Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

28. Etta

28

Etta

‘Language’- Porter Robinson

T his is not as fun as I thought it would be.

I’m not experiencing the sense of escapism I thought this would elicit inside of me. Instead, I feel like I’m drowning and the only thing keeping me afloat is the music.

Every hand that drags along my back, my thighs or my neck, sting like they’ve been dipped in poison ivy. None of them provide the reprieve I was hoping for. They just remind me of what I’m trying to escape. My mother’s death, her legacy wiped from the map, and the fact that no one has touched me lovingly in a long, long time.

The person who came even remotely close is the man who shoved his hand into my chest, pulled out my bleeding heart, and gave it to the devil on a silver platter.

The man whose touch I cannot forget and crave more than I should. The man who mimics my emptiness and does not shy away from it.

No matter how appealing some of the men and women in this club are, none of them are him. None of them set my heart on fire. None of them make me want to wrap my arms and legs around their upper body and squeeze them till they laugh. None of them could possibly know how empty I am inside, nor would I show them.

It felt so good to have someone on my side, keeping me afloat. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t I have met some good guy or girl on a dating app and called it a day?

Stumbling out into the alley, I heave in some fresh air, then choke as the stench of rubbish sweeps in. I’ve been walking for only a minute when my shoes get caught in the cobblestones, forcing my ankles to roll awkwardly until my knees slam down into a puddle of water.

Groaning, I rise shakily on my hands, only to pause when a weak-sounding meow comes to life somewhere against the wall to my left.

The lighting in the alley is atrocious, but as I get closer, I find a tiny kitten balanced on all fours, with one of its eyes horrendously infected. It meows at me, its limbs shivering as I approach. “Shh. It’s okay, little one. I want to help you.” I reach for its cheek, hoping it will come closer once it realizes I’m not a threat. “Hi baby,” I coo, keeping my voice soft. Tears build along my eyeline as the kitten sniffs in my direction. I forgot how much I missed this. How much helping save tiny creatures who can’t scream for help makes me feel whole and needed. Now that the clinic is gone, it’s one of the few ways I can stay close to my mother.

Shivering even though the air is humid, I reach for the kitten. I’ve barely touched its thin fur when a hand wraps around my bicep and yanks me upright .

I yelp from the pain, twisting around to smack at my attacker’s face. But as I spin, I notice it’s not just one man, but two. They may be young and handsome, but their smiles are twisted. I manage a quick scream before they slam a hand over my mouth and drag me further away from the club.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Are they Cerbera’s men? I quickly try to gauge whether they look familiar or if I saw them last night at Cerbera’s table. But all of them were old, and these two are closer to my age.

My heart pounds so hard I think I might black out. “Ford! Ford!” I yell when the man with his hand against my face drops it away. He slaps me to be quiet. I gasp, shock rocking my body.

They speak Italian to one another too fast for me to even keep up. The shadows play with their faces, making them seem like demons. When they turn to me at once and start to laugh, my knees wobble from fright.

The first man who touched me grabs my neck with one hand and squeezes. Using the other hand, he lifts my dress to expose my upper thigh. I whimper, “Please, don’t do this.” My words only ignite their lewd conversation.

My neck is being crushed slowly as his hands find the strap of my underwear along my hip. I try to jerk away, but his grip tightens, forcing the air out of my throat. It’s at this moment that I feel true fear. Every moment leading up to this barely compares. Every early interaction with Odin was a game, a joke, now that my life is truly on the line.

Crying will do me no good now, even breathing is too difficult. My vision swims as the man’s fingers trail toward my vagina.

I try one last desperate attempt to loosen his hold, kicking my legs and arms out in a frenzy. I’ve barely started when one of the men is yanked away from me.

I can’t help gasping when I spot Odin.

He wastes no time, punching the man he pulled away right across the jaw. A sickening crack fills the air. We all watch as he stumbles, his legs turning to jelly beneath him, then collapses. Out cold.

Odin turns to the other man, who still grips my arm. I use the distraction to my advantage, stomping my heel into his boot. He howls and releases me. I keep my distance as my fiancé sizes up my attacker.

“Your turn, big boy,” Odin mocks, waving him forward.

The final attacker sways on nervous feet. Odin faces him, completely calm and unafraid. The man lifts his fists and takes two deep inhales, before running at Odin with all the natural grace of a newly born giraffe.

Odin doesn’t bother fighting. He just whips out his gun and shoots him in the thigh.

The man falls onto one knee, choking on a cry. Odin walks up to him and bends so he can growl in his face. “Nobody touches what’s mine without paying in blood.”

Then he delivers the hardest punch of them all, hard enough to make me wince and watches the man tilt to the side like a building with its foundations taken out.

I am completely mesmerized by the sight of him surrounded by bodies. The fury he radiates is unparalleled.

I step toward him, but Odin gets to me first, reaching my side in a split second. His hands grip my face, squeezing. His single eye is frenzied, more panicked than I’ve ever seen it.

Relief like I have never known rushes through me. “I’m sorry—”

“You’re okay? ”

“Yes,” I choke.

Odin searches every inch of my face, then crushes my body against his. I collapse into him. His arms wrap around my middle and cradle me, while I circle my own around his neck and bury my face in his chest.

