Page 3 of Savage King

“Fuck no,” Odin snapped. “We don’t need civilians sniffing around, getting their noses in our business.”

Trouble shrugged. “That’s what I figured, but I thought I’d run it by you anyway. Slim says we can come by on Saturday to meet his manager and we can make our final pitch then.”

Nodding, Odin thought on it.

He’d go, take a look at their operations, meet the manager—who they would most definitely be firing once they took ownership, he didn’t give a fuck what the old man wanted—then make an offer so fat, Slim couldn’t say no.

“Any other orders of business?” Odin asked, ready to get the fuck out of there and go for a ride.

When no one opened their mouths, he slammed the gavel. “Church is adjourned, fuckers. Now get the hell out of here. I got shit to do.”

She ignored the stares and murmured comments and the occasional sneer as she strode by, using her shoulders, elbows, and hands to make a path between drunken dancers from one side of the overcrowded clubhouse to the other. As someone who preferred the quiet and stillness of a night at home, the people, the heat, the noise, and the potential threats had her feeling…off kilter. But she couldn’t let the urge to get the hell out of there win over her responsibilities. Who cared if she couldn’t take a deep breath or hear herself think, as long as she was doing her job? A job she’d been roped into doing by her Uncle Skeld, her favorite uncle…though he was losing that title if this favor he begged of her turned out as badly as she thought it might.

“Skittles! The bar is just there,” Annika yelled out over the pounding music, pointing to the corner just another couple of yards away. “I will suck a cock for a good rum and coke.”

Skathi winced at Annika’s language and her willingness to give a blow job for a mixed drink, though Skathi doubted the daddy’s girl would ever do something as crass as that. Stranger things had happened, though, and the girl was in town to “enjoy the sin of Sin City”.

When I’m done tonight, I might need a drink,though Skathi rarely drank, since it deadened the senses far too much, and she hated not having total control over her own body.

That lead to failure. And she refused to fail again.

If she had a drink, it was never in public—only in the privacy of her own condo, where she could allow herself to be vulnerable.

Annika Kors, family friend, highest paid Instagram influencer, and first and only—as of three hours ago—bodyguarding client, was dressed to seduce in a deep red bodycon dress that barely hit just below her ass and just above her nipples, with heels so high, she almost reached Skathi’s chin, and at a staggering six-foot-two, Skathi was the tallest female in the room…and taller than some of the men, too.

“You know I hate it when you call me Skittles,” Skathi remarked, though she doubted Annika heard her over the noise. Not that she’d listen even if she had heard. The girl was sunshine, rainbows, fun-times, fast-friends, and naïve. The girl loved the nightlife as much as any other denizen of Las Vegas, but she wasn’t from Las Vegas. She was only in town for one more night after a week she’d spent as a stopover before heading back to university in London, which meant Skathi only had to deal with the easily excitable tiny tot for another few hours, during which the woman was going to drive her crazy, before Skathi could drop her off at her hotel and wave goodbye until next year.

Why did I tell my uncle I would do this?Oh, right. She loved the man dearly, and he knew it, so he knew she’d do whatever he wanted—within reason. And Skathi was starting to think that reason had little to do with Annika.

“Come on, Skittles!”

Skathi just barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes and, instead, scanned the crowd for any potential threats while following behind the woman attempting to barrel her way through the mass of gyrating bodies, many of which were wearing leather, tattoos, and leering expressions as Annika passed by.

That morning Skathi had received a panicked call from her uncle in Denmark, begging her to contact Annika’s business manager and set up a time to meet with them. She loved her Uncle Skeld, and knew that if he was begging a favor, it had to be important. Few people—even in her family—wanted to be indebted to her. So, she’d called the man—Steve Force—and met with him and Annika. Apparently, Annika had gotten so popular in online social media circles, she was actually receiving “icky love notes”—her words, and wanted some protection while she was checking out the sights of Vegas. Skathi wasn’t a bodyguard, though with her training she could easily do the job of one, so she’d offered to help Annika find a reputable personal protection service. Annika declined, stating that having a mouth-breathing brute staring at her all week would ruin her fun. She was adamant that Skathi could do it and all she needed was to “look the part.”

So, that’s what Skathi was doing…following a frantically excited Annika into a party while dressed in tight black leather pants that clung to her thick thighs like a second skin, a deep red sleeveless, scoop neck top that barely contained her twin C cups, and a black leather biker jacket over it. On her feet, she wore four inch heeled boots, which only emphasized her already towering six-foot-two height. She finished off the look with a high ponytail to corral her long, thick, pin-straight black hair, and a dark red lip stain, and mascara and eyeliner to make her golden eyes and wide mouth “pop”—as Annika would say.

Hence the gawking and sneering from people who, apparently, had never seen a big girl before. Skathi was built big—everywhere. Her height, her body, and her presence. Her larger size came in handy during her years of training and active service, but now her size made her conspicuous when she only wanted to blend in to the shadows and hide. From prying eyes, leering and sneering assholes, and people she’d rather never see again.

Thankfully, after grabbing herself a drink—several fingers of rye from the looks of it, Annika headed straight for a bank of couches along the wall and slid onto one, her eyes wide, taking in everything at once, as she moved her shoulders and behind to the music pumping through the speakers.

Two verticals poles with naked women slithering against them were erected in the corners where several men were watching, yelling, hooting, grabbing themselves, and throwing money.

Tattoos, leather, metal, and skin everywhere the eyes could see.

In the middle of the large room, bodies moved to music, grinding against one another, arms raised, heads thrown back, faces rapt in pleasure.

Skathi could have suggested that Annika actually get up and dance, but trying to keep track of threats in the throbbing mating ball in the middle of the dance floor would be difficult. The last thing she wanted to do was neck stomp a drunken biker—though she would if necessary. She mentally shrugged, then turned to sit down beside Annika, crossing one long leg over the other. Skathi sat stiffly, her mind flipping through all the diseases she could contract from the surface of the leather if she wasn’t careful.

At least in the Gobi Desert, she could see potential threats with her tactical night vision binoculars.

“Hey there, pretty baby.” A tall, wiry man wearing a leather vest, white t-shirt, worn jeans, and scuffed black biker boots, slid up next to Annika and grinned toothily. The patch on his vest read SLICK and that was exactly what Skathi thought about him. He was slick as hell. Just the kind of man Annika seemed to attract.

Annika giggled before sipping her drink.

“I remember you from the tattoo shop, Savage Ink,” the man, Slick, said, leaning down to speak a little too closely to Skathi’s charge. He smelled of pot, sweat, and booze. Annika and the smelly man sat, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, as close as any couple could be without having sex. “That’s one of our MC businesses.”

Oneof the MC’s businesses? Skathi found herself wondering whatotherbusinesses the Savage Raiders had their hands in—and not just the legal kind. She already knew their name was synonymous with organized crime in the city, but she’d also heard their name mentioned at her own place of work…which was troubling enough. Though she didn’t spend her time engaging in gossip like a teenaged girl, she did remember hearing opposing tales about the MC. Some said they were simply business owners with a rough edge, and others said they ran the criminal underground in Vegas. Either way, they were well-known, well-funded, and feared.

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