Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

12. Etta

12

Etta

‘Hip Bones’- M?

M y mind is on autopilot as I pack up all my things with staggering speed, uncaring of order and folding. We are heading to the airport to fly somewhere else. The thought of leaving again in such a short amount of time is exhausting. The fact that we are leaving behind a human tied to a tree honestly makes my stomach hurt.

Ford is my chauffeur and manages to keep me awake for a total of ten minutes before I lean my head on the car window and drift off to sleep. The adrenaline that had blazed throughout my body last night leaves me feeling like an empty plastic bag.

We make it to a separate section of the airport tarmac in under an hour, and board the private jet waiting. It’s sleek like a bullet on the outside and designed like a Texas mansion on the inside. The captain and the single hostess greet us with warm, expensive smiles. I wonder if they know about me. If they know not to say anything. Enough money can buy the right type of silence. Unfortunately, I have nothing to offer them in return.

Ford and Dom set themselves up in the chairs on the other side of the aisle to mine, whilst Odin picks a seat near the back of the plane, away from us. It irks me how easily he closes himself off.

He gives me whiplash, how quickly he flips from being present to fortifying himself behind a wall of impenetrable steel.

I’m stewing for the first half an hour of the trip, ripping back the skin around my nails, wondering if it would be appropriate to go and sit myself down in front of my future husband and slap him around for being so rude.

Something stops me.

It’s the memory of when he told me how best to hide in order to hurt him, the slight grin he wore as he left the room, the fact he cooked for me and the way he positioned himself in front of me as we moved through the snow in the middle of the night. I know I’m his asset, more than I am his fiancée, but even I could tell he was being overly protective.

Also, the clear battle in his mind over what to do with the spy reporting our every move to his enemy, and his decision to provide consequence without real harm, when any other man from Cerbera’s crew—like my father, I’m guessing—would have slaughtered him without a thought.

What goes on in his brain, I’m desperate to know.

But in the end, Odin reminded me of his true nature. He discarded me as quickly as he had protected me and went back to ignoring my existence, ultimately pushing me back once again into the cage fortified by my hatred toward him.

As the first hour ticks over and my fingers turn soggy from being in my mouth, I revert to a different method of distraction. In my backpack, there’s a small makeup bag and Dom’s iPad. “Do you have YouTube?” I ask him.

“Yes. Just don’t subscribe to any channels,” he says with a small smile. The plush chair no longer suits my needs, so I slip onto the floor opposite Dom and Ford. It takes me a few minutes to find a video I want to watch and then another minute to set myself up. The only mirror I have is one of the eyeshadow palettes. It’s grainy, but it will have to do.

My mom never went a day without anything on her skin. She wore the same foundation for twenty years—Estee Lauder Double Wear in shade Cool Bone. I bought several bottles for her birthdays and Christmases, and she was always just as happy to receive it the tenth time as she was the first. The day she caught me trying some on my own skin, she burst into a smile and ordered me to stay home from school so we could go shopping. I was only young, maybe fourteen, but Mom didn’t chastise me and remind me of my youthful skin. She was just glad to get to share in the moment, to be able to explore my new curiosity together.

I worked at a local diner for a few years before I went to college. Every paycheck I got, I would go to the nearest Sephora and buy one makeup item. A mascara, lipstick, a single eyeshadow, and it didn’t take long before the desk in my bedroom was stained and patchy, overflowing with half open palettes and dripping foundation bottles.

I would spend an hour watching makeup tutorials before going to parties, experimenting with a bold lip, or a winged eyeliner, or cheeks so sharp they made me look sick. Now my makeup routine has whittled down to a measly ten minutes, and some days I barely have enough time to look in the mirror before I race out the door. Now, all my products are drenched in dust in the draws under my bathroom sink. Neglected and out of date, evidence of the things I could do before I was swallowed up by adulthood.

I often think about whether putting on the mask of my choosing—fierce or soft or romantic—was just a phase. A youthful exploration of my identity. Since I gave up on it so quickly, it must have been, right?

Shrugging to myself, I use the time I have on the plane to remember the techniques and skills, and even learn some new ones.

