Page 6 of Viking (Dixie Reapers MC #24)

Viking

I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead, probably leaving a streak of grease in its place.

The motor in front of me had been giving me grief for three hours, but I was close to beating it into submission.

Something about the rhythm of working with my hands, the smell of oil and metal, settled me in a way nothing else could.

The compound was quiet today -- most of the brothers out on a run or handling business.

Just me and my thoughts and this stubborn piece of machinery that refused to cooperate.

“Viking!”

I ignored the shout, tightening a bolt with more force than necessary. Whoever it was could wait until I finished this part.

“Viking! Man, you gotta come!” The workshop door banged open, and Jed, one of our newest Prospects, stood panting in the doorway. His eyes were wide, his cut still looking stiff and new on his shoulders.

“What?” I didn’t bother to hide my irritation. “I’m in the middle of something here.”

“There’s someone at the gate asking for you,” Jed said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “By name. Your real name, not your road name.”

That got my attention. Not many people knew me as Lief Hansen anymore. I set down my wrench and reached for the rag hanging from my back pocket.

“Who is it?” I asked, wiping grease from my hands.

“A woman. Redhead. Pretty, but looks like she’s been crying.” Jed’s eyes darted away, then back. “Said her name’s Karoline Kringle.”

My hands stilled on the rag. Karoline Kringle. Little Kringle. Kris’s baby sister. I hadn’t seen her in -- hell, I wasn’t even sure how long it had been. Years. The last time had been Christmas at the Kringle house, before everything got complicated.

“You know her?” Jed asked, watching my face.

“Yeah,” I said, already moving toward the door. “I know her.”

The walk from my workshop to the front gate wasn’t long, but it gave me time to wonder what the hell could bring Karoline here, to a place she’d never been, to see someone she hadn’t spoken to in years.

Nothing good, that was certain. Kris would never have sent his sister to find me unless something was seriously wrong.

I rounded the corner of the clubhouse and froze.

There she was, standing on the other side of the gate, her copper hair catching the afternoon sunlight.

But this wasn’t the gangly twelve-year-old who used to trail after Kris and me with that shy smile.

This wasn’t even the awkward teenager who’d blushed every time I looked her way.

This was a woman. Grown. Beautiful in a way that hit me square in the chest.

Her face was pale beneath her freckles, her eyes, rimmed with red, were shadowed with exhaustion. Her hands clutched her purse like it contained all she had left in the world. Something about the lost look on her face made my gut tighten.

“Lief?” Her voice carried across the distance between us, uncertain but hopeful.

I moved toward the gate, gesturing for the Prospect standing guard to step aside.

Up close, the changes in her were even more apparent.

Her face had lost its childish roundness, revealing elegant cheekbones and a determined chin.

Her eyes held a weariness that hadn’t been there before.

But the spattering of freckles across her nose -- those were the same.

“Little Kringle,” I said, the old nickname slipping out without thought. “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes welled with tears that she quickly blinked away. “I need your help. Kris told me to find you.”

Something cold settled in my stomach. Kris and I hadn’t spoken directly in since he’d gone deeper into classified work. But we had channels, ways of getting messages to each other when necessary. The fact that he’d sent Karoline to me in person…

“Let her in,” I told the Prospect, who hesitated, glancing between us.

“You sure, man? She’s not --”

“I said let her in.” My voice hardened, and he hurried to unlock the gate.

Karoline stepped through, her eyes darting around the compound, taking in the row of motorcycles, the clubhouse with its weathered exterior, the men lingering near the garage who had stopped to stare at her.

She looked small and out of place in her neat blouse and jeans, clutching that purse against her side like a shield.

“Is Kris okay?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. No woman with tear-stained cheeks comes looking for her brother’s old friend when everything’s fine.

She shook her head, a tiny movement that spoke volumes. “No,” she whispered. “He’s not.”

The weight of those two simple words hit me like a physical blow.

Kris. My oldest friend. The guy who’d been more brother to me than friend for most of our lives.

I’d known his work was dangerous, had told him countless times to get out while he still could.

But Kris had always believed he was doing something important, something necessary.

