Page 102 of Thor

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."

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