Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

17. Etta

17

Etta

‘Slide’- Hi Life (Feat. Harvie)

T he clock on the nightstand reads one in the morning.

Odin still hasn’t returned.

It didn’t bother me that much when the hour passed and there was no sign. Now, it’s been several and I hate to admit that I’m getting worried.

Despite my solo trip out into the surrounding jungle, I don’t want to be here alone. Even if it means I’m locked up with my future husband via arranged marriage. It’s better than talking to myself, getting lost in my own mind.

I avoid it all together by drinking. Too much.

When the rain begins to pour, so does the whiskey into the crystal glass I found on the mini cart in the corner. I took small sips to start, but when it wasn’t working fast enough, I gulped down the fiery liquid, grimacing with each swallow.

I’m quite light-headed now. A little delirious. Definitely giggly.

As the clock flicks over to 1:15 a.m., the door opens with a soft click. My hands fly through my hair, fluffing and fixing, whilst I try to position myself on the bed in a manner that’s casual. Not something that screams I couldn’t sleep because you weren’t in the room, even though I hate you, which maybe I don’t as much as I should, and so I waited for you, and now I’m drunk and trying not to appear as though I’m not waiting for you.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is. My husband,” I announce as Odin enters, appearing a little soggy from the rain, his casual safari gear damp against his skin. I almost purr at how delicious he is.

His hypnotic gaze fixates on my position. “Not yet,” he clarifies, his tone dryer than the dust on the wheels of the safari Jeeps we spent all day in, snuggled up close.

“My apologies, I meant to say to my fiancé.” He’s not angry at me anymore, that much is clear. I finish my drink and slam the glass down on the bedside table.

“Are you drunk?” he asks.

“No.” A hiccup escapes my mouth. “Are you?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Shall I make you a drink?” I swing my arm toward the cart, making a show of the display. My body tilts to the side, my hands fumbling to catch me. I fall sideways into the obnoxiously large pillows.

“How about I make you one,” Odin suggests and heads over to the drink cart. Slowly, he chooses a bottle and pours a nip of the caramel whiskey I’ve been enjoying.

“One for you, too,” I demand.

Odin raises his brow. “What are we drinking to?”

“To civil communication between fiancés.”

He walks over toward the bed carrying two sparkling glasses. He passes me one and we both clink them in a silent toast. Our eyes lock over the rim as we sip. A heated second. A slip of focus. Under my skin, blood rushes with vigor.

I look away first.

“Are you ever going to tell me when we are getting married? I have to choose a dress, you know.” I take a sip of my drink, swallow the smooth liquid and savor the warm sensation as it travels down my throat.

Odin sits in one of the comfy chairs meant for reading placed opposite the bed. “The twentieth.”

“What’s the date today?”

“The fourteenth.”

“That’s so soon.” I suck in a breath and force it down. I should be furious at how soon it is. I should be relieved at how soon it is. I’m neither.

I’m… not sure.

“The quicker the better,” he replies.

I fall back into the pillows, cradling the glass to my chest. “What happens after?”

Odin tenses, then drops his chin to stare into the now empty glass. “I’ll let you go.”

“What do you mean? We’re going to be married.”

“In name only.” Does this man always provide such confusing answers? How is that supposed to work, anyway? Am I going to take his name and then disappear? “Does that bother you?” he asks.

“I don’t know. None of this has been particularly easy to process.”

He looks at me then. The full force of his attention is a lightning strike to the face. “It’s the best option. Trust me. I’ll give you whatever house you want, and you can live your life in peace. ”

I hum, considering. I finish my drink in one quick sip, then gesture for another. Odin obeys my command, standing with the shadow of a smirk on his lips as he reaches for the bottle. He brings it with him this time. “How rich are you?” I ask.

“Rich enough.”

“Don’t say that. I’ll wring you dry.”

“I can’t imagine that,” he says, his tone sarcastic. I roll my eyes.

Silence ensues for a few minutes as both of us try to navigate this odd territory. Eventually, I can’t take the heaviness of the quiet. “I never thought I’d get the chance to travel,” I admit.

“No?” Odin leans back in the chair, exposing the impressive width of his chest, the solid quality of his legs.A flicker of heat sparks low in my belly as I catch a peak of his open collar, the tattoos on his left wrist—roman numerals—and even his black eyepatch.

“Money has never been one of my strong suits. Saving it, that is,” I admit sheepishly.

Our glasses are empty again. I push the sheets away and lean forward with my legs hanging off the bed. He pours us another. We drink. My muscles loosen. My mind begins to swim.“If money wasn’t a problem, where would you go?” he asks.

I tap my finger on my chin, thinking. “I’d come back and explore more of Africa. Maybe fly up to Egypt and Morocco. I want to go to Antarctica as well. And Laos and Cambodia, then head to Australia. I’ve always wanted to swim with great white sharks.”

“It’s scarier than you think.”

My brows rise. “And how would you know?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, the glass poised on the tip of his full bottom lip. “Experience.” He sips, swallows. My throat bobs, thickens.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Would you believe that one almost tried to eat me?”

Whiskey coats my lips as I smile. “Surprisingly, yes.”

“Do you think they could smell the steak I ate for lunch?”

