Riders of Tyr - Book cover

Riders of Tyr

Adelina Jaden

The Lone Viking


I’m so screwed, I think for the thousandth time, as I scrub the grime from the back tire of my bike.

I’ve been hiding out all night in my workshop, in the garage across the street from our clubhouse.


I hear the music across the road. Colliding pool balls. Girls’ laughter.

My brothers, my king, all hungry for the story of Pasado’s death.

A death that hasn’t happened yet.

I say a silent prayer to Tyr, the god of war and justice, that King Haf won’t mount my head next to that moose he shot in Sweden.

I had one job:

Kill that sonofabitch Javier Pasado.

The Toltecs are our only gun-running rivals in town, apart from the Russians—who pretty much leave us alone as long as we keep to the Bay Area.

But the Toltecs…those fuckers are greedy.

Six months ago, they started crashing our deals and trying to shoot down my brors—my brothers. Stealing our shit.

Nobody fucks with the Riders of Tyr and lives to see the sunrise.

And yet…

The Toltecs remain very much alive.

It all was supposed to end today.

I was supposed to murder the motherfucker who’s spearheading the raids, in hopes that we could finally start making some dough again.


Except the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen ruined everything.

My thoughts return to those emerald-green eyes. That tight little body. The way her shirt hung off her shoulder…

“You look like shit, bror,” says a voice, and I snap my head up to see Tor standing in the doorway of the garage.

My earl—what we call our vice president.

Tor and I are the only two Riders who grew up in the club—raised in the traditions of our viking ancestors.

Well, not all of them.

His father founded the American chapter of Riders of Tyr, and his grandfather still runs the mother chapter in Sweden.

If Tor hadn’t insisted on cropping his hair short, he would actually look like a viking. Golden hair, pale blue eyes. A herd of females following his every move.

“Haf’s looking for you,” Tor adds, taking a seat on the bench beside me and pulling off his boots.

“Haf knows where to find me,” I mumble, returning to my work.

“You alright, bror?”

I sigh, abandoning my project to take a seat beside my best friend. He hands me a cigarette.

“Is this about Lily?”

I stiffen at the sound of her name.


She was the only bright light in this bleak world we live in.

It’s been almost two whole years since…

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my jeans. I pull it out, thankful for the distraction.

But the phone freezes in my hand.

“Shit. It’s Haf.”

HafIs it done?
Bjornsomething came up
HafWhat the fuck do u mean something came up
HafIs it done or not?
Bjorni planted it but there was this woman there
Bjornshe pulled him out of the way
HafU gotta be fucking kidding me
HafWho is she?
Bjornno idea
HafTake her out.
Bjorni don’t know how to find her
HafNot my fuckin problem
Bjorndon’t you want me to find out who she is?
HafI don’t give a fuck
HafNo loose ends.
HafU hear me?
Bjornloud and clear
Bjornmy king

I groan.

Now it looks like the body count will be two for the price of one…


How am I supposed to find her?

I rise, digging my hands into my leather jacket, searching for a lighter.

“And where are you going?” Tor asks.

“To see about a girl,” I mutter.

“I wish you were serious, bror,” Tor replies, following me as I wheel my Harley out of the garage. “Might do you some good.”

Yeah, right.

I’m tired of everyone looking at me like I’m some kind of wounded goddamn puppy.

I say nothing, turning my key in the ignition.

The engine roars to life and drowns out anything else Tor can say.

As I ride off into the night, I can’t help but feel guilty.

Guilty because…I’m excited.

Even if I eventually have to kill her…

I get to see that woman again.


Belyy Krolik.

The White Rabbit.

I stand in the center of the strobe-lit floor, amid the mass of swaying dancers covered in body paint and black leather, trying to remember what I’m doing here.

The techno club is dark, massive, and humid—like a jungle at night.

The place feels familiar…have I been here before?

I can’t decide.

And then I see him.

Sitting in the back corner of the room behind a red velvet rope—the VIP section—with two massive guys in suits flanking him.

He’s conventionally handsome. Clean-shaven. Gray-flecked, dark brown hair slicked back from his spray-tanned face. A lot of women probably fall at his feet.

And just like that, I remember why I came here.

For him.

Tonight’s lucky guy.

As I approach him, feeling his dark eyes gravitate toward my scantily clad body, I retrieve a tube of lipstick from my purse and let it slip through my fingers.

The tube rolls across the grimy floor, coming to a stop just before his feet.

Smiling, my hero bends down to pick it up and approaches me.

“I believe this is yours,” he says in his smooth English accent, leaning into my ear.

“Oh! Thank you!” I take the tube from his hand, feeling his fingers linger over mine.

He leans his head back to get a better look at me, his dilated eyes crinkling.

“Please tell me you’re here alone,” he ventures.

“Looks that way.” Now it’s my turn to whisper in his ear. “But hopefully not for too long.”

“This place is tired,” he replies, toying with my dangling, silver earrings, which match the hairpins sticking out of my high ponytail. “I’m staying at the Ritz. What do you say we…”

“I know somewhere much…closer,” I cut in, winking. “If you’re brave enough.”

