Page 14 of Thor

Those blue eyes studied me. "Wasn't gonna leave you stranded."

His simple loyalty left me speechless.

"I'll take you home," Thor said, as if reading my mind.

“I can get a cab. I need to do something about my car, too—”

“Nope. I’ve already had it towed. I’m going to fix it up for you.”

I was stunned. “Really?”

He nodded. “You work with us. Makes you an honorary King, in my eyes.”

No one had ever had my back like that before.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, let me give you a ride to your place.”

I hesitated. Getting on the back of a motorcycle with a man I barely knew once was one thing—an emergency. Doing it again felt like a choice. A potentially stupid one.

But I was exhausted, my nerves frayed to breaking. And there was something about Thor that felt . . . safe, despite everything about him that should have warned danger.

"That would be helpful," I finally said. "Thank you."

Outside, the rain had stopped, but the night air bit through my damp clothes. The Heavy Kings cut still draped around my shoulders was the only thing keeping me from shivering uncontrollably.

"I live at The Pines," I told him as he swung his leg over the bike. "On Westridge Road."

He nodded. "I know it."

Of course he did. The MC probably knew every corner of Ironridge.

The motorcycle roared to life beneath us, and once again I found myself pressed against Thor's broad back, arms wrapped around his waist. The vibration of the engine traveled up through my body, oddly soothing after the sterility of the hospital. I rested my cheek against his shoulder blade, too tired to maintain any pretense of personal space.

The streets were nearly empty this late, wet pavement reflecting the streetlights like scattered stars. The cold night air cleared my head somewhat, making me acutely aware of Thor's body heat beneath my hands, the solid mass of him anchoring me to the present moment.

The Pines appeared ahead—a mid-rise apartment building trying desperately to look upscale with its stone facade and tasteful landscaping. Thor pulled into the circular drive and killed the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening.

I dismounted awkwardly, legs stiff from the ride. "Thanks for the lift," I said, handing him the helmet. "I really appreciate everything tonight."

"I'll walk you up," he said, pocketing the keys.

"That's not necessary—"

"It is." His tone brooked no argument.

I was too tired to fight about it. We entered the lobby, the night doorman raising his eyebrows at the sight of us—me, disheveled and bloodied, accompanied by a massive tattooed biker. I gave him a weak smile that said, "Everything's fine," though it clearly wasn't.

The elevator ride to the seventh floor was charged with an energy I couldn't name. Thor took up more than his share of the small space, his presence seeming to compress the air around us. I stared at our reflections in the mirrored wall—me, small and rumpled beside his towering frame. I looked like a different person—vulnerable, exposed.

The elevator dinged on seven, and I led the way down the carpeted hallway to my door. My hands trembled as I dug through my bag for keys, fatigue making simple tasks monumental. Thor waited patiently, his bulk casting a long shadow in the hallway light.

"Sorry," I mumbled, finally locating the keys at the bottom of my bag. As I pulled them out, my fingers brushed against his as he reached to steady my shaking hand.

A jolt of electricity shot up my arm, surprising in its intensity. Our eyes met briefly, and I saw something flicker across his face—recognition, perhaps, of whatever had just passed between us. I quickly looked away, jamming the key into the lock with more force than necessary.

The door swung open to reveal my neat, minimalist apartment. I turned to thank him again, but the words died in my throat when I saw his gaze fixed on my open bag. To my complete mortification, Mr. Hoppy had somehow worked his way to the surface again, one floppy ear and a beady black eye clearly visible.

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