Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

42. Etta

42

Etta

‘Wolf At Your Door’ - Chloe and Halle

O din’s face blooms inside my head every second or so. He’s sitting opposite me on the deck in Mykonos, the sun highlighting his features. I used to think of them as cruel, but now I see them as anything but. They may not be perfect, but mother nature never is. I think about every touch, every kiss, every reassuring word. I think about how right it feels to call him husband and how sacred he must be for me. How he’ll be ripping himself apart from guilt and blame. I think about how much I miss him, and how much I really love him, and how a future with him is the greatest gift I could have received. I think about—

The lights flick off, ripping me from my mind.

Something vibrates above my head. It happens again. Like a heavy object hitting the ground.

The darkness is alive around me, thumping in time with my heart. I wait and listen, listen, listen. A gunshot, clear as day, rings out somewhere on deck. My muscles tense, my chest swells with hope. More gun shots. More thumping.

A grunt. A scream.

Silence.

I wait with bated breath, the skin around my wrists burning as I begin to fidget. Someone is in the hallway, opening the doors, checking the other rooms. When they get to the one I’m locked inside, they speak.

“Etta?” he says. I whimper, my chest exploding.

Odin.

I yelp, my voice trapped behind the tape.

The door swings open. The end of a gun appears first, then a hand, then an arm, then the body of the man I love.

He finds me, his eye wide with relief, then worry, then anger.

Behind him I see movement, the body of another man I despise.

I scream at Odin. Scream his name as loud as I can because he’s so focused on me he’s not concentrating.

Cerbera appears behind Odin and lifts his gun, ready to strike.

“Predictable,” he says and clocks my husband on the back of the head.

Odin stumbles forward, clearly stunned. But he doesn’t go down. He turns his lethal body, his entire being thrumming with fury.

Cerbera fires his gun and strikes Odin in the chest.

I squeal.

No.

Odin recoils, but no immediate blood seeps through his clothes. I notice the bulkiness of his upper body and realize he’s wearing a vest.

Odin wastes no time and throws his gun at Cerbera’s face. Surprised, the man rears back, trying to dodge it. Odin uses the distraction to his advantage and launches for the attack. He throws punch, after kick, after punch. They disappear into the hallway beyond the room, out of my sight.

Another gunshot goes off. I hear someone grunt.

No, no, no.

I start jerking, twisting on the bed. My chafed wrists start bleeding as I pull and pull, trying to break myself free.

Martin appears in the doorway, his brown eyes intense. “We have to go,” he says, and he cuts my binds for the second time and helps me off the bed.

“Odin!” I scream, though my words are muffled. “Help him!”

When my hands are free, I rip the tape off my mouth, the sting barely registering. He grabs my upper arm and hauls me toward the door. The sound of men fighting hand-to-hand reverberates, shaking my bones.

In my periphery, I see the octopus at the bottom of the tank. I jerk back toward it. “The octopus,” I say.

“We don’t have time,” he growls, pulling me harder. He doesn’t understand. I launch my body toward it, yanking Martin with me.

I have to shove the tank lid to the side, shrugging off Martin’s hold on me. The water bubbles and ripples, ruining my clear sightline of the octopus. “What are you doing?” He hisses in my ear.

“Bringing a weapon,” I pant.

Before I pick up a highly venomous creature, I go to the bed and rip off the bedsheet. I try to separate a section with my bare hands. When that proves pointless, I hold it up to Martin to cut with his knife. He wants to object; I know he does. He must think I’m insane. But he obeys my silent command and slices a piece off.

Taking a deep breath, I stick my fingers in the water, using the sheet as a shield and a net.

The octopus tries to evade me, desperately searching for somewhere to hide, but the small blue rings guide me to its whereabouts. I feel it brush my fingers through the sheet, its tiny legs barely the size of a bobby pin. Holding my breath, I bring my palms together slowly and surround it. It moves like a spider trapped under water, but I hold steady, whispering my apologies. I hate that I’m doing this to an innocent creature. It feels sacrilegious and makes me want to cry.

“Hurry,” Martin urges.

Praying and praying that the sheet is enough to stop the venom from sinking into my skin, I pull it out, wrap it in the bottom of my shirt for added protection, and follow Martin up the stairs.

Martin stays in front of me as we ascend. My breath is sawing through my lungs, my injury a tormenting ache. The octopus remains hidden in my hands, its three hearts pumping in time with my own.

When we reach the main deck, all thoughts disappear.

I gasp audibly, my legs wobbling.

Martin keeps me behind him, his gun trained on the situation in front of him. There are dead men all around us, littered like broken dolls.

Odin is on his knees, his mouth bleeding, his eyepatch missing. Ford is right beside him, panting, bloodied, and rightfully pissed.

Above them stand Cerbera and one of his men.

“Odin,” I breathe, my insides twisting into a knot so tight I want to be sick.

He looks up, finds my worried gaze. His expression is twisted, his body tight with concern. “It’s going to be alright. I won’t let him hurt you,” he says, his teeth wet with his own blood.

“Put the gun down,” Martin demands, his voice a boom of thunder.

Cerbera laughs. The sound is a razor blade against my skin. “What does it feel like to finally show your true colors? ”

“Fucking good,” Martin replies, rolling his shoulders.

“It’s over,” Odin says, his eye laser focused on me. “Do whatever you want to me, but let my wife go.” His expression is full of anguish and regret. I can’t breathe when he looks at me like that. Like it might be the last time.

“How about I do whatever I want to you, and your wife can watch?”

Martin steps forward. “This is over, Cerbera. Let them go and you can live.”

“You should know by now that I don’t like being told what to do,” he says, and shoots Odin in the back of the leg. Odin hisses, his body jolting from the shock.

“Don’t touch him!” I cry out and race forward. Martin yanks me by the back of my dress, holding me at bay.

“Don’t!” Odin grunts and coughs. “Keep her away,” he orders Martin. “Get her the fuck out of here! Go!” The agent’s arms around me tighten.

“You’re a fucking dead man,” I seethe at Cerbera.

Cerbera raises his brows and shoots Odin in the other leg. I roar, a deep, anguished sound. Tears start spilling down my face, hot and salty. Odin’s breaths are fast and shallow, his face dotted with sweat. Yet, when he looks at me, I swear his iris churns with a sense of peace. With love.

“I’m sorry I brought you into this,” he murmurs. “It’s my fault.”

Cerbera kicks him in the back, forcing him down. Odin braces his hands under his chest, his nose almost squashed into the bloodied carpet. “Lesson one,” Cerbera mocks and presses his boot to my husband’s spine. “The men who run this world aren’t of sound mind, so expect to lose when you try to steal their crown.”

“Fuck you,” Odin spits.

Cerbera presses the end of his gun to Odin’s skull. “Tell me, is this how you killed my father? ”

A blur of movement to my right tears my horrified gaze away from Odin.

Ford moves so fast I almost miss it. One second he’s kneeling, the next he’s turned, swiping his leg out to knock over Cerbera’s man. He swipes the pocketknife he always carries across the man’s throat so efficiently, he’s almost dead before he hits the ground. Ford stands and spins. He throws his knife across the distance. It flips end over end, its trajectory aimed straight for Cerbera’s chest.

A gunshot goes off.

Ford recoils. Cerbera grunts as the knife hits his shoulder.

Another gunshot.

Another.

Blood sprays from Ford’s arm, his thigh, his neck . He clutches the side of his throat, mouth filling with blood instantly. He stumbles, his hands catching him on the side of the cabin, his fingers leaving a red, wet streak.

“Ford!” I screech at the same time Odin roars, “No!”

Ford collapses to the ground, his back against the wall, legs splayed out in front of him.

I break free of Martin’s hold and run to Ford, my hands dropping the precious creature in my shirt so that I can reach for his wounds, applying pressure to the worst one.

“It’s not his—fault,” Ford chokes as I press my hands to his neck. “It’s not his fault. You have to tell him.”

“Stop talking,” I beg him. “Just breathe.”

“You’re dead!” Odin shouts, his voice a thousand times more pained than I’ve ever heard it. He launches to his feet, knocking the gun from Cerbera’s grip with trained precision. Cerbera snarls and swings his arm. They fight, bare knuckled and bloodied, two gladiators with nothing to lose.

I’m vaguely aware of Martin moving to my side, but I can’t take my attention away from Ford’s injuries. If I do, he’ll bleed out.

I can’t listen.

I can’t think.

Martin taps me on the shoulder. I ignore him. Blood gurgles out of the wound on Ford’s neck. His trachea is working overtime, not a good sign for his oxygen levels. I do my best to staunch the bleeding, all the while listening to Odin and Cerbera behind me, praying he won’t lethally harm my husband with my back turned.

Tap, tap, tap. I want to scream at Martin to fucking leave me alone, but then he whispers a word to me. “Blue.”

I look up.

His focus is trained on Cerbera. But Cerbera’s focus is trained on Odin, who’s holding his ground despite two wounds in each leg. Cerbera is so full of bloodlust he’s ignoring us completely.

Martin points at the octopus on the ground, still somehow moving its tentacles, and then points to Cerbera.

“On my signal.”

I glance back at Ford. His face is ashen, his skin covered in sweat. I lift his hands and press them to his neck. “Don’t move,” I say.

“Don’t plan on it,” he stutters.

Martin steps away from us and closer to Cerbera. He slowly pockets his gun and lowers his legs, preparing his body. He watches and waits for an opening. Odin cracks Cerbera on the jaw and the man takes two steps back. Like a cat springing on its prey, Martin dives onto Cerbera, taking him down with a thump, the two of them grappling for control.

I grab the octopus, my hands covered in blood and tears and sweat. The sheet is soaked, probably with the octopus’s venom, but I don’t care. I race toward Martin, past Odin, who reaches for me. “Etta! ”

“Now!” Martin shouts, his arms twisted around Cerbera’s neck, legs locked on his thighs like a cobra.

Cerbera jerks under Martin’s tight grip. “What have you got for me, Etta? Gonna slap me a little?”

“Shut the fuck up, you pig,” I spit, my own rage and heartache spilling out of me. I stand above him and position my weapon. “Oh, and by the way, this is exactly how our father died. Like a cockroach writhing on the ground.”

I tip the sheet and watch as the beautiful octopus lands on Cerbera’s face, its tentacles immediately gripping into his skin, spreading its venom.

He laughs at first, the tiny creature a hilarious choice of weapon to use for his destruction. But as the sands of time slip through the cracks, the octopus’ venom spreads, blocking the communication between nerves, halting all muscle contraction.

When the paralysis registers, the veins in his neck bulge, his legs twitch, his expression shifts from annoyed amusement to object terror. He realizes his mistake and becomes the shivering prey he expected me to be. No longer the wolf, but the wolf’s dinner.

Just like my father, I watch my brother die.

Both, in the end, give me great pleasure.