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

until deep in the night. He nursed glass after glass of Samuel Adams’ Utopias, a beer he’d heard rumors about during his previous life on the streets. The ludicrously expensive bottle with a street price of almost two hundred dollars a fifth didn’t do much for the bodyguard. He would have preferred a simple glass of bourbon but didn’t trust himself to stop after one. The last thing he needed tomorrow was a hangover. He lazily tugged on a cigar, too, idly wondering if it was an illegal Cuban job. Not that laws mattered much to the assholes who’d once stayed in these penthouse suites. He imagined them looking over the city, watching the ants scurry below them, living piggy banks they could plunder whenever the mood struck them.

Most of those parasites were dead, now. Gunnar shuddered to think any of them had made the jump to jötunn. That would be a beast that really needed killing.

The telescope didn’t show Gunnar anything he didn’t already know. There were a shit-ton of jötnar hanging out near the Luxor. He watched as more of the creatures went in and out of the glossy black casino. The glass panels that lined the pyramid reflected the torches they carried and the bonfires they’d lit. Those leaping flames seemed more fitting than the Strip’s neon lights ever had. Finally, Gunnar let himself fall asleep in one of the reclining chairs scattered around the patio. The cold didn’t bother him anymore, and he felt more comfortable under the stars than inside.

When the rising sun roused him from his sleep, Gunnar headed to the kitchen and started work on breakfast. There was plenty of bacon in the refrigerator, as well as sausage, eggs, a dozen varieties of cheese, some bell peppers that had seen better days but were still serviceable, and enough orange juice to drown an entire legion of jötnar. “One big-ass omelet, coming up,” Gunnar said to himself.

He’d almost finished the bacon and sausage when Ray shuffled into the kitchen, wiping sleep from her bleary eyes. “God, that smells delicious. If you’re not making enough for everyone, I’ll kick you square in the balls.”

Gunnar chuckled and plucked a few more slices of crispy bacon out of the sizzling pan. He wiggled the cooking tongs in Ray’s direction, then plopped the slices onto a plate lined with paper towels. “I don’t know if you deserve any of my meat.”

Ray crossed the suite, her bare feet making no sound as she left the carpet for the tiled kitchen. She hugged Gunnar from behind, pressing her breasts against his back, one hand sliding under his shirt to scratch the skin beneath his navel. “Let me change your mind,” she said, her voice low and smoky. “Sounded like you and Mimi were tearing the walls down last night. I hope she can walk today.”

Gunnar stirred the bacon and sausage around in the pan and chuckled. “Just trying to keep the troops happy,” he said. “I hope it’s working.”

Ray squeezed him again and pressed her cheek against his back. Her hands roamed farther up to his chest, fingers splayed flat as if she wanted to memorize the contours of his body. “It’s working,” she confirmed. “But you’re still not off the hook with me.”

Gunnar would have rather fought a dozen jötnar than have this conversation. “It was five years ago. Can’t we just let it go?”

Rayleigh tightened her grip on him for a moment, then stepped around to lean against the counter where she could look at him. Her eyes were fierce and determined, but her frown was more sad than angry. “I want to,” she said with a sigh. “But I’m not sure you really get why I’m still pissed.”

“I shouldn’t have run,” Gunnar started.

“That’s not,” Rayleigh made a frustrated sound deep in her throat and threw up her hands “Never mind. I don’t want to turn this into a fight. We’ll talk about it later.”

“I’ll take that truce,” Gunnar said with relief.

He scooped the last of the bacon out and offered a crispy slice to Ray as a peace offering. “Round up the others. I’m making an omelet big enough to feed an army. The four of us will make a battle plan over breakfast.”

“You got it, Commander,” she said, her words dripping sarcasm.

Gunnar let his mind drift as he finished the sausage, chopped peppers, cracked the eggs, and got to the serious work of finishing up breakfast. He knew Ray was pissed that he’d made the unilateral decision to leave YmirRe, and her, all those years ago. But he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Feed us!” Mimi demanded as she and the others arrived and took seats at the bar looking into the kitchen.

“Hold your horses,” Gunnar said. “This is hard work.”

The witches offered less than helpful advice while he worked over the stove, and he ignored them. They cheered when he finally cut the massive omelet into four thick slabs and served it up on crystal plates that probably cost more than the Accord they’d stolen from Caesar’s had when it was new. The bodyguard paused for a moment at that thought and scratched at the thick beard that had sprouted from his chin. It seemed like all that was ages ago, not just three days past. “Eat up, ladies. You’ll need your strength today,” he said.

“Are we going on a field trip?” Bridget asked with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Or did you have something planned for the bedroom?”

“No,” Gunnar said with a smile. “Though what I’ve got in mind is almost as much fun.”

THE SHOTGUN GUNNAR had taken from Mimi’s was fine for home defense against human intruders. Against a jötunn, the weapon wasn’t powerful enough. Gunnar needed something that sent a lot more lead downrange a lot faster than the Mossberg. And he knew where to find such a thing.

The Las Vegas Strip was littered with buildings that had once been casinos, restaurants, and walk-up bars that slung yard-long margaritas