Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

11. Odin

11

Odin

‘Velvet Elvis’- Kacey Musgraves

D r. Harriet Lewis is becoming a pain in my ass.

“Why aren’t you wearing a beanie?” Ford asks her.

Her teeth chatter as she answers, “It wasn’t appropriate for stalking someone in the middle of the night.”

Ford yanks the beanie off my head and passes it to Harriet. I run my hand over my hair and throw him daggers with my single eye. Harriet shoves it on her head after only hesitating for a second. I hear her sigh—clearly pleased with the warmth I infused into it—and the sound of her soft voice does something strange to me.

My jaw clenches in irritation. “Will you two cut it out?”

Harriet has the decency to appear scalded. Ford simply raises one of his brows and pushes on ahead of me. “Let’s be real. Odin wishes hunting and capturing was his territory, but all he knows is a bit of kickboxing and how to sign sale contracts.”

Harriet coughs, clearly dislodging a laugh that got stuck in her throat.

I want to correct him. If only for the fact that ‘a bit’ of kickboxing is a big fucking lie. He knows I’m as good in a ring as he is, if not better. He knows that it’s the only thing that kept me from losing my mind after Gregory Lombardo crushed it with his fist.

He’s clearly trying to wind me up with Harriet close by. So I shrug it off and let him take the lead.

The temperature is below freezing, the neverending night only getting darker. Harriet’s breaths bloom near my shoulder, her body close to mine. It’s difficult enough to concentrate when her safety is on my shoulders. It’s even harder when all I seem to be able to focus on is the fact that she smells like fresh laundry and the blueberry pancakes I used to eat as a child.

Ford signals his left hand to stay put. I stop and grab Harriet by the shoulders. She pauses her trek, her knees bent in a crouch.

Ford curves around the house toward where the cars are parked in the driveway. He pulls out his gun as he moves, his body gliding seamlessly across the slippery surface. It’s impressive how quickly he can switch from playful goof to deadly army veteran.

Harriet and I wait. Her lips have turned blue, her cheeks red from the cold. But she doesn’t appear uncomfortable, nor does she complain.

Her long lashes have collected droplets of snow. She gazes up at me every few seconds, waiting for my next command. I find myself looking away each time those blue eyes make contact with mine. It’s impossible not to think of Gregory when she’s so close, even if her gaze is innocent rather than deplorable.

A muffled yelp alerts us to the fact Ford has found his target .

My shoulders loosen, as does Harriet’s. “Let’s head back inside,” I say, trudging forward. She follows blindly. I stop, turn and grab my beanie from her head.

“Hey!” she shouts.

“As you said the other night. You’re not my wife yet. What’s mine is not yours until we sign the wedding certificate.”

She harrumphs and stalks past me, muttering a curse under her breath.

The ends of my lips twitch, but I force them to be still. Reacting means caring, caring means trusting, and trusting turns into other things that are too painful for me to process, even after all these years.

I follow her inside, shoving away the curiosity that has begun to bubble in replace of fury.

Cerbera has gotten too cocky. It’s time I send him a message he can’t ignore.

“How do we wake him?” Harriet asks. She follows my lead by removing her outer snow jacket and hanging it by the door, then strides over to the sunken living room. I take a seat on the single leather couch opposite our intruder.

Ford knocked out the man given the unfortunate task of spying on us. He’s young. Barely an adult if the pitiful attempt of a beard that covers his acne scars is any indication. The only thing he carries is a pocket pistol with four bullets, car keys, his personal iPhone, and his passport.

“Easy.” Ford steps toward the boy lying on the couch with his hands tied behind his back. He slaps him across each cheek in quick succession.

“Ford!” Harriet scolds.

The boy’s eyes flicker open, his chest heaving in a deep breath. His terrified gaze bounces between the three of us. Settling on me for the longest, zeroing in on my eyepatch.

“How long have you been tailing us?” I ask.

He opens his mouth and clamps it shut, then proceeds to shake his head like a dog with wet hair. His breathing intensifies, his aura reeks of panic. “I can’t—” He snaps his mouth shut again, lips pressed tight.

Ford places his foot on the couch and leans on his knee. “Can’t what?” He dangles a pocketknife from his hand.

“Please.” The boy stammers. “He’ll kill her. He said he’d kill her if I was caught.”

He fixes his attention on Harriet. Her fingers are in her mouth, teeth gnawing at her nails. She grimaces as she looks toward the boy. If anyone was going to be empathetic to his cause, it would be her.

