Hammer of the Gods Read online

  Great! Is anyone else onboard pissed at me? He sighed, following the small Jamaican woman – if she was Jamaican. He had doubts about that, and that her name was even Julia, but he was happy letting the woman have her secrets. Just as long as she was happy to let him have his own.

  They reached the sunlight, and Julia jogged toward the wheelhouse. She was surprising quick and agile for a woman her age; whatever age that may be.

  He turned to the right, stopping dead in his tracks as he nearly ran into Bryndis. Her violet eyes were shooting daggers, all of them aimed at him. Her jaw was clenched. He could see she wanted to scream at him, but she would not. Not in front of anyone else, at least. I’ll give her that. She treats me like a child, too, but, at least, not in front of anyone.

  Bryndis’ heel clicked against the deck in rhythm as she stood. At six feet tall with well-defined muscles, Bryndis could be an imposing enough sight without the four-inch heels, but she hated looking up to Thor... especially when she was angry with him. So, as Thor grew taller, her heels did, as well. Why, was a mystery Thor had been trying to answer for years. Julia was just over five feet tall, and could make people twice her size, cower with a look.

  He could picture his head on that pole, now.

  Since his mother’s death, Bryndis Angantýrsdóttir took it upon herself to become his mother, sister and aunt rolled into one. She had relaxed a little over the years, but she could still be as protective as a grizzly with a new cub. Honestly, there were times Thor was amazed the woman ever let him out of her sight. Yes, the prom was one of the most embarrassing nights of my life!

  Bryndis wrapped her arms around him so quickly, he had no idea what was happening, at first. She kissed his cheek, then rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel her trembling. This was worse than he thought. She was not worried, she was scared. She had been on edge since someone tried to shoot him in Sicily, but that was six months ago. That seemed an awfully long time to keep that kind of worry bottled up.

  “I’m sorry I made you worry,” Thor whispered in her ear.

  “I promised that I would keep you safe,” she whispered back. That was true. Thor heard her tell his grandfather those very words, three weeks after his parents died in a plane crash, and she had not been far from his side since then. “How can I keep you safe if you keep disappearing?” She kissed his cheek once more, then let go.

  He was suddenly aware of the other people on deck. Most of the men that lined the dock stood at the rail, their stark-white uniforms replaced with green camouflage uniforms and maroon berets with a golden hammer patch. They were all West African – Thor assumed by their accents, on the rare occasion he heard any of them speak – lead by a tall dark-skinned man with sharp features named Morambu. At least that was what Thor had been told his name was, though that could be a lie, Iona did her very best to embarrass him every chance she got.

  Four other women were on deck, now, Michelle “Mikki” Acier, Else Obermeijer, Christelle Faure, and Jennifer Kingston; each an adopted member of his extended, dysfunctional family.

  There were two others somewhere on the ship; Iona McMillan and Lindsay Kennedy. Not seeing Lindsay was understandable; she still turned green until a few days at sea. Not Iona, casting off was her favorite part; whatever kept that woman from the deck had to be good.

  Bryndis led him toward the women, her thumb pressing on the back of his neck. It was her subtle way of telling him their conversation was far from over, and he was in store for a very long night, indeed.

  Mikki came running up to him, wrapping her legs around his waist and hugging his neck until he Thor thought he would pass out from lack of oxygen. The wiry chestnut-haired woman was surprisingly strong, despite her very thin physique. “Where the hell have you been, Sugah?” she drawled in her thick Cajun accent. “You had… the other girls so worried.”

  Typical! Mikki would never admit to caring for a living soul, no matter how much her actions betrayed her. Thor would never blame her for it; having your family butchered had powerful side-effects.

  Mikki had been a MMA champion until she refused to take a dive. As noble an idea as it was, it earned her a contract for her life from Irish crime boss, Brian Donnelly. When Mikki went into hiding, her family was killed in her place to teach her a lesson. It was a Hel of a lesson. In the blink of an eye, her parents and older brother were gone; leaving her with nothing but a burning desire to see an end to the man that took them from her.

