She didn’t move, but watched him closely as he used his small, shiny knife again, first to cut her other arm free, then he crouched for her feet. The moment her second leg was free, she launched herself forward and used every ounce of strength she could muster to deliver a crashing right hook to Karl’s jaw. He was a big man, but Rose was a strong fighter, and he reeled back with a grunt of surprise and pain. Her fist flared in pain, maybe broken from the impact with his big, dumb head, but she didn’t stop to think about that. Not waiting to see the effect, Rose stood from the chair, ignoring the whine of pain in her legs and the surge of pins and needles, and drove a kick up under Karl’s chin. His teeth snapped together and he sat back hard, then collapsed like a scarecrow with the pole removed.
Rose grabbed the knife from where it had fallen and paused. She looked down at him, half of her desperate to remove any threat, imagining herself dragging the knife across his throat where he lay. Is that what Crowley would do? She shook her head. She couldn’t do it, not kill in cold blood.
She turned and ran around the chair, heading for the door out of the strange, small warehouse. It was where Karl had come in from, so surely the others would be waiting out there. Or was that a ruse and he was on his own after all? Behind her, Karl groaned and moved weakly, regaining consciousness. No time. Her feet and legs were rubbery from inaction.
She looked frantically around, but there were no other exits except a huge roller door at one end. No way would she be able to get that open easily or quietly. She went to the first door and opened it an inch or so. Outside was a strange twilight sky, mostly cloudy. A cool breeze tickled across the bare skin of her arms as she leaned out to look further. She saw a lot of white houses with red tile roofs spreading away from her up a shallow hill. Water glittered off to her right, dark under the gloaming evening. A few masts rattled and rang with sail lines in the tiny harbor there.
A white panel van was parked just to one side and two men stood beside it, talking quietly. One smoked a cigarette. She could smell the acrid smoke on the otherwise cool, clean air. She slipped from the door as Karl began to moan more loudly behind her. As she ducked past the end of the van, trying to put it between herself and the other two men, Karl hollered something in Swedish. His voice boomed from the still open door and the two men swung around, faces shocked. They saw her.
“Hey!” one yelled and she bolted.
But her legs were still like jelly from who knew how many hours tied to the chair. She stumbled as she ran, her feet sparking painfully with pins and needles. A cavalcade of footsteps rattled up rapidly behind her and she spun around, slashing out with the knife. The two men yelped and leapt back, one slapping a hand to his left forearm, face twisted in pain.
“Bitch!”
Blood leaked out from between his fingers. Rose snarled at them like a caged animal, sweeping the knife left and right as they watched her warily. Then too late she realized they were waiting, not advancing. Karl had come the long way around the van and he grabbed her from behind, clamping her arms to her side. One of the others stepped forward and slapped her hard. Her face sang with the sharp pain of it and her vision crossed. The knife dropped from her fingers though she desperately tried to hold onto it.
The three men were snapping at each other angrily in Swedish, short, sharp sentences. Karl lifted her, feet kicking a foot above the ground, and threw her into the back of the van. He climbed in behind her and slammed the sliding door. By the orange glow of the interior light he stood over her, one fist raised.
“I will beat you unconscious if you don’t stop fighting!”
“Like I just beat you unconscious?” Rose spat.
Karl laughed weakly, shook his head. “Yes, exactly like that.”
His eyes were winced half-closed, as he clearly struggled with the pain in his head, no doubt the nausea of a concussion. He was tough, but she took some pleasure in his obvious discomfort. Just moving fast and taking her back under control was hurting him. But she knew when she was cornered. Better to wait it out now and have another chance to run than give him the excuse he needed to beat her into submission. He was a professional to not beat her anyway out of spite, for revenge. She slumped back against some sacking in the open back of the van and stared daggers at him.
Karl relaxed, visibly relieved. “Good.” He turned to the front where the other two had taken their seats and said something. The van roared to life and pulled away.
They only drove for a couple of minutes before the van stopped and Karl grabbed Rose roughly by her upper arm. He slid open the door and dragged her out into the cool air. She was taken across a grassy area, a variety of trees here and there casting deep shadows as the twilight began to turn into night. Up ahead a large, rounded hill of rock rose up. Atop it she saw a square metal fence around a tall monument, what Rose thought of as a Celtic cross. But she was beginning to suspect that she wasn’t anywhere Celtic. The dusk had the feel of late night, which meant far northern latitudes. And the Scandinavian accents and language. Was she in Viking country? She was fairly sure the men driving her around were speaking Swedish, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were in Sweden. The scientist in her kept gathering information, while refusing to jump to conclusions.
Another group of men were gathered in some of the deepest shadows under trees at the base of the stony hill. They wore long robes with hoods pulled up, concealing their faces in darkness. Rose swallowed hard. Karl pushed her forward and one of the men stepped away from the others. He was very tall. She began to remember horror movies from her youth — Satanic rituals and maidens slaughtered on stone tables. Her heart raced and her already weak legs wobbled. Violent trembling set in and she could do nothing to still her vibrating limbs.
The man who had stepped forward from the group, well over six feet, stood close enough to tower over her. He threw back his hood to reveal a slim, handsome face topped with short ash blond hair. He smiled, his grin wolfish in a neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard. “Please, try to relax.”
“What’s happening here?” Rose asked, hating the quaver of fear in her voice. “I don’t know anything!”
“Ah, but I think you do.”
“Who are you people?”
The man looked around the small gathering, the three thugs arrayed behind her, the six others in robes behind him. “We are just a small contingent of the Sons of Ragnar. The people you see behind me are the most powerful of us, the most important. And I, for my sins, am in charge. My name is Halvdan Landvik, and please, if you show me some respect and treat me well, I will do the same for you.”
“Are you crazy?” Rose knew she should do nothing to antagonize this man, he was clearly some kind of psychopath, but she simply couldn’t help herself. “You chase me all over Europe, you drug me, abduct me! And then tell me you’ll treat me with respect? Screw you, buddy!”
Landvik reached out one long, slim palm and gently stroked her hair. “You have no idea of your importance.”
Rose cringed away from his touch. “Why don’t you just ask me?”
“If only it were that simple.” Landvik looked up, addressed the three who had driven her here. “Head back to the base. If I need you again, I’ll call. We have our vehicles here.”
Rose heard the men walk back across the grass, but didn’t dare take her eyes of Landvik. He watched them go for a moment, then returned his attention to her. “Please, sit.” He pressed hard on one shoulder, giving her no choice but to sink to the cold grass. She knelt, staring at him in fear and just a little bit of wonder.
“What do you know about past lives?” Landvik asked suddenly.