Page 96 of Thor

My fingers trembled as I reached for the ignition. For the first time in days, I knew exactly where I needed to go. The shame and fear that had paralyzed me seemed to recede, replaced by a fierce need to see him, to understand, to thank him—though "thank you" seemed hopelessly inadequate for what he'd done.

I started the car, my mind racing ahead. Would he even see me after I'd run? Would he let me explain? I had no idea what I would say to him, how I could possibly make things right. But I had to try.

For Amy. For Thor. For myself.

Chapter 17

Mandy

Thecabinappearedthrougha break in the trees, exactly as I remembered it—clean architectural lines with large windows reflecting the surrounding forest, cedar siding weathered to a perfect silver-gray. Rugged, understated, stylish. Like Thor himself.

His black truck sat in the gravel clearing, which meant he was home. I pulled up beside it and cut the engine, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted to escape. For several minutes, I just sat there, staring at the cabin door through the windshield, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my courage.

I’d called Duke before coming here, to get a heads-up. He’d been pleased to hear from me and spent time to explain what had been going on.

Duke had told me Thor was a mess. Drinking too much. Barely sleeping. Searching for me everywhere. But now that I was here, I was terrified of what I'd find on the other side of that door. Would he be angry? Cold? Would he turn me away after I'd ignored his calls, leaving him to wonder if I'd betrayed the club to save myself?

I closed my eyes, drawing in a long, shaky breath that filled my lungs with the scent of pine and mountain air leaking through the car's vents. The forest around me was quiet except for birdsong and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees. Peaceful. Unlike the storm inside me.

"It's now or never," I told myself, pulling the keys from the ignition. My own voice sounded alien to my ears—strained and thin.

I stepped out of the car, surprised by how my legs trembled beneath me. The crunch of gravel under my feet seemed unnaturally loud in the mountain stillness. Each step toward the cabin door felt heavier than the last, as if I were wading through mud.

The wooden steps to the porch creaked under my weight, a familiar sound that had once made me smile. Now it felt like an announcement of my arrival, a warning bell I couldn't silence.

Before I could raise my hand to knock, the door swung open.

Thor filled the doorway, his massive frame blocking my entry and any view inside. He looked different than I expected—clean-shaven, dressed in fresh clothes, his blue eyes clear but guarded. There were no signs of the drinking binge Duke had mentioned. No bloodshot eyes or stubbled cheeks or rumpled clothes. He looked . . . composed. Controlled. And so achingly familiar that my chest hurt just looking at him.

We stared at each other, the air between us charged with all the things we'd left unsaid. I searched his face for any hint of what he was feeling, but his expression was carefully blank, giving nothing away.

"You paid Amy's medical bills," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't move. Didn't blink. "I did."

His deep voice betrayed nothing, but something flickered in his eyes—a brief flash of vulnerability quickly masked.

"Why?" I asked, the single word carrying all my unspoken questions. Why care for my sister? Why spend your savings? Why continue when I ran away?

Thor shifted his weight slightly, the closest thing to discomfort I'd ever seen from him. His shoulders relaxed by a fraction, and his expression softened—not much, but enough that I could see the man I knew beneath the armor he'd put up.

"Because it’s what you needed," he said simply. Then, after a pause, he added, "Because without it, you had no freedom to choose."

He hadn't paid Amy's bills to manipulate me or to buy my loyalty. He'd done it to free me from an impossible choice—between my sister's life and my integrity.

Tears pressed hot against my eyelids, and I blinked them back desperately. I didn't deserve to cry in front of him. Not after I'd disappeared for five days, leaving him to wonder if I'd betrayed him and the club to the Serpents.

"I thought . . ." I started, but my voice cracked, and I had to try again. "I thought you'd be angry."

"I was," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Still might be."

Despite everything, a small smile tugged at my lips. That was so like Thor—honest to a fault, even when tact might have served him better.

"That's fair," I said softly.

Thor studied me for another long moment, then stepped back from the doorway. He didn't say "come in" or "welcome back" or any of the things I'd rehearsed responses to on the drive up. He simply created space for me to enter, a silent invitation I wasn't sure I deserved.

I hesitated, suddenly aware that crossing that threshold would mean more than just entering his home. It would mean starting a conversation I wasn't sure how to have, facing consequences I wasn't sure I was strong enough to bear. But staying outside was worse—continuing the distance between us that had grown over the past five days.

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