by PJ Friel
“I’m Odin’s main bitch.” Grimm rose from the couch and stalked over to me. “I can do whatever I want.”
I tensed, gaze darting from the advancing berserker to the other two who sat watching the drama unfold. If I threw down with Grimm, I had no doubts they’d jump to their leader’s defense if things went south for him.
I was the outsider here, the enemy. One or two berserkers, I could handle, if I gave myself over to the control of my own berserker. Against all three of them, though? That would be curtains for me even with its help, and that was assuming the traitorous bastard would even come when I called. We weren’t exactly on speaking terms since I’d locked its ass in a mental cage.
“I don’t want any trouble with you,” I said, holding up my hands.
Grimm reached me, stopping at my outstretched hands. “You have all the trouble you can handle, don’t you? Being that you can’t control that thing under your skin. Whatever you’re doing to placate it right now, it’s only a Band-Aid.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I had full control of the Monster. It might be a little louder than usual right now, but it was still locked up tight.
“Oh, but I do. Sooner or later, that thing is going to break free. Sure hope Brynja doesn’t get hurt when it does.”
I snarled and curled my fists, felt my nails dig into my palms. “You keep her out of this.”
“Why should I?” Grimm leaned closer and I caught a flash of fang. “What if I told you I was going to pay a little visit to your girlfriend? If any berserker should have her underneath him, it’s me. Not you.”
My claws sank into Grimm’s stomach before I even realized I’d flung open the Monster’s door.
“I’ll kill you!” I bellowed into his face.
Grimm laughed as Jace and Harry dragged me off him and pinned me to the floor. “Knock him out, Harry. Jace, heal me.”
“Sweet Christ, he’s strong,” Jace gasped.
Harry’s hand slapped against my forehead and I heard his voice in my head, “Sleep, Trygg.”
“You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, boy.” Grimm’s tone held satisfaction.
A wave of terror washed over me and then the room went black.
# # #
When I woke up, I was in a bed and Harry sat in the chair beside it.
“Hey, Trygg,” he said.
I nodded at him, but said nothing. I was too busy mentally quizzing myself to see if Harry had stolen anything from me. Would I even know if he had?
“I’m sorry I had to put you under, but it was for your own protection. I didn’t do anything else.”
“Right.”
Harry sighed. “I don’t blame you for not believing me and for being angry. What Grimm said was despicable.”
I sat up in the bed and swung my feet over the edge. “Whatever, good cop. I watch movies. I know the routine. Am I gonna have to fight my way out of here?”
“This isn’t a routine. This is me extending an olive branch. If you want to leave, you can. You have my word of honor. I would consider it a personal favor if you’d hear me out first.”
If it was one thing that I knew about Harry, it was that he was a man of his word. If he gave it, then I could take it to the bank that he’d uphold what he said or die trying. Also, holding the marker on a favor from Harry was a valuable commodity.
“I’m listening.”
“First, I just want to say that I know it doesn’t seem like it, but Grimm’s working towards the greater good here. Always.”
“Sure he is.” I scoffed. “Still an asshole.”
Harry rubbed his temples and gave me a weary look. “Did you notice the whip marks on his back?”
I frowned, wondering where he was going with his, but nodded.
“He got those because he allowed Bryn to be taken.”
I fisted the comforter to keep from lashing out. “What do you mean he allowed her to be taken?”
“Calm down. I didn’t mean it how it sounded.” Harry stared while I sucked in air and tried to calm down. “What I meant was that she was taken on his watch and Prue was convinced that he was involved.”
“Was he?”
“Never. He worshipped the ground that little girl walked on. He took a Svartalf poisoned blade in his side attempting to save her and was then tortured for three days by Prue and the Valkyries because he failed.”
“Holy shit.” I winced. “Why would Prue believe her grandfather’s man would be involved?”
Harry snorted. “Prue is off her trolley.”
“Takes after her grandfather?” I said I’d listen. I didn’t say I wouldn’t be a snarky asshole while I was doing it.
“Actually, it was the hundreds of years of rape and torture on Svartalfheim at the hands of King Alvis that did it.”
Emphasis on the asshole part. Fuck.
“Sorry.”
Harry waved off my apology. “You didn’t know. That’s extremely privileged information.”
“Thanks?” I could have gone the rest of my eternal life not knowing that.
“Regardless of all that, the Svartalf poison alone should have killed Grimm. It’s a mixture of alchemy and magic that berserkers aren’t impervious to.”
“How did he survive it then?” I pulled my legs back up onto the bed and settled back against the headboard, determined now to actually listen to what Harry was saying.
Harry smiled and shrugged. “The way he tells it, he refused to die until Bryn was found and returned safely.”
“That’s one stubborn son of a bitch.”
Harry chuckled softly. “He is the most stubborn man I have ever known.” His smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “But even he couldn’t have withstood more than three days of torture at the hands of an insane mother.”
Harry looked away, but I’d seen the pain in his eyes. This was a tough thing for him to talk about. So why were we?
“What does this have to do with you not messing with my head?”
