Page 7 of Viking

CHAPTER FIVE

Arie

The roar of mechanicaldemons echoes through the still morning. Their lights are blinding, and I close my eyes as I struggle to keep my head above the surface of the water. The last of the Mother’s moon slices through the trees and glints off the silver beasts.

Behind me, I hear the distant cries of my people call out across the ocean, but it’s only the Mother playing tricks. I am so far from home I can no longer see the vast island I have lived my whole life on.

As frightened as I am of the unknown, of leaving my sisters, I reach out my hand, desperate for the men on the land beasts to see my flailing, but I can barely keep myself afloat any longer and my head bobs under the water with the weight.

My tired legs kick once, twice, and then rough sand scrapes my toes and I gasp in relief. I move faster, spurred on by the bank and the promise of dry land beyond, but the men have already passed, disappearing on the long stretch of road away from me.

I collapse onto the sand and catch my breath. I should move. It isn’t safe to stay here. The Brotherhood could be looking for me, but my body succumbs to the exhaustion, and I stare up at the starry sky and pray the Mother will forgive me for taking Prophet Job’s life and for all of the rules I’ve broken. And if she doesn’t, at very least I hope my death is mercifully swift.

CHAPTER SIX

Viking

As accommodating asour New York State charter is, Niko throws one hell of a fucking chaotic club party. I’m ready to head back to Anchor Cove, Georgia, to sleep in my own bed and fuck my own club pussy, but I know the guys could use a break. We’ve been hunting the pedophile for months, and even though that fat fuck kept his mouth shut while my blade hacked and hacked, one less child molester in the world is reason to celebrate.

Gator hands me a glass of Jack and sits in the armchair beside me. “We got him.”

“One down.” I sip my whiskey. “Bastard refused to talk.”

“Yep. But it’s one less kiddie fucker on the streets.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll find her, Prez.”

I don’t know about that. Twenty-one goddamn years I’d been looking, but there isn’t a trace. She’s gone, dead and buried, or worse ... sold. One minute she was there, and the next? She wasn’t.

Gator and Blue have been with me from the beginning, they’re the heart of this club, have been since I was a nineteen-year-old kid, fresh off the fucking plane from Montana, and Vágar in the Faroe Islands the year before that.

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