  Thor heard the story from a long-time friend, and he sought out Mikki. Finding the woman proved a challenge; winning her trust, a bigger one.

  Thor ended up killing Donnelly’s sons, Mikey and Davey – the two that actually murdered Mikki’s family – with a baseball bat in front of him. That was not cruel enough for the father’s actions. So, Thor turned the bat on Brian Donnelly, pummeling his right shin, turning the bones to unmendable shards that would have to be amputated.

  “Every time you strap-on that prosthetic leg, I want you to think about how bad you fucked-up,” Thor told the old man. Then he called for an ambulance.

  Mikki sat, stone-silent, witnessing the brutality from a chair in the corner of the room. “Why didn’t you kill the old bastard?” she asked angrily.

  “Didn’t have to,” Thor replied, wiping blood off his hands. “When the other families find out what happened here, they’ll see it as weakness and finish the job.”

  He was never more correct in his life. However, after Brian Donnelly was gunned down in his hospital bed, the bullets kept flying. I had no idea I’d start a war that would bleed two families to extinction. I was young and inexperienced then, a piss-poor excuse, I know, but it’s the only one I’ve got.

  “I was having too much fun at LEGOLAND,” Thor replied with a quick smile. Mikki loosened her death grip, shaking her head, making her the third woman in less than an hour to do that. He eased her off of him. His eyes found Else’s pretty face. “Were you worried, too?”

  Her pale-blue eyes twinkled as if she knew something no one else did. “Me? No,” she said in a thick German accent. “I told them you were a grown man, fully capable of taking care of yourself.”

  Finally, someone was on his side.

  “I figured you were probably out getting you dick wet,” Else added casually.

  Maybe not.

  Jennifer Kingston was not much help to his cause. The redheaded Ausie simply shrugged. “That’s what I thought, mate,” she said flatly.

  Much to Thor’s gratitude, the shrill of the ship’s whistle ended any further comments. This was their favorite part. Julia’s voice called out “Cast off” over the loud speaker; Thor and the women cheered. The west-African crew loosed the mooring lines, and the ship slowly crept away from the dock. A moment later, The Blues Image sounded over the loudspeaker, and the women sang along to Ride Captain, Ride. Thor smiled as he sang, feeling the tension fade, though Bryndis’ eyes locked on his, reminded him the tension had not disappeared completely.

  An hour later, he had Ann secured in his private workshop, and was half-way to his cabin for a much-needed shower, when Julia caught up to him, reporting a problem in the engine room. Now what? he wondered. At least, that explained why Iona was not on deck with the others.

  “It’s always something!” he grumbled to himself, winding his way below decks. He paused in front on the locked door to a cargo bay. Inside was a completed list of cases of wines and liquors: gifts for his friend, Felix, brought back from recent travels. Then he noticed the remaining three cargo bay doors were locked, as well. Julia must be going through another paranoid phase. I swear, every time that woman gets a bug up her ass, she locks this place down like a Swiss bank vault! He shook his head, continuing on, stopping dead in his tracks in the engine room doorway.

  Iona McMillan was standing near an instrument panel, her back to him, with headphones over her ears and thumbing through a magazine. Her hips were swaying to the music; the tight white shorts and bikini top she wore barely covering the tr
easures beneath.

  She was average height, but that was the only thing about Iona that was average: she was a very beautiful woman! Her long brown hair was in its usual thick braid, hanging down between her shoulder blades.

  Thor tried not to leer and wonder “what if?”, but it was very difficult.

  As if on cue, she turned and smiled at him, not helping the “what ifs” running through his mind. A man could drown in those big brown eyes of hers… a very lucky man.

  The engine room was hot and stuffy, and getting hotter by the second; her body was covered in beads of sweat that glistened in the fluorescent light as it trickled down between her breasts. She removed her headphones, letting them drop around her slender neck, and tossed the magazine down on a chair. The man and woman on the open pages of the hard-core pornographic magazine were in a position anyone but two yoga masters would find impossible.

