by Kate Pearce
“No emotional entanglements. Unlimited liaisons for the six weeks I’m here. Meanwhile, I’ll help you with your club. Get the Belles up and running, make sure you’re set up to be a going concern. Establish your safety in the area. You can pick my brain for any aspect of a motorcycle club, and I’ll answer. I’ve been Odin’s second in command for long enough that I’m a valuable commodity.”
“Isn’t that what Allfather just told you to do?”
“What he said and what he meant are two very different things. He wants me to keep an eye on you, and, should it be in his best interests, to sabotage you.” His voice is positively wicked. “Six weeks?” I feel like Little Red Riding Hood facing down the big bad wolf, but I’m relieved I don’t sound it.
“Six weeks,” he agrees, “of what we had the other night. Of all the things I’ve imagined in the twenty-four hours since, and anything I come up with over the next ninety days.”
I’m turning into a molten puddle, right here at his feet. I can’t let him know that, though. Can’t let him see how his words arrow straight into me and make me want. Any man I’d spent more than a week with before had wondered why I didn’t swoon, why I was so cold. I’d never have been able to broach the subject with a man: six weeks of uncomplicated pleasure, with no accusation of coldness if I don’t pretend affection, and no false heartbreak when things, inevitably, ended.
No, I could never have suggested it, would never even have dreamed of it, but now he has, and it’s everything I ever wanted. So I give him my most withering look, and I’m pleased to see him straighten. I can’t meet his eyes without grinning, so I stare at his collarbone while I speak. “And what about those things I have imagined?”
His breath catches, and I know I’ve surprised him. His eyes flash, promise and need in equal measures, and the air between us seems to thicken. “We could find time for that, too.”
Six weeks. To do every single thing I’d been thinking about since the first second I saw him. Like I was going to say no. Still—. “And at the end of the six weeks?”
He shrugs and withdraws a little. “I go home. You have your club. Everyone wins.”
I shouldn’t be so excited about this. Wouldn’t be, if I were a nice girl, if I wanted at all to fit into the world around me. But I’m Loki’s daughter, and fitting in has never mattered to either of us. “All right,” I tell him. He blinks at me like he can’t believe it, so I improvise. “But we get to start with something from my list.”
His eyes go dark and hot again, and I can’t help that it makes me shiver. There’s something incredible about having this sort of power over him. To know that just my words have him wanting.
“You’re on,” he says, and crushes his mouth over mine. I press myself into him, molding my body to his, and meet his passion with my own. It only takes a minute before he gives an already familiar groan.
*
When she takes the head of my cock into her mouth, it’s all I can do to stay on my feet. I was already feeling a little dizzy—she agreed to my so-called terms rather readily, though I should have expected her to do the unexpected.
But now, she’s flicking her tongue just so, and it’s all I can do to stay on my feet. When she purses her lips and adds a little suction, orgasm begins to spool through me, a familiar tightening in my gut, the tightening along my shaft, my balls— I try to think of something—anything— to keep from embarrassing myself (again) and coming too soon, but she cups one hand beneath me, pressing a spot at the base of my cock that makes stars explode behind my lids and I choke back a noise that might have been a groan or a sob. “Hel,” I say, and I don’t know if it’s her name or a curse, and I’m not sure it entirely matters right now.
She slides back along my length, releasing me from the warmth of her mouth into the cool of the air, and it should be enough to take the edge off my need, but the contrast, somehow, makes it worse. Another curse leaves my lips, whether in English or any of the other languages I speak, I really don’t know.
“You’ll make it up to me later,” she says with a wicked grin, and she’s still grinning when she pulls me deep into her mouth, into her throat, and I plunder her hair with my hands, holding her against me while I fuck her mouth. “I’m going to—”
She just takes me deeper, and I roar as my release fills her. Her throat works against the head of my cock, sensitive after orgasm, and I brace myself so I don’t collapse entirely.
4
The next morning, Thora pokes her head around the door and waves before she goes to set up coffee—a luxury I’m grateful to be able to afford.
