Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

10. Etta

10

Etta

‘Wonder Woman’- Kacey Musgraves

A shrill squeal erupts from my mouth as I launch off the couch.

“Odin! Odin!”

The lurking stranger must realize I’ve noticed him because he darts away, snow flying behind him as he runs.

My feet tangle in the cashmere blanket as I fumble toward the window to get a better glimpse of him, hoping I’m being delusional and it’s just Ford checking in on me.

It’s almost pitch black, with no lights to brighten the outside of the house, but I’m almost positive it’s not Ford. The man I saw was too scrawny, nowhere near the size of Ford’s stature.

I back away from the window and race down the hallway in search of Odin.

“Odin!” I scream, uncaring if I’m being paranoid .

My feet slip and slide as I run down the hallway, pulling on every door handle until I finally find one that isn’t locked. The door wings open and reveals a starkly lit room that resembles a miniature sized gym. Rows of weights are stacked in the corner, a multitude of fat burning, muscle building machinery brackets the wall and stare back at me intimidatingly.

My quick assessment of the room funnels to one particular spot.

A treadmill spins at a terrifying speed, and the man running atop the black deck keeps up with long, easy strides.

I’m struck mute by the sight of Odin’s sweat slicked skin. His brownish blonde hair is perfectly cut, tapered to a strict square at the base of his neck, rolling in wet waves across his crown. His back is saturated with sweat, pooling in the center of his black t-shirt that both hides and highlights the muscles in his shoulder blades.

He’s wearing gym shorts that display strong legs flexing and straining as they fly over the treadmill. His thighs ripple with movement, momentarily hypnotizing me. His domineering frame moves like an Olympic athlete. The peak of masculinity. Dangerously stunning.

The flash of color on his left arm takes me aback. Tattoos cover the flesh from his shoulder to his wrist. I can’t make out any details since his arms are pumping so fast, but somehow it makes him seem not so alien.

The treadmill comes to an abrupt stop, and Odin places his feet on either side of the deck. I can’t seem to get any of my thoughts in order as he steps fluidly off the treadmill. He wears the same black eyepatch. It’s small enough to sit under his eyebrow and rest against the top of his cheekbone, no string or fabric to tie it behind his head. A shackle presses around my throat as he picks up a towel and turns his incredible body so I can’t see his tattoos or his missing eye. He wipes his face, but doesn’t address me directly when he says, “Would you like the room? ”

My jaw remains locked in place for two or three seconds before I can find the key. “No. That’s not why—I came to find you—” Jesus, fuck. “ There’s someone outside!” I blurt out rather loud.

He wipes his forehead with the towel. “It’s probably Ford checking the perimeter.”

I shake my head. “It’s not. It’s someone else.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I answer, my cheeks turning rosy from the heat of the room and my heightened adrenaline.

Odin doesn’t question me any further, but his lower jaw tenses. “Go to your room. I’ll come and get you once it’s safe.”

“I’m coming with you.”

He practically chuckles. “Have you somehow learnt how to defend yourself properly in the last several hours since we’ve seen each other?”

The bloody thing in my chest thumps as if I was the one on the treadmill. “Well, no. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats. “Here,” he stalks over to where a pile of clothes lay and a silver watch. He retrieves something from one of his pockets and brings it over to me. It’s a phone. A cheap burner phone with keys instead of a touch screen. “It’s to speak to Dom, Ford, and me only.”

“Thanks,” I grumble. I take the phone and place it in one of my outer pockets.

“Now, go back to your room.”

My jaw hinges with the intention of arguing, but I decide against it at the last second. Spinning on my heel, I hightail it back down the hallway, determined to follow Odin regardless of his warning. Back in my room, Juniper gives me a puzzled look as I hastily throw on something more appropriate for traipsing through the Scottish countryside in ankle deep snow. “Yeah. I know. I’m being ridiculous.”

