Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

40. Etta

40

Etta

‘Forever’ - Labrinth

I feel like shit.

My head pounds so hard it’s like my brain has been replaced by a subwoofer speaker that plays Skrillex on a torturous loop.

These motherfuckers drugged me. Twice!

Cerbera struck a needle into my leg as soon as I lifted my foot off the rescue boat. I fainted into his arms and with the chaos around us, it seems he got away with taking me no questions asked.

The second dose came roughly as we bordered his monstrosity of a yacht. I woke up choking on my own saliva. They gave me some water, a single cracker, and then drugged me again in the opposite leg.

Fucking pricks.

A wave rocks the boat. Vomit rises up my throat. I swallow it back down. The acidic liquid resettles and continues to churn, waiting to be released.

No one has come to check on me since I woke up. I’m in the main dining area of the yacht, my ankles chained to the leg of a table fused into the floor, my hands bound with itchy rope. Pushing up, I rest my back on the section behind me.

“You look a little green, Mrs. Bolt,” Cerbera says, striding in from the back deck and taking a seat on one of the couches opposite me. I glance his way, but don’t give him my full attention. I can’t look him in the eyes right now. Not when I still want to throw up everything in my stomach.

“Fuck off,” I mumble, scrunching my hands into fists. God, my head fucking hurts .

Cerbera chuckles. It grates on my nerves. The rhythm of the waves fills the gap in conversation while he watches me. I’m so exposed to his attention that I can hardly sit still.

This is the second time I’ve been kidnapped, and it’s significantly worse than the first. I’m an actual pet, an object. I have no rights, I have no voice, and I certainly don’t have any hopes that my safety is Cerbera’s number one priority.

Lifting my head, I find Cerbera’s eyes. They’re as cold as a black hole. I’m realizing there’s a difference between broken and soulless. “My husband will kill you,” I manage to say, despite my mouth feeling like a cotton ball.

Cerbera doesn’t respond to my comment, at least, not how I expect him to. “I’m sure that would upset you greatly. Why would you want your family to die?”

“We are not family,” I spit.

“After Odin killed Gregory and revealed his identity to you, did you ever wonder about why he never came to find you sooner?”

I don’t answer him out loud. Yes, of course I thought of that. Not for very long, but it did pique my curiosity. In the end, I deemed that my mother’s decision to hide me was for a very specific reason. Turns out, she was smart in doing so. Gregory was a bastard.

Cerbera seems to agree. “He was a sleeze, your father. Slept with anything that moved and many that didn’t.” His crass words make me cringe. “He had so many illegitimate children he didn’t bother with half of them. Yourself and… me, included.”

My eyes widen at his admission. Cerbera doesn’t look at me as he stands, picking up a small steak knife that had been resting on the table. Does Odin know this? Does he know that we’re related?

“We were the spares, you and I,” he continues. “Until we weren’t. You were needed to fulfill a duty to the family. And when that failed, I was taken from my mother and hidden to learn everything about our father’s lucrative business and how to keep them running if he ever passed.” Cerbera twists the knife into his finger, crossing his legs at the ankles while leaning against a liquor cabinet. “I was released when the time was right, and the Lombardos were at their weakest. I was put in charge to make us great again.”

“To make what great? You’re criminals,” I say, pulling my legs up into my chest, away from him.

“Only because the government and history deem us so.”

“You kill people.”

“So does a doctor, but they don’t receive any jail time.”

“That’s not even remotely the same,” I say, growing impatient with his twisted head. There’s no point wasting energy trying to argue. He’s clearly trying to rile me up. I might as well let him spill out his little monologue and pretend to listen while trying to figure out how to get the knife out of his hands and into mine.

“Your husband is a criminal,” he says, his lips curling into a demented smirk. “But you haven’t called the police on him. Not once. Or did he blackmail you into staying by his side?” I don’t even flinch, but he somehow deduces the answer. “A criminal love affair,” he chuckles. “How original.”

Bristling, I watch the sea out the window next to Cerbera’s head. I imagine another boat rising out of the horizon. Odin standing at the front, his single eye scanning the ocean as if he can sense my rapidly beating heart.

Cerbera, deeming my decision to ignore him as disrespectful, strides over to me, bends down, and grabs my chin in his grip. He pinches my skin, stunning me. “Look at me when I am speaking to you!” ˙His eyes are wild.

“Fuck. You.”

The knife presses to my throat. A better, clearer warning than his words. “Odin may find me and kill me, but I’ll kill him first.”

“What’s wrong with you?” My eyes fill with water from the pain of his touch and his words.

Cerbera’s breath is sticky and hot on my face as he speaks roughly. “Your husband is an idiot. A fucking fool. He thought he could come into this hell pit and run with the big wolves. He thought with the right amount of money, he could control those who ruined his life, and do what law enforcement could not. Poor, stupid boy. Did he really think I would let him join us and be the one to hold the end of the leash, tugging us into place?”