  From just looking at her, it was difficult to believe Iona had a porn collection large enough to open her own museum, with the collection growing with every port of call. If it continued at its current rate, he would have to charge her storage fees for taking up all the space in the cargo hold.

  “About time you showed-up,” Iona’s hands flashed in sign language.

  Nine years ago, Iona was shot in the throat during a botched bank robbery. It was amazing the girl survived at all. No one was completely sure if was the idiotic robber, or an inept police officer that had shot – a then – seventeen- year-old- girl, ending her dreams of becoming an opera singer. At least, the poor girl had been unconscious, and unable to witness her mother bleed to death on the floor next to her.

  Thor had hired the best surgeons in the world to mend her vocal cords. Cosmetically, a miracle had been performed, leaving Iona with an almost imperceptible scar on her throat, but the dozens of surgeries the poor girl endued left her just as mute as the day she had been shot.

  “You need to make an adjustment,” Iona flashed, then pointed to a heavy steel door.

  “Are you sure?” Thor asked.

  Iona’s hands remained still as she gave him a stare that said: “Just do it, asshole!”

  She must be taking lessons from Bryndis.

  He crossed the small room and placed his right eye up to the electronic scanner, the light turned green and he opened the door. He turned to Iona. “I told you I’d show you how to operate this.”

  She stood, hands on hips, her eyes locked on his. She was obviously an “A” student; Bryndis would be proud.

  In addition to being a cocky, practical-joke-playing-pain-in-the-ass, she was a damned fine engineer, and as far as Thor knew, Iona was the only person to graduate top of her class from MIT, without stepping foot on campus. The ship had been her only classroom; with half a dozen full time professors her faculty. It’s amazing what a ridiculously large donation can accomplish!

  After a quick diagnosis, he made a minor adjustment to the supercharger. He waited a moment, watching the air to fuel readings, before closing the door again. He would have to make a few more adjustments once the other turbine engines were running, but what he did would suffice.

  Iona was standing with her eyes closed and her bare feet spread apart. She opened her eyes and nodded her approval. Mjölnir had the best diagnostic equipment available onboard, yet she trusted the sensations from her hands and feet better. The funny thing – or scary thing, depending how you looked at it – was, she was never wrong. Never.

  She picked-up the magazine, cocking her head as if trying to calculate if the position on the page was physically possible, or not.

  This time it was Thor’s turn to shake his head. “In our next port, I’m going to get you your choice of any man you want.”

  Iona dropped the magazine once more. “Any man?” her hands flashed, and Thor began to feel anxious. She padded toward him. “”I’m sure you could more than satisfy my needs.”

  Thor swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. Those big brown eyes held him firm. His mind was racing at the possibilities. This woman is scary. She could make your wildest dreams come true… or your worst nightmares. He closed his eyes after a moment, letting out a deep breath he did not realize he was holding until he let it out. “I love you too much to ruin us like that,” he finally said.

  “Ah, ah.” She wagged her finger in his face. “Don’t forget your promise to me. I still have that, don’t I?”

  He had promised her – as she clung to life from her hospital bed – he would give her anything in his power to give, if she would trust him to make her well. Almost nine years later, she had yet to ask for that promise to be fulfilled, though she liked to remind him of it from time to time.

  I should’ve paid more attention when we were discussing Damocles in school! “Of course you do,” he replied nervously. He did not like where this conversation was heading.

  “I may decide I want you as my man.” She smiled slyly. “I would fuck you raw every night.”

  Thor swore his heart stopped, and blood was pouring from his ears. There are worse ways to go than being fucked to death… I should know. He pondered the prospect a moment, a long, lovely moment.

  Iona laughed so hard tears ran down her beautiful cheeks. She held her sides as she shook, emitting a heavy panting sound that was her laugh. “Oh, my God!” she paused to wipe tears from her yes. “You looked like a deer in the headlights.” She kissed him on the cheek, then looked at his crotch. “Well, at least, you didn’t piss on yourself.”

