Page 22 of Thor

"Damn it," I muttered, finding a hairline crack in one of the bearings. Would've caused trouble six hundred miles down the road. I set it aside, making a mental note to call my supplier about a replacement.

The bearing had a subtle copper tint which sent my mind straight back to Mandy.Her hair had caught the late afternoon light when I'd picked her up from the hospital yesterday, turning it to liquid fire against the black leather of the Challenger's passenger seat. She'd been quiet, exhausted from sitting with her sister during chemo, but when she'd smiled at me—just a small thing, barely a curve of her lips—something in my chest had tightened like an over-torqued bolt.

I rolled another bearing between my fingers, remembering how carefully she'd entered my car, how she'd sat with perfect posture despite her exhaustion. Everything about Mandy Wright was controlled, precise. The opposite of the chaos I usually brought into a room. I couldn't stop thinking about her—the way her green eyes assessed everything, the hint of freckles she tried to hide under makeup, the unexpected steel in her voice when she spoke about her sister’s recovery.

"Focus, dumbass," I muttered to myself, forcing my attention back to the transmission. The club's accountant wasn't someone I should be fantasizing about. Duke would kick my ass if he knew the direction my thoughts had been heading lately. Mandy was off-limits—too valuable to our legitimate operations, too professional for someone like me. Too good.

The metallic buzz of my phone against the workbench jerked me from my thoughts. I almost ignored it—probably Duke checking on the progress of the Miller job, or Tyson with more questions about our latest shipment of parts. Nothing that couldn't wait until I finished this section.

But something—instinct maybe, or just dumb luck—made me wipe my hands on a nearby rag and reach for the phone. The grease never fully came off no matter how hard I scrubbed; it became part of you after enough years in this business, worked its way into your skin like ink.

The text message preview glowed on the screen. Mandy's name. My heart kicked against my ribs before I even read the words.

"Someone was in my apartment. Please help."

Cold dread washed over me, instant and complete. I read the message again, as if the words might somehow change. They didn't.

"Fuck," I hissed, already on my feet. The transmission parts scattered as I shoved away from the workbench, tools clattering to the floor. I was halfway to my cut—the leather vest hanging on a hook by the office door – before I even registered moving.

"Thor? What's wrong?" Wiz looked up from the Sportster he was tuning, graying eyebrows drawn together in concern. He'd been with the club longer than anyone except Duke, had seen every crisis we'd weathered. His weathered face showed he already knew this wasn't good news.

"Mandy's in trouble." I yanked my cut on, checking for my knife in the inside pocket. "Something at her apartment. Watch the shop."

Wiz straightened, wiping his hands methodically on a shop rag. "The accountant? You think it's Serpents?"

"Who the fuck else would it be?" I grabbed my keys from the pegboard, mind already racing through scenarios. "Call Duke. Tell him I'm heading to The Pines—that fancy apartment complex on Ridgeway. She's there now."

"Alone?" Wiz asked, already reaching for his phone.

"Not for long." I strode toward the door, pointing at the dismantled Harley transmission. "And tell Jonesy to finish that job if I'm not back. Vet needs his bike by Saturday."

"Be careful, son," Wiz called after me. "Venom's been quiet lately. Too quiet."

I nodded grimly. Wiz was right—the Iron Serpents had been laying low for weeks. In the decade-long war between our clubs, periods of silence from Jax "Venom" Malone usually meant he was planning something big. The last time they'd gone dark this long, we'd lost Duke's uncle in an ambush that still haunted my dreams. I'd been there, taken a bullet in the shoulder, watched a man I respected bleed out while we waited for backup that came too late.

My Harley roared to life beneath me, the familiar vibration running up through my bones. I kicked it into gear and tore out of the parking lot, ignoring the blaring horn of a sedan I forced to brake suddenly.

The Pines was fifteen minutes away in normal traffic. I'd make it in eight.

I weaved through cars, splitting lanes when traffic slowed, the needle pushing past ninety on open stretches. Wind tore at my face and hands, but I barely felt it. My mind cycled through possibilities, each worse than the last. If the Serpents had targeted Mandy—made it into her apartment—this wasn't just random intimidation. Venom was smart, strategic. He wouldn't risk entering Heavy Kings territory for a simple scare tactic.

What did they want with her? What had they done to her?

My knuckles whitened on the handlebars as I pushed the bike faster. Horns blared as I cut between a delivery truck and an SUV, the gap barely wide enough for my shoulders. I didn't care. The image of Mandy's text burned in my brain, the six simple words carrying a weight of fear I couldn't ignore.

I'd seen what the Serpents could do when they wanted to send a message. The scars across my back and chest weren't just from motorcycle accidents. Some of the worst had come courtesy of Venom's favorite enforcer during a three-day "conversation" five years back, before Duke and Tyson had found me.

Then there was the recent kidnapping of Mia. That had ended in Venom’s brother being killed. He hadn’t taken retribution for that it. It was a matter ofwhen, notif.

Another bike fell in beside me at a stoplight—Crusher, one of our prospects, obviously sent by Wiz for backup. I gave him a curt nod but didn't slow down when the light changed. If he could keep up, fine. If not, I wasn't waiting.

The familiar rage was building in my chest, that cold, focused fury that had earned me my reputation in the club. But beneath it was something new, something that felt dangerously close to panic. Mandy wasn't club—she was a civilian, a professional woman who organized our legal books and was helping with investments. She color-coded her planner and wore those little reading glasses that slid down her nose when she concentrated.

She had no place in our war with the Serpents.

The Pines appeared ahead—all glass and steel and pretentious landscaping. The kind of place where the security guards eyed me like I was there to steal the copper wiring. I cut the engine at the entrance, swung off the seat, and stalked toward the lobby doors.

Behind me, I heard Crusher pull up, his bike's rumble cutting off as he parked beside mine. "Watch the bikes," I called over my shoulder, not breaking stride. "Anyone comes near them, call me."

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