He moves my chin from side to side. Shaking my head like I’m a puppet on a string. “No. That was never going to happen. So, I mentioned the marriage contract and… interestingly, he agreed. Killing you will ruin him. Just like killing his wife set him on this path. The minute he finds your body, I can guarantee he will shatter into a million pieces. There is nothing left for him anymore. And when that happens, I will be there to gather it into my palm, tuck it away, and take over from where he left off. No outsider will control the Lombardos. We’re tied together by our blood,” he spits.

Big, slow tears track down my face. Cerbera smiles like it’s the most delightful thing he has ever seen. He lifts the knife, so it’s no longer kissing my throat, and brings it up to my cheek. “Now, to begin the festivities. I thought we could leave him a gift. How poetic would it be to send him his wife’s right eye?”

My half-brother grabs me by the throat and shoves me backward. “Hold still,” he orders as he brings the knife back to my face.

I put everything I have into fighting him. Kicking and bucking, flailing my legs out in the hopes they’ll strike him in the balls. He shoves me backwards with his free hand, pinning me against the wall behind me. With my wrists bound, my efforts are too awkward and ineffective. He punches me across the jaw to stun me.

My vision goes white and colorful shapes explode. He chokes me with his free hand. I might pass out from the pressure around my throat before the pressure of the blade on my skin. “Sister, sister. Be calm. You only need one eye.”

He presses the knife into my forehead, cutting into the soft skin above my eyebrow. I release an awful scream, my legs jerking in reaction to the pain.

“Stop! Please stop!”

The knife slices into my skin, blood spills into my eyes. His overbearing cologne fills my nostrils. He releases my throat so he can crush his hand over my forehead to keep me still, while the other carves my face open.

He reaches my eyebrow, splitting it in half, scraping the blade along my skull. He keeps going despite my screams. I feel the kiss of the knife on my eyelid, poking hard enough to make me whimper. Blood pools in both my eyes. Shock seeps into my body.

“Cerbera!” a voice shouts. So demanding it actually makes him pause. God, it’s another voice I vaguely recognize, but my brain is so wired I can’t think.

“What?” Cerbera snarls.

“I don’t remember the part where we harm women and children,” the man says.

“I see no children here,” Cerbera mocks.

The man comes forward, but all the blood in my eyes means I can’t quite see him. “Put the knife away. You’re being manic with no cause.”

“And you need to watch your mouth,” Cerbera stands, pointing the knife at the man. “You forget your place.”

I flick my uninjured eye open for a second. I see black hair that’s curly, yet styled neatly, not a hair out of place. A significantly tall figure and eyes so brown they might be mud.

I know that face.

Henry Martin.

Thank fuck. Thank fucking fuck.

My mouth opens to scream his name, but I clamp it shut when I remember he’s undercover. He’s not one of them, but he’s also not here to rescue me.

Martin comes toward me, grabs my arm and hoists me up. I stumble into him, my shoulders tight, my face pinched. I only see red. “Pull yourself together,” Martin chastises Cerbera. “Your men have sisters and wives and mothers. They will not appreciate seeing the harm you have caused her.”

“She’s a whore,” he says coldly. “None of them will care.”

Martin is not convinced.

They stare at one another for several long seconds. If the air in the room wasn’t tense enough, it certainly is now.

“They need you on the bridge,” Martin informs.

Cerbera’s lips curl. He wipes the knife on his cream pants, my blood staining them instantly, and stalks off.

Martin takes me away, guiding me toward a room deeper into the yacht. Inside, he undoes my binds with a quick flick of his knife and I collapse onto the bed that’s taking up the majority of the tight space. My heart is out of control, beating too fast. My forehead is on fire, a deep stinging agony. I can’t breathe properly. I can’t think beyond the fact that I might die.

I can’t die. Not yet. Not now.

“Here,” Martin brings a towel to my face and presses down.

“I need—” I gulp, pant, cry. “I need to stitch it.”

“You might be a doctor, Mrs. Bolt, but you can’t possibly sew your own wound.”

My hands shake as I reach for his wrist. “You have to get me out of here.”

Martin’s eyes fill with empathy. “I can’t.” I groan, the agony from the wound only increasing. He puts my hand on the towel, urging me to keep the pressure. Already I can tell I’m going to need a new one. It’s saturated with my blood, filling the room with a metallic scent I know all too well.

Martin swings his head around, stands and closes the door. He does a quick sweep of the room and returns on his knees in front of me. “We are going to get you out.”

“We?” I croak. Dear God, I hope he means Odin.

“You need to stay quiet and stay rested. You’ve been hurt too much already. I will keep Cerbera at bay.”

Someone knocks on the door. I flinch, my body recoiling.

Martin stands. “Wait for my signal.”

Then he opens the door and leaves me behind.

I fold into a ball, bring every limb into myself as my body shakes. I’m in shock. I know the symptoms well enough. I’m covered in a cold sweat, my limbs are shivering uncontrollably and my mouth is so dry I can’t swallow.

Left alone, injured and terrified, I sing every song on Golden Hour inside my head to keep myself distracted. An infinite, comforting loop.

When I reach the end, I repeat the process.

Again and again and again until I pass out from the stress.