Valkyrie Reborn Read online

  “Hello.” He nodded toward the equipment. “The rest of the blueprints and realtor information came in today.”

  “Cool.” She dropped into a seat, and he did the same. They got such short notice about new jobs, it was always a scramble to gather sufficient information before the event. She’d much rather go in with full knowledge of her environment, but it wasn’t usually an option. “What are we looking at?”

  His screen was cluttered, but he navigated the different apps and images without pause. “You were right about the building next to the bagel shop. Construction crews are remodeling, but their tile shipment was delayed, so they’re not in this morning. No one else is in there.” He flipped through real-estate listings and more building plans. “Nothing else with this easy kind of exit. Every other spot is too public. The tile holdup is painfully convenient.”

  “Stop.” Something caught Kirby’s attention. She reached over him, to flip back to an office-space rental. “Where is this?”

  He pulled up a series of images. “It’s the building next to the target’s office. Two suites are empty. The rest is open twenty-four-seven, because there’s a gym on the bottom floor.”

  It was a shitty location for a sniper. Too crowded. Bad shot angles. And she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  “Ruby?” Starkad studied her.

  She didn’t know why he called her that, but it slipped out once, and it stuck. And it warmed her from the inside-out, to hear it. “They’re wary of us by now.” She was talking to herself as much as to him. “They can’t jeopardize their missions with paranoia, but they’ll be on alert.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  She didn’t know. Her instincts were never this split. They had to cover the obvious spot. She needed to be there. But if she was wrong, she wouldn't get to the other position in time. “We’ll split up. I’ll take the initial building. I need you on the secondary spot.”

  She hated that. They always moved together. He was her keeper, but he was also her spotter. She needed him to watch her back. She didn’t trust anyone else. Not since Brit—

  That was a path she wasn’t tumbling down right now. She’d face that demon again tomorrow. And one last time when she looked her former partner in the eye, told her to rot in hell, and shot her.

  “All right.” Starkad nodded. “You ready?”

  She drew in a deep breath. On the exhale, she forced out the tension, along with a brief prayer to Freya. Help me to make peace among my enemies. “Set.”

  Chapter Two

  12 Years Ago - Kirby

  Kirby was promised this new place would be amazing. Perfect for a girl like her—as in, the kind who couldn’t keep a foster family for anything, because she was always in trouble for fighting.

  She never started the fights, but she made sure she finished them. She hated seeing people get picked on.

  The room that stretched out in front of her had cement walls and floors, and six sets of bunk beds, three on each side. It looked more like it came out of a bad movie, than like the wonderful dream life Loki promised her.

  “The others are running drills,” Hel said. She was tall, even for an adult. Not enough to have to duck in doorways, but she could see over the bunk beds in here without standing on tiptoe. Her white-blond hair was pulled into a tight French braid, and her T-shirt and khaki slacks hinted that the woman was as lithe and nimble as her graceful walk suggested.

  “Starting tomorrow, you’ll follow the same schedule as the other students in your year. Everyone begins with the basics: math, reading, one foreign language—which will become more later—physical combat, and firearms combat.” As Hel spoke, she strolled down the center aisle of the room. “You’re a few weeks behind, but looking at your previous test scores, I expect you’ll catch up quickly. Once your specialties begin to show, your training will be adjusted.”

  Hel patted the bottom bunk in the rear south corner of the room. “Now that you’re here, you’re a member of our family. You have no family name; you’ll simply be Kirby. Later in life, depending on the path you choose, that may change.”

  “Okay...” Kirby didn’t know how she felt about that. Family was a bullshit word in her experience. It never meant the good things people implied it did. But her last name was Jones, because it was what she’d been assigned, so she wasn’t attached to it.

  “All of our rooms and classes are co-ed. You rise above other students based on your skill, not on what’s between your legs. This bed is free. The right side of this wardrobe has clothes in your size. Take a few minutes while it’s quiet, to settle in and familiarize yourself with your schedule, then join us in the cafeteria for dinner.”

