Page 11 of Viking

“Er, we don’t have a blanket, Prez.”

Blue offers a roll from his saddlebag and places it in the bed of the clubhouse van. I lay her body down and stare at the girl.What the fuck am I doing?

I grab my key fob from the pocket of my leathers and hand it to the prospect. “Put Meatball’s bike in the other cage. He’ll ride mine back.”

Meatball’s eyes widen. “Prez?”

“Did I fuckin’ stutter, you overgrown ball sack?”

“Nope.”

“If your fat ass puts so much as a dint in that seat, I’ll string you up by your balls and carve out your heart while you stand there.”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Got it, Prez.”

Prospect tries to scurry away, and I grab his cut and pull him to me. “This bitch is a fuckin’ mess and I’m gonna be in the back right alongside her, so you’re gonna drive like there’s a bunch of kittens roaming around this van and you don’t get gutted if you deliver them uninjured. Got it?”

He nods, but doesn’t say a thing, just runs around the side of the van and scampers into the driver’s seat. I climb into the back and pull the doors closed. Then I sit beside the half-dead bitch, and wonder if I’ve lost the fucking plot.

CHAPTER NINE

Arie

When I wake, it’s tothe guttural sounds of roaring vehicles all around me. The Mother abandoned me on the beach, but I am now inside a vehicle. I have never been in one, or seen one this close before, only from afar where people from the outside world would bring supplies to our village via a long, winding causeway which is swallowed by the sea at high tide.

The car jostles me, gently rocking my body back and forth, and I blink in shock and take in the surrounding car. A heavy weight rests across my abdomen. I glance down and find an arm across my waist. I jump, but when I follow the muscular line of the limb, a man I’ve never seen before is sleeping soundly beside me. He doesn’t look like the brothers from the temple. I’ve never seen a face like his—strong, with bold features, a beard, and no hair on the top of his head. His crown is smooth and on it are pictures, colored brands like the ones covering his arms. I swallow hard and try to inch out from underneath him, and then I see the knife in the belt at his waist and carefully, slowly, slide it free from its sheath. I study the symbols on the carved blade. They aren’t the markings of the Mother or of her sacred script.

Fear strangles my heart, causing it to beat harder, faster. I stare at the patch on his leather vest, a skull with a crown. There is writing above the image, but the Brothers never allowed us to read, so I do not know what it says. They reduced our tuition to books with pictures of the Sisters naked, in various positions performing the ceremonial rites. They presented no words along with the pictures, but the images instructed us all the same.

The man stirs, but he settles back into sleep quickly. I shift, so I’m facing his body and press the blade to the tan, unshaven skin of his neck. His eyes open, flashing with murderous rage, but he doesn’t move.

“You got the guts to bleed me, darlin’? Slice open my throat and watch my blood pour out over your hands?”

I’ve done it before. My mouth twists into a sneer, but no words come.

He arches a blond brow. “Maybe you do. But you kill me and my men will slit your throat a second later. If you run, they’ll find you. It’s what we do.”

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