Ford’s eyes are on me as I take stock of all my supplies—foundation, concealer, a contour stick, mascara, eyeliner, a small eyeshadow quad with four different hues of brown and a double blush palette. I didn’t specify anything on the list when I gave it to Dom, but I’m impressed with how well he did.

The YouTuber I’m watching casually intersperses her tutorial with snapshots of a crime documentary she recently watched. I snort when she makes a comment about Stockholm Syndrome being hard to avoid if the kidnappers are hot.

Dom puts his laptop away and stands to go to the back of the plane, probably to speak to Odin, the crybaby. When my cheeks feel hot from Ford’s attention so focused on me, I take advantage of him being alone. “Can I share a room with you?”

Ford does a double take. “Come again?”

The eyeshadow brush in my hand wobbles as some turbulence bumps the plane. “Wherever we are going this time, can I stay with you? I can sleep on the floor.”

“No way,” Ford snorts and crosses his arms. In my periphery, I can see the tattoos enveloping his wrist like octopus tentacles. They scared me the first time I saw them, now I find them comforting. Ford’s outward expression is tough, huge, but it’s clear he has a soft center. I feel the safest with him.

“Why not?” I say, offended. “I don’t snore. ”

“Because I stay with Dom.”

I lean closer to the mirror and apply the eyeshadow in short, precise strokes. “But surely he won’t mind.”

Dom approaches us again, slowing his long strides as he nears his seat. Under his breath, Ford mutters. “He will when his husband doesn’t fuck him to sleep like he normally does.”

The eyeshadow palette tumbles from my hand as I jerk upright. “ Husband? ”

Dom sighs. “Ford. Could you not be so brazen?”

“She’d have figured it out, eventually.” He shrugs. “And, anyway, she’s part of the family now.”

I look at the two of them more closely. “You’re… married?” Dom returns his attention to his laptop, while Ford runs his eyes over him.

“Yup,” Ford announces proudly. Dom simply nods.

Dropping my voice to a whisper, I ask, “Does Odin know?”

Ford chuckles. “Yes, Etta. He knows.”

“He officiated the ceremony himself,” Dom says.

I lean back against the chair. Stunned. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Ford says with a lopsided grin.

Makes sense. The two of them seem close, able to read each quickly and proactively. They are constantly sharing secretive looks and, while in Scotland, spent the whole day hidden within the confines of their little house while Odin and I circled each other like sharks on our own.

Ford reaches across the gap between them and squeezes Dom’s thigh playfully. Dom swats him away with a hiss. Yep, definitely married.

“I mean, I can wait outside the door each night while you two have some privacy,” I say.

Ford laughs, his big chest bouncing. “Jesus, Etta. No.”

Groaning, I go back to applying my makeup. It’s not as easy as I remember, but the step-by-step process is soothing. I have to re-do my eyeliner three times before I’m happy with the flick. Once I’m done, I take my time to appreciate the features I’ve highlighted and the rush of warmth that fills my belly.

Ford falls asleep while I’m working on my face and Dom is so engrossed in his work that he barely blinks. Needing to stretch my legs out, I rise to my feet and grab the phone, habit encouraging me to take photos to keep as evidence for later.

Dismissing that ridiculous idea with a click of my tongue, I swivel to survey the rest of the plane. My focus lands on Odin with his back to me. Ugh. So predictable.

Taking my phone out of my pocket, I open up the text section and type out a message.

Etta: Do you snore?

The response is a few seconds delayed. There’s no ‘typing’ bubble to indicate he’s replying, so when he does, it sends a jolt under my skin.

Odin: No.

Etta: But how do you know? You sleep alone.

Odin: I know.

Etta: Are we sharing a bed at this next place?

Odin: No.

Etta: A bathroom?

Odin: You get one more question and then I’m silencing you.

Etta: You must have been the type of person to lock all your Sims in a room and set them on fire.

Odin: Never played it. Besides, why would I do it in a game when I can do it in real life?

Etta: That’s a bit dramatic.

His shoulders move, his chin turning. I collapse into my seat, hiding from view, and ask another burning question.

Etta: What’s your star sign?

Odin: Question time is over.