  “Thank you.” Kirby kept her fear and apprehension from her reply.

  She settled onto her new bed. It was firm. No broken springs. It didn’t smell like pee. Despite the dorm-like appearance, this place already had several amenities over some of the foster homes she hadn’t lasted in.

  She pulled her schedule from the folder Hel had given her. It was straightforward. Not much to memorize. Math. English. Latin. The three hours of physical training after classes was odd, but she’d rather have an outlet than be told to sit in her room and watch the wall.

  Kirby had been in the system as long as she could remember—sometimes staying in a group home, rarely lasting with a family for more than a few months. Since no one ever told her who her mother was, she might as well have been a baby, left on the porch with a note attached to her chest.

  Which should have meant she’d be adopted right away. She was blond, blue-eyed, and had been a perfectly charming baby. She knew, because she heard it every time she fucked up. You were such a precious child. What happened?

  Now that she was a troublemaker, no one wanted her.

  When a well-dressed gentleman had showed up at the group home and told her his name was Loki, she laughed in his face. Her reaction didn’t seem to faze him. His deal was that she could have a new home. One where they trained people like her, to help others.

  Not that she believed in superheroes, but he did spin a glorious tale. If she told him it was a stupid idea, and what he said turned out to be true, she’d never forgive herself. Maybe she’d be like Raven, from Teen Titans. Dark. Brooding. Universally powerful. Capable of summoning a dark father, to do her bidding.

  It wasn’t her choice to go with Loki or not, regardless. He’d shown her old place that he represented a licensed facility willing to take her, the problem child, off their hands. Now that she was a teenager, it would be even harder to place her in a foster home. She was pretty sure a large amount of money was exchanged both over and under the table.

  She shuffled to her wardrobe. Jeans and T-shirts? No shit. And clean, white, cotton panties. Bras made for her pathetic boobs.

  It had been so long since she had clothes this nice, that none of the old stuff fit anymore. Who cared that this was all identical? She shed everything she’d worn here and started tugging on a new outfit.

  She had the underwear on and was pulling a shirt over her head, when she heard voices laughing and talking.

  “Look, ladies and gents. Fresh meat.”

  Kirby’s blood turned to ice. She didn’t have to see the speaker to guess what she was about to face. This was status quo for her. She straightened her top, ignored that she wasn’t wearing pants, and turned to face the group.

  Several girls and boys about her age stood in the doorway, watching her. They spanned the rainbow in skin- and hair-color, and height. They were all thin, though, and they all wore the same jeans and T-shirt Kirby had on.

  Suddenly the new clothes didn’t seem so nifty.

  “That's my closet, fresh meat.” The guy in front sneered. He could have been the other side of Kirby’s coin with his dark hair and eyes. His hard gaze made every muscle in her body tense.

  Kirby’s pulse hammered in her ears. Her body was on alert. She smiled, not feeling the emotion. This was fucking cliché. Someone always had to pro
ve to the new girl how big their dick was. “It’s Kirby. And you are?”

  “Kirby? You’re a pink fucking blob of stupidity?”

  Charming, and then some. Kirby kind of wished she could make her eyes glow red and her voice drop two octaves, so she could say I’m a devourer of the souls of all those who enrage me. Too bad the words wouldn’t carry the same meaning without the special effects. “That’s the best you’ve got? Maybe try an insult a five-year-old couldn’t come up with.”

  “How about, get your skanky-ass backpack off my fucking bed?” He stalked forward, until he was nose-to-nose with Kirby.

  Kirby watched him walk. Noted the posture he took when he stopped. Assessed everyone else in the room and their positions. This was gonna hurt, but Kirby would be delivering a lot of the pain herself. Even if these people knew how to fight, which based on her class schedule, she assumed they would, that tended to mean their movements would be predictable. True to whatever form they’d been taught.