“I’ve got you.” His voice is strained, like he can’t breathe, but it still soothes away the tremors of my fear.

The sound of a person being hit on the skull reverberates behind us. My head whips around, but Odin keeps hold of me. Ford stands with his gun dangling at his side, one of the men moaning on the ground. “Always make sure they’re knocked out before rescuing the damsel.”

“I was keeping one awake for you to question.”

“Ah, my mistake then,” Ford nods and bends down, pushing his weapon into the unconscious man’s head. When the man groans, Ford clips him across the forehead with the butt, knocking him out cold. “I’ll deal with this.”

“They could barely throw a punch. I don’t think they are with the Lombardos,” Odin says.

“I’ll find out.”

Noise reverberates down the alleyway, startling us both. Odin takes my hand and leads me toward the open street.

“Wait!” I yank on his hold. “The kitten.” I look back, trying to find its tiny form in the darkness. “There was a stray kitten, injured left eye, back there.” I point.

He turns to his friend, busy with the men we left behind. “Ford!”

“On it.”

We’re on the move again, both of our systems full of adrenaline. We round two corners and race down the street until we arrive at a luxury Mercedes with windows so dark it creates a seamless transition from glass to metal.

Odin opens the front passenger seat and ushers me inside. I pause on the edge of the seat when we hear footsteps echo at the top of the street. A pair of men slow their walk, watching us.

“We’re being watched.”

“When are we not?” I huff, sliding in and doing up my seatbelt.

Odin jumps in and starts the car. He pulls off the curb and hightails it down the narrow street, the engine purring with glee. We pass by the men, both of them watching our escape. In the rear-view mirror, I see them run off, heading for their car.

My hands tighten on the leather seat. How much more panic can my body endure?

“They won’t catch us,” Odin reassures me, pressing his foot on the pedal as we race out into the more populated traffic. He weaves the car with expert efficiency, but it doesn’t make me any calmer.

“Do you know where we are?” I ask, my voice betraying my worry. At this speed he could get us killed.

“Yes.” His confidence, his control, eases me only slightly.

“Then you can slow down. Huh?” He’s concentrating so hard that he doesn’t reply. His gaze is sharp and absolutely determined to get us to safety. “They didn’t follow us, remember?” I try again.

He hums and swings the steering wheel to the right, turning a corner so quickly he almost runs over some pedestrians.

“Odin!” I squeal as I bounce off the door. “Enough.” I grab his thigh, squeezing the dense muscle. He jolts, his gaze flicking quickly to mine. He keeps driving the car, keeps moving us away from the scene of the crime, but he lifts his foot slightly off the pedal.

And it’s then that I realize what I’m seeing. He’s locked in on one goal—getting me to safety—so focused that he’s not thinking straight. His expression isn’t enough to understand, but it’s there in his body. The tension of his jaw, the white knuckle grip of his fingers, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Classic signs of some sort of internal struggle, a panic that’s acute and experienced. It clicks instantly in my mind, the reason why he is so obsessed with safety and danger.

Gen. His wife.

“She died. A long time ago.”

He never told me how. I never asked, either. I assume it was something tragic. I just never thought it would be something horrifying.

He’s scared for you.

It’s this sentiment that softens my heart, makes me start stroking his leg and speaking calmly to him. “I’m safe. We are safe. I’m not hurt.”

His hitched shoulders start to drop, the grip on the wheel loosens. “What you did was incredibly stupid,” he says, his voice cutting me deep with all the layers of anguish.

“I know.”

I grab his left hand from the steering wheel and place it on my naked thigh. He sucks in a sharp breath, his eye widening just a fraction. There’s a static energy in the air, an aura of arousal that started in Zambia and has only gotten worse. My stubbornness has dissipated into a steaming puddle of need that spells out his name.

“You can punish me if you like?” I whisper, my body heating at the sentiment. I drag his warm fingers up the inside of my thigh, past the bottom of my dress, right to the apex. My thong is a flimsy piece of material and already starting to soften with moisture. My previous animosity toward him disappears as the urge to claim him takes center stage.

For what seems like an eternity, his fingers remain unmoving, poised on my feverish skin. He steers the car in the backstreets of Rome, slowing down to blend in, stretching time like toffee.

The leather at my back, under my legs, becomes hot and stifling. My thighs tremble with the prospect of him exploring me like he did in Africa, touching my naked skin. I’m hurt and tired and scared, but in this car, sitting next to Odin, his palm rough, his gaze intense, I forget about it all. I surrender to this moment, to this excruciating desire. To him.

These past few days I’ve come too close to danger, both because of my own misjudgement and because of forces outside of my control. If this wedding goes up in flames, then at least I got to live a little before it happened.

I let myself give in, pulling Odin’s hand higher until his fingers touch the most sensitive part of me.

And just when I think he’s not going to do anything but tempt me, Odin’s voice rumbles through my chest. “My patience is obsolete. I won’t be gentle. You don’t deserve it after the stress you have caused me.” My breath hitches as he skims my underwear, a touch both light and intense. “Spread your legs wider, sweetheart. Let me in.”