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

The jötunn tried to open his mouth, but Bogie kept up the pressure from his enormous pistol until the monster nodded. “Fine,” he grumbled. “We’ll do it.”

Bogie raked the pistol’s sight along the jötunn’s jaw, tearing the skin. “Of course you will,” he said. “Seeya around.”

Pushing around the weaker jötunn hadn’t improved Bogie’s mood as much as he would have liked. He was still pissed that Hilda wasn’t dead, and even more pissed that Arthur had treated him like shit. “I’ll show those fuckers,” Bogie muttered.

The Behemoth was dead, and Gungnir was in the hands of Odin’s pawn. And that gave Bogie an idea. If getting a relic would earn Arthur’s respect, then Bogie would get a fucking relic.

He prowled through the Boneyard in search of a specific group of jötnar. They were badasses, hard to the core. They claimed they were Hyrrokkin’s vanguard, fresh from Jotunheim. Bogie didn’t know if that was true, but he’d seen them fight and they were stone-cold killers. Just what he needed. But he didn’t want to show up empty-handed. He spied a group gathered around a cooking fire and stormed over to them.

“Give me that,” he said, pointing his gun at the skewer of meat sizzling over the open flames.

The other jötnar glared at him. “Fuck—”

Bogie shot the male through the eye. “Give me the fucking food.”

A female jötunn scrambled around the fire, grabbed the skewer’s handle, and gingerly passed it to him. “Sorry, Bogie,” she said, eyes downcast. “Didn’t recognize you.”

Bogie left without a word, ignoring the jötnar who’d been shaken awake by the gunshot. He sneered at their surprised faces and waggled his gun at any who thought about giving him shit. When he finally found the group he was looking for, the meat had grown a bit cool but still looked juicy and delicious to him.

“Hey, guys,” Bogie said as he stepped up to the circle of warriors. “Brought you some breakfast.”

The biggest of the jötnar before him stood up from the crate he was using for a seat and approached Bogie. He grabbed the skewer and took a bite out of the biggest piece of meat. “Thanks for the snack. What do you want?”

Bogie wanted to lash out at the jötunn, but he held his temper. These boys were the real deal. Even if he shot one of them dead, the other four would tear him limb from limb. He cleared his throat and looked up into the utterly inhuman eyes of the jötunn chewing on the bloody chunk of meat. “I’ve got a job. I need your help.”

The jötnar laughed like that was the funniest thing they’d heard in a month. “Fuck you, Bogie. Go suck Arthur’s dick or something.”

Bogie’s spine stiffened at the insult, and his hand drifted to the holster on his hip. “Listen to me, you overgrown nutsack,” he growled. “This isn’t just any job. I know where to find Gungnir.”

That, of course, was a lie. But Bogie did have some idea where the spear was. The Behemoth had lived in the Luxor right up until Odin’s pawn had broken the pyramid. The spear had to be on the south end of the Strip, somewhere.

The leader of the jötunn gang eyeballed Bogie as he chewed thoughtfully on the offering of meat. He gulped down a bloody mouthful, then gave a slow nod. “All right,” the creature said. “We’ll take a field trip with you. But if we don’t find anything, I’ll cut your cock off and feed it to you.”

The spark of fear that threat ignited was quickly extinguished by the excitement Bogie felt. He’d find the dickhead who’d stolen the spear. And then they’d tear the fucker’s head off and reclaim the spear. Hyrrokkin would visit him again, he just knew it. And then he’d be the big boss.

BRIDGET FOLDED THE note she’d scribbled and tucked it between Gunnar’s big hand and his chest. The urge to lean down and kiss him almost overwhelmed her. The völva hoped the words she’d written would help him understand why she’d left. She wanted him to know that she loved him, would always love him, but her dreams had shown her a road she had to walk alone.

It was the only way to stop Hyrrokkin.

Even if it killed her.

The völva let out a long, slow breath and double-checked the knots she’d made in the Wyrd. The process had been difficult, but her weaving had held. None of her sister witches or her jarl had awoken while she wrote her note by the light of the LED lantern. She only needed it to hold a little longer, until she was too far away for them to find and stop her.

The trapdoor opened with a faint creak, and she lowered the folding ladder through the opening. Her ears pricked up, straining to hear any sounds below her. But nothing stirred in the casino, and her family lay quiet, dreaming of better days.

Bridget thanked Freya for the strength she’d given her völva and lowered herself through the hole in the floor. She landed on her toes, pushed the door back up where it belonged, then froze in place to make sure no jötunn lurked in the early morning gloom. But the shafts of gray light that filtered through the casino’s broken windows showed her no enemies.

Of course, there weren’t. Bridget had seen this version of the future and worked feverishly to knot it in place while the others slept. It would have been easier to do with Rayleigh’s and Mimi’s help, but the völva could never ask them to do that. They would have tried to stop her.

And she couldn’t let them do that. Her mission was too important.

Darkness was coming. Even if they recovered Draupnir in the coming battle, the fight for Midgard was only beginning. Their struggles these past days were only the first skirmish in a war that would turn the Earth upside down. A time of darkness