  She was more of a stick and move and hit back hard kind of girl. “How about you pick on someone closer to your own IQ? Or did they bar you from the kids’ dorms?”

  He growled and swung. It was a tightly controlled punch, aimed straight for Kirby’s head.

  Kirby ducked, and the first barely clipped her cheek. She wasn’t so lucky with the follow-up that landed square in her gut. She doubled over and gasped through the coughing. Her eyes watered, but she wasn’t going down so easily.

  He kicked.

  Kirby caught his foot and twisted, yanking him to the ground.

  He recovered with a sweep of his leg and drove his elbow into her cheek.

  Kirby wasn’t letting him draw first blood. She grabbed the short strands of his hair, pulled as hard as she could, and sank her teeth into his neck.

  The bellowing shout, followed by, “You fucking bitch,” was worth the mouthful of skin and the heel to the back of her knee.

  A sharp whistle echoed through the room, and the flying fists stopped.

  Kirby didn’t have to look up to know an adult had entered the room. This was it. She’d be kicked out Day One, from this shitty place that didn’t look like it was for superheroes after all, because sometimes she let delusion get the best of her, and things like that weren’t real.

  She wobbled to her feet, not surprised no one offered to help her.

  All of the others stood at attention, like this was Full Metal Jacket or some shit. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Only a light smear of red. Was that her blood or her opponent’s? She risked a glance at the boy’s neck.

  Possibly a little of both.

  “Mark, what happened?” Hel stood in the doorway. She wore the same impassive expression as when she’d shown Kirby to the room.

  Kirby braced herself for a barrage of lies. The new girl kicked me. She started it.

  “Kirby defended herself,” the boy said. So he was Mark.

  Kirby’s retort died in her throat at his honesty, but she recovered quickly. “Damn straight, I did. No one pushes me around.”

  Hel extended her arm. “Come here.”

  Kirby wasn’t going to choose now to cower. She strode across the room, back straight and eyes forward. It didn’t matter she was still in just a T-shirt and panties. Or that her knee winced and her face ached and she tasted copper. She refused to show any weakness on the outside.

  When Kirby drew closer, Hel grasped her hand and turned her to face the room. “These people are your teammates. You will rely on each other. Have each other’s backs. They will be the reason you survive.”

  Then Kirby should probably try harder to hide her smugness at seeing she had broken the skin on Mark’s neck with her bite. She refused to be lectured for defending herself. Which was why no one else wanted her.

  “That being said”—Hel tightened her jaw—“never allow loyalty to override common sense. Betrayal will happen. Even on the inside. If they attack you again, defend yourself again. You’ll fit in here just fine.”

  The nearly a dozen pairs of eyes glaring daggers at Kirby said otherwise.

  It was going to be a long night. Mostly likely one of her staying awake, in anticipation of the next hazing ritual.

  Over the six months that followed, the behavior that had always gotten Kirby kicked out of foster homes earned her endless praise. She struggled with that. She'd never been the best at anything before, and it was amazing, but she hated this place. Especially Mark. He was a relentless sparring partner.

  She faced him on the practice mat. Her T-shirt clung to her skin from sweat, and her jeans itched. They were allowed to wear looser clothing for some of the physical education, but for hand-to-hand, they were required to stay in their street clothes. Because, according to Hel, if you get in a fight on the streets, you probably won’t be wearing a gi.

  Mark’s feet and eyes twitched to her right.

  She twisted to the left, to block, and kept moving, throwing him off balance. The asshole hadn’t learned yet that if he always feinted, it was as predictable as if he never did.

  He used his momentum to come up on his feet behind her. She was already facing him again. He dropped his shoulder before she could react, hit her in the stomach, and sent her stumbling.

  His follow-up landed her on her back, and her hands hit the floor.

  The instructor whistled to end the match. Heat flooded Kirby’s face at losing again. She needed to get this. She refused to let Mark or anyone repeatedly beat her down.