“I think they were attracted to your sunny disposition.”

Odin’s lips twitch with one of his infamous I’m-trying-not-to-smile smiles. And all of a sudden, I’m blushing.

More alcohol. More liquid added to the fire roaring in my belly. Odin undoes the top two buttons of his navy shirt. The clarity of my eyesight is nearly impeccable as I narrow in on his fingers working. On the way, his veiny hands move, revealing more of his chest.

“Tell me about it. Swimming with sharks.”

He rubs his jaw before he speaks. “I wasn’t planning on going, but the person I was traveling with wanted to. I couldn’t say no. We went off the coast of Western Australia and the water was so clear you could see the sun’s rays reflecting off the fish scales.” His gaze lifts, as if he’s recalling everything he can about the memory. It must be a happy one from the gleam in his eye. “They’d been chumming the water for only a few minutes before the first one swam up from underneath the cage. It was big. Way bigger than I expected them to be.”

“Did you know they eat the weaker siblings in the womb?”

He appears mildly horrified.

“Sorry,” I say, raising my hands in apology. I change the subject. “How did you meet Dom and Ford?”

Odin rubs his chin. “Ford got dispatched from the military after he nearly killed three guys who mocked him for being gay.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. They were lucky he’d been drinking the night before.” I nod, impressed. Ford takes no shit. I’ve seen it firsthand. Odin continues, “A friend who knew I was in need of some protection mentioned Ford’s name. He didn’t want to commit to the job until he met me face to face.”

“Obviously it went well,” I muse, taking another drink.

“A little too well. He agreed to work with me only because, and I quote, ‘My sexual fantasies always include pirates, so I’ll do my best to keep your pretty face safe.’”

I burst out laughing. “No, he didn’t!”

“He did.”

“And Dom? How did you meet him?”

Odin relaxes, spreading his legs in the chair. My own muscles turn molten and heavy, my core beginning to thrum with energy. I run my tongue over my lips; the rapid desire to know what he tastes like is astounding.

His jaw twitches. “We’ve been friends since we were in middle school. I met him at a debating competition.”

“These stories keep getting better.”

“He was on the opposing team and absolutely obliterated us. He came up to me after and told me how much he liked my arguments, but that I needed better teammates if we were ever going to have a chance at winning. I liked his thinking, so got my dad to transfer me to his school. We were state champions by the end of the year.”

I chuckle again. “Wow. Odin the nerd. Looks like we have that in common.”

He doesn’t respond to that. It’s strange to be friendly and laugh over a drink with him, let alone have something even remotely in common besides the fact that we dislike each other.

But do you? Really?

Our gaze remains locked, a thousand questions swimming in our minds. There’s a simmering thunder in his steel-coloured eye, an exact match of my own. It’s as intoxicating as the whiskey we’ve been drinking. Just as dangerous.

Still… we don’t give in. We can’t.

We both break contact and peer down at our empty glasses.

“I think we’ve both had enough,” he says. “We should get some sleep.”

I sigh. My head swims with the effects of too much alcohol and too much confusion. I don’t like his suggestion, but I know he’s right. I swing my legs off the bed, with the goal of putting my glass back, when I begin to wobble, the dizziness intensifying. My hands fly up to cover my eyes. The glass slips from my grip and lands on the floor with a crash. Odin shoots from his chair, his hands wrapping around my arms as I tilt backward. Tiny particles of glass burst apart and scatter.

He pulls me against his solid body. “Woah. Sorry.” I press my cheek into his shirt. I’m instantly limbless at the scent of him in my nose, the hardness of him against my chest, the grip of his warm hands on my skin.

My God.

I’m suddenly starving for something that isn’t food. I relax into him. He makes a sound close to a sigh, though through my blurry vision I think he’s grimacing.

No, no, no. We can’t have that.

I wrap my hands around his neck and hang from him, staring up into his handsome face like a love struck puppy. “You’re so strong.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters and rolls his eye. Then he does something strange.

He smiles . Tight-lipped, but real, nonetheless.

“Holy shit,” I breathe. He frowns at me, smothering his emotions, locking them in a concrete box. I poke his left cheek. “Nice dimples.”

He grunts and then swings his arm down so he can grab my legs. Hoisted into the air with ease and out of harm’s way, Odin brushes the broken glass under the bed so that I won’t split the soles of my feet. Then, he steps toward the bed and places me into the sheets. The mattress swallows me greedily. I should sleep, but my head won’t stop spinning.

He smiled at me.

Odin backs off, retreating to the chair that’s too far away. I pat my hand on the bed next to me. “Sleep next to me. I promise I won’t snore.”

“You, sweetheart, can’t promise a thing.”

My body feels like it’s been electrocuted when I hear that sentiment. Sweetheart. It curls around my stomach, squeezing the place inside of me that has been lonely and tired and broken for so long.

Oh, to be cherished.

It’s as sweet as I remember, and when Odin walks around the bed to the open space next to me, I think I might cry.

Maybe I still hate him, maybe this night and the way we are interacting will disappear from my mind as quickly as it blossomed, but it’s as clear as it can be in my drunken state that there’s an emotion that’s taking over, pushing all others out of the way.

Pure, unfiltered, immeasurable lust.