Page 2 of Thor

Despite my exhaustion, I smiled. Lena Rivera was everything I wasn't—tattooed, blunt, unapologetically herself. We'd met six months ago when I'd started doing under-the-table accounting for a few small businesses in Ironridge. Marked Kings Tattoo had become a regular client. The extra pay was essential to pay for Amy’s treatment.

"Sorry, habit." I eased into the left lane. "What's up?"

"That new receptionist screwed up the quarterly taxes and I need your magic before the end of week." Her voice held no real anger, just resignation. "I'd fix it myself, but you know I'm hopeless with this shit."

I hesitated. Tomorrow would be my third fourteen-hour day this week, and my brain felt like mush. "I've got back-to-back meetings until six, and—"

"Duke authorized overtime rates," Lena cut in. "And we could use your help with some . . . MC accounting issues too."

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. The Heavy Kings MC. I'd been doing books for their legitimate businesses—the tattoo parlor, the auto shop, the tavern—but I'd carefully avoided their other enterprises. Not that I was naive about where some of their money came from. I just maintained plausible deniability by keeping those conversations vague.

"How . . . urgent is the MC stuff?" I asked, careful to keep my tone neutral.

"Duke mentioned investment options." She paused. "Look, I know you're stretched thin, but they pay cash, no questions asked."

Amy's last text flashed in my mind. The treatments were working, but each one cost more than most people's monthly rent. Insurance had started making noise about "maximum coverage limits." The corporate bonus I'd been counting on was still months away.

"What time tomorrow?" I asked, already calculating how many hours of sleep I could function on.

"After dinner works. Eight-ish? I'll sweeten the deal with coffee and those chocolate croissants from Benson's you like."

I could hear the relief in her voice.

"Make it a large coffee and you've got a deal." I signaled for my exit. “Plus syrup—caramel.”

"Done. And Mandy? Thanks. I owe you one."

The call ended, and I realized I was gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles had turned white. I forced my fingers to relax as I turned into my apartment complex.

Working with the Heavy Kings gave me a strange flutter of excitement mixed with dread. They were dangerous—I wasn't stupid—but there was something captivating about their world. The loyalty, the freedom, the disregard for society's suffocating expectations. Everything I pushed down during daylight hours.

I parked and gathered my things, calculating how much Duke might pay for tomorrow's work and whether it would cover Amy's next treatment. The numbers were good.

It was the rest of the equation—the risk, the consequences, the way I felt drawn to a world I shouldn't want anything to do with.

There was no accounting for any of that.

Myapartmentwasacontradiction, just like me. I flipped on the lights in the main living room, revealing the space I'd carefully designed to impress anyone who might visit from work.

I needed to seem like a grown up.

Neutral tones dominated—beige sofa, gray accent chairs, glass coffee table with precisely arranged architectural magazines. Nothing personal. Nothing colorful. Nothing that hinted at the woman—or girl—behind the accountant. It was a showroom, not a home.

I kicked off my heels by the door, sighing as my stockinged feet sank into the plush carpet. The tension headache that had been building all day pulsed behind my eyes. I unzipped my skirt, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled pile and padded to the kitchen in just my blouse and underwear.

The freezer yielded a sad-looking chicken alfredo dinner that promised to be "gourmet." I stabbed the plastic film with a fork and shoved it in the microwave. While it rotated, I opened my bedroom door and stripped off my corporate armor, hanging each piece carefully in its designated spot. My fingers traced the row of nearly identical blouses, skirts, and blazers—a uniform of respectability.

From the dresser, I pulled out soft pink sweatpants and a t-shirt with a cartoon penguin wearing a bowtie. The fabric felt like a hug against my skin. I caught my reflection in the mirror—red hair falling in waves around my shoulders, green eyes tired but already softening as my daytime persona began to slip away.

The microwave beeped. I ate standing at the counter, barely tasting the bland pasta. Numbers still scrolled through my head—Amy's medical bills, my mortgage payment, the hours I'd need to work for the Kings tomorrow night.

When I finished, I rinsed the plastic tray and placed it in the recycling bin. Then I walked to the hallway closet and reached behind the winter coats to the small wooden box hidden on the top shelf. Inside was a single key on a rainbow ribbon.

I didn’t have a huge amount of time before I was due at Marked Kings, but I knew that I needed this right now. Some me time—the real me.

My heart beat faster as I approached the spare bedroom door. This room didn't exist on the apartment tour I gave colleagues or friends. It was mine alone.

The key turned with a satisfying click. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

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