“Kitty knows,” he said, his voice shaking. “We’ve been here before, haven’t we, Kitty? She knows that the blood-eagle ritual is the most brutal of Viking punishments—that it involves prying the victim’s rib cage open at the spine, removing his lungs one at a time, and draping them over his shoulders like wings.”

Luke swayed on his feet, untethered and numb. He might have floated away for all eternity, but Johan brought him back, whispering in his ear:

“I don’t know how long it will take you to die.”

He circled once more, then ripped the back of Luke’s dog-tattered T-shirt open and dragged a finger down his spine. Luke shuddered. He swayed again, but caught himself before spilling to the floor.

Kitty tried once more, speaking Johan’s name over and over, pleading with everything she had. Johan regarded her briefly, then stepped in front of Luke, clasped his jaw, and tilted his head until their eyes locked.

“How about now?” he said, still growing. “Am I beginning to look more like a Viking?”

Tera had seen enough, heard enough. She took aim from the shadows. This would be quick. Two shots. Johan and Xander would drop, and any incriminating link she had to them would drop, also.

Xander first—he was holding the gun. Tera thumbed the Beretta’s safety and curled her finger around the trigger. At the same instant, she heard the distinct click of a round being chambered, then felt the muzzle of a pistol against the back of her skull.

She closed her eyes and groaned, remembering the two vehicles parked outside: Johan’s Mustang and a Tundra with twenty-four-inch rims.

“Drop the shooter,” Ruben said.

Tera hesitated, chiding herself for being so remiss, and wondering how serious Ruben—two hundred and sixty pounds of stupid—was about shooting an ex-cop.

He answered by pressing harder with the pistol and whispering into her ear, “Right now, bitch, or your brains go bye-bye.”

Tera opened her hand, allowing her Beretta to spill out and fall to the floor. She hoped it might go off and shoot Ruben between the eyes, but no such luck.

With the pistol locked to Tera’s head, Ruben urged her forward, into the flickering light.

Johan heard sounds from the restaurant and turned to see Ruben materialize from the darkness, marching Tera Montecino ahead of him. He had the PPQ rooted to the back of her skull.

“Didn’t find any rope,” he announced in his big, bouncy voice. “But I found something else.”

“Tera?” Johan frowned, holding Krókr close to his chest. “What the fuck? I was going to call you when the job was done.”