Page 23 of Viking

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Viking

When I exit the shower, I don’t expect to find Arie sitting on the bed, her hands in her lap as if she’s waiting to be cuffed again, and all defiance gone from her expression.

Her eyes roll over me from head to toe, as if she’s cataloging every tattoo, every muscle.She keeps looking at me like that and we’re gonna have a big fucking problem.

I cross the room and hit the remote, switching off the TV. Arie glances at it with disappointment in her eyes.

“Someone bring you more food?”

She shakes her head.

“You hungry?”

She nods and I fish a packet of powdered sugar donuts from the cupboard and toss them at her. She studies the package—back, front and sides—and then sets it down on the nightstand.

“They ain’t gonna hurt ya, darlin’. It’s just sugar.”

Fuck, did they never have snack foods wherever she’s from?

I stalk toward her, pick up the bag, and open it. Then I pull out a donut. I hand it to her, but she refuses, so I shove the thing in my mouth and chew.

“More for me, I guess.” I swallow without really tasting my food, but I’m always fucking ravenous after killing.

Arie watches me closely, her expression guarded. I don’t know what it will take to get this little siren to talk, but I know I need to put some fucking clothes on because—victim or not—she seems pretty taken with what’s beneath my towel.

My conversation with Gator after church comes flooding back, and I put all thoughts of making this bitch mine out of my head. I offered her protection because she’s a fucking kid, not because I want to bury myself balls deep inside her hot little pussy.The things probably got teeth.

“How old are you?” I ask. She just stares at me. “Sixteen, seventeen?”

She nods.

Finally, something to go off. And yeah, this bitch is too young to be wondering what I’m packing beneath my towel. I cross the room and pull a pair of gray sweats from my closet. Yanking off my towel, I slide into my sweats and rearrange the chub I’m sporting. When I turn around, the little mermaid is watching me with a shrewd gaze.

“So, we know you’re seventeen and your name is Arie, right?”

She tilts her head to the side and purses her lips, as if to say, “how the fuck do you know that”.

“You whispered it in the van. ‘Be free, Arie’,” I say. Her gaze is accusatory. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were delirious and flying high on the shot I gave you.”

Her posture is rigid as she watches me fish out another donut from the bag and shove it in my mouth. She looks longingly at the snacks, and then back at me.

“Help yourself, darlin’. I’m just happy you finally wanna eat.”

She grabs the bag and pulls one free, then she sniffs the donut, leaving powdered sugar on the tip of her nose. I get this fucking crazy idea to lick it off, but I stay put, leaning against the back of the sofa.

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