Valhalla Virus by Nick Harrow (best management books of all time TXT) 📕

stepped forward and caught a bullet meant for Arthur square in the chest. The second round slammed into the left side of his moving torso, and the third drilled into the wall between the guards.Gunnar cursed when he saw the man take a stumbling step forward, bruised and unwinded.

Great, the bad guys had body armor.

Despite his size, the bodyguard was quick on his feet. He grabbed Ray’s shoulder and dragged her into the open elevator car. As soon as he was inside, he gave her a gentle shove to the far side of the car and hunkered up tight inside the door. He punched the “G” on the elevator’s control panel and fired another wild shot through the open doorway. A single shot from outside rang out as the car’s door slid closed, and the bullet tore a hole through the cabin’s expensive wooden interior.

“Get the ground teams moving on the first floor,” Arthur shouted. “I want Gunnar and Rayleigh taken. Alive.”

The instant the elevator began its descent, Ray threw herself across the car and buried her face in Gunnar’s chest. She curled the fingers of her left hand around his and trembled against him as the elevator headed for the hotel’s ground floor. “They know,” Ray said. “They found out I planned to blow the whistle.”

“Probably.” Gunnar watched the numbers above the elevator’s control panel count down. The pungent stink of burned nitroglycerin clawed at the back of his sinuses like the beginning of a bad cold. He wrapped his free arm protectively around Ray and drew the H&K. If Arthur or one of his goons pointed their noses into the elevator, they’d earn themselves an express lobotomy courtesy of a hollow-point round between the eyes.

Their luck held, and the elevator only stopped twice. The first would-be passenger was a surfer dude so blazed on overpriced Vegas weed he didn’t register Gunnar until the bodyguard pressed the pistol’s barrel against his suntanned forehead hard enough to leave an angry red dent. “Sorry, man,” the stoner said, belatedly realizing his mistake and shuffling back into the hall.

The second person who tried to shove their way into the car was a casino dealer, who instantly ducked her head and backed away, Caesar’s gold medallion flopping against her spotless white shirt as she hurried off without a word. She’d worked in Vegas long enough to know it was far healthier to avoid dangerous guests.

And then the elevator reached the ground floor, where all hell was breaking loose. Someone out of sight let loose with the blood-curdling screams of the mortally wounded. The elevator bank was mercifully clear of threats, but the splashes of blood on the walls and red smears on the floor warned of nearby danger.

Gunnar put a hand back to keep Rayleigh inside the elevator while he took stock of the situation. Sounds of violence exploded from somewhere nearby, and the screams escalated into full-throated howls. The strobing emergency lights added their startling flashes to the chaos, throwing eerie stop-motion shadows across the floor. The bodyguard gestured for his charge to stay put, then hustled up to the corner.

Utter madness reigned in the hotel’s lobby. A chubby college kid grabbed one of the velvet rope stands from the waiting line and slammed its heavy base into a howling old man’s chest. A pair of housewives rolled around on the floor, ripping chunks of hair from each others’ heads. A handful of the badly injured were slumped against the reception desk, eyes glazed, blood drooling from their mouths.

He couldn’t take Ray through that mess, but the hallway that led to the pool was still clear. Good. Gunnar had to get Ray out of the casino and to somewhere safe before the world came down around their ears.

The bodyguard rushed back to the elevator, took Ray’s hand, and guided her down the empty hall. He kept his gun lowered at his side, ready for action without threatening anyone. Security hadn’t shown up, but the last thing the bodyguard wanted was a showdown with a bunch of freaked-out casino cops. He didn’t want to put a bullet through some unfortunate bastard just trying to do his job.

“Where are we going?” Ray asked as Gunnar brushed her back against the wood-paneled wall and peered outside the car. “And what the fuck is going on out there?”

“Nothing good,” Gunnar replied. He stifled a sneeze in the crook of his elbow. “Looks like somebody kicked off the Royal Rumble.”

“Now that Arthur knows I’m here,” Gunnar explained to Ray as he paused at the exit, “he’ll have his eyes open for my bike. We need another ride. Time to head to the parking garage.”

Gunnar stopped at the exit door and peered through the tinted glass at the world outside. Multicolored lights speared through the night air to reveal a mixture of people bizarre even for Vegas thronged the pool area. Bikini-clad Instagram models gathered in fearful clumps, their makeup streaked with tears, hair matted with blood and other fluids. Seasoned gamblers, their fingers knotted with lucky rings, howled like rampaging maniacs as they pummeled anyone who got too close. Tourists wearing Crocs and Hawaiian shirts clashed like cavemen, clubbing at one another with cabana chairs and beer bottles, the stink of coconut-scented suntan lotion wafting from their flushed skin. The worst of the fighting was around the Neptune pool at the center of the open aquatic plaza. Stunned witnesses and those too injured to wade back into the raging battle had staggered to the relative safety of the perimeter, where they watched the mayhem with unfocused stares.

“Stick close,” Gunnar said. “We’ll follow this wall around. If anyone gets between us or touches you, scream like your life depends on it.”

The instant Ray nodded that she understood, Gunnar threw the door open and took off. His long strides ate up the distance, and he had to remind himself to slow down so Ray could keep up. At just over five feet tall, she’d have to jog to match