“Don’t look at her,” I demand. “Look at me.” The boy does as I ask, his shoulders shaking. “Cerbera? Is that who you mean?” He doesn’t respond. Just bites his bottom lip and begins to cry.

Harriet gasps softly to my left. She turns her chin in my direction and widens her eyes as if to say ‘do something!’. I cross my legs, trying to give the appearance of ease, even though I can feel her gaze burrowing into my skull.

“Who does he have?” The boy drops his head, his sobs growing.

Harriet twitches. I warn her silently to not move. This could be a trap. He could be a boy with wonderful acting skills, tasked with getting close enough to strike a knife through either one of our necks. Harriet, clearly distressed, ignores my command. “We won’t hurt you. We promise,” she says softly. The boy looks up at her, hope shimmering in his watery gaze. “I promise.”

“My sister,” he says. “He has my sister. She’s sick with cancer. She’s been in the hospital ever since our mom was arrested. He said he could kill her without anyone noticing. Swap her chemo drugs for a poison. He said—he said—”

“Sounds like he said a lot of things,” I cut him off. Ford watches me carefully.

My mind goes to war. My instincts are telling me to dispose of the boy, send Cerbera a message that we will not be watched like mice in a cage and we will not be toyed with. I have to remind him that I’m the one with the money, the resources and the power to make his business boom. And I will not be made to feel inferior.

But the tiny sliver of good left in my soul doesn’t agree. If he isn’t acting, then Cerbera has chosen the perfect chess piece to throw off the board. A young man desperate to save his only family, willing to play the part of child soldier for a cause that doesn’t even remotely care about him.

I shift my stance so I’m facing Ford. “Truth?” I ask, in regards to the boy’s plea. Ford has a way of sniffing the truth from beneath a steaming pile of lies. He’s never been wrong. Not since I’ve known him.

He nods.

“Dispose or dump?”

Harriet practically breaks her neck how quickly she turns to me. The boy on the couch whimpers like a puppy.

Ford shrugs.

It’s my call.

I return my attention to our captive. “What were your instructions?”

He stutters before speaking. “To—to keep tabs on you. To report back to him every four hours. Don’t get caught otherwise Flora dies.” Harriet wilts beside me, clearly upset for this young man’s predicament.

I nod. Besides the grossly inappropriate choice of people to work for, this man has done nothing overtly wrong. Still, he needs to learn a lesson.

“Tie him to a tree outside,” I instruct Ford.

“What?” Harriet bellows. “Are you crazy? It’s freezing. It could kill him.”

To Harriet I say, “He was out there, watching you, for a significant amount of time before you noticed him. I’m sure he can withstand the cold a bit more.” My voice has an edge, my temper beginning to fray. I move away from her. She’s not thinking logically, just with pure unfiltered emotion. And to the boy, “Once you’ve freed yourself. Give Cerbera the documents found on the desk in the office. It’ll be penance for falling asleep on the job and missing our departure. Yes?”

The boy nods frantically, his tears soaking into the collar of his shirt.

Ford carries him out of the house, while Harriet stalks after me, her displeased footsteps slapping on the tiles. I ignore her easily enough until she grabs my wrist. The impressive grip of her fingers grinds my bones. “Don’t you dare hurt him,” she orders. “He’s a child.”

I pause in my tracks and peer back at her. Her jaw is impossibly tight. Furious. I imagine she’s thinking of ways to calve up my balls like she threatened to do only a few days ago.

My chest lifts and falls with a deep breath. “Here’s the thing, Dr. Lewis. I will not be told what to do by Cerbera. And I especially won’t be told what to do by you. You think you know this world and its cruelty, but you don’t. You can’t even conceive of the brutality that happens every minute of every day. He will live because he wants to. He will live because he has something to live for.”

Her nostrils flare. An argument poised on the tip of her viperous tongue.

“Now. Get your hand off me.” Her eyes narrow, but she drops her wrist to her side. Her fingers leave an indent on my skin that feels permanent.

Dom enters through the doorway, and we make eye contact immediately. He must see the crackling tension between us like smoke, charred earth at our feet, left behind by lightning strikes. “I hear everything is in order.”

I adjust the watch on my wrist and turn my back on my seething fiancé. “I’ll be in my office. Organize a flight out of here immediately.”

Dom nods. “Where to?”

“The Lodge.”