Page 27 of Viking

“Get the prospect in there to clean my room while I’m gone.”

“You got it, Prez.”

“Make sure he doesn’t touch the books.”

“Okay.” He walks away, and I stand and watch until he’s back inside the clubhouse. Then I open the driver’s side door and climb in. Arie jumps.

“You never been in a car before, darlin’?” I shake my head. “I mean, aside from the day you almost slit my throat with my knife?”

Her brow furrows and her shoulders rise and fall in a delicate shrug.

I turn the key in the ignition and Slipknot blasts from the speakers. Arie shrieks and covers her ears, her eyes cinched tightly.

“Fuckin’ Prospect.” I slam the dial with the palm of my hand and shut off the music. Arie’s hands are trembling as she removes them from her head and rests them in her lap. “Sorry.”

She gives me a watery smile. And I peel out of the compound toward the marina. Arie grabs the “oh shit” handle above her head with each corner I navigate. When the first sign of on-coming traffic approaches, she squeaks and closes her eyes, only to open them again once the car has passed.

The closer we get to the water, the more animated her movements become.Fuck, if that isn’t a sign, she’s a real live goddamn mermaid. I don’t know what is.

I park and lean across the cab to release her seatbelt. My face is just inches from hers, but she doesn’t flinch or pull away. She just stares back. I glance at her eyes, her lips, and I’m fucking hit with some goddamn lightning bolt from Thor because I want to kiss her. Gods, what the fuck is wrong with me? She’s a goddamn kid.

I frown and jerk away, then I open my door and storm around to her side of the van. Arie lets me help her out and I take hold of her hand and lead her down the dock. Her eyes absorb everything, no doubt searching for potential threats. Several of the permanent residents of the marina nod in greeting, and other’s glare in outright suspicion. Arie is seventeen.She looks seventeen.And I look like a fucking pedo creeper leading her to my beat-up old fishing boat.

I stop at the end of the pier and climb onto my Sea Chaser. Arie looks uncertain as I hold out my hand to her. I don’t bother asking if she trusts me, because she should never trust another human again after that fucking cult used her like a blowup doll. She places her hand in mine and I lift her into the boat. It rocks gently with the waves and I help steady her on her feet. Her eyes are round as saucers, her feet planted firmly as she grips my forearms, afraid to let go.

“You’re okay, little siren.” I lead her to the helm, and she sits in the passenger’s seat, glancing all around as if danger might jump out at her at any fucking second. “I got you, darlin’. I won’t let nothin’ bad happen.”

She gives me a nervous smile and I grin back and start up the engine.

“Ready?”

Arie nods tentatively. I move to the forward spring line cleat and release her from her tether, then I move around the boat, repeating the action until the aft spring and stern lines are free. Arie swivels in her seat to watch me. When I walk back to the helm, her eyes follow me closely and then she looks away.

“What?”

She shakes her head and I’m left wondering if she noticed that I’m a different person on the sea. Don’t get me wrong, nothing beats the high of the wind in your face as you’re tearing down the freeway, chrome, leather, and a Milwaukee-Eight V twin engine between your legs, but when I’m feeling antsy or out of sorts, nothing soothes me like the ocean, like salt on my face and sea spray in my hair.

I make this trip every few days. I don’t need the money that crab fishing provides. What I do need is a legitimate income to keep the IRS off my back. They don’t need to know that its chump change compared to what the club’s grow op and running guns bring in. The ATF on the other hand? Well, they’ll be scrambling for some new leads once we deal with our rat.

“I like the ocean.” I shrug and throw the boat into gear, peeling away from the marina. Anchor Cove is set slightly inland from the North Atlantic, and we cruise the estuaries of Blackbeard Creek.

Arie turns her face up to the late afternoon sun; the wind flicks her auburn hair out behind her, and her eyelids fall closed. She’s fucking stunning, with her cute little button nose, prominent cheekbones, and electric green eyes.

Whoever visits her in her nightmares clearly did a fucking number on her confidence and her body, but this bitch is too fucking beautiful for words.

She opens her eyes and catches me staring, and all the enjoyment drains away from her face. She shrinks down on herself, almost disappearing into the oversized hoodie.

“I’m not like them, darlin’. Whoever gave you those scars, whatever demons come to make you relive it night after night, that ain’t me. So get that out of your pretty little head right now.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows and glances away.

“But you can bet your sweet ass when I find that island, I’m gonna kill every last motherfucking one of them.”

I cut the engine when we reach the marker for my first crab pot, and I haul it in. A handful of blue crabs struggle in the trap. I shake them out into an ice chest. Arie comes to stand beside me and leans in close, fascinated with them. The crabs arch up on their back legs and snap their claws.

“Watch your h—”

One catches her hair in its claws, and she shrieks and jumps back, taking the crab with her. I laugh and grab him from the back, attempting to free her hair. The nippy bastard is having none of it, so I have no choice but to rip off the arm. Arie falls back against the passenger seat, staring at the crab and its broken appendage in my hand. She frowns at me.

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