Etta: Definitely a Scorpio.

I laugh to myself, because if I don’t, tears will flow instead. The unfamiliar sensations inside of me, stirred to life by the weird text exchange with my fiancé/kidnapper, are put aside to assess later when Ford’s voice floats over to me. “You look pretty.”

My cheeks redden further. “Thanks.”

“Can you do it to me? ”

“What?”

Ford stands up and comes over to my side of the plane, taking a seat opposite me. His body is so big even the extra-large private jet chairs seem small in comparison.

I’m gawking. “Are you sure?”

“I’m confident in my masculinity, Etta.”

“Oh, I can tell,” I giggle as I tentatively smooth out Ford’s thick eyebrows. Nervous but elated, I take the foundation bottle and squeeze the pump until a small puddle fills my palm. “I’m going to make Dom fall to his knees.”

“Dom doesn’t kneel,” Ford whispers, grinning. “I do.”

If anyone would have told me I’d have almost peed myself from laughter on a private jet with a bodyguard, a lawyer, and a property mogul, who works with the mafia and intends to marry me in a matter of weeks, I would have told them to stop sniffing glue and drink some water.

“Look! Look! She’s moving them!” I exclaim, tapping Dom on the shoulder. He looks up from his laptop and blanches. After I completed Ford’s makeover—sultry, yet simple—I grabbed Juniper by the scruff and used the darkest shade of eyeshadow in my disposal to draw on some eyebrows. Now, every time she raises them, I burst out laughing. Ford, too, has been unable to keep a lid on his composure. She’s so freaking cute, I can’t deal.

“Juni! You’re so clever!” I praise, even though all she’s done is sit on her tummy and tilt her head side to side, listening to me laugh.

I’m interrupted when the captain’s voice blares from above. “We will be starting our descent in ten minutes. ”

Cradling my sore stomach, I attach Juniper to her harness and stand so I can go to the bathroom before we land. As I walk off, I hear Ford say, “Admit it, my eyelashes are turning you on.”

Dom scoffs, but I hear the smile in his tone. “Oh, shut up.”

Smirking to myself with my head down, I put one foot in front of the other until I’m forced to stop by a pair of clean, black shoes.

I lift my chin, dragging my focus along every inch of the man in my way. Odin holds steady, no words passing between his lips. I know without having to check that he’s doing the same thing to me. I’m stuck in place, breathing through a straw as the heat he radiates reaches across the gap between our bodies and strokes me.

When my chin is fully raised, I see now what has him so still. His eye is lingering on my face. On the makeup that I applied perfectly. He seems transfixed for a moment; lost in a fantastical forest he never knew he stepped foot in. His gaze travels to my neck, my cheeks, my eyes, then to my lips and the plum-colored lipstick I applied to them.

My pulse hammers unsteadily beneath my skin. My thoughts stall, like a mouse that’s fallen off the wheel and landed on its back with its legs in the air.

He smells different. Like a glass of golden whiskey over ice, the backseat of a new car with windows tinted darker than hell, a fresh bar of soap lathered over wet, warm skin.

Looking into his eye is like peering into space. Infinite and mysterious, with the perfect amount of interest to make me want to explore it despite the likelihood that I might suffocate.

I have no idea how long we stand locked like this. Not until I try to swallow and find I can’t, due to lack of lubricant in my throat.

“Odin?”

His answering recoil is like the flutter of a fly’s wings. Faint but easily spotted. I keep my lips in place, even as the muscles pull at the outer edges, wanting to frown.

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice rough, strained.

“You’re excused,” I counter. I’m not shifting. I’m not moving until he lets me through. I’m going to hold my position until he bends. His eye flashes with warning, as if he knows what game I’m trying to play. I smile sweetly, exposing my teeth. His solid chest heaves as he blows a breath out of his nose.

As if his body is as heavy as a slab of ice, he shifts to the side and allows me through. I remain silent and stride past him, sashaying my hips from side to side. A whisper of a touch traces along my hip bone. My skin heats as if it’s been slapped.

Sensing that he hasn’t moved, I flick my head over my shoulder, find his attention and send him a wink.

Checkmate, motherfucker.