Harry turned his head and met my stare head on. “Grimm is my oldest and dearest friend. I love him more than any person in all the Nine Worlds.”
“Which means that you’d do anything he asked you to.”
“No. Not anything. There is one thing that I would never do.”
I arched my brow at him and waited for him to tell me what that one magical thing was.
“I would never harm the man who returned Bryn to her mother before Grimm’s stubbornness finally ran out and I lost him forever.”
Oh.
“I want you to know that even if you decide not to help us, I will teach you how to control your berserker. You have my word on that as well.”
“Thanks, but I don’t really need—”
“I think you proved otherwise, don’t you?”
I didn’t agree, but I didn’t disagree either. The lightning fast loss of control had shocked me.
“You may want to ponder why you reacted so violently to the threat against Bryn, too.”
I scowled at him.
“I didn’t dig. You’re projecting.” He winked. “Come out when you’re ready and we’ll talk. I’ll make sure Grimm is less of an asshole.”
“Good luck with that.”
Harry stood up and walked to the door, but paused before opening it. He took a deep breath, looked over his shoulder and said, “You need to know one other thing. We have reason to believe that Eamon Duff is in town.”
“Son of a bitch.”
My blood ran cold at that name. I’d learned a lot over the years from various connections in the Outlander community, especially about the major players. Eamon Duff was one player I never wanted to cross paths with.
His title was Bani of the Svartalf Assassins Cabal. The name meant slayer and that’s exactly what he did. He dealt death with extreme prejudice and his victims never saw it coming. If he was in town, nothing good would come of it.
I heaved to my feet and followed Harry into the liv
ing area.
“Sleeping Beauty finally joins us,” Grimm bitched from the couch. He looked none the worse for wear after having ten claws embedded in his gut.
“I’m going to order room service while we talk.” Harry reached for the phone beside him.
“You’re well aware of my preferences,” Grimm said, like a goddamn king sitting on his throne.
“I’m good,” I declined. I wasn’t here to socialize.
“Burger and fries is good for me.” Jace pulled out a deck of cards. “You guys wanna play some poker while we wait?”
“No, because you cheat.”
“Do you hang onto every single transgression for all of time?”
“Yes.”
“Forgiveness is a virtue.”
I stared at him.
“Fine. Sheesh. I promise I won’t cheat.”
I watched Jace shuffle the cards and thought about the message on my phone.
We need to talk.
Understatement of the year.
CHAPTER 24
BRYN
My office door opened and in strolled DG Hinterland. He was number two on my list of people who could make my morning even worse than it already was. I had zero idea what he was even doing here. I thought that after ignoring every message he’d sent me over the past four days, including the lunch invitation from this morning, the man would get the hint.
Not. Interested.
I eyed the paperweight on my desk. So tempting. Nothing says “go away” quite like a glass ball to the forehead...or perhaps the nuts. Lucky for DG, I was working on just enough sleep to refrain. No thanks to Trygg, day-ruiner extraordinaire.
I leaned to the side and peered behind DG, trying to ignore the little throb of disappointment my heart gave when Trygg didn’t materialize. Screw him. I didn’t need him. Abby was AWOL and she was the only reason I’d sought him out anyway. We were done. Last night was proof of that.
Ten miles on my treadmill, an hour of beating the ever-loving crap out of my heavy bag, and a night of tossing and turning did not lend itself to dealing with lecherous stalkers today. Or his small army of white-jacketed minions.
Caterer-type jackets, not mental health professional. I would have welcomed the latter.
DG’s flunkeys swarmed my office, set up a small table, placed dinnerware and napkins and candles. One man brought in a freestanding ice bucket with a bottle of wine in it. Another, wearing a chef’s hat, rolled in a cart loaded with stainless steel containers that smelled like Italian heaven. DG just leaned against the far wall and smirked.
Why exactly wasn’t I ventilating his forehead already?
I took a deep breath. Right. First, he was still a client of Dezi’s even after the madness at the warehouse. Second, he was the son of a mob boss who could make me disappear. Third, I was starving and willing to sell my soul for the spaghetti the caterer was currently plating.
My soul, not my vagina.
If DG wanted my lady parts, he’d have to cough up dessert, like a chocolate lava cake or some cheesecake. Yeah, definitely cheesecake. On a scale between the lips on my face and my...ahem...other lips, chocolate lava cake was tits level. All I saw dessert-wise were cannolis.
It was like he wasn’t even trying.
Whatever. I could kick him out after I ate his food. Right? I stood up behind my desk.
“Did we have a lunch date that I forgot about?”
DG shooed the minions out of the door then spread his arms and smiled at me like he was Vanna White and I’d just bought a boatload of vowels. “If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, the mountain will come to Mohammed.”
“I don’t rock climb.”
His eye twitched and his aura crackled. “It was just a metaphor.”
“Ah.” I jerked my chin towards the table holding the lunch spread. “Is that chicken parmigiana?”
“It is.”
He stepped behind one of the chairs at the small table and pulled it out, motioning for me to come around my desk and plant myself for his pleasure. As I moved around my desk and walked towards him, his smile grew smugger and his aura settled.
