Page 15 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

“Sweden?”

Still no reaction.

“Iceland?”

He lifts his beer and kicks back a drink.

“Okay,” I mutter, sipping my own. “Take a sip if there is a special somebody.”

As he lifts the bottle to his lips, I chuckle, feeling as victorious as that chick who lived with gorillas in Africa must’ve felt the first time they didn’t pummel her into the grass.

“Your girlfriend?”

He shakes his head and sets the beer down on the table. “Stripper.” His accent is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard. With a slight clip, it actually sounds like streeper, and his “r” has a roll of the tongue that has me discreetly rolling my own tongue inside my mouth.

“So what’s the problem? Ma and pa Viking aren’t down with strippers?”

He sneers and rubs his beard, while I wedge my knee between the table and my body, wrapping my arm around it. “She’s pretty.”

“Oh yeah?” The buzz of the beer is starting to take over, evident in the warmth of my face. “Blond? Brunette?”

“Redhead.” If his beard wasn’t in the way and didn’t shield his cheeks, I’d swear the man was blushing.

“Redhead, eh? So what’s the deal? You like her. You think she’s pretty. She doesn’t like you?” I kick back another sip, mentally willing myself to slow down so I’m not sloshed when Ripley comes back. I sure don’t want to spend another night strapped to his wooden pole, nursing a hangover.

“She’s for Dorian.”

Dorian. The name slithers down my spine.

I find it hard to believe this man is afraid of another human being. It seems his only opponent in the world would be something out of a comic book. “I’ve never met Dorian, personally, but I’m pretty sure you could kick his ass.”

Beer has definitely taken over, but he only seems to encourage it when he smiles and lifts his beer bottle. I clink glasses and a belch escapes me, forcing me to slap a hand to my face. Flames of embarrassment wash through me, but Jörgen only snorts and polishes off his drink.

“If you like her, you should tell her. Life’s too short.”

“I see her at the club. She’s afraid of me.”

I puff my cheeks and blow out a breath. “Well, I’m not going to lie. You’re scary as shit. I mean, I thought you were eyeing me up as a snack when you first walked in.”

“I don’t want to scare her. She’s already scared.”

“Dorian hurts her.”

He doesn’t have to answer. I can see the tension in his jaw, and by the way his eyebrows dip at the statement, he’s probably imagining those big hands of his crushing Dorian’s skull.

My thoughts return to the nights I’d watch Ripley stalk down the alley toward the diner. I can’t say that I’d have gone out of my way to approach a dangerous man like him, but those nights were my lifeline, when I could dream things that didn’t seem possible at the time. “It might not be that she’s afraid of you, Jörgen. Maybe all she needs right now is to know someone sees her.”

A beat of silence lingers between us before he says, “Ripley does bad things, but he’s a good man.”

I hide a smile at the sound of Ripley’s name. “He is.” Rubbing my hands along my jeans, I lift my gaze to Jörgen and tip my head. “Why do you do it? If you know Dorian’s a bad man, why do you work for him?” I’m not entirely sure the half hour I’ve broken through with this man earns me the right to ask the question, but the guy’s a mountain that’ll undoubtedly go back to being stony if I cross a line.

He sniffs and rolls his shoulders before his eyes are level with mine. “It’s my job. I have no choice.”

Pushing off the table, I nab both empty beer bottles and pause. “Hungry?”

He shrugs and nods his head toward the stove. “You cook?”

“A little. Rip doesn’t exactly keep his fridge stocked, but I’m like the MacGyver of kitchens. I can make a four-course meal out of Spaghettios and a slice of bread.”