Page 29 of The Devil's Viking

She lifted her lids and looked at the clock on the small nightstand next to her bed, and sure enough, it was a few minutes before five. She sighed, knowing that there would be no return to sleep for her. She was awake.

She swung her feet to the floor and got up. She didn’t have to be in the kitchen until ten to help Rebel prep everything for the lunch rush, so she had to find some way to pass the hours. Having down time was an odd thing for her now: on the one hand it was a complete luxury that Iris had nothing to do for hours on end, but on the other, she was at a loss at how to enjoy it.

She had no books –not that she’d ever been much of a reader, and her school grades attested to that – or even magazines. She had no hobbies that occupied her hands – at the Garden, she hadn’t been one of the woman-servants tasked with sewing and stitching and knitting, and thank Christ, because she was hopeless at all of that. There had been a time when she’d enjoyed dancing, but that was all before she’d succumbed to drug addiction, and anyway, the room was so small she’d probably knock herself out trying to spin around it.

Well… maybe a long shower then. Rack up the hot water bill.

The bathroom was tiny, the shower stall minuscule, but she slid inside with no difficulties. It baffled her which of the MC guys could actually fit in the cubicle, why the hellanyonehad built a bathroom that literally none of the men would be able to use.

An image of Viking trying to force his huge, tall frame into the shower came to her now: she stood barely five foot one, and he had to be at least six foot five, probably more. Standing in front of him was intimidating, kneeling in front of him had been utterly terrifying.

Iris had spent much of her life on her knees, both literally and figuratively. Her addiction had kicked her to the lowest points she’d ever known, put her firmly face-down on the floor with no pride and no sense of self-worth. When Gideon had come into her life, she’d been down for so long, she’d forgotten what it felt like to stand.

He’d promised her the world back then, he’d been loving and attentive and sweet. He’d said all the right things, made her feel special and beautiful and loved. He’d invited her to the Garden, told her that she’d be part of something amazing and glorious, and like a fucking idiot she’d believed him and followed him there.

That was when she’d been driven to her knees a different way.

Despite the hot water streaming over her body, Iris shuddered. She’d lost count of how many times Gideon had called her to perform the Ritual – and how many times she’d been forced to the floor to take his cock in her mouth. He’d forced her to learn how to please him in every way, and when she’d failed, he’d tied her to the bed and made her do things again and again until she finally got them right.

Iris shut her eyes, fighting off the waves of nausea that washed over her now. She would never kneel for Gideon again: she would die before that happened.

But… she’d kneeled for Viking. She’d offered herself to him, exposed herself to him, handed herself over to him to do as he wanted. It was all she knew and all she was good for – God knows Gideon had slammedthatinto her head – and she’d done it all to please him.

But he’d refused her. He’d told her to cover herself, get to her feet.

Iris was still trying to get her head around the fact that a man would say no to a woman taking his cock in her mouth. She had never – not in her entire life – met a man who turned down a woman on her knees. But Viking had.

Why the hell are you thinking about Viking so much?

It was weird that of all the huge, scowling, scorching-hot men wandering around the MC, she feltsomethingabout Viking… a connection or a pull. Maybe it was because she’d listened to him sing for eight hours straight, or maybe because he’d been the one to unknowingly carry her into this new life. He was handsome, in a wild, savage kind of way, and strongly-built, which made Iris feel even smaller than usual.

Or maybe it was because his exterior belied his interior: he was a kind man, she knew, a caring man. A doctor. The outer packaging was all black leather and jeans, tattoos and muscles, and it was all such a strong contradiction to who hewas, who he reallywas, that it took her breath away.

Argh. Stop thinking about him. Jesus.

She turned off the shower and clambered out, drying herself off roughly. She went over to the dresser and pulled open the drawers, stared at the few items of clothing that Zoe had managed to find for her. Zoe had promised to take her shopping after work that day, and Iris couldn’t wait to see what she could get for a couple of hundred dollars. She wouldn’t spend everything that she’d taken from Gideon – if there was one thing that she’d learned at the Garden, it was that having money meant having independence and freedom.

She was never going to be that helpless again.

Iris pulled on a pair of jeans that Zoe had gotten just about right, and a sweater in a deep red color that she really loved. Her choice of shoes was limited right now, since Zoe had brought her a cheap pair of canvas shoes that were two sizes too big, but after the fiasco of the men’s boots, Iris wasn’t fussy about her footwear.

Her black hair was hanging loose and wavy over her shoulders, so she towelled it dry as best she could, then brushed it straight. Working quickly, her fingers well-trained in haircare, she separated her hair into two ponytails, then braided them before circling them up and over her head. She fastened them together and in place with a few bobby pins, then stared at herself in the mirror. She wished that she had some lipstick, maybe some blush. She reminded herself to get some makeup when Zoe took her shopping that night.

So there she was, all showered and dressed and ready… and it was quarter to six.

“Huh,” she said to her reflection. “Maybe Cain will let you go get some coffee. You haven’t had any in a year, so maybe now’s the time to get back on the caffeine train.”

She opened the door slowly, not wanting to look like she was fleeing the premises, and glanced to her right. The man standing there was yet another glowering, scary giant who looked for all the world like he’d just successfully pulled off a jail break.

“Hey,” he said in a rough voice. “What the hell are you doing up so early? And where the hell are you going?”

“Ummmm. Hi,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“No, huh?” His green eyes were dark in his ruggedly-handsome face. “How come?”

Iris shrugged. “I’m just – this is the time that the women always get up in the Garden. I’m used to it, I guess. Usually, I’d be an hour into baking fresh bread for the Guardians and grinding the coffee beans for their breakfast at ten.”

Cain studied her, and it occurred to her that Wolf, Scars and Viking might well have told these guys quite a lot about her – where she’d come from, what she’d left, why she’d left – and she wondered what they thought about all of that. Surely they saw her as a stupid, easily-led woman who’d fallen smack into a cult and become a slut and a slave at Gideon’s command. If that was how Cain saw her, she wouldn’t blame him; it’s how she saw herself, after all.

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