The Second Lie (Immortal Vikings Book 2) by Anna Richland Read Free Book Online Page A

fifty feet from the entrance. Self-defense courses said
don’t get in the car. Fight when they open the door, but don’t go along.
    “Double yellow means no parking.” Stig started to laugh, and she followed his gaze to see a metal triangle clamped to the front wheel. “Illegally parking an unregistered car in central London? You didn’t make that mistake, did you? They’ve put your wheels out of commission.”
    Their captors spoke in a language she didn’t understand, but the tone was an argument. Wend’s hand squeezed her arm, and she didn’t have to speak the language to understand. What to do with her had become the subject of debate.
    “Perhaps it’s a sign from the gods to let her go.”
    The other two ignored Stig’s comment.
    The alarm still blared. Police would respond soon, and they’d rescue her, although she assumed they’d also ask to see her identification. The wine world would pounce on every morsel of tonight, but she’d trade her reputation, her business, all of it, to be inside a police car.
    “Move out,” Skafe ordered, and Wend prodded her at a pace that her heels were not meant to achieve. “Three mates on a constitutional. Old times, eh, Stig?”
    “I was never your mate.”
    “Right. You were a prisoner, and I was a freeman. You never were my mate.”
    These three had a history, and not the type that included exchanging barbecue recipes. Whoever Ivar was, Stig must have screwed him badly enough to get Skafe and Wend sent hunting for him. If they wanted retribution, maybe they didn’t want her.
    She looked at the dark-haired man gripping her arm and tried to make her voice slightly breathy, suppressing the scratchy panic that wanted to squeal out each time she parted her lips. “Please let me go? I don’t know anything. I don’t even know who any of you are. I won’t—”
    “Shut up.” Skafe cut off Wend before he could answer her plea.
    Her captor shrugged, his expression the type of smile that turned up and down on opposite corners, maybe to show regret or resignation. Big help sympathy was.
    Temporarily backing off to reassess wasn’t giving up, she told herself as she started to shiver. London in March wasn’t spring by California standards, and her jacket was in the coat room with her suitcase. The drizzle that coated her arms and chest made her dress damp enough to cling.
    “Here.” Stepping up from behind, Stig whipped his tux jacket around her shoulders. She couldn’t slip her left arm in the sleeve unless Wend released her, but the warmth of wearing even half the jacket was heaven.
    “Thanks.” She was too scared and cold to do more than smile with the corners of her closed mouth.
    “You’re welcome.” His smile was relaxed until he glanced at the others. “Oh, for Freya’s sake, let her wear the coat properly.”
    The group stopped in the shadows between streetlamps, but there was enough light for her to see the bloodstains on Stig’s tuxedo shirt. He wasn’t wearing the holster and gun she’d felt inside Bodeby’s.
    Then the oddly balanced weight of the coat on her shoulders made sense. He must have tucked the holster into the sleeves.
    Which meant she had the pistol, a gift she didn’t want. Theoretically a handgun was point-and-shoot, like a camera, but she’d taken a lot of crappy pictures and she knew she’d never get a second chance if she fucked up with the gun. This got worse.
    “Can’t stop working the angles, can you,” Skafe said.
    “I haven’t forgotten basic decency yet.” Stig glared at the other man. “Ivar would never let you involve her.”
    Skafe rotated his wrist, letting the knife concealed low in his hand show from his palm while he indicated that Stig should back away from her. Once he had, Skafe nodded at the man holding her arm and she was free, for a moment.
    Stig was still talking. “You can’t hurt her. It’s the first rule.”
    She sucked in a breath, hovering on the edge of flight now that she was