Riders of Tyr

BJORN

I storm past Ava, careful not to let our shoulders brush.

Because every time we touch, this all-consuming sexual energy courses through me.

It’s unwelcome, and I loathe myself for feeling it.

Why HER?

I can’t even stand this chick!

I see Ava turn for the door in my peripheral vision and catch her arm. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to the motel you wrecked.” She shakes her arm from my grasp, glaring at me. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“I’m not done here,” I growl.

“Well good for fucking you! I don’t care what you do, I’m leaving.”

“Are you deaf? Did you not hear a single word that Haf said?” I say through gritted teeth.

Suddenly I’m aware that the bar is starting to fill up as more of my brothers trickle down from upstairs; we’re making a scene.

“I’m pretty sure you have to babysit ~me~—not the other way around.”

And with that, she storms out into the parking lot.

“What makes you think you can just walk away from me?” I snarl, following her outside.

“What makes you think you can just order me around?” she demands, jabbing a finger at me. “You’re just here to make sure I don’t skip town, right? I’m the one calling the shots.”

“If you weren’t a girl…,” I fume.

“What? You’d try your pathetic hand at fighting me again? After the ass-beating you took earlier?”

By Tyr, she REALLY knows how to push my buttons.

“What do you know about women, anyway? Have you ever had a real one? Not some damsel in distress—or one of those floozies swarming the club, waiting for you to do them the honor of allowing them to suck your dick.”

“You’d better watch your mouth,” I bark.

“Oh, so you have, then? And where is she now? I bet she fucking bolted at the first chance she got.”

I’m seeing red now.

I can’t help myself.

I throw a right hook at Ava, which she narrowly dodges as she springs past, running up the side of the wall behind me.

She drops down just as I turn to face her, sucker-punching me square in the jaw.

Fuck!

My head is throbbing, my thoughts are scrambled. I can think of nothing better than to latch onto her and pull her down next to me on the ground with the sheer force of my weight.

Ava attempts to kick herself free, but my arms are wrapped around her in a bear hug. She’s not going anywhere.

As we lie there for a moment, I’m starting to become very conscious of her breasts heaving up and down against me.

When her chest begins to slow, I find myself matching her breaths. Moving, ever so slightly, with her.

Goddammit.

I’m starting to get hard again.

AVA

“Is this some kind of weird mating ritual that kids do these days?” says a voice.

Bjorn drops his hold on me and I immediately jump to my feet, turning around in embarrassment to meet Daniel’s kind but curious gaze.

He’s standing in the doorway with two beers in his hands, watching us with a half-smirk.

“Sorry,” I mutter, shooting Bjorn a look that says I’m not sorry at all. “We just got a little heated.”

“Bjorn, go to the garage and cool off, son. Go fix something. I’ll keep an eye on Miss Ava here,” Daniel says.

To my utter amazement, Bjorn actually listens to him. I watch him walk across the street to the garage, his broad shoulders slumped.

“Here.” Daniel hands me a beer. “Looks like you need this.”

“Thanks.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Daniel asks, taking a sip of his beer.

“Talk about what?” I reply, a little too curt.

He raises his eyebrows with a knowing smile.

“Whatever is going on between you and the big guy over there.”

Big guy.

That name kind of suits him, doesn’t it?

“There’s nothing going on between us,” I reply. And to dismiss any questions, I chug the whole beer.

“I should probably be going. With Bjorn—don’t worry.”

I hand the bottle back to Daniel.

“What say you have one more? It’ll be good for you.”

I look into Daniel’s eyes. They’re a soft gray—nearly the same color as Bj—

Don’t go there, girl.

Reluctantly, I follow Daniel back into the bar and collapse in a booth.

As Daniel goes to get us another round, I study the room, which is now filled with men in their matching Riders of Tyr jackets, surrounded by women in crop tops, leather miniskirts, and far too much makeup.

In the center of the dance floor, which is now full, couples are dry-humping to heavy metal. Eric dances with two women, shoving his tongue down one of their throats.

Daniel takes the seat across from me, sliding me a beer and a shot of brown liquor. “See anything interesting?”

My eyes land on the silent mohawked guy sitting alone in the corner of the bar, twirling a knife in his hand. He opens his mouth suddenly and cuts a slit down the center of his tongue, drawing blood.

What the fuck?

“That’s Rage,” Daniel says, following my stare. “He’s got a lot going on in his head, that one. He doesn’t talk so much. A tormented soul.

“Thank Tyr for Tom, our club doctor. Rage’s noggin always needs some stitching up. Some people just prefer pain to whatever’s going on up here.” He taps his temple.

We solemnly clink our shot glasses together and down the contents, grimacing. I instantly feel my head spinning.

My thoughts drift back to Bjorn.

“So, what’s Bjorn’s problem?” I blurt out.

Daniel smiles softly. “Bjorn is…still healing.”

“From what?”

“His wife—Lily.”

The chick who left him. Right.

“She passed away not too long ago.”

I choke on my beer.

I’m such an asshole.

“H-how?”

“Murdered. On a club job.” Daniel takes a large swig of his beer. “The kid’s been messed up ever since.”

Yeah. No shit.

“He’s a good guy, Bjorn. Just a little rough around the edges. But if you get past them…”

A clearing throat interrupts him.

In front of us stands a massive Native American man with long, black hair that hangs down his back. Yet another biker whose face should be in a Levi’s commercial.

He meets Daniel’s gaze, then nods in the direction of the meeting room in the back.