Why do I find it so weird to know Odin works out like a normal—albeit godlike—human? Is it because it makes him seem less scary or more so? The fact that he’s as fit as Usain Bolt should terrify me more.

But there’s something else that strikes me. Usually, gyms are equipped with mirrors. Men love to look at themselves when they’re flexing, right? But in Odin’s gym. There was nothing. Nothing but blank walls and static silence.

Odin turns off all the lights in the house before he leaves.

I spy him through a crack in my door. He enters the living area dressed head to toe in black ski gear, puts on a pair of leather gloves, a beanie and shoves a gun into his belt.

The last item makes me queasy, but I have made up my mind. I will not be some damsel he locks in rooms while the ‘men’ conduct business. I will be a part of the action whether they like it or not. My life is virtually over as I know it. I have nothing left to lose.

Juniper, however, is staying put.

When I’m positive Odin has left, I scurry down the hallway and into the kitchen, pour a bowl full of kibble for Juniper and top up her water. I take both back to my room and lock her inside lest she decide she too would like to join in on the fun.

I grab my own pair of gray leather gloves, slip them on and then search for a beanie. The only one I have is pink. It’s too bright. I’ll definitely make myself a target. I’ll have to go without .

Scurrying into the kitchen, I decide if I’m going to be insane by putting myself in danger, I might as well grab something to defend myself. My fingers trail over the butcher’s knife I stole last night, the memory of Odin’s warm fingers wrapped around my wrist flitters across my mind’s eye. I shake it off and grab one of the smaller steak knives. It’s a bit bigger than a scalpel, but it feels right in my grip.

Nerves propel me toward the front door in the hopes I’ll be able to see the pathway Odin left with the imprint of his boots in the snow.

The door opens without a sound, the intensity of the temperature outside whipping me in the face. I check both sides of the front entrance. Seems clear. No sign of Odin. Not even footprints in the snow for me to track.

Shit. Did he fucking fly away?

My foot inches out, shoes crunching on ice. Keeping slow and quiet is a necessity for my survival, but the tension is bubbling over inside of me. Turning, I shut the door with a soft snick. There’s a tree in the distance that’s thick enough to hide my frame, so I slither over to it, footsteps building speed as I hop through the snow, my heart frantically beating. My hands land on the wet bark, the stability of it a comforting source.

I’m so buzzed that I’m puffing despite the short distance. A small smile spreads across my face, imagining how pissed Odin is going to be.

An owl hoots in the distance, a branch snaps under someone’s weight. My giddiness turns to worry. Staying in one spot will most likely get me killed, but running on the spot to keep warm is idiotic. I spend a few seconds mapping a route in my head, trying to deduce the way in which Odin walked.

I don’t get the chance.

A rough hand slams against my mouth, trapping my squawk of alarm. A hard body cocoons me from behind.

The culprit brings his cheek to my ear and whispers, “You are crazier than I ever could have predicted.”

My insides relax—just barely—when the owner of the voice registers.

I jerk beneath Odin, needing to take deeper breaths than what his grip will allow me. He removes his hand, but his body stays right where it is. Even covered in layers meant to keep out the chill, the shape of him is clear enough. His chest cradles my shoulder blades, his height means his chin can rest atop my head. But it’s his scent that really throws my head around.

Deep and woodsy, with the slightest hint of sweat. It muddles my mind and makes me forget I’m stalking a stalker in the freezing cold.

I glare at him over my shoulder. “Did you enjoy that? Scaring the shit out of me?”

“Not nearly enough.” I push back against him and spin around so we are facing each other. Odin matches my glare. “I thought you were smart, Dr. Lewis.”

“And I thought I was going to marry the love of my life and live happily ever after, but here we are. Blind side of the century.” He doesn’t find that funny. Not even a little.

Instead, he steps out of my space bubble and pops it with a few tense words. “Get behind me and keep your head down.” He nods toward another section of trees situated along the side of the property overlooking both the cottage and our place of residence. He pulls me down into a crouch and heads for the trees, finding two close together that provide maximum coverage. He practically shoves me into the snow until we are both sitting beside each other, knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder.

