Page 5 of Savage King

Skathi knew Annika was on her way to drunk and didn’t really mean for her words to strike so hard…but they did. No, Skathi didn’t drink or party, but that was only because she had a strict physical regimen that required she watched what went into her body. No, she wasn’t thin and dainty like Annika—or most of the women in Vegas—but she was fit, her large body honed by years of excruciating training in places most women—and some men—would have died. Comparatively, she was built like most female MMA fighters, thick everywhere but stacked with muscle underneath. Despite being big and tall and strong and well-trained to the point that meaningless sex and fun were an aberration, it didn’t mean she wasn’t a red-blooded woman.

Men looked at her and assumed from her big thighs and arms that she overindulged in food and sat around on her abundant hind end, when that was the furthest from the truth. She worked out every day, her endomorph frame making it impossible to rid her body ofallits extra curves.

Men looked and dismissed her, forgetting she was human and desired human connection. She had needs like any other woman.

And hopes and dreams.

And a bedside drawer with more than one B.O.B., though none of them were doing the job all that well lately.

Not that Aaron ever did the job all that well, either….

Refusing to let out the derisive snort that crawled from her chest—she was stoic, after all, Skathi batted away her thoughts ofhimonce more.

“Let’s dance, baby,” Slick drawled, pulling a tipsy Annika up off the couch and dragging her into the ball of dancers in the middle of the clubhouse. Standing, Skathi remained on the perimeter, but kept her eyes on the two dancers.

Her head pounding, sweat gathering between her shoulder blades, she really wished she’d thought to bring her own bottle of water.

The beat of the song—a rock version of Set Fire to the Rain—matched the beat of the blood veins running along her temples.Skide. Shit. When she got home tonight, she would need an ice bath for her head.

Just a few more hours, right? How long could Annika party? She was young, yes, but she was also unused to such a…vibrant night life. A painful stabbing sensation behind her eyes made her wince, closing her eyes to try and alleviate some of the pressure.

A yell sounded from the middle of the room and Skathi snapped her eyes open, her gaze immediately landing on Annika who was struggling to get her arm out of Slick’s grip.

Her training rose up within her, moving her muscles without thought. She shot across the floor, pushing people out of the way until she was almost to Annika and the man who would die tonight.

“Let me go!” Annika cried in Danish, too drunk and scared to realize she wasn’t speaking English.

Slick laughed, his face contorted into an ugly grin. He yanked on Annika’s arm. “Come on, baby. You owe me.”

“Nej! Nej!” Annika exclaimed and Skathi moved, pushing the last human obstacle aside to get to her friend.

Fast and efficiently reaching out, she pried Slick’s fingers from Annika’s arm with a practiced wrenching motion, easily hyper-extending the joints. He yelped and cupped his fingers against his chest. His eyes lit up with rage, his grin gone.

“What the fuck, bitch! She owes me for the beer—and for spending time with her at my own fucking patch party. If she’s not gonna give it up, I’ll take it from her.” A sneer lifted his lips, making Annika whimper.

“Annika, get behind me,” Skathi commanded in Danish, knowing her terrified friend needed the comfort of something familiar.

Skathi took in the scene around her. The music was still going but it was still strangely silent as it seemed everyone in the room had turned to look at what was going down between the giant woman, the tiny blonde, and the biker.

Skide, this is getting dangerous. She knew that MCs were a brotherhood and the brothers would be less than pleased about one of their own getting called to the mat. Especially by a woman. But screw them. If the dick couldn’t keep his hands to himself, he deserved what he got.

“You’re a big bitch, aren’t you? You think that because you’re big you can take me?”

Slick was an inch taller but he was thinly muscled like a whipcord. As an MC member, he was probably experienced in bar room brawls and could give and take a punch. That didn’t matter, though. No, she didn’tthinkshe could take him, sheknewshe could.

She remained silent, her focus judiciously split between the milling crowd staring and muttering and the man before her who looked on the brink of violence.

Without warning, Slick lunged at her.

And she acted.

She dodged a sloppy punch and landed one of her own into his solar plexus. He bent over, struggling to draw a breath. Taking his head in her hands, she raised her knee, slamming his nose into it. The satisfying crunching noise making her smile slightly.

Blood poured from his face as he bellowed, “What the fuck!”

His gaze landed on the gathered crowd, his face turning a sick puce. The men in vests were watching with looks of disbelief and anger on their faces. At him? At her?

Roaring, Slick lunged for her again, but was she ready, sliding to the side to maneuver around him, turning her full body on the balls of her feet to follow him, never letting him out of her sight. She knew she was at a great disadvantage—she was one woman, protecting another, in a room full of men sworn to protect one another. But she wasn’t easily discouraged, not when an innocent’s safety was on the line.

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