Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

20. Odin

20

Odin

‘Feverbreak’- Odette Feat Hermitutde

F inding a letter like this, on the bed I was going to lie Etta on, should make me explode. The fury is there, sizzling away. But I’m managing to keep it contained.

Etta stays tucked to my side of her own accord and it spurs me into calmness. Relative calmness. I still want to set Cerbera’s head on fire.

Dom and Ford arrive within a minute, the pair of them still dressed in their dinner clothes. Ford immediately does a sweep of the area, while Dom takes the letter and compares the handwriting to a sample we have of a contract Cerbera signed stored on his laptop.

“I’m not a forensics handwriting analyst,” Dom says as he hands it back to me. “But I’m almost positive it’s a match. But it’s a faxed copy of a handwritten letter. Post would have taken too long. ”

I want to crumple the letter in my grip, but it’s evidence, and we are still unsure as to how it got here and how Cerbera knew where to find us.

Martise arrives shortly after, concern evident in her deep eyes. She heads straight for Etta. “Would you like a warm drink?” Etta looks up at me, her nails in her mouth. She trembles slightly, and it releases the cap on my anger for a second or two, letting it fill me, consume me.

“Go with Martise,” I tell her. “Pack your things.” She frowns, but goes with Martise to the other side of the cabin where our bags are located.

“Tell me I’m not delusional when I say it’s impossible for him to have found us,” I say to Dom, standing over him.

“You’re not delusional,” Dom replies. “We scanned everything for tracking devices twice, traveled completely incognito to get here, and stayed off grid except for the burner phones. It is impossible that he found us.”

I’m seething. “We’ve underestimated him, and he’s using that to mock us.”

Ford returns after a few minutes. “There are track marks leading to and from the main lodge. Nothing else. I hate to say it, but I think it’s an inside job.”

“You’re right,” Dom announces. He turns his computer. On the screen is a video feed showing the inside of our cabin from the camera Martise installed just for us.

It shows a man entering from the back deck, placing the envelope on the bed and a new bottle of whiskey in the bar cart, and then disappearing just as quickly.

My insides wilt.

I recognize his form, his movements. My gut sinks because I know Martise will be devastated.

Our weasel is Omandi.

“I swear, I meant no harm,” Omandi cries, strapped to one of the dining chairs in the industrial kitchen in the main lodge. The scent of metal and cleaning products and oil is stifling.

“What did he offer you?” I can’t help but get right up in his face, my fist balled tight and used by my side. I’m so close I can count the beads of sweat on his forehead mixing with the blood from his newly broken nose. Without Etta insight, I’ve let the fury out. And it’s white hot.

Omandi doesn’t answer me right away. Not until Ford creeps around and lodges the tip of a knife into his seat, right between his balls.

He howls in fright, shaking his head. “Nothing! He sent me a photo of my niece in London, okay? He said that if I spied on Ms. Lewis, she wouldn’t be harmed.”

“Harmed how? How could you know it wasn’t a scam?”

“Because he sent me a photo every hour for an entire day. I didn’t question, okay? Please. She’s my sister’s only child. She is my eldest niece, a kind girl.” He pants, his mouth filling with his own blood. “I watched Ms. Lewis drinking whiskey on the second night by herself, and I sent him a photo.”

My teeth grind inside my jaw. If he’d stayed an hour longer, he might have seen us both in the shower, Etta pouring her heart out, while I tried to hold her together.

Despite Omandi’s adamant innocence, I want to keep hurting him for spying on Etta in the dark. Making her a target she was completely oblivious to.

“When was this?” Dom asks, his palms resting on his laptop, unaffected by the violence.

Omandi twists his hands inside the binds. “The day you arrived.”

So Cerbera knew from the start. Almost like he watched our flight over here. I step away from Omandi, my mind a tornado of possibilities.

Ford steps up, a new knife dangling from his fingers. If we had to resort to torture, I would have backed off. It’s his favorite part. “What happened after? Tell us about the letter.”

A wave of déjà vu hits me. It’s like we’re repeating history, considering the same thing that happened in Scotland is happening now. We thought we’d adjusted accordingly, but it seems we didn’t think hard enough.

Not we. You. It’s your fault. You’re the one in charge.

My mind reels with desperate questions folding over themselves in their attempt to be answered. How could Cerbera have known our location? How could he have gotten into contact with Omandi? How did he find his niece so quickly? How many connections does he have that we don’t know about? How the fuck are we going to gain back the upper hand?

My eyepatch starts to itch; the underside slick with sweat. I want to take it off, rub at my scarred skin. My fingers grace over the leather material. I pause in the center of it and become aware of a tiny fault, as inconspicuous as an ant.

I stand in front of Dom, my back to Omandi, and take the patch off. Again, I run my finger over the patch and feel the indent. Dom watches me from underneath his glasses.

“We ordered this from a new supplier, yes?” The man I used to buy them from had a stroke not too long ago and had to put down his leather crafting tools. Dom sourced a new supplier when I purchased my latest set.

Dom opens his laptop and starts typing. “Yes. Two months ago.”

“Where from?” I press my finger into the middle of the eyepatch, hoping I’m wrong.

“New York.”

“Is it, by any chance, close to one of Cerbera’s restaurants?”

Dom does a quick search. His throat bobs as he connects the dots. “Yes. One block away.”

I lay my hand out to Ford, and he passes me his knife. On the stainless steel kitchen island, I take the blade and my eyepatch and start to peel it apart. The stitching snaps with each cut, the two pieces separating with ease.

My stomach flips inside out.

There, in the centre of my eyepatch is a fucking tracking device.

My vision turns blurry as I take the tiny piece of metal and show Dom and Ford.

Dom looks more concerned than I’ve seen him in a while. Ford is about as angry as I am.

That piece of shit intercepted my purchase, probably bribed his way into putting the tracker inside of it. I wouldn’t even be surprised if the man I ordered from for ten years didn’t suffer a stroke, but a blunt force object to the brain.

“Let him go,” I order Ford, then turn to Dom. “Contact the distributors. Tell them to dump the latest batch in the Hudson.”

“That’s not a wise business choice, Odin.” Dom’s clipped tone cuts through the whirlwind of my furious mind.

“I don’t give a shit about business . He has been stalking us and getting away with it. He needs to remember who the fuck has the money, the buildings, and the fucking power. Me. ”

I walk away before I say anything else and almost collide with Martise as I exit the main lodge. “I’m coming with you,” she demands.

“No fucking way.”

“It wasn’t a question. You need someone to watch Ms. Lewis while you focus on your endeavor for world domination.” There’s sarcasm in her tone. She’s pissed at Omandi, and she’s pissed at me, too.

I want to say no. There’s already too many people for me to watch, to protect. But if I want Ford and Dom focused, then I need them to be doing what they do best, not worrying about Etta’s wellbeing.

“We leave in twenty minutes.”

Martise nods and jogs inside.

Tonight was a mistake. I should never have let my cock take the lead and indulge my desires with my future wife by contract, not choice.

The temptation to fuck Etta must end.

Otherwise, it might be her life.