And then we wait. And wait. And wait.

I try hard to keep focused. I really do. I scan the space before us, looking for any sort of movement. It’s almost as if I’m dehydrated in the desert, how much my eyes play tricks on me, creating illusions that set my heart fluttering, only to realize it was a branch or a boulder or a human-like pile of snow.

My feet soon explode in needles, my knees aching from the position. Odin sits like a marble statue, unblinking, unmoving. His eyepatch is frosted with snow, the leather tough and smooth. I almost ask if he ever takes it off to sleep. But I can’t. No, I need to concentrate.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

It must be twenty minutes before I crack.

“Golden Retrievers were originally from Scotland, you know?” I say softly, my breath coming out in shallow puffs.

Odin raises one brow, as if the fact I blurted out was intriguing enough to not warrant a scalding. “That would explain all the… fur.”

Cold wind lashes my face, stinging my nose. “The first dog I ever had to put down was a golden retriever. His name was Roger. He was hit by a car and the family couldn’t afford to pay for the surgery to fix his injuries. It was… awful.” Odin doesn’t respond. “So, have you done this before?”

He keeps his focus trained on the house. “Done what?”

“Kidnapped people?”

This must stump him because he turns and looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “I haven’t kidnapped any women, if that answers your question.”

I laugh nervously. “Oh. That’s kind of reassuring.” He raises his brows as if to say ‘please explain’. “Means we both don’t know what we’re doing,” I clarify.

“Mm.” He turns away, but I—for some reason—do not. Even in the dark I can see his smooth skin, the new growth of hair along his cheek, the brown tones of his hair with lighter blonde streaks sticking out along his neck and underneath his beanie. We have to be close in age, surely, or only a few years apart. He oozes a maturity I don’t think I’ve conquered yet, even in my late twenties. I catalog his features for far too long before I snap out of my daze.

Stop checking him out!

It’s so quiet, so chilly, that I can hear my own pulse pumping warm blood around as fast as possible. Although the night is frightening, the atmosphere is cleansing, and the air is so perfect and pure that it beckons me to take in a deep, long breath. I do it again and again until Odin looks back at me curiously.

We lock gazes. My chest tightens. “The air is sweeter here, don’t you think?” I whisper.

He is quiet for a while. Then, “I don’t pay much attention to the air I breathe.”

This time my voice is serious, but gentle. “You should. It’s what’s keeping you alive.”

His expression is completely unreadable. Why couldn’t he be a dog or something? They’re so much easier to understand. Humans are too smart and too skilled at hiding emotions, and Odin seems to hold a master’s degree in it.

Something beeps in his pocket. He takes out his phone and checks whatever message has come through.

“What is it?” I ask, unconsciously leaning into him.

He puts the phone away before I see the message. “It’s Ford.”

“Oh, where is he?” I search the patch of space before us.

Odin doesn’t even turn his head when he says, “Right next to you.”

Ford appears to my left as if he sprung from the earth, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Howdy folks.”

Jesus fucking christ !

My whole body jolts, the shock too quick for me to even scream. Ford’s smile only widens, showing off his perfectly white teeth.

“Dick,” I mutter, angry at the both of them for thinking it funny to keep me on edge.

Ford leans in front of me to speak to Odin. “Who invited her again?”

“I invited myself,” I announce, folding my arms across my chest like a toddler.

“I have some duct tape back in the house if you need,” he adds.

“Excuse me!”

“Enough. No more talking,” Odin snaps.

We both snap our heads in his direction. Odin stands and reaches for his gun, Ford mirroring him on my other side. I grab my steak knife from my pocket and hold it out, the moon’s light glinting off the blade.

Both men slowly turn their gazes toward me and my deadly weapon. Ford appears like he might burst out laughing. Odin rolls his eye, but keeps his thoughts to himself.

“Let’s go.” We fall into line behind him. “I think I see our little spy.”