Nordic bound, p.1
Nordic Bound, page 1
Nordic Bound
The Nordic Lights Series
Christine Edwards
Fanny Press
PO Box 70515
Seattle, WA 98127
For more information go to: www.fannypress.com
www.christineedwardsauthor.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover design by Sabrina Sun
Nordic Bound
Copyright © 2016 by Christine Edwards
ISBN: 978-1-60381-554-3 (Trade Paper)
ISBN: 978-1-60381-555-0 (eBook)
Produced in the United States of America
* * *
To Shelly who taught me the meaning of the term “best friend.”
* * *
Special Thanks
To every reader and reviewer who has carved time out of their busy schedules to read one of my books. A deep, heartfelt thank you.
To Jennifer and Catherine for taking a chance on an unknown Southern author. I’m beyond grateful.
To my relatives in Oslo, much love and thanks.
* * *
Prologue
2:17 a.m.
Sørkedalen
30 Minutes/16 km North of Oslo, Norway
That fucking owl! How’s a guy supposed to get a decent night’s sleep? I punch the pillow and flip over onto my back, grumbling in annoyance as I glance over at the glowing clock beside the bed. Unbelievable, nearly the exact same time every night this week!
“You’ve gotta be joking,” I mutter angrily into the darkness.
Blowing out a long, frustrated sigh, I stare up at the rafters as he decides to go for round two of his haunting hoots.
Fantastic. Yet another sleepless night ahead, but hey, at least I’m just about caught up on my never-ending barrage of work, even at the expense of becoming a borderline insomniac out here in what’s supposed to be my retreat from the relentless stress of the city.
The owl is silent for a moment and I go completely still, thinking that maybe he’s taken off to bother someone else. I groan as his eerie cries start up again, but this time they’re noticeably different. Something’s not right. His call is piercing and far clearer than before; it’s as if I’m sitting in the tree with the damned thing! My muscles instantly tense up and my nerves are as taut as a zip line. A window or door must be open …. Shit! Someone’s inside my fucking house!
I bolt upright and in one fluid motion rip away the feather duvet. In seconds my bare feet are pounding across the teak floor, racing furiously toward the lone staircase that leads down to my front door.
I can’t believe this shit! How in the hell did someone bypass my security system? A potent shot of adrenaline pumps through my veins as I crash down the shadowed steps, taking them two at a time, not giving a flying fuck that I’m wearing only a pair of boxer briefs. My suspicion is confirmed when I feel the drastic change in temperature.
Whoever’s inside will soon wish they were never born ….
I land hard on the slate floor and my eyes track the movement of the front door as it’s pulled shut from the outside. I lunge forward, reaching for the door, forcing it open with one arm while grabbing blindly for the dark mass with the other. My hand connects with the hood of a black parka and a feminine cry rings out, momentarily stunning me.
The intruder begins a furious struggle, using strategic kicks and punches to shake loose from my tight grip, desperate to escape under the cover of night with whatever she has pilfered from my home. Nope. Not going to happen. No one steals from me. Ever.
I let go of the door and bind both her arms in a vice-like grip, forcing her into submission while preventing the use of any weapon she might have on her.
She writhes like a wild animal, doing anything in her limited range to escape into the frigid night.
“Agh!” Pain shoots through my bare toes as she stomps brutally on them with her boots. You wanna play rough? You got it sweetheart. Here we go ….
With one leg, I take out both of hers and follow her down to the floor, landing squarely on top of her heaving chest. My weight is pressing into her and I narrow my eyes as I lower my head to get an up-close look at the thief.
The snow is blowing in on us viciously, but there is no fucking way I’m releasing her to flip on a light switch.
I use my right forearm to press harder into her, making certain that she is thoroughly immobilized beneath me. Her breath is coming out in shallow, choppy pants. She’s absolutely petrified. She should be. She needs to know that sneaking into my home can be lethal. Soon she’ll understand the grave mistake she’s made, and God help her if she really has stolen from me.
She’s twisting like an eel, but it gets her nowhere. I’m easily twice her size, if not more. We’re both huffing hard, and a tremendous effort is required to get my anger in check as I swiftly peel away the ski mask from her face. I blink twice, momentarily astounded by the woman staring up at me. Long wisps of icy blonde hair lie in sexy disarray across her magnificent face, but it’s her unusual eyes that mesmerize me. They glitter in jade fury and I have to suck in a breath while losing a battle not to go instantly rock hard on top of this intoxicating vixen.
She must be Scandinavian, judging by her angular features, creamy skin tone, and pale hair. I’m shocked by how young she appears; she can’t be more than twenty years old.
I glance back toward the door to make sure she is alone and am just about to kick it closed with my foot when she surprises me by jerking an arm free. She curls her fingers as she reaches for my face, trying her best to scratch me in the eyes.