Before he can even give it a second thought, I lean in and bite his bottom lip, sucking on it.

He moans, pulling me into his body, and I feel him stiffen through his pants.

Suddenly he whips around, whispering something to one of his goons. And then I’m pulling him through the packed dance floor by the hand…

Back down the rabbit hole.

I guide him down a darkened hallway, a narrow staircase…

Then everything shifts.

I’m no longer in the club, but on the deck of a yacht, leading a clueless billionaire away from the party inside.

A preppy, blond-haired money launderer with a bad habit of rounding numbers.

The ocean is still—like it’s holding its breath.

I throw him up against the exterior wall of the cabin, my hands moving to unbuckle his belt.

He grabs my sleek, black ponytail, yanking my head back.

The blanket of stars above me fades away, and my surroundings shift again.

I’m standing inside an airplane bathroom, wearing a tight-fitting stewardess uniform, while Moscow’s second-largest cocaine dealer kisses a trail down my neckline.

He slips a hand into my blouse, massaging my nipple.

“I love a girl in a ponytail,” he murmurs, pushing me against the sink.

“I know.”

His hands trace down my back, firmly grasping my ass.

“Fuck, baby, I can’t wait to be inside of you,” he gasps.

“Then do it,” I tease.

I bring my hands up to his neck, stroking both sides.

He groans, trying to pry one of my hands from his neck and bring it down to the unimpressive bulge in his pants.

“Close your eyes, baby~,” I tease. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”~

He does as he’s told, licking his lips.

“Do you trust me?” I ask.


I can’t stop the satisfied grin from spreading across my face.


“Wh-what?” His puppy-dog eyes fly open as I pull the hairpin blade from my ponytail.

I clamp my other hand around the back of his head.

“Dmitri Vasiliev sends his regards.”

And then I slit his throat.

As the life drains from his eyes, everything shifts once more.

I glance around and realize that I’m standing in my parents’ living room.

Rain hammers against the roof. The entire room is filled with an eerie bluish light.

I turn back to the man on the floor.

And when I catch sight of his face…

That’s when the screaming begins.

I sit up with a start, my chest heaving.

It was just a dream, I tell myself.

It’s easier to pretend that nothing I saw was real.

Wiping the cold sweat from my forehead, I glance around my shitty motel room.

It’s light outside.

Morning already? I could’ve sworn I just closed my eyes…

Then again, I’m not exactly what you’d call a heavy sleeper.

Not since I left home, anyway.

I roll over, rubbing sleep from my eyes and offer a groan. It's been a full day since I began my hunt for Riders of Tyr, and I've yet to spot any sign of the hunky mystery man I urgently need to locate.

I check my phone and see three messages waiting for me from my handler, Izzy.

Izzyheyooo, hows my fave bounty hunter?
Izzyu sure u want 2 hang around San Leandro?
Izzyi have another bounty in the area with ur name on it
AvaYeah. Just waiting for Pasado to get out of the hospital.
AvaGotta sort some shit out with a rival gang.
AvaWouldn’t mind another job in the meantime.
Izzyokay, sending u the deets now.


“Please. Don’t do this!” A pudgy, middle-aged man in a Battlestar Galactica T-shirt with Cheetos dust on his fingertips crawls across the gravel parking lot on his hands and knees.

He’s trying to escape me.

Sometimes it’s entertaining to watch them try.

But this guy, this thirty-seven-year-old slob who skipped bail last month after robbing a fucking Dunkin Donuts…I’ve had enough of him.

I’ve already taken out his knees, and the guy is still trying to run…

I clamp my boot down on his back, and he collapses finally, resigning himself to his fate.

“Hands behind your back,” I instruct, and he does as commanded.

Cuffing him, I shove the idiot into the back of my car.

It only took me a few hours to track the guy down. He was staying in his mother’s basement.

The coward tried to sneak out the back door, then made me chase him to the Starbucks down the street. What a sniveling little bitch.


Another day, another dollar.

I’m just biding my time until my real payday.

And I’m not talking about the fifty grand.

After all the bullshit that went down with Pasado yesterday…

This one’s fucking personal.

Bringing him in is going to be sweeter than a goddamn Unicorn Frappuccino.

I climb into the front seat of my car, pulling out onto the main road.

“Please! I didn’t do it!” my bounty wails from the backseat. “I swear to God!”

I roll my eyes.

As we pull up to a red light, I turn on the radio to drown out his whimpering. I scan through the channels, finally finding some halfway decent disco.

A dark figure on a motorcycle pulls up beside me in the left-hand turning lane.

As I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, humming to the sweet seventies melody, I casually glance at the motorcycle’s rider.

Holy shit.

It’s him.

The sexy biker who tried to kill Pasado!

My eyes trace up his tight, black jeans.

The dark T-shirt clinging to each sculpted muscle of his torso.

He’s really got a thing for black.

Good lord, this man is a tall drink of delicious.

And I’m not talking about another Frappuccino.

I’m so distracted that I don’t even hear the horns beeping behind me.

“Um…lady?” says my bounty from the back seat. “You know it’s a green light, right?”

Just as I come to my senses, the man in black turns his head…

…and looks directly at me.

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