. "My cabin. Remote, secure, already set up with defensive measures."

I didn't mention that it also had spare rooms, including one I'd never shown to anyone. A room I'd built with vague, half-formed thoughts of a future I rarely let myself imagine. I didn't need to say it; something in Duke's eyes told me he understood more than I wanted him to.

Duke studied me for a long moment, something knowing in his gaze. We'd been brothers in all but blood since we were teenagers. He could read me better than anyone, could see the protective anger radiating off me in waves.

"I trust your judgment," he said finally. "The cabin's location is known only to a few of us. That's an advantage."

"I can't just disappear," Mandy protested, her professional composure cracking. "I have a job, clients who depend on me. My sister's treatments—"

"All will be taken care of," Duke assured her, his voice gentler than most club members ever heard it. "Tyson can coordinate with your firm, explain that you're working on a special project requiring temporary relocation."

Tyson nodded. "We have contacts at Prestige. They'll cooperate if we explain there's a security concern."

"And Amy's treatments?" Mandy pressed, concern for her sister overriding her own fear.

"I'll personally escort her," Tyson said. "We'll increase security at the hospital during her appointments."

"How long?" Mandy asked, looking from Duke to me, her green eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination.

"Until we handle this," Duke replied firmly. "We don't leave our people exposed."

"But I'm not—" she began.

"You are," Duke cut her off. "You work for us. You're under Heavy Kings protection now."

I watched Mandy absorb this, saw her fighting an internal battle between her need for independence and her very real fear of what the Serpents might do. Her fingers twisted in her lap, knuckles white with tension.

"We need to discuss practical matters," Duke continued, turning to me. "Communications, security protocols, rotation of guards."

"The cabin has satellite phones," I said. "Cell service is spotty, but that's an advantage – harder to track. I've got cameras on all approaches, motion sensors in the woods."

"I'll set up a rotating schedule," Tyson offered. "Two men at all times, positioned at the access points." He glanced at me. "Unless you think that's overkill?"

I shook my head. "Not with Venom involved."

"What about her car?" Duke asked.

"At The Pines. We were followed from there—black sedan, American-made, couldn't get plates. Lost them on the way here."

Duke's expression darkened. "I'll send Crusher with a crew to retrieve the car, sweep it for trackers before bringing it to the compound."

"And her apartment?" Tyson asked.

"Needs to be searched thoroughly," Duke decided. "If they planted cameras or bugs, we need to know."

Throughout this exchange, I watched Mandy growing increasingly pale, the freckles across her nose standing out against her skin. Her hair fell in disarray around her face, a sharp contrast to her usual meticulous appearance. The professional mask she wore was cracking under the strain, revealing glimpses of raw fear beneath.

"We should move quickly," I said, feeling a surge of protectiveness at her obvious distress. "Before dark."

Duke nodded. "Take the back roads. I'll have supplies sent out tomorrow – food, additional security equipment." He turned to Mandy. "Is there anything specific you need from your apartment?"

She blinked, looking momentarily overwhelmed by the question. "I . . . my medication. Bathroom cabinet. And there's a box in my closet . . ." She trailed off, cheeks flushing slightly. "Personal items."

I caught the hesitation, filed it away for later consideration.

"Make a list," Duke suggested, sliding a notepad toward her. "We'll have someone retrieve everything."

Mandy took the pen with trembling fingers, beginning to write in neat, precise handwriting that remained legible despite her obvious anxiety. As she wrote, Duke motioned for me to follow him to the corner of the office.

"This is escalation," he said quietly, his back to Mandy. "Venom's making a move."

"I know," I replied, keeping my voice low. "Question is why now? What's changed?"

Duke's eyes flickered briefly to Mandy before returning to me. "Maybe he's noticed your interest in our accountant."

Heat flared in my chest – anger mixed with something defensive. "That's not—"

"Save it," Duke cut me off. "I've known you too long, brother. Just be careful. Don't let this become personal in a way that clouds your judgment."

"It became personal the moment they targeted her," I growled.

Duke sighed. "That's exactly what I'm talking about." He clasped my shoulder. "Protect her, but remember the bigger picture. We can't afford a full-scale war with the Serpents right now."

I nodded reluctantly, knowing he was right. The club had other vulnerabilities, other operations that needed protection. My focus needed to be on Mandy's safety, not revenge. Not yet, anyway.

Duke stepped out to make arrangements, taking Tyson with him and leaving me alone with Mandy. She finished her list and set the pen down carefully, staring at her hands. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken fears.

I crossed the room and crouched beside her chair, bringing myself to her eye level. Up close, I could see the faint constellation of freckles across her cheekbones, the tiny flecks of gold in her green eyes.

"You're safe now," I said, my voice gentler than anyone in the MC had ever heard it. "I won't let anything happen to you."

She looked up, meeting my gaze directly. "This is real, isn't it? They really might . . ." Her voice caught, unable to finish the thought.

"Yes," I answered honestly. No point sugar-coating it. "But they'd have to go through me first, and that's not happening."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips, there and gone in an instant. "You sound very certain."

"I am certain." I held her gaze, letting her see the truth in my eyes. "You're under my protection now. That means something in our world."

"I don't know how to live like this," she admitted, vulnerability bleeding through her professional facade. "Always looking over my shoulder, wondering if someone's watching."

"You don't have to know," I told her. "That's my job. Your job is to keep doing what you do—being smart, keeping our books straight, helping your sister. Let me handle the rest."

She studied me, searching my face for something—reassurance, maybe, or honesty. Whatever she saw made her nod slightly.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll try."

The door opened as Duke returned, breaking the moment between us. I straightened, stepping back from Mandy's chair. Duke pretended not to notice our proximity, but the slight raise of his eyebrow told me he'd seen more than I wanted him to.

"Everything's arranged," he announced. "Crusher and Wiz will retrieve your personal items. Tyson is contacting your office. We've got men checking your car for tracking devices now." He turned to me. "You should move out immediately. Take the north route, avoid main roads."

I nodded, extending my hand to Mandy. "Ready?"

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and placed her hand in mine. Her fingers were cold but steady now, determination replacing the worst of her fear.

"As I'll ever be," she replied.

As we headed for the door, Duke called after us. "Thor." I turned, meeting his serious gaze. "Keep the sat phone on. Check in every three hours. If anything feels off—anything at all—call for backup immediately."

"Understood," I said, recognizing the weight of responsibility he was placing on me. This wasn't just about protecting an asset to the club. This was personal for all of us now. The Serpents had crossed a line, and they'd pay for it eventually.

But first, I had to keep Mandy safe. Everything else – revenge, the club war, my own confused feelings – all of it would have to wait.