I lock my fingers around her slim wrist and give her a rough warning shake before growling down at her menacingly, “Behave.”
All she can do is narrow her eyes because both her wrists are held tight in my grasp. I slowly push myself off her, deciding it’s time to talk. I need to shut that damned door because the cold is so fucking arctic tonight that the wind is making my back burn like it’s on fire.
I pull us both up onto our feet before taking a wide step back to kick the door shut. Just as it slams, she makes her move, nailing me fast and hard in the balls with her knee. I grunt like an animal and double over from the searing pain that’s just made it impossible to breathe. Somehow I manage to keep my grip on her wrists, but she’s already going all out with the legs, kicking me anywhere she can connect.
“Enough!” I manage to shout at her. My rough command has no effect; instead it seems to spur her on. She steps close and bites my fucking bicep with enough force that I have to let her go. I’m shocked. Who in their right mind bites? Only someone totally fucking desperate and completely out of options.
Instinctively I clutch the bleeding wound, giving her a tiny window of opportunity to try and get around me. I sidestep, missing her by only a few centimeters as she flings open the door.
I let go of my arm and lunge, managing to clasp a handful of hair. With a frantic cry, she turns back to me and I see the flash of a small blade in her left hand. I’m not stupid; I know she’s desperate enough to cut me if it means getting away but I’m still determined not to release her. I set my jaw and hold her challenging stare. She raises the blade, poised to stab me, and I instantly choose self-preservation, reluctantly opening my hand. I watch helplessly as she slowly backs away into the night and that’s when I see the small dark messenger bag, snug across her body. Panic grips me as I realize the unthinkable is going down. She’s getting away with my most prized possession—a priceless artifact that my family has risked their lives to keep safe.
Hell no, not fucking going to happen!
If I have to kill her to get it back then I will. My eyes track from the bag back up to hers, now filled with both panic and determination. Breaking my stare, she twists around and begins to run through the driving snow, sprinting across my field as if twelve ravenous Dobermans were giving chase.
“Fuck!” I roar out into the frosty night.
No time, move! In a frenzy I race to the adjacent mudroom, shove my feet into the first pair of boots I can find, and toss on a parka. Next I unlatch the gun case and grab my loaded rifle. You’re about to meet your worst damned nightmare, sweetheart.
Hauling ass after her, I can just make out her figure in the distance. If she gets all the way to that tree line then it’s game over.
I stop, position the rifle and take aim. I’ve hunted this land ever since I was a small boy. I know I can stop her, especially with the night vision scope that’s attached to my rifle. I peer through the lens and in seconds have her small head locked dead in the center of my crosshairs. My finger is touching the cold metal trigger, slowly beginning to depress, when for reasons that are a mystery to me, I have a sudden change of heart. I decide to warn the girl before I take her life. I lower the weapon just enough to shout through the black night, “Halt or I’ll shoot!
I jerk back into position. What the hell? If anything she’s speeding up! Goddamn it!
Again I draw a bead on her with my weapon. Seconds tick by and my chest tightens. I’m reluctant to injure the strange girl, but I take too long weighing my options. Just before she reaches the tree line, I fire, deciding at the last second to graze the t
I can hear her cries of agony as I close in on her. I watch in disbelief as she struggles first up to her knees and then onto both feet. My jog turns into a flat-out run as she begins to stagger the last few steps toward the trees. My bare legs are freezing but adrenaline masks the pain. My eyes stay locked on her pale hair as she enters the labyrinth and I hear the whirring sound of an engine start up. No, no, no! She’s got a damn snowmobile. Shit!
A white cloud of air bursts from my burning lungs as I yell the single word, “Stop!”
I sprint for her, ignoring the agony that’s creeping across my exposed skin and the painful bounce of the long rifle against my back.
Nearly there ….
Dodging trees, I spy her single-seat black and silver Arctic Cat. My brain is demanding that I move faster but she’s already begun to take off down a small embankment that leads to a narrow trail. There’s no chance of catching her on foot. I swing my rifle around and hoist it up, pissed when I realize that the dense trees will make it impossible to land a shot. I snarl in disgust and shout at the top of my lungs, making certain that she can hear me, “The world isn’t big enough for you to hide from me! I will fucking find you!”
If I have to check every single hospital in Norway over the next twenty-four hours, I’ll gladly do it. She has to get that wound tended to somewhere. And when I find her, she’d better have my property. If she doesn’t, there’ll be hell to pay … like nothing she’s ever faced before.
Chapter One
Twelve Hours Earlier
Oslo
A Deal With The Devil
My right hand trembles inside my wool mitten, hovering just centimeters away from the chipped metal door. I glance down at my left hand to check the scrap of paper with my brother’s messy handwriting on it for the third time. This is the right place. I just didn’t think it would be a supremely creepy, seemingly abandoned boatyard on the outskirts of Oslo.
