Page 98 of Bad Luck, Hard Love
But I don't want space. I want Thor's arms around me, want his voice in my ear telling me it's over, that I'm safe. I shrug off Hanna's gentle grip and stumble toward him, the vest slipping from my shoulders.
“Thor,” I plea, reaching for him with trembling hands.
He catches me as my legs give out, his arms wrapping around me with desperate gentleness. I can feel him shaking—this massive man who just crushed my ex-husband's throat is trembling like a leaf.
“I'm sorry,” he breathes against my hair. “I'm so fucking sorry, Charlotte. I should have been here. I should have protected you.”
“You came,” I manage. “You found me.”
“Not soon enough. What he did to you?—”
“I'm alive,” I interrupt, pulling back to look at his battered face. “I'm alive because of you.”
His good eye searches mine, and I see the guilt there—heavy, suffocating guilt that threatens to consume him. I press my palm against his cheek, feeling the stubble rough beneath my fingers.
“This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault.”
“We need to move,” the leader orders. “Local PD will be here soon, and we've got wounded.”
Thor nods, but when he moves to scoop me up, a sharp hiss escapes through his teeth. I look down and see it—blood seeping through the torn fabric of his jeans, staining the denim dark around his thigh.
“You’re hurt—” I start, panic rising.
“Just the leg,” he grits out, arms still coming around me. “I’ve had worse.”
He lifts me anyway, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing, even as his leg trembles beneath the strain. The motion jostles his wound, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t falter.
I bury my face against him, clutching his shirt, needing his strength—needinghim—more than ever.
“Ratchet?” Thor asks as we move toward the door.
“Alive,” someone calls out. “Barely. Hanna's got him stabilized, but he needs a hospital.”
Relief floods through me. V, too—I can see him now, conscious but leaning heavily against another biker. His shirt is soaked with blood, but he's on his feet.
“Charlotte!” V calls out weakly, managing a pained smile. “Told you I'd see you again.”
I try to smile back, but my face feels frozen, numb.
Thor carries me through the warehouse, past bodies and blood and the wreckage of what was once a hangar. Outside, a wall of motorcycles stretches as far as I can see—dozens of them, engines still ticking hot in the night air. Men loading the wounded into waiting vans.
“The cavalry,” Thor murmurs against my hair.
“Who are they?”
“Friends,” he answers. “I’ll explain later.”
I shiver in the cool night air, suddenly aware of my near nakedness. Thor notices, pulling me closer against his chest.
“Get her something to wear,” he barks at a passing prospect, who immediately shrugs out of his hoodie and hands it over.
Thor helps me into it, his movements achingly gentle despite his own injuries. The fabric swallows me whole, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips, but it's warm and clean and doesn't smell like Terrance.
“Where are they taking him?” I ask, watching as Terrance is loaded into a van, zip-tied and bloody but still conscious.
Thor's expression darkens. “Somewhere he'll wish he was dead.”
“I want to be there when you kill him.”
