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

examined the ceiling. The old acoustic tiles had changed to dinged-up wooden slats, but the trap door was right where he’d last seen it while bodyguarding a paranoid dealer who’d hidden out here to escape an angry client. That had been one of his worst, lowest paying jobs when he’d started out in the business, but now he was glad he’d taken it. He grabbed the iron ring set into its face and pulled the door down to reveal a dark space above. “Secret room,” he said. “Supposed to be for storage, but the guys who worked here put a couple of old mattresses up there and used it as a crash pad.”

The rickety wooden ladder that led up to the space above the ceiling unfolded with a loud screech, and Gunnar froze. He strained his ears for any sign their pursuers heard them, certain the jötnar would storm in and kill them all. After what felt like an eternity of silence, nothing happened. With a sigh of relief, Gunnar stepped onto the extended ladder’s lowest rung and lifted his head into the dark space. There were no lights, but the Valknut pierced through the darkness. There was no one and nothing hiding up there. “Right this way, ladies,” Gunnar gestured toward the ladder. “I’m right behind you.”

When they were all safely off the casino floor, Gunnar dragged the ladder up behind them, extinguishing the last of the ambient light that had made its way into their hiding space.

“Ouch, shit,” Mimi whispered angrily. “Brained myself on the ceiling. Can we get a light in here?”

“Turn on your witchy headlights,” Gunnar teased.

“Doesn’t work that way,” Mimi grunted.

“Fine, one second.” Gunnar eased past the women. The room was wide and long, but there was little clearance. Even on his knees, Gunnar’s back brushed the cobweb-strewn ceiling, which was just the floor above them.

Someone had placed sheets of plywood across the rafters, which made it easier to cross the space to the corner where a pair of mattresses and a small stash waited. Gunnar dug through the meager supplies there until he found what he was looking for. The dealer had been terrified of the dark and had demanded they keep an LED lamp running at all hours. The bodyguard had rounded up one of the hand-cranked jobs so he wouldn’t have to worry about batteries.

Gunnar spun the lantern’s handle until a pale white glow spread across the low-ceilinged hideout.

“Finally,” Ray said when they’d all gathered on the pair of mattresses against the wall opposite the ladder “A place with human proportions.”

That got a laugh from everyone, even Gunnar. He pretended he didn’t hear the distant whump-whump-whump of the helicopter’s rotors far above them.

EXHAUSTED FROM THEIR efforts at the Luxor, the völva slept while Gunnar kept watch. The hamingja he’d taken from the jötunn strengthened and sustained him while the Valknut had healed his injuries and reinforced his body. He was a good inch taller and twenty pounds heavier, by his best estimate, and the growing didn’t show any signs of slowing down. He’d be eight feet tall in a few days if it kept up. Killing jötnar does a body good, he thought and chuckled to himself.

“Hey,” Ray whispered from the darkness beside him. They’d shut off the lantern to rest their eyes, and the only light came from the pale pink dot on her forehead. “What’re you laughing at?”

Gunnar reached out and grabbed hold of Ray’s arms, then dragged her into his lap. Her curves seemed to melt against him, warm and soft. “You,” he teased.

Ray cuddled against him and slipped her arm around his waist. Even now, after Gunnar had physically changed so much, Ray’s body felt like the perfect match for his own. When they were together like this, Gunnar was whole, his heart healed from past wounds he’d tried so hard to ignore.

“Oh, yeah?” she whispered. “What about me makes you laugh?”

Gunnar ran his hands over the convoluted braids that now adorned Ray’s head like a crown. His fingers caressed the back of her head and traced the line of her neck down to her shoulders. She’d changed since becoming a völva, but the important parts of her were still the same. “Your smile,” he said.

“Oh, my smile’s funny?” Ray dragged the hair of Gunnar’s beard between her fingers.

“Like a clown,” Gunnar whispered. He closed his hand around the back of Ray’s head and pulled her face up toward his.

“Wait.” Ray pushed her fingertips against his lips. “I want, no, I need to get this out.”

“Okay,” Gunnar whispered. “Let’s have it.”

“Don’t,” Ray said. “You don’t get to be angry at me. Not about this. When you left me—”

“I left YmirRe,” Gunnar protested.

“When you left me,” Ray insisted, “I thought I’d die. The desert was so lonely, and nothing seemed worth the effort.”

“I left for you,” Gunnar said. “Your career was over if we stayed together.”

A tear leaked down Ray’s cheek. “Because that worked out so well.”

“I couldn’t have known,” he said.

“Stop,” Ray whispered and pressed her fingertips against his lips. “Just listen, okay?”

Gunnar nodded, though five years of pain and frustration threatened to bubble up and spill out of his mouth with every passing second.

“I was so mad that you left,” Ray continued. “I thought it was me, no matter what your note said. But as time passed, I realized what hurt the worst wasn’t what you’d done, but how you did it.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and her next words were punctuated with quiet sobs. “I deserved a choice. It wasn’t your place to make that decision for me. For us.”

Gunnar held his tongue as Rayleigh cried. Finally, after what felt like tortured hours, she brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Promise me you won’t take that away from me, not ever again.”

The jarl let the witch’s pain wash over him. She was right. Leaving her had been the right thing to do, but he’d gone about it all wrong. As much pain as