I turn off the radio, twirl a pencil in my hand before realizing that will only make her nervous, put it down and fold my hands on top of the desk. That makes me feel like some sort of dictator, so I pick up the pencil again and pretend to be writing something until she comes in the room and we can talk.
“Good morning, boss,” she says, her voice entering the room a few seconds before her. She stops just inside the threshold, and I examine her. White blouse, crisp and fresh, tucked neatly into her A-line black-and-white polkadotted skirt. Blonde hair, curled at the nape of her neck, full lips set in a firm line above a strong jaw. There’s more than a hint of her father in her appearance, despite the thick, meticulous red lipstick and lash-blackener. “You look thoughtful.”
“As opposed to my usual vacuous expression?” She sticks her tongue out at me, and I shrug. What I can’t tell her is that I was thinking about the bizarre reproductive processes of the gods.
Not that the method of reproduction aren’t the same, but the method of inheritance is utterly bizarre. Eir believes there is some as yet undiscovered science to it. My father would have me believe that it’s a question of concentration during the act.
It seems to me that would take half the fun out of it.
However it happens, the results of a god having sex with a human are unpredictable at best. He could sire an ordinary person—relatively speaking. The human children of gods lead long lives of good health, and, thanks to their father’s compulsion to meddle, they tend to lead charmed lives.
Their other children, for whatever reason inheriting a measure of godliness of their own, are known as demigods. They have one childhood, which they promptly forget as they enter the twilight of their existence as a perpetual twenty-something. Every hundred years, unless our body is too damaged to last that long, they—we—are returned to whatever realm we belong in, and recharge.
My realm is Hel. Where the sick, the infirm, and the elderly go when they die. And, since gods cannot resist the compulsion to meddle, and since my father is Loki, I am queen of the realm. This hasn’t endeared me to—well, anyone. The other demigods hate that I have my own realm. The gods and goddesses wonder what I’m up to, and the humans that wind up in Hel—they would rather be anywhere else.
Thora, my best friend, and the right hand of each of my endeavors, is one of Thor’s human daughters. He made sure she made it through the Depression safely, though I haven’t detected his influence since I met her. I imagine, if he was paying any kind of attention at all, he’d have rescued her from the man she’d married. Or, once I’d done that, he should have arrived and taken her out of my circle of influence. His attention must be somewhere else. Europe, I suppose. Like everyone else these days. Even Allfather, though he himself remains here, has his Valkyries stationed in France, Russia, Japan—
But since Thora knows nothing of her heritage, I can’t admit I was wondering about her father, and whether he’d come to her rescue if Odin denies our petition, or if she’ll be another casualty of my failure. “Nothing,” I say. “Well, nothing more than the usual, that is.”
“You can’t actually do it all yourself, Hela.” There’s an edge of worry in her voice.
“Don’t let anyone else hear you talking like that, okay?”
She smiles distractedly. “How did it go last night?” Panic flickers across her face.
“It’s all right, Thora. Sit
down.”
“They didn’t turn us down. You’d have been at my house last night with a pack of Camel’s and a bottle of hooch.”
“They didn’t turn us down,” I agree.
“But there’s something, or you’d be grinning and serving me mimosas.” She perches on the edge of a chair, her ankles crossed neatly beneath her, and lowers the mugs to the desktop. “Lay it on me.” Her hands are folded so tightly I can see her knuckles whiten.
“It’s all right, really. We’re prospecting for six weeks, and then Allfather will be back to give us our charter.”
“Oh.” Her voice is tight. I wait for her. She’s going to need a minute to sort through what I’ve said and decide on her reaction. When she does, she smiles brightly. “So it’s all right, then.”
“Like I said. Twice.” I smile to make sure she knows I’m teasing, reach across the desk to grab a mug, and cradle it in my hands. “How was your night? You go out with your young man?”
