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“Who the fuck are you?” he counters.
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m the warrior who’ll drag your ass to the pits if you don’t answer the fucking question.”
He glares as if sizing me up. “What’s it to ya?”
“Answers or pit,” I say with exaggerated patience.
He looks around at the other newbies and finds them all taking a step back, no longer interested in witnessing a physical confrontation and distancing themselves from whatever trouble he’s causing. He must realize that he’s on an island by himself because he sighs.
“My name is Jacob,” he finally says when he faces me again. Then he points to a patch on his chest. “But everyone calls me Grump.”
Maybe in the human world they do.
I close the distance between us and thrust out my hand. “Jacob, I’m Viking. Welcome to Valhalla.”
Jacob shakes my hand after several tense seconds. “Why am I here?”
“Because you were chosen.”
“Chosen?” he repeats. “For what? How? I don’t kno—”
“Kára will explain everything. But you’ve gotta get your temper under control if you’re to stay here.”
“I don’t want to stay here.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do. But there’s nothing for you to go back to. The life you knew is over.”
“But how?”
I glance at Kára and nod. “Show him.”
A full minute passes before Jacob stumbles backward, and a tear streaks down his tanned cheek.
“I…” He shakes his head. “I was shot?”
“Is that what you saw?” I ask him.
He nods. “I was at a jewelry store, picking out a ring for my old lady. Ya know… so we could make things all legal and shit.” Jacob waves a hand dismissively. “A man in a mask came in to rob the place, and the fucker had a gun. He was aiming at the woman behind the counter, but I jumped in front of her.”
“If that’s what you saw, that’s what happened.”
As a warrior, the only death we’re permitted to see is our own. We can divulge the information to others if we choose, but that’s up to each man.
“Jacob,” Kára begins. “I know you’re scared, but if you give things a chance, you’ll find that your afterlife isn’t all that much different than your human life was.”
He arches a brow. “How so?”
“I see you’re wearing a cut,” I say before Kára can respond. “You were in a motorcycle club.”
“Yeah, so fucking what,” he growls defensively.
“I’m the president of Valhalla Rising MC. Do well in Academy Hall, and you could earn a spot as a prospect.”
“I already have a club,” Jacob snarls. “Besides, I’m an Enforcer. Why would I wanna be a damn prospect?”
“Dude, you’re dead,” Inferno reminds him. “You’ve got nothing anymore. Youarenothing.”
Jacob flinches at the bluntness of Inferno’s statement. He bristles, and Kára reaches for his hand. I brace myself for him to lash out, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. Instead, he hesitates for a moment and then settles his palm on hers.