  “You’re so very funny,” he said, and Iona broke-out with laughter all over again.

  “I’m sorry,” her fingers flashed, but her eyes said she was far from it. She loved to play pranks, almost as much as she loved her porn… almost. “Sweetie, please don’t be angry.”

  “I’m not,” Thor lied. He was angry at the moment, but it would pass quickly. It was difficult to stay angry at Iona for any length of time.

  He turned and started to leave, stopping in the doorway. “Why did you trust me, Iona?” he asked softly.

  “It was your eyes.” She nodded with self-satisfaction. “I just knew you would never hurt me.”

  “I do love you, you know.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “And I love you, too. Just not that way… But, it doesn’t stop my mind from wondering every now and then.” She eyed him like he was a side of beef, and was deciding which cut she wanted first.

  Thor swallowed hard, then headed for his cabin before either of them forgot they did not love the other “that way.”

  It had been a long day. His head throbbed, and it would be good to sleep in a nice comfortable bed… after a very cold shower.

  He closed the door and sighed, staring into Bryndis’ deep-blue eyes as she glared at him over the rim of her teacup.

  “It’s time for that talk,” Bryndis said, setting the cup down and settling back into the leather high-backed chair. Her eyes followed his every movement as he took the chair’s twin across from her.

  All I really wanted was a shower and a long night’s sleep! His eyes drifted upward, imagining the clear-blue sky beyond the cabin’s ceiling. Was that too much to ask for?

  Chapter 5

  Mjölnir was a fast ship, faster than most thought possible. Her design had been cutting-edge at the time; designs that paved the way for future generations, though none that followed could even dream to have the modifications that had occurred since her maiden voyage.

  After hours of creeping up the California coast line in the dark, her turbines hummed with the joy of running free, cutting through the waves like a hot knife through soft butter. A salty spray glittered like diamonds in the early morning sun above her foamy wake, and the people onboard the freighters and cruise ships she passed with ease found it impossible not to stare in awe. She had more in her, much more, but this was neither the time nor the place to unleash her full potential. The curious were becoming bolder and bolder in their efforts to uncover her secrets as it was, without adding to their curiosity.

  Tho
r sat weary-eyed, absentmindedly watching seagulls trail the ship, while he patiently waited for his breakfast. It was nearly one in the morning before Bryndis felt her little heart-to-heart obtained the desired outcome. They had bickered, yelled, screamed, and even thrown a few things for hours. In the end, Bryndis left satisfied. All it took was a solemn promise to keep in contact – no matter what – and two fistfuls of apologies for added measure.

  How do women do that? How do they make a man apologize for the wrong they had done to them, when he had done nothing wrong?

  Bryndis was sitting across the table from him, looking as if she had slept a full night, with not even a hint a red in her beautiful violet eyes, her face as smooth as ever. She sat, quietly sipping at a cup of herbal tea that smelled of oranges and spices, delighted with the outcome of her newest creation. Occasionally, her eyes would meet his, the distinct glimmer of self-satisfaction showing through like fireworks in a night sky.

  Music was blaring, a thumping beat conveniently keeping perfect rhythm with the pounding in his head, as Iona, Jennifer and Mikki went through some dance moves some twenty feet away. Despite the available space on the ship, Iona seemed to believe there was no better place to practice their dance moves before breakfast. Mainly, because she likes to catch me watching her dance, so she can tease me about it, later.

  Lindsay Kennedy, a “spirited” young woman that reminded Thor of himself during his younger years, was sitting two chairs to his right, doing her best Gina Schock impersonation – which was not very good – with a pair of butter knives. She flung her sandy colored hair wildly as she attempted to keep a semblance of rhythm on the various place settings.

  Thor closed his eyes. He would complain about the noise, if he thought it would do any good. The most likely outcome, however, would be louder music, a more furious drum-beat on the table, and a much bigger smile on Bryndis’ face. The first two would be bad enough, the last would be intolerable.