She grins and fluffs her hair, and that’s more than enough answer for me. I lick my lips, ready to share the rest of what Allfather laid on us when Two walks in the room.
“Hela,” he growls. Thora starts, and I’m on my feet and around the desk in case I need to intercede.
“You’re early,” I tell Two, and give him a look to warn him we’re not alone.
Thora looks up at me, her eyes wide, and I nod to let her know it’s okay. “Maybe you could make Two a coffee, while I find out what has him growling like a bear?” She smoothes her skirt and nods.
“Thora, this is Two. He’s Allfather’s—gift. He’s going to help us set things up, make sure we’re running things the way he’d want. Two, this is my right hand, my best friend, Thora.”
Thora doesn’t get up, she just looks over her shoulder at Two, and then returns her attention to me. After an examination that takes her less than three seconds, she smirks at me over the rim of her mug. “Well,” she says when she finishes her sip, raises one eyebrow at me, and then turns in her chair to face Two. “It’s very nice to meet you—Two, is it?” She reaches out a perfectly manicured hand to shake his, and I tense.
When I look up, Two’s eyes are on me. The world seems to stop a moment. I bite my lip as his hand comes up to meet hers, but I don’t look away from his face. It’s almost like he’s testing me, not her.
Thora’s fingertips rest in Two’s metal hand for a full second before she realizes something’s off. From the corner of my eye, I can see her pause, look down at her fingers in his, pause again, and then she shakes his hand as if she’s done it a hundred times before.
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, and give Two the smuggest look I have in my collection. And he barks out a laugh.
Thora looks at me, and I squirm a little. We’ll be talking about this later, I can tell already. “I suppose I’ll go brew another pot and leave you and God’s Gift—that is, Allfather’s gift—to get started.” She gets to her feet. “As if you haven’t already,” she says quietly as she air-kisses my cheek, and I snort. “Back in just a shake,” she says brightly.
Then she’s gone, and I’m left facing one very angry demigod.
*
“I keep falling asleep with you in my bed,” I tell her, “only to wake up alone.” The anger in my voice isn’t faked—I really was annoyed to wake in in my borrowed room, expecting her beside me, only to find empty sheets. I step toward her, and she tries to back up but hits the edge of the desk with her hip. “I don’t like it.”
I cup her cheek in my hand and lean in as if to kiss her, but stop with my lips just an inch from hers. Her eyes flicker as she looks from my lips to my eyes and back again. Trying to gauge how serious I am, I’d wager. I’m dead serious, as it turns out, which is a surprise to us both. “Don’t do it again.” The words slip out more like a plea than a demand. She nods, and I finally give in to the need to kiss her.
Before I know it, she’s fisting her hands in my shirt and pushing me gently away. She’s perched on the edge of the desk, and I did that, hoisted her onto it, and pulled her against me, though I don’t remember doing any such thing. I scrub a hand down my face. I’d been seconds away from taking her on her desk.
Her lips and cheeks are flushed with color, and her eyes are still wide and heated, but she manages to smile. “Not the best time or place for this, big guy,” she says, and her voice is cautious, but there’s a thread of laughter through it too, and it’s unbelievable, but I’m smiling back at her.
“Later,” I growl, and she nods.
“If you’re done mauling my boss…” Thora says from the door, and I thrust my hands in my pockets and step back from Hela, who is giving me a told-you-so look.
I thank Thora and reach for the mug she extends in my direction. There’s a moment where she seems to shrink back. Then she blinks, and that moment of what I’m sure was fear on her face is gone, she relinquishes the coffee to me, and turns to face Hela.
“We need to talk shop for a few, boss,” she says and cuts a quick glance at me that I’m not supposed to see. Hela just waves it off. Thora nods, picks up a clipboard from a table in the corner of the office, and Hela sorts some of the papers on her desk.
When I reach for one, she slaps my hand away. “These are the latest invoices, and I haven’t entered them.” She hands me a ledger and motions me to the chair in the corner.
With a smirk, I perch on the edge of her desk instead.
