Page 82 of Thor

I exited the bathroom to find Thor waiting in the hallway, dressed in his typical uniform of dark jeans, black t-shirt, and his Heavy Kings leather vest. The patch on the back marked him as Sergeant-at-Arms, the club's enforcer. The man responsible for violence when violence was needed.

"Feel better?" he asked, his eyes tracking over my composed appearance.

"Much," I lied, managing a smile that felt like it might crack my face. "Ready when you are."

He nodded once, sharp and decisive. "Let's get going then."

ThedriveintoIronridgefelt endless, the silence in Thor's truck broken only by the low rumble of the engine and the occasional crackle of his club radio. I stared out the window, cataloging my options like items on a balance sheet. Assets: $7,000 in savings, my negotiation skills, the public setting of our meeting. Liabilities: the blackmailer's unknown identity, their connection to the Iron Serpents, the devastating photos they held. My fingers fidgeted with the strap of my purse, the only outward sign of the panic churning inside me.

Thor drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, tattooed knuckles still slightly bruised from whatever club business had required them last week.

The mountains loomed in the distance, indifferent to my personal crisis. Fields and scattered houses gave way to the outskirts of Ironridge, a town that seemed to grow from the rugged landscape like it belonged there—all brick buildings and weathered storefronts, a place with history etched into every corner.

Thor kept glancing at me when he thought I wasn't looking, his concern palpable in the confined space of the truck cab. I could feel the weight of his stare, assessing, analyzing. He knew something was off. The man missed nothing, especially when it came to me.

"You know you can tell me anything," he said as we approached the town center, his deep voice so sincere it nearly broke my resolve. The tendons in his forearm flexed as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "Whatever it is, we can handle it together."

For a moment—one dangerous, tempting moment—I considered telling him everything. Laying out the blackmail messages, the violation of his sanctuary, the threat to us both. His blue eyes, so piercing even in profile, would harden with fury. His hands, now relaxed on the wheel, would clench into the weapons they could become. He would protect me with everything he had.

But it wouldn’t be enough. The moment I told him, the blackmailer would release the photos to my workplace. And all the retribution in the world wouldn’t fix that.

And that's exactly why I couldn't tell him.

"I know," I forced myself to say, attempting a smile that felt brittle on my face. "It's just Amy. I'll tell you everything after I meet with the doctor."

He nodded, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. He knew I was lying—not about everything, perhaps, but enough.

We passed The Copper Kettle, the quaint brick coffee shop with its copper accents gleaming in the midday light. Outdoor tables sat beneath forest-green umbrellas, occupied by a mix of locals and tourists enjoying the mild spring weather. My stomach clenched. In a few hours, I'd be sitting at one of those tables facing whoever had those photos.

Thor pulled up outside the Ironridge Public Library, a redbrick building with large windows and stone steps leading to the entrance. My fabricated first destination—the place I'd claimed I needed to research treatment options before meeting Dr. Patel.

"Call me when you're done," Thor said, shifting in his seat to face me. His blue eyes searched my face with an intensity that suggested he was committing every detail to memory. "I'll be close by."

The promise sounded like both comfort and warning. I nodded, gathering my purse, checking that my phone was secure in the side pocket.

"Thor, I—" I started, then stopped. What could I say? I'm sorry for lying to you? I'm trying to protect us both? I'm terrified?

He waited, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Thank you," I finished lamely. "For understanding about doing this alone."

His expression softened slightly, though the doubt never left his eyes. "Just remember what I said, Mandy. No one messes with what's mine." He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with surprising gentleness. "And you're mine. Whatever's going on, whatever you're not telling me—remember that."

The possessiveness in his voice should have bothered me. Instead, it felt like a lifeline in the storm brewing around us. I leaned into his touch for a brief moment, allowing myself that small comfort.

"I'll remember," I promised. Then, before I could lose my nerve, I climbed out of the truck.

As I walked toward the library entrance, I could feel the weight of his gaze on my back. I didn't turn around. I couldn't risk him seeing whatever might show on my face.

Inside, the library welcomed me with hushed quiet and the comforting smell of books. I nodded to the elderly librarian behind the front desk, then made my way to a secluded corner far from the windows, where Thor couldn't see me if he drove past.

I selected a random medical reference book from a nearby shelf and opened it on the table in front of me, creating the appearance of research. Then I checked my watch. 12:37. Over two hours before my meeting with the blackmailer.

I pulled out my phone, checking to see if any new messages had arrived. Nothing. The original threats remained the last communication from the unknown number. I tried to analyze the messages, looking for clues about who might have sent them. The language was direct, efficient. No slang or distinctive phrases I could use to narrow down the sender.

I opened my banking app, confirming my available balance. The money represented years of careful saving, extra tax preparation jobs on the side, my emergency fund for Amy's treatments. Would it be enough?

I tapped my fingers silently against the table, thinking through scenarios like chess moves. If they asked for money, I'd negotiate. Start low, settle as high as necessary, but not all at once—installments would give me time to find out who they were, possibly turn the tables. If they wanted information, I'd stall, pretend to cooperate while finding another solution.

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