Couldn’t have that.
I zigged when he expected me to zag and ended up in the seat across from the one where he was standing. I plopped down and picked up a fork, gave him an arched brow. “Are you joining me?”
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” he asked, still hanging onto that alpha male, I’m the hunter, you’re the hunted smirk.
Time for some Radical Honesty.
“I’m not going to make this anything, and I haven’t given you a reason to believe I ever would, but just to be perfectly clear...I have zero desire to date you.” He opened his mouth, no doubt to say something about sex. “I’m not going to screw you either.”
“I see.” The twitch moved to his jaw and his face flushed red while his fingers, still gripping the chair, turned white. His aura went ballistic.
I could see the rage in him, bubbling under the surface like lava. The volcanic type, unfortunately, not a fudgy river of deliciousness. He might have stood a chance with me if he’d suddenly sprung a leak and gushed chocolate.
A girl will put up with a lot for chocolate.
“Is that going to be a problem?” I pointed towards the exit with a butter knife. “Because, if so, there’s the door.”
God, I was really feeling my Wheaties today. The guy was huge, at least half a foot taller than me, so his reach would be longer and he had to outweigh me by a hundred pounds of pure muscle. If he got me on the floor, I might be in trouble. I held his gaze, tightened my grip on the butter knife, and calculated distances to the various weapons in my office.
He jerked his head to the side and cracked his neck, probably wishing it was mine, then pulled out the chair he’d been choking. “No, that won’t be a problem. May I join you for lunch, Ms. Ullman?”
Crisis averted, I felt magnanimous and a little guilty over my meanness. The guy was just trying to hook up, so I threw him a bone even though there was every chance I might regret it.
Guilt, the quintessential motivator.
“Help yourself, if you don’t mind sharing lunch with a sleep-deprived grouch.”
I was guilt-ridden, not stupid. Too mean and he might take his lunch and leave. Too nice and I’d reverse all my Radical Honesty and have him thinking I was playing some silly hard-to-get game. He’d get handsy, I’d shank him with the butter knife, and then I’d wake up dead in a lake.
These things were all about balance.
I took a bite of my food. Balance was not moaning when the chicken parmigiana melted in my mouth and almost made me orgasm.
What was it with me and food today?
“Was it your investigation that kept you up late?” he asked as he unfolded his napkin and spread it in his lap.
I froze, fork hovering in front of my mouth. “Investigation?”
“The one that you mentioned at the club on Friday.”
His tone was casual and his expression and body were both relaxed, but the question still put me on alert. His aura was no help at all since I’d ticked him off with my attitude. Trygg said that he hadn’t killed Gideon and I believed him, but maybe Hinterland had ordered it done behind Trygg’s back and DG was here to feel me out, literally and figuratively.
“I really can’t discuss the details of an ongoing investigation.”
“Of course not. My apologies. That’s not exactly pleasant lunch conversation anyway, is it?” He looked sheepish and my alert level went from red back down to a pale orange.
“Especially not this case.”
“I’m not trying to pry, but what makes this case so different?”
Part of me wanted to tell him to go screw himself, but the non-grouchy, reasonable human being part of me decided there was no harm in answering the question. If he was here to interrogate me for his father, he would have already known why Gideon’s case was rough for me. The curiosity in his expression said that he had n
o idea, so I answered.
“The victim’s father is a friend of mine and the death was particularly brutal.”
“I’m so sorry. That must be very difficult. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, reaching across the table for my hand.
I jerked away. Relaxed or not, he wasn’t allowed to touch me.
The sheepish look returned to his face. “Sorry. Again. I seem to be saying that a lot to you today. I can empathize, though, about losing someone close to you. I was fifteen when my mother was killed.”
Why was he telling me this?
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. It was a long time ago.” He shrugged, but the grief was still written on his face. “But losing your mother isn’t something you really get over. I imagine it’s the same, losing a child. Your friend will need your support.”
Now, I really felt like a jerk. “Yeah, time doesn’t heal things like they say it does, unfortunately.”
His gaze flew up to mine and I saw a question there. One I wasn’t willing to answer. I’d told Trygg a little about my childhood, but DG wasn’t Trygg.
“Anyway, thank you for lunch, DG, in case I forget to say it later. I’m not at my best today. Like I said, I’m sleep deprived, grouchy, and things aren’t going well.”
Trygg was the thing not going well, but I didn’t elaborate.
“You’re welcome and I understand. Still not a date, though, right?” He gave me a small teasing smile and I took it for what it was meant to be, a lightening of the mood.
“Still not a date.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves a little. How about I pour us some wine? I know you’re working, but it’s a Super Tuscan.”
He said that like it should completely overrule any objections I had to drinking on the job.
“Um. What’s a Super Tuscan?”
“I haven’t a clue, but I’m told by my very well-paid caterer that it’s superb. It was expensive as hell, so it better be.” His wink made me laugh.
“Sure, why not.”
“That’s the spirit.” He grabbed the bottle and poured for us, then held up his glass. “To overpaid caterers and grumpy PIs.”