The sound of their conversation fades as I look through the numbers. Then a pattern emerges, and I interrupt them. “You’re getting linen service and laundry for what seems to me to be a steal.”
She waves a hand. “I helped the owner of the place out of a jam. She won’t take more than that. I’ve tried.”
“And the florist?”
“Another jam.” She looks a little uncomfortable, but Thora’s grinning.
“The caterer?”
She flushes. “I might have spoken to their union rep.” A pause, then, “During their latest round of contract negotiations. With a few…friends alongside.” She coughs. “They seem to think they owe me.”
I grin at her. “That’s called racketeering, you know.”
“Really? I had no idea.” We share a grin.
Thora throws her hands in the air when I interrupt again. “Is this really—The Cogham Police Department on your payroll?”
“Oh. That. Well, there might have been an incident with the police chief and one of the Folies’ dancers, and — well, he might have agreed to provide us security for a very reasonable rate.” She points to a few other entries. “These are them, too, when they help us out with … little things here and there.”
I flip through the pages. The pattern’s clear—low rates from people she’s helped out and from anyone who has employees in Union 408. And, of course, the police. She’s running her Folies on a budget that would ordinarily feed a family of six. She’s a dynamo, this woman, and I’m feeling further and further out of my depth, and as useless here as I am at home.
“Wait. Why are the costs for your hooch so high?”
“During Prohibition, I did a little bit of … gin running.”
Thora snorts. “A little bit? She was the major supplier for the entire east coast.”
Hela turns a little pink and waves Thora off. “No big deal. But some of my former competitors might hold a grudge.”
“You’re being utterly robbed,” I tell her.
She looks a little shamefaced and shrugs. “I know. I figured I’d let them get away with it for a bit and then rein them in, but—I haven’t quite found the right pressure point just yet.” She frowns.
Here’s something I can do, some way I can help, and I sit back with the ledger and make plans to do just that while she and Thora continue to work.
Thora begins to take her leave, and I rouse myself to bid her farewell. I rise, but stay in the corner, because I still seem to make her nervous. She speaks to Hela, but her eyes are on me when she says,
“Appointment at three, remember?”
“I promise we will be utterly appropriate,” I say, as seriously as I can manage, though I can feel the smile tugging at my lips.
Thora grins. Just a little. Then she leaves, her heels tapping across the floor, followed by the soft sigh of the closing door. Hela crosses to me. “Would you mind if I took today’s meeting alone?”
I give her a look, curious, although it will give me the opportunity to follow through on this hooch business.
She pinches her lip. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but you’re only here for six weeks. And I will be doing business with these people long after you’re gone. If you’re here— well, either they’ll ignore me altogether, thinking that, of course, the big bad man must be the one in charge…”
“Or they’ll begin to act differently once they notice I’m not around. I’ll find something to do,” I tell her, more gruffly than I need to, because the gratitude in her eyes makes me feel too much. “Why don’t you give me a key, and I’ll meet you back at your place?”
*
No. A thousand ‘no’s wouldn’t cover my reaction to his question. “A key?” My voice has gone up so high I’m afraid it might shatter glass. He, the big oaf, doesn’t seem to notice it.
“We do have an arrangement.”
Of course we do. “But…” A key would allow him access whenever he wanted. Not just to me, but to my home, my life, and that’s not part of the bargain.
He leans in close, his breath fanning the hair at my temples and blazing a hot trail down my neck. “I can’t fulfill the terms of our agreement here, in your office, can I?”
The image of him doing just that—bending me over the desk and filling me with his not-inconsiderable length and breadth—makes it hard to breathe for a moment. And then I hear Thora, moving around outside, and the telephone on her desk begins to ring.
His lips nuzzle the space below my ear, and I practically melt into my chair, though I try not to let him know it. Wordlessly, I slip the keys from the drawer of my desk and peel off the key for my rooms. He takes it from me with a quick kiss—the sort that ignites something but doesn’t leave me longing. It’s like a promise.
