Page 25 of Viking

A biker and a sweet-as-pie eighteen-year-old virgin who he corrupts.

What the fuck did I just sign up for?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Viking

One week later

Ihad no desire tobe a club president. I was just a Danish kid with a funny accent, fresh from the fishing village, now living in the land of the free. I didn’t even know what an MC was, but my closest friend, Wolf, had other plans for us both. He wanted in, and I had the guts for mutilation. I was good at it. I made an art form out of it, and I was even better at not getting caught.Every MC Prez’s dream.

We quickly worked our way up in the Montana charter of the Howlin’ Wolves MC. Then, my sister disappeared. I handed in my patch, followed every lead, and wound up in Georgia, where I met Blue and Gator. I patched into the Seven Knights MC, took down our lousy Prez, and now I call the fucking shots. But twenty-one years later, I’m still no closer to finding her.

There’s a lot I have control over—who we do club business with, who we allow into our compound, who we go to war with—but fate is not one of those things. Finding Arie was not one of those things. Babysitting a seventeen-year-old girl and reading to her was definitely not one of those things. Forcing her to talk? Also completely fucking out of my control.

She deserves better. She deserves patience that I don’t have, kindness I can’t show her, and a gentle hand that I don’t possess. I’m calluses, blood, and scars. I’m fear and death. But having her here reminds me of the kid I used to be. She reminds me that there’s more to life than killing, or staring at a fucking flat screen in a darkened room, watching spoiled assholes her age live out their lives on shitty reality TV shows or in dark teen dramas.

I get up and turn off the television. She glares at me, which might be the only fucking response I’ve had from this bitch in days.

“Get up.”

She shakes her head, and I reach out and grab her wrist, hauling her to her feet. She recoils and tries to pull free of my grasp, but I hold tight. “We’re going for a ride.”

She shakes her head emphatically, her green eyes wide with terror.

“We’re getting out of this goddamn room. You can’t sit and watch the idiot box all day. It’ll turn your brain to mush.” I might be worried that I sound just like my father, if we hadn’t been too poor for a TV. I wasn’t introduced to television until our move to Montana, and MTV combined with Wolf’s tutelage, was quite the fucking education.

Arie’s eyes narrow, and she points to the flatscreen and then back to her head with a horrified expression.

I sigh. “Getting real tired of you not communicating, bitch.”

She frantically points to the TV and then her head and then makes a gesture as if her head is exploding. I’m not a hundred percent sure about the specifics, but I think I get the gist.

“No, it won’t make your head actually turn to mush, and I get this is all new for you. What you’re learning is probably pretty mind blowin’ after where you been.” I scratch my beard, wondering how I adopted a teenage girl with no voice and no fucking idea how the world works. “You shouldn’t watch too much. It’s not healthy. You need fresh air and sunlight. You need to get out of this goddamn room.”

I stalk across the room and grab a knit cap from my closet, tossing it at her. She catches it and rubs the old wool between her thumb and forefinger, like she has no idea what to do with it.

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