Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

43. Odin

43

Odin

‘moon and back’ - JVKE

B y the time I’ve realized what Etta has done, there’s not much left in me. My legs are on fire, my head bruised and most likely concussed, and my heart is shattered knowing she’s hurt and Ford is on the brink of death.

But Cerbera’s choking brings me immense relief. Etta stands above him like a warrior, her forehead sticky with blood, her face composed as she listens to him gurgle.

Martin never lets go, keeping pressure on Cerbera until his eyes are practically bulging out of his head and his body is consumed by paralysis.

He stares Etta down as he reaches his final breath. My wife does not balk. If anything, she’s relishing in the fact that she’s the last thing he sees before death claims him.

“Good riddance,” she mutters as his hollow eyes lose their life.

I take two agonizing steps until I’m standing behind her. My hand reaching for hers.

She jolts at the touch, turning to me in a flash. As soon as she sees me, she bursts into tears. She wraps her arms around my neck like a vice and I relax for the first time in hours, knowing she’s okay.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I did this to you,” I say, kissing her temple, squeezing her tight.

Etta starts to cry again. “It’s not your fault.”

“I love you, sweetheart,” I whisper, kissing her neck, bracing the back of her head with my palm. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” she whispers, her lips soft against my skin.

Ford groans and coughs, alerting us to his fragile position. “Shit,” I mutter as Etta gasps. We release each other and race over.

“I’m so sorry,” she says as she returns to staunching his wounds.

“You’re gonna be alright,” I say, putting every ounce of hope into my words, my hands searching for his injuries and where to apply pressure.

His eyes flutter. His throat bobs as he swallows. “Tell Dom—”

“No. Tell him yourself,” she admonishes. He manages a small smirk before he loses consciousness.

A gunshot muffled by a silencer goes off behind us, making us flinch.

Over our shoulders, Martin is standing near Cerbera’s head, his gun smoking against the cold night. “Double tap,” he shrugs as a way of explaining the lethal shot.

Sirens erupt in the main section of the port. The sound of cars coming to a screeching halt and shouts fills my ears.

“Thank God,” Etta breathes.

“Hands up!” They shout at us as they climb into the boat, their guns trained on us .

Martin steps in front of us and pulls out his DEA badge. “Gentlemen, the ones you need to worry about are dead. Is there an ambulance? We need medical attention.”

Two paramedics stride onto the main cabin deck and head toward Ford. They ask Etta and me questions about his injuries and mine. They get to work, stopping the blood flow, putting an oxygen mask on his face and providing the necessary drugs to keep him alive.

I call Dom and tell him what’s happened.

He races to the dock and finds the carnage left in our wake, the bodies and the ash filled air. His face is gray when he reaches Ford’s side, his eyes full of tears. He pats his husband’s hair, holds his hand, never lets go as they take Ford on a stretcher to the helicopter waiting on the port.

Etta and I stare blankly after him, our hands interlocked.

“He’ll be okay,” Etta says as a way of reassuring me. “He’s too stubborn to die.”

A small chuckle rattles my chest.

My right knee buckles, causing me to wobble. I forgot about the bullet wounds in each calf, but now they ache and burn.

“Oh my God, your legs!” Etta exclaims. She shoves herself under my arm—a generous, but unnecessary offering—pushes past all the police on board and guides me to the booth. I slide in and hold a hiss behind my teeth. I reach for her, wanting to pull her against me, desperate for her comfort, her touch, but she evades my grip.

“Etta!” I growl.

“Just one second.” She races over to Cerbera’s still body, grabs the white sheet she used to hide the octopus, and scoops its tiny, almost lifeless body into her palms. She darts with her hands outstretched toward the stairs, where she disappears for a few seconds. I can’t stand having her away from me. My heart can’t take it anymore. But she returns just as quickly and throws herself onto me.

“Did it swim?” I ask.

“It did,” she smiles, tucