Page 10 of Viking

CHAPTER EIGHT

Viking

My boys hate me a littlethis morning, that much is clear as we ride out of Niko’s compound. Still, they ride when their fucking prez tells them to ride, and not one of them has shit to say about it. Despite the cut sluts bouncing up and down on their dicks, most of my guys have old ladies at home, or bitches they married in what seems a lifetime ago, who they can’t wait to escape.

We ride past the ocean, and a glimpse of white fabric catches my eye. I’m so fucking distracted by the sight, I almost swerve into Meatball. I hold up a fist, signaling that the brothers should stop, and I veer off to the shoulder.

“Prez?” Blue asks. “You okay, brother?”

I shut off my engine, flip the kickstand down, and climb off my bike.

More motorcycles circle back and pull in beside mine. “What the fuck, Prez?”

I ignore them and climb over the rock wall separating the beach from the side of the road.

“What is he, going for a fuckin’ swim?”

“Looks like.”

I block out their chatter and focus on the sound of the waves, on theffwt, ffwt, ffwtof the sand under my boots, and the salt on my skin.

I’ve lived my whole life by the water, grew up the kid of a poor fisherman in the Faroe Islands, and my bike isn’t the only lady to hold my heart. My affair with the sea started long before I ever jumped on a Harley, and there’s something about this cove that I can’t shake.

I glance up at the bluff; it’s not smart for me to be standing here, staring up at the crime scene I created just a few hours earlier, but this beach called to me. A goddamn siren to my weary sailor’s soul. My gaze follows the empty shoreline, the crashing waves, and the sea foam sticking to the sand.

There’s fucking nothing here, Vike. Just a dead man on a cliff, and an idiot club Prez who’s going to get his men put behind bars if we hang around much longer. As I turn to leave, I glimpse it—stark white against golden sand, billowing in the early sea breeze.

I trudge forward, knowing we need to get the fuck out of here. Propped up by the wall of a shack is a woman, sun burned—likely dead—if her inert body is anything to go off.

I walk toward her, pulled like a fucking magnet.This is not smart, Viking. Not fucking smart at all. This bloated bitch has probably been out here for days, decomposing with the sun. I don’t smell rotting flesh, though. I can’t smell anything but ocean air.

When I get close enough, I crouch down beside the body. She’s badly sunburnt, her natural red hair splayed out across the sand as if she’s taking a nap. That stark white nightgown that caught my attention from the bluff is gray and bloodied around the hem, and looks like something you might see in a fucking nunnery or the middle ages.

“Jesus, bitch. You’re a long fuckin’ way from home.” I reach out and feel her pulse. It’s faint, but there. Various wounds cover her emaciated frame, though it seems like the sand has helped stem the blood. I glance at the hem of her dress and lift it slightly. Deep gashes decorate her ankles like jewelry, like metal teeth had held them still.

I concentrate on my breath, but it slices in and out of my lungs violently, too fast to really feel any benefit. My blood boils in my veins, molten lava, and I look up at the bluff and wonder how much of a coincidence it is that I found her here after I cut open the fat pedo last night.Was this girl a victim of his too? Did she see what I had done to him?

I scoop up the girl and throw her over my shoulder, then I head back to my brothers.

“Yo, Prez. Niko just called. Seems they intercepted a radio call for a body someone found on the bluff. We need to be gone before they come through here,”—Meatball trails off as I climb the rock wall with the girl in tow — “Who the fuck is that?”

“We’re taking her with us.”

“That bitch looks dead, Prez,” Breaker pipes up and I tilt my chin toward Wingnut to get the van doors. He opens them and stares at me like I’ve lost my fucking marbles. Maybe I have.

“Get a fucking blanket,” I say.

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