The stallion billionaire.., p.1
The Stallion (Billionaire Vikings Book 3), page 1
The Stallion
Book Three
of the
Billionaire Vikings Series
By S.M. Maddox
THE STALLION– BILLIONAIRE VIKINGS BOOK THREE Copyright 2021 by S.M. Maddox. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are either used fictitiously or are the work of the author's imagination.
S.M. Maddox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Also by S.M. Maddox
The Serpent – Book One of the Billionaire Vikings Trilogy
The Wolf – Book Two of the Billionaire Vikings Trilogy
Karen On Mars
For all the people like me,
who love dark stories and sexy-as-fuck Vikings.
I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride.
Legends says Sleipnir, eight-legged beast,
son of Loki, and stallion of the Allfather,
was powerful enough to transport Odin
throughout the nine worlds.
It is said that only Sleipnir has the strength
to cross into the underworld
and back again.
Prologue
Julia
“You stupid fucking cunt! You think you can march into my office and demand things?!” Charles screamed, throwing a crystal paperweight in my direction.
“I want a divorce.” I cowered in the corner, my arms above my head. But I stood my ground. My shaky, uncertain, broke as dirt, ground. I’d walked in on him balls deep in yet another of the various women he kept on a regular schedule, as he paraded around freely and openly mocking our marriage. Charles had pushed me for the last time.
“I never should’ve married you. You’re nothing but a headache. A fucking pain in my ass with your whining and your over-mothering. Jett’s going to grow up to be soft in the head if he doesn’t get some real influence around here! And now you, you, have the audacity to ask me for a divorce after you’ve damn near ruined my kid?! How. Fucking. Dare. You.”
His tart of the night stayed quiet and still, pretending she was invisible even though she was tied spread eagle to the top of his desk. The feathers on the silk boa, the only item of clothing she had on, trailed down between her breasts and framed either side of her hips. The feathers’ silent sway, picking up the air current of Charles’ movements combined with her trembling, scared body, was the only sign of life.
Charles stalked towards me. I smelled the amaretto on his breath, the sickeningly sweet stench of broken dreams. He kicked my thigh, not hard enough to break me, yet, but I knew it’d leave a mark.
“I’m talking to you, bitch. You think you’re going to walk out on me?”
“This is the last time you’ll disrespect me, Charles. The last time. I’m taking Jett, and I’m leaving you.”
He grabbed a fistful of my hair, “Oh, you’ll leave alright. But I’ll be damned if you’re taking my son with you.”
Pain shot through my head and neck. Burning, searing pain scorched its way down my body as I realized he was dragging me, rug burning me across the carpet by my hair. I tried to slap his hands away, but I was weak against him. I was always weak against him.
Charles liked his women like that, too fragile to fight back. The first time he told me, he’d held my head down on the bed and shoved his cock deep into my throat as he said it. I couldn’t argue. I could barely breathe, let alone scream as his warm liquid filled my lungs. I coughed for hours, and wretched for even more at how he’d violated my trust.
That was on our wedding night. Up until then, he’d been a perfect gentleman.
Charles flung open his office door and pulled me down the hall. My skin was burning off from the friction. Now instead of carpet, it was scraping against the hardwood floors, the burned flesh skidding on the fresh wax.
I caught a glimpse towards the opposite end of the hall, only to see half of Jett’s face silently peeking around his doorframe, watching as his daddy drug his mommy through the house.
“Jett, honey, go back in your room! Mommy and Daddy are just playing,” Charles yelled cheerfully as he approached the stairs.
“Charles! No! Please Charles!” I pleaded with him as his foot hit the top step.
Down, down, down he pulled me, my body thumping painfully on each wooden platform as we descended to the first floor. My spirit was broken, and I knew that some bone in my body had to be shattered as well.
Pain radiated, the bruising so severely immediate that I let out a sigh when he finally stopped pulling me.
“Get up, bitch. Get out of my house. You’re finished.”
“I have nowhere to go. No money, no nothing.”
Charles reached for my purse, throwing it out the door as he glared down at me.
“What about my son! I’m not leaving without Jett!”
He gripped my upper arm, his huge, chunky sausage fingers touching as they wrapped around it and squeezed. Charles’ other hand came up, and it was nearly the last thing I saw as he swung at my face, cracking against my skull before he threw me out the front door. I collapsed in a heap, broken and beaten.
“You were always good at being a whore. You’ll figure it out.”
The door slammed in my face as I passed out from the pain.
Chapter One
Magnus
“You bought a fucking airport?!” Roland’s voice boomed throughout the conference room at Andersen Brothers. Everyone in the office turned to watch him explode, for no other reason than the sheer pleasure of gossip over what had rattled the walls this time. Typically, it was when he and his fiancé Jessie, were, shall we say, in close proximity. Their high-school behavior was now old news, and frankly, sometimes I entertained the idea of starting a new rumor just to get the office excited again.