“Thanks, Ironhand,” Daniel replies, winking at me. “Looks like my king needs me. I’ll hurry back, my dear.”

And just like that, I’m all alone.

“Get your skinny ass out of my way, rotter,” squawks a woman’s voice. I watch as a curvy, dark-haired woman stomps to the bar in her high heels, pushing aside a young blonde.

She stumbles backward, falling to my feet, but keeps her head down. “I—I’m sorry, My Queen.”

My temper flares as I look at this older woman, the queen, who meets my glare with contempt.

“What the hell do you think you’re looking at?” she spits, piercing me with her brown eyes.

I glance down at the girl. She meets my gaze and nervously shakes her head.

“Nothing, apparently,” I reply in an even tone.

The queen stares at me for a long moment, as if she’s trying to decide whether I’m worth it.

“Stay away from my boys,” she says finally, her lips curling in disgust.

Pretty hard when your husband just assigned me a babysitter.

She saunters away, all of the scantily clad women in her path making themselves scarce.

“It’s better not to provoke Kate,” says the girl on the floor, and I offer her a hand up. “Thanks.”

“Hey, wait,” I say as she turns to leave. “What’s your name?”

“Diamond.” She twirls her long, blond hair, her eyes glued to the floor. Diamond’s probably a few years younger than me, but her freckled skin is covered in a lifetime’s worth of tattoos.

“Do you want to sit down?” I ask.

Diamond nods, smiling. “Thanks. You’re…really nice.”

Huh. Never been accused of that before.

“So, what’s a ‘rotter?'’” I ask.

Diamond’s smile drops, and she goes back to playing with her hair.

Did I say something wrong?

“A rotter is what they call the girls who hang around the club. The ones who haven’t been claimed by a Rider.”

Claimed?

Gross.

“What’s a Valkyrie?”

“A Rider’s claimed woman,” Diamond replies wistfully. “They’re the ones with the warrior tattoos,” she adds, pointing to a woman several booths away from us.

On her left shoulder is a tattoo of a woman in armor riding a horse.

I roll my eyes.

Claimed woman.

These gangs are all the same…

Once—just once—I’d love to see one with some originality.

“And you want to be a Valkyrie?” I ask.

“It’s not gonna happen,” Diamond says quietly. “Not for most of us.”

“But these guys…they’re drooling over you.”

And it’s true.

I intercept several hungry stares headed in Diamond’s direction.

She shrugs her shoulders. “Men are idiots when they think they’re gonna get laid.”

Her words resonate oddly with me.

Making me think about Pasado…

And to back then.

The easiest jobs were the ones where I could just throw on a skimpy dress and seduce my marks…

Maybe it’s time to use some of my old tricks.

But I need to look the part…

“We’re about the same size, right?” I ask suddenly, eyeing her tight red tank top, which is pretty much see-through.

She studies me, nodding. “Yeah, probably.”

“Could I…borrow some clothes?”

Diamond grins. “Anything you want.”

***

The basement of Valhalla is a strange, bunker-like space with an assortment of apartments where many of the rotters live. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the concept as I try on Diamond’s sheer crop top and leather skirt.

As I study my reflection in the mirror, I’m fairly confident my plan will work.

At the end of the day, Pasado is a man. He thinks with his dick.

He’ll let his guard down if he thinks he’s going to sleep with me.

Well, with this version of me…the biker chick with a haunted past.

“You look so hot,” Diamond gushes.

“Maybe,” I muse. “How about I test it out?”

Diamond claps excitedly. “Yes! Oh my God, you have to!”

I follow her back up to the bar, my platform heels clicking loudly against the ancient hardwood.

The moment I step onto the floor, it’s like I’m suddenly the center of gravity.

Dozens of heads turn, whispering, gawking at me.

Diamond heads to the bar for drinks as I wander onto the dance floor.

I catch sight of Bjorn’s blond friend Tor, who's surrounded by a crowd of rotters vying for his attention. He’s ignoring them, his eyes fixed on me. He almost looks concerned.

And then Tor’s eyes dart over to the bar.

Shit.

Bjorn sits at the bar beside Rage, glowering at me from behind a beer.

And he looks pissed.

I wink and look away just as a striking man with brilliant amber eyes and dark, curly hair approaches me. Another Rider…

Dear God, is something in the water?

Or do they only let hot people into their club?

“You’re new,” says the man, flashing his perfectly white teeth at me. “My name’s Vik.”

“Ava,” I call over the music, adjusting my black, strapless bra. His eyes trail down to my chest for a brief instant, and I glance back over at Bjorn.

He’s still watching me, and slams his empty beer bottle down on the bar.

Vik takes a sudden step back. “Ava? Like…Bjorn’s Ava?”

I snap my head back around. “What do you mean ‘Bjorn’s Ava?'”

“He’s—you’re…” Vik’s face pales when he sees Bjorn glaring at us. “Sorry, babe…no pussy’s worth dying over.”

What?

He brushes shoulders with Diamond as she returns from the bar with our drinks. “You’re never going to believe what I just heard!” she gushes.

“What?” I ask, still dazed.

“Bjorn claimed you!”

My ears must be playing fucking tricks on me.

It sounds like she just said he…

Diamond squeezes my arm. “You’re so lucky!”

Lucky?

LUCKY?!

My fists clench and I start to breathe heavily.

I lock my eyes on the arrogant bastard, gritting my teeth.

I’m going to fucking kill him.