  Mark offered her a hand up, and she accepted, strictly for appearances. He tugged too hard, catching her off balance. It was a subtle yank—one no one would see. She stumbled into him.

  “Whoa. Steady.” His other hand came up to help, but not really. It was an excuse to squeeze her breast. It always was.

  Kirby pushed away with a scowl and returned to her spot at the edge of the mat, so the next group could spar. She’d complained once about the overt groping. The result was being called into a room with Mark and told they needed to solve this between them. Things were the opposite of better after that.

  When class was over, she broke away from the rest of the students and took a different route. Early on, she’d tested incredibly high with target shooting, so she’d been moved into sniper classes with the older students.

  She didn’t make any sound as she walked, so when she heard light footsteps, her stomach dropped into her shoes.

  “Kirby.” Mark’s voice was closer than she expected.

  She hadn’t been paying attention. Next time—

  He grabbed her arm roughly and spun her so her back was to the wall. “Where you off to so fast?” His tone was light and casual.

  “Class. Same as everyone.” She bit off the words.

  Mark pressed the weight of his body against hers. She thought ahead several moves, trying to decide if there was any outcome where she escaped unscathed if she fought back.

  He dug his fingers into her arm, applying extra pressure to a bruise he’d given her two days ago. “You’ve got a couple minutes for me, don’t you?”

  “No. I really don’t.” She tried to be subtle about shifting her weight, as she checked for any weaknesses in his stance.

  He shoved his free hand under her shirt, yanked down her sports bra, and grabbed her breast. She bit the inside of her cheek to hide her grimace.

  “Correction.” He rested his lips on her ear. This close, even the soft words ached in her head. “You always have time for me. You’re my toy, until I’m done with you.”

  My toy. The words snapped a taut band running through her, and her anger broke loose. She clenched her fists.

  Laughter and talking echoed down the hall, accompanied by the sound of sneakers on tile.

  Mark grinned and stepped back, putting several feet between them. “I won’t keep you from class, Cadet.”

  My toy. The words looped through Kirby’s thoughts through the rest of her classes. They beat in time with her fists against the punching bag, an
d her steps as she walked back to the dorms. They repeated in her dreams all night, and kept playing up to sparring class the next day.

  She faced off against Mark on the mat and never hesitated. It was like her body took over, and her mind let it. Everything he threw at her, she blocked, side-stepped, or countered, leaving him flat on the ground when the teacher blew the whistle.

  Kirby was relieved to have a hassle-free walk through the halls after, and she managed to not be alone outside of that. The next day in class, she pulled it off again. She beat Mark. Damn, that felt good. So did the praise that came with it. She liked being the best.

  Confidence surged inside, as she strolled through the halls.

  “Kirby.” Mark’s call sent tension through her, but her successes of the last two days shoved the feeling aside.

  She whirled to face him before he could touch her, wicked smile in place. “Afternoon, Cadet.”

  “Do you have a minute?” His smirk probably mirrored hers.

  “I don’t. Not now. Not ever.” History told her to cower, but she wasn’t doing that, for him or anyone. “Tell you what. Walk away now, or one of two things happens.”

  “Oh?”

  “I either hurt you in a way that lands you in the infirmary, and you can tell everyone your toy kicked your ass, or I can scream.”

  His chuckle clawed up her spine. “What good is screaming going to do you? Do you want another face-to-face, where we’re told to work things out?”

  “It’s all about what I scream.” She leaned in close, the way he’d done to her so many times. “If it sounds strangely like, Holy shit, you’re scared of me of all people? then good luck convincing anyone of anything else.”

  His hand was pressed against her windpipe so quickly, she never saw him move. He covered her mouth. “You think you’re clever.” His voice was a low growl. “Everything we learn here is about more than strength and brains, and you will never be brutal enough to excel in this environment. But you win. You’ve stopped being fun. I’ll find someone else, and you can remember whatever happens to them is your fault. Because I’m sure as fuck not interested in playing with a broken toy.”