Page 103 of Thor

I nodded, understanding the weight behind those simple words. Options. Choices. Freedom. The things money—my money—had bought for both Wright sisters.

Our relationship had evolved in strange ways over the past three months. At first, Amy had been all prickly defensiveness, convinced I was some kind of controlling Neanderthal taking advantage of her vulnerable sister. Hospital visits had been tense, with Amy watching my every move like I might suddenly reveal my true colors and start dragging Mandy around by her hair.

But somewhere between the fourth chemo session and Mandy's excited wedding planning meetings, something had shifted. Maybe it was the dollhouse I'd built for Mandy's Little side, where Amy had discovered me painstakingly painting tiny roses on miniature wallpaper. Or maybe it was the night she'd found me holding Mandy while she cried after a particularly brutal round of online harassment, my whispered reassurances meant only for my girl's ears.

Whatever the catalyst, Amy had gradually stopped looking at me like I might sprout horns and started treating me like . . . family.

The thought still disoriented me. The club was brotherhood, but this was different—messier, more complicated, rooted in something beyond shared patches and loyalty oaths.

"Your sister did all the hard work," I said, nodding toward Mandy. "I just provided capital."

Amy snorted. "Right. And emotional support, and a business plan, and a safe place for her to be herself, and—"

"Alright, alright." I held up a hand in surrender, unused to having my contributions listed so plainly. "I get it."

"Do you? Because sometimes I think you don't realize what you've given her." Amy's gaze turned serious. "It's not about the money, Thor. It's about the freedom. The acceptance."

Before I could respond, the main doors opened, drawing both our attention. Lena Rivera made her entrance with the precise timing of someone who understood the power of being fashionably late. The crowd parted instinctively as she strode in, her presence as commanding as any club president's despite her petite frame.

I heard Amy's quiet whistle of appreciation beside me. "Damn."

Lena wore skin-tight leather pants that hugged every curve, paired with a blood-red top that dipped low enough to showcase both cleavage and the intricate tattoos spreading across her collarbones. Her black hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, revealing the multiple silver hoops climbing up each ear. She looked dangerous and beautiful—a perfect representation of where the club world and Mandy's new professional life intersected.

"That," Amy murmured, "is a woman who knows exactly how good she looks."

I grunted in agreement but was more interested in watching where Lena was headed. Her eyes had locked onto Tyson, who stood guard near the entrance, his military-straight posture and watchful eyes scanning the room for threats.

Lena adjusted her trajectory immediately, her walk transforming into something more deliberate. Her hips swayed with each step, shoulders pushed back to emphasize her chest, head held high with the confidence of a woman who knew her target was already interested.

"What’s going on with those two?" Amy chuckled, following my gaze.

Tyson noticed Lena's approach, his usually stoic expression flickering briefly. I'd known Tyson nearly all my life, had fought alongside him, bled with him, trusted him with my back in the worst situations imaginable. But I'd rarely seen that particular look on his face—a mixture of anticipation and wariness, like a man facing both salvation and danger rolled into one petite, tattooed package.

"Those two been dancing around each other long?" Amy asked.

"Since forever," I replied. "Ty's too disciplined to make a move on a club associate. And Lena's too proud to make it easy for him."

Across the room, Lena reached Tyson and laid her hand on his arm, the gesture casual but lingering. His eyes dipped to her touch for the briefest moment before returning to her face. The smile tugging at the corner of his normally stern mouth was subtle but unmistakable.

I remembered the night I'd told Tyson about proposing to Mandy. We'd been at the clubhouse, sharing a bottle of rare whiskey Duke had acquired from some Irish connection. Tyson had studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable.

"About time someone tamed you," he'd finally said, clinking his glass against mine. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Not tamed," I'd corrected, the whiskey making me philosophical. "Just . . . anchored. She gives me somewhere to belong that isn't just the club."

Tyson had gone quiet then, staring into his drink with unusual intensity. "Lucky man," he'd murmured, so softly I almost didn't hear it.

Now, watching him with Lena, I wondered if he was ready to seek his own anchor. God knew they'd circled each other long enough. Lena had been doing the club's tattoo work for years, and the tension between her and Tyson had become something of a running joke among the brothers. Both too stubborn, too cautious, too afraid of disturbing the careful balance of club hierarchy and personal involvement.

Lena said something that made Tyson laugh—a rare, unguarded sound. His hand moved to the small of her back, brief but possessive, as he guided her further into the room. The touch was subtle, but in the context of Tyson's usual reserve, it might as well have been a public declaration.

"Another biker about to fall to a redhead with attitude," Amy commented, echoing my thoughts with uncanny precision. She tilted her head, studying the pair with amused interest. "Though I guess she's a brunette. Still has the attitude, though."

"Lena's got attitude to spare," I agreed. "Been keeping Tyson on his toes for years."

"I like her already." Amy's grin turned mischievous. "Think she'd give me a tattoo if I asked? I've been wanting a phoenix on my shoulder."

I studied Amy's face, realizing she was serious. "Lena's the best. I'll introduce you sometime."

---