“Come on,” I said, my voice rougher than intended. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

I placed my hand lightly on her lower back, guiding her away from the curious eyes of my brothers.

She stiffened slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away, and I felt a fierce surge of protectiveness wash over me.

Whatever had happened, whatever had brought her here, I would help her.

For Kris. For the memory of the friendship we’d shared.

For the little girl who’d once followed us around with wide, adoring eyes.

And maybe for the woman she’d become, who looked at me now with a mix of hope and fear that made my chest ache in ways I wasn’t ready to examine.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said, the words automatic, though I had no right to make such promises. “You’re safe here.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she followed me nonetheless, her steps quick to keep pace with mine, her eyes still scanning our surroundings as if searching for threats -- or escape routes.

What the hell had Kris gotten her into? And more importantly, what was I going to do about it?

I led Karoline to the small area behind the clubhouse.

It was one of the few places in the compound that felt almost peaceful -- a couple of wooden picnic tables surrounded by potted plants that Preacher’s old lady insisted on maintaining.

The brothers gave me space as we passed, curious glances following us but no one stupid enough to ask questions.

They knew me well enough to read the tension in my shoulders, the warning in my eyes.

“Sit,” I said, gesturing to one of the benches. “Can I get you something? Water? Coffee?”

She perched on the edge of the bench like she might need to flee at any moment. “Water would be good. Thank you.”

I nodded to Jed, who’d followed us at a respectful distance, and he scurried off to fetch it. Alone with Karoline, I found myself suddenly awkward, unsure how to behave with this grown version of the girl I’d known. I sat across from her, the wooden table between us.

“How did you find me?” I asked, buying time while I tried to read the grief etched into her face.

“I called the shop,” she said. “The man who answered didn’t want to tell me anything until I mentioned Kris. Then he put me on hold, came back, and gave me directions.” Her hands twisted together on the tabletop. “I waited until morning then drove straight here.”

Jed returned with two bottles of water, setting them down before retreating again. I slid one toward Karoline, watching as she took a small sip, her throat working.

“Karoline,” I said gently, “what happened to Kris?”

She set the bottle down carefully, as if afraid it might shatter.

“He’s dead,” she said, her voice breaking on the second word.

“Military showed up. Said it was a classified mission. That he died serving his country. They wouldn’t tell me how or where or --” She broke off, pressing her fingers to her lips.

My jaw clenched so hard I felt a muscle jump in my cheek.

My hands curled into fists under the table.

Kris. Gone. The news shouldn’t have been a surprise -- he’d been playing with fire for years, dancing on the edge of dangers I knew too well.

But he’d refused to give up his military career.

He’d wanted to do some good and make a difference.

I’d hoped he’d be smart and capable enough to pull through.

It looked like he’d bitten off too much this time.

“I’m sorry,” I managed, the words feeling hollow and inadequate. “Kris was --” I couldn’t finish the sentence. What could I say? That he was like a brother? That he was the best man I’d ever known? That I’d failed him by letting him walk into that dangerous life alone?

“He was special,” Karoline said softly. “Everyone who knew him felt it.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. For a moment, we sat in silence, united in grief for the man we’d both loved in different ways.

“There’s more,” she continued, her gaze lifting to mine. “Something I didn’t know until after he died. Something none of us knew.” She took a deep breath. “Kris had a daughter. A little girl named Athena. She’s three years old.”

I stared at her, certain I’d misheard. “A daughter?”

Karoline nodded, a strange mixture of pain and wonder crossing her face. “He named me as her guardian in his will. I didn’t even know she existed.”

The shock must have shown on my face because she continued quickly, words tumbling out.

“Her mother isn’t in the picture. Kris had full custody. When he was deployed, she stayed with a friend of her mother’s. The social worker brought her to me. She has my hair, Lief. My eyes. She looks just like me when I was little.”

“Jesus,” I muttered, running a hand over my beard.

Kris with a secret child. It explained some things -- his increased paranoia over the past few years, his reluctance to discuss his personal life, the extra security measures he’d started taking.

A child changed everything. Made the stakes infinitely higher.