Telephone, was it called? Childish games were beneath me.
I had called a family meeting at Anderson Brothers, because it was the easiest thing to do. Roland was always here. Jessie was almost always here. That is, when she wasn’t planning their wedding or working at her charity. The official ribbon cutting ceremony was scheduled for two months away. Their wedding was scheduled for six.
Thor was here three days a week now, after Roland had finally succumbed to letting him intern at the family business. Tradition was that the younger Andersen intern at a competing law firm for at least two years to gain expanded experiences. However, considering the events of the previous year, we took a family vote and opted to keep our blood close.
Roland was outvoted 5-1, not that we ever rubbed it in his face or anything. He’s a straight up hard ass for fairness sometimes, danger be damned.
Anya, Thor’s wife, stopped in everyday with their eight-month old daughter, Revna, to have lunch. ‘Revna’ means raven, and while I’d like to take the credit and say she was named after my tattoos, Anya assured me that wasn’t the case.
“It’s because of the ravens, not your ravens, Maggie,” she’d said cheerfully, referring to the two ravens tattooed across my shoulder blades when I’d mentioned it. “Thoughtfulness and mindfulness. Our baby girl needs all the help she can get in this world.”
It had taken my brother and sis-in-law a month to come up with Revna’s name. Anya said she wanted to ‘feel out her personality first,’ instead of bestowing upon her a name that didn’t fit.
And, as if coming to my defense that she actually was named after my tattoos, Revna’s first technical, though mostly illegible, word was “Mags.” She’d cooed it as she stared at me from Roland’s arms during Thor and Anya’s ceremony several months ago. The entire wedding party stopped mid-vow exchange to pay attention to her, igniting her gooey blue baby eyes with delight. Oh yeah, she’s an Andersen alright. Center of attention.
“I didn’t buy an airport. We bought our airport. Fries International Airport. Complete with a hotel.” It wasn’t a huge place, thirty gates right on the edge of the water with a boutique hotel for show. It was also the last means of controlling who and what came in and out of Fries without our knowledge.
“I, for one, am all for it,” Jessie chimed in, shutting Roland up instantly. There weren’t too many things she ever said that he didn’t agree with. Usually sooner rather than later. She was sharp as a knife, pun intended. Andersen men had a habit of marrying far better than we deserved, even if we did own the city.
Roland moved a chair behind where Jessie was standing and proceeded to sit down directly behind her. He grabbed her hips, steering her to sit in his lap to cover his painfully obvious hard on. He breathed into her hair as a sly grin spread across her face. “Why’s that, Malone?”
“Could you two get a fucking room? Or start carrying a pop-up screen around with you so the rest of u
“Ah, Maggie, calm down,” Thor said, adopting his wife’s nickname for me. “Don’t you remember what young love was like?”
“No, he doesn’t,” Roland growled from behind Jessie. “OldBro hasn’t been in love in quite a while.”
“That’s why we’re on the hunt,” Anya chimed. “Jessie and I are going to find you a wife!”
“I seriously beg you, please don’t.” I rubbed my eyes, apparently not hard enough to rescue myself from this conversation with self-inflicted brain damage. I loved Anya dearly, but I was nearly 37 years old, almost 17 years her senior. My version of pure, unadulterated hell would be being stuck in any situation having to listen to whatever emotional sorority girl Anya managed to conjure up while she droned on about the latest reality family.
“And Thor, if you call me Maggie one more time I will sneak into your room while you’re asleep and cut your hair off. I’d advise you to beat me to it. Look fucking professional, for once.”
My baby brother sported a voluptuous man-bun on most days. Not so long ago, I too had had a flowing blonde head of hair I was pretty fucking proud of. That is, until my PA, Sarah, accidentally dropped her notebook while she was taking notes during a conference call, spilling her secret desires all over the carpeted floor in front of me.
Inside were colored pencil drawings of me, with my wild mane flowing around us as my surprisingly proportionate and rippled body (for a drawing) pounded into her from behind. She should’ve been an artist instead of a PA.
Her fantasies looked like a cheap romance novel, and the image utterly repulsed me. If that’s what women thought of me, then I shuddered to think how my business colleagues perceived me.
Fabio can instill a lot of emotions in people. Fear is not one of them.
I cut my hair that evening. I opted for a close cut which, regretfully, made me look more like an Abercrombie and Fitch model than the CFO of the company that owned the town. Since then, anytime I looked in Sarah’s direction or tried to speak to her, she turned ten shades of tomato soup red and refused to make eye contact with me.
I was getting irritated at my family. Their inability to take anything seriously lately was ridiculous. I thought back to Cynthia, how much time and emotions I’d wasted, not to mention money on fucking nothing.
“I don’t date anymore. Ever. We’re done with this conversation. Take it fucking seriously or get the hell out, all of you. This is a business decision for the good of the city and the greater good for our family. Andersen Ltd. does own FIA now, and we will keep tabs on all who come in and out for the safety of our family and our residents. Port, air, travel. Discussion over.”
Anya’s mouth snapped shut while Jessie eyed me like a rabid wolf. Fitting.
“Don’t talk to my fiancé like that,” Roland growled, tapping Jessie’s hip to get off of him. He stood up, flexing his full height and muscular width like a bear stretching on a tree. He was twice as big as me mass wise, and was always quick to flaunt it, though I was officially an inch taller.
“I’m sooo fucking scared. Get your exhibitionism rocks off on someone else’s watch. Family meeting adjourned.” I snapped my briefcase shut as Thor and Anya watched me, speechless.
“OldBro’s got to go take his vitamins and change his old man diaper,” Roland said mockingly. No one else laughed. They just had stupid looks of pity on their faces. At least I had the sympathy vote going for me.
Roland was about to say something else before I turned around and stormed out, letting the conference room door slam behind me.
Chapter Two
Magnus
I was the rock. I was the oldest. I was the heir. I was supposed to be the serious one, the one that never cracked. Most of the time I was excellent at keeping my emotions in check. My brothers were the only two people on earth who really knew me, really. Consequently, they also knew which buttons were the easiest to press.
I’d been keeping myself in check pretty well until Roland settled down with Jessie. Roland, my man-whore brother, who owns a fucking sex club and fucked nearly every woman in Fries before Jessie moved here. That same, beloved brother, was now stupid in love, engaged and planning on impregnating the poor woman with no less than thirty kids.
I fumed the rest of the day, stomping around the office and slamming everything. I broke my tablet in one fit of rage, and as I watched the screen start to crack like a spider’s web, I stomped it even harder to help it out. Not one of my finest moments, but whatever.
Anyone who looked at me on the floors of Andersen Ltd. promptly steered themselves in the opposite direction. Sarah didn’t even come within eyesight, instead choosing to use the office DMs to communicate. I stayed at work as late as I could, just so I wouldn’t have to go home and witness the constant love fest that surrounds my life.
Safe behind the shield of my Range Rover, I pounded the steering wheel, screaming at the top of my lungs. Heat rose beneath my collar as I ripped my tie off and unbuttoned the first three buttons of my shirt. I could punch fucking Cynthia to the moon and back.
Not that I would. I would never harm a woman. Unless the lady asked, but that’s different. Fucking Cynthia fucked my life up real nice and cozy.
I checked my phone to see what time it was. 8 p.m., and… well, fuck me in the ass and call me a turkey.
Somehow, all day I’d gone without realizing it was February 14. Valentine’s Day. That explained why there was a lot of extra bullshittery in the air.
I loved Anya and Jessie. God knows I’d die for my brothers. But I’d wanted a family, too. I’d wanted the babies, the blissful ignorance, the endless honeymoon stage. I’d wanted all the shit. That, kids, is precisely why you should not fall in love with a gold-digging stripper.
“Sonofafuckingbiiiiitttchhh!!!!!” My Range Rover didn’t fight back like I wanted, and my anger was going nowhere fast. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my pants legs, briefly considering the drawing Sarah had done of me and how well fucking your employees had worked out for Roland.
Have to fight your demons another way tonight, Maggie boy. Fuck. Fuck nicknames. Fuck women. Fuck fucking. Fuck it all.
I didn’t want to talk about my feelings. I didn’t want anyone kissing my ass because they thought they’d get fired if they didn’t. I wanted to go to some place far away where no one knew me. Someplace like Singapore. Or Sydney. Hell, I’d even settle for Malibu or Vancouver.
The devil on my shoulder popped up. Hey dumbass, hate to state the obvious but you just bought an airport. Go to all of those places. Or don’t. It’s your pity party. Better yet, buy a bar and call it ‘Beers,’ where nobody knows your name. Sorry sack of shit. Bet Cynthia’s having a blast tonight. Make it raaaaaaiiiinnn.
I backed out of the parking lot, and headed straight to the airport.
Chapter Three
Julia
“Alright baby, I’ll talk to you later. Kiss grandma goodnight for me, ok? I’ll see you as soon as I can. Don’t forget, Jett, Mommy loves you so, so much.” I tried desperately not to let my voice crack as I heard the line go dead. Starting over is a bitch and a half.
One of the many things my ex-husband made fun of me for was naming my child after a movie character. Jett Rink, James Dean’s character in Giant, was not only the star of my favorite movie, but also the biggest source of inspiration for me.
Strange? Perhaps. But when you look at the bigger picture, it makes more sense. My dad left when I was little and my mom worked three jobs to try and keep a roof over our head. In order to not spend money on a babysitter, she frequently left me alone (I know) with nothing but old Hollywood movies to keep me company and teach me right from wrong. Two things always stayed with me:
James Dean was, is and will always be fucking epic.