I go for it, knocking hard and fast, not wanting to lose the mountain of confidence I arrived with minutes ago.
I’ve heard horror stories about this group who call themselves, ‘The Norsemen.’ The stories were so vile that I can hardly believe they’re true. They’re white supremacists who have an uncanny knack for evading arrest. Their favorite pastime is terrorizing anyone who doesn’t look like them or more importantly, conform to their twisted Aryan ideals.
Apparently, their leader is way smarter than your average street thug, a guy my brother described as ‘Terror in skin.’
Suddenly the metal door swings wide, scraping shrilly against the scarred concrete. I fall back two steps as frozen blue eyes observe me ruthlessly, beginning at the top of my hair then slowly working their way down to my shearling boots and back up again.
Silence.
I clear my throat before managing to eke out a sound. This ogre of a man is unnerving, but I’m not one to back down from anyone.
“My name’s Ingvild and I need to speak with the guy in charge.”
The skinhead with the scar through his right eyebrow continues to stare blankly down at me. Finally his cruel lips tip up slightly at the corners, as if my bravado amuses him. One massive, black-laced boot moves back as his head jerks inside. That’s all he gives me—a barely perceptible head nod and a few inches of space to squeeze by his mammoth frame. As soon as I’m inside, he slams then locks the heavy door and strides past, leaving me to choose: follow behind or stay in the dank hallway.
I’m holding on by a thread and almost can’t force myself to enter such a pit, but I’ve thought it over a hundred times and see no other choice.
A wave of pot smoke is the first thing to hit my senses, followed by a heady mix of metal music interspersed with deep, masculine voices. Moving closer, I make out the repetitive snick of pool balls. Curling my mittens into tight fists, I do my best to try and quell the panic that’s so strong it’s making me nauseous. The skinhead is blocking the scene that awaits me. What I want more than anything is to get this over with and hopefully, if I’m really lucky, get the hell out of here in one piece. My brain pulls up the recent news flashes of brutal rapes that have happened in the center of Oslo. What the hell could happen to me, trapped inside of this derelict building with these violent men?
Several sets of denim legs come into view. The guy in front stops just a few feet away from the pool table and shifts to his right. I peer cautiously at the man who’s leaning down, poised to make what appears to be a difficult combination shot. He’s Norwegian without a doubt; his silver-blond hair is shaved all the way down to expose his scalp and from what I can see of his face, he’s strikingly handsome and younger than I expected—maybe just a couple years older than myself. He’s definitely not what you’d picture as the leader of a hate group. Who knows, maybe this guy is just the leader’s front man? On closer inspection, I note that his features are severe and as symmetrical as a model’s and his arms are toned to perfection. He’s wearing a fitted white T-shirt, dark designer jeans, and a pair of immaculate red Adidas sneakers. The temperature inside this unheated building couldn’t be much warmer than the frigid air outdoors, yet he’s the only one not wearing a coat. How odd. Before I have time to make any more observations, he flawlessly sinks the two solids he was going for.
He stands upright and juts his chin at the man beside me—waiting for some kind of introduction, I guess. The intimidating man only nods once to him and at that moment I think there’s a better than average chance the hulking guy could be mute.
His eyes shift back to me and his low, educated-sounding voice slashes through the air—harsh, accusatory, “Why are you here?”
Glancing around, I realize that the three other men and two woman lounging on a nearby sectional have stopped their PlayStation game and are watching us.
Oh hell, oh shit ….
Cue stick in hand, he crosses swiftly to stand right in front of me and I swear I can feel my heart rise up and lodge in my throat. Horrific images of my various body parts being stashed in the beaten-up barrels that line the steel walls flit though my distraught brain.
Mr. Formidable towers over me, waiting for my answer as his suspicious pale eyes assess me carefully. They remind me of twin glaciers, cold and brutally sharp.
Here we go. Be direct with him.
“I’m here because you’ve threatened my little brother, Kjetil.”
Nothing. Dead silence followed by a bored, dismissive, “Get out.”
Screw him!
“I won’t.”
You could hear a pin drop in the warehouse, and nothing changes in his face, but his powerful hand whips out to grab hold of my upper arm, squeezing me in a punishing grip. I cry out in pain as he spins me around in one fluid motion to half-walk, half-drag me back the way I came.
No, no! I have to do something!
Closing in on the door, I scramble for the right words, “Wait! Please! I’m here to make you a deal, not give you a hard time. Please, just hear me out!”
His fingers dig in impossibly harder and I can’t help but utter another desperate cry before thankfully he releases me.
His lips part and the words float down to me, “You have ten seconds.”
I speak in a rush, making sure to stick to the facts. “I know he owes you a large gambling debt, so I’m here to find a way to pay you back before you hurt him. He’s only nineteen and didn’t understand what he was getting into betting on high stakes poker. Now, there must be some way to clear up this misunderstanding, please?”
