Page 8 of The Vipers' Vow

The door bangs open, and I jump, dragged out of my musings. I lock my muscles tight, annoyed at myself for giving away my fear so easily.

Jarl Olsen enters the room, along with two other men. The men flanking him are huge. One is easily as big as Zane, and the other is even bigger. He’s like those guys you see in strongman competitions. He has a barrel chest, epic stomach, and shoulders so big that when he walked in the door, he literally had to turn sideways to fit. Veins stand out along his neck, and he looks one more steroid injection away from exploding.

“I see you’re finally awake,” Jarl says.

His eyes are ice chips in his face, only with a little less warmth than the genuine article. His mouth is a tight line, and I try to see Reagan in him, but it’s hard. She didn’t look all that much like him, and I wonder if she got more of her mother.

Does Vani look more like her mother or father?

I think about that for a moment and try to clear my thoughts, but it’s hard. They’re jumbled. Confused. I keep trying to figure out the timeline of everything that’s gone down and coming up short.

I feel weird. Woozy. My head lolls on my shoulders, and Jarl sighs.

“Can’t have him going under again. Let’s wake him up. Apo, get some water.”

Apo,what a stupid name, I think as I laugh softly to myself. My stomach has gone beyond a roil now and is in full-on revolt. Huge waves of sickness wash over me again and again, and I know it's only a matter of time before I throw up everywhere. I'll have to make sure I get it on these bastards’ shoes.

Freezing water hits me on the side of the head, some of it sloshing in my ear, the rest of it dripping down my face, down my neck, and into my shirt collar.

I gasp at the sudden shock of cold, the air punching from my lungs. I blink a couple of times and try to refocus. The cold helps at first, and my thoughts clear, and reality starts to intrude again. I'm not sure I'm grateful for that as the pounding in my head intensifies once more, but then the stench of the water hits, and I'mdone.

I don't even have time to bend forward before the contents of my stomach rush up my throat and out of my mouth. Inhuman sounds join my retches, and, from the yells of the men, I assume I’ve just covered them.

“Motherfucker,” one of the men yells. “That’s it. Boss, I’m going to maim this pussy-ass bitch.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have thrown a bucket of water over him with damn fish guts in it,” Jarl Olsen says. “I hope you’re planning to clean up this fucking mess.”

At least it sounds like him. Superior. Cold. Like a villain in a Bond movie, that’s what he reminds me of, I realize as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and chuckle again.

My hair is grabbed, sharp pain sears my scalp, and my head is jerked back.

“Fucking open your eyes and look at me,” he snarls.

With great difficulty, I do, squinting up at him. As soon as I focus on Jarl’s face, I know looking at him, atanything, is a mistake because it makes me feel as if I’m about to throw up again.

The movement of the boat beneath me, combined with my concussion, and the stench of fish guts would be enough to make anyone sick.

“You need to tell me why you fuckers did it.” He grinds the words out as if each one causes him physical pain.

“Did what?” I slur. Christ, I sound drunk.

“My daughter. Why?” His voice cracks a little on thewhy,and the rage that simmers in his gaze at that slight show of weakness ought to terrify me.

Except I don’t have the energy to be terrified because I’m just trying to stay awake and not slip into the sweet darkness calling me.

“Didn’t do it,” I manage to grit out.

He laughs, and it’s dark and bitter, the way I like my coffee. “Don’t bullshit me. Everyone knows you freaks did it. She had a thing for you, and you used her the way you are that slutty little biker chick, and then you fucked her up and killed her. Do you like breaking pretty things?” he asks. “Because I do, and some might say you’re pretty. I like to break pretty things, but Apo here …” He points to the massive guy, the one who is too wide to fit through the doorframe. “Apo likes to collect the cocks of anyone who fucks with us, and since you fucked my daughter…”

His breath is making me want to vomit again. What the hell does he know about us and Vani? And how?

Apo pulls a leather cord from around his neck up over the top of his shirt. At regular intervals around the cord are small, shriveled objects. What are those? They look like human fingers, or maybe even toes…but then it hits me that they’re dicks. This freak has a necklace of dried cocks around his thick neck like a trophy.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into? If I thought I felt sick before, I feel doubly so now. This man is truly unhinged.

I suck in some air and try to steady myself. “I never touched Reagan,” I say. “None of us did. It was a play, that’s all.”

“What?” His brow wrinkles, and he seems to forget about looking murderous for a moment.

---