Page 85 of Thor

Amy's face flashed in my mind. Without my job, her leukemia treatments would bankrupt us—or worse, force her to stop them altogether.

I pulled out my regular phone, needing to hear her voice, but stopped myself. What would I say? That I might have to choose between her health and betraying the man I loved? That I could save her treatments but might end up with a target on my back from the Heavy Kings?

My screen showed three missed calls from Thor. All within the last thirty minutes.

My thumb hovered over his contact picture—Thor laughing, head thrown back, sunlight catching in his beard. It was my favorite photo of him. Carefree. Relaxed.

Despite Viper's threats, I knew what I had to do.

I had to tell Thor everything—about the photos, the blackmail, the Iron Serpents' demands. It wasn't just the right thing; I couldn't bear the weight of this secret between us. Not after what we'd found together, the trust he'd placed in me by sharing his sanctuary, the vulnerability we'd shown each other.

Thor was dangerous, yes—terrifying to his enemies, ruthless when protecting what he loved. But he'd never hurt me. He'd be angry that I'd kept the initial blackmail attempt from him, furious that I'd met with Viper alone, but he'd protect me. We'd figure it out together.

I typed a message: "Need to talk. It's important. Can you meet me?"

I was about to hit send when my phone began vibrating in my hand. Thor's name flashed on the screen, his smiling photo a stark contrast to the dread spreading through me.

Relief flooded me as I answered. "Thor, I need to—"

"Where are you?" His voice cut me off, ice-cold and controlled in a way that made my blood freeze.

That deadly calm. I'd heard it before, but never directed at me. It was the voice he used when someone had crossed a line. The voice that preceded violence.

He knew I'd been lying.

"I'm at Memorial Park," I said, my voice small. "The bench by the eastern pine grove."

"When I text, come meet me at the parking lot."

The call ended. I stared at my phone, the screen fading to black, reflecting my own pale face back at me.

How much did he know? Had he followed me to the café? Seen me with Viper? Or had he simply checked on my story about the doctor and library, found me missing, and put together that I was hiding something?

I considered running. Considered finding a cab, going home, packing a bag, and disappearing before he arrived. The thought was there and gone in an instant. I couldn't run from Thor. Not physically, not emotionally.

And I didn't want to.

Minutes passed like hours. Every approaching footstep made me tense, but none belonged to him. I sat frozen on that bench, the burner phone heavy in my purse, the weight of my choices heavier still.

A squirrel chattered angrily from a nearby branch. Two mothers with strollers passed on a distant path. A college-aged couple tossed a frisbee back and forth on the great lawn. Normal life continuing all around me while mine balanced on the edge of a knife.

I tried to organize my thoughts, to prepare what I would say. How to explain why I'd lied about where I was going. Why I hadn't told him about the initial contact from the Serpents. Why I'd met Viper alone instead of bringing it to him immediately.

Each explanation sounded hollow, insufficient.

The truth was simpler and more painful: I'd been afraid. Afraid of his reaction. Afraid of losing him. Afraid of the violence that would inevitably follow. So I'd tried to handle it myself, thinking I could protect him, protect us, protect what we had.

Instead, I'd made everything worse.

A text message chimed on my phone: "Parking now."

Thor had arrived, and I was out of time.

IfoundThor'sblacktruckidling at the park entrance, impossible to miss—massive and intimidating, just like its owner. He leaned against the hood, arms crossed over his chest, his large frame rigid with tension. As I approached, I could see his blond hair tied back, the cords in his neck standing out, his jaw clenched tight. He didn't move to embrace me, didn't offer the smile that usually transformed his face when he saw me. His eyes, usually warm blue when they looked at me, had gone cold as winter ice.

The afternoon light gleamed off his blond hair, but his face was dark as a thundercloud. I slowed my pace, suddenly afraid—not of him physically hurting me, never that—but of the damage my lies had already done.

"Thor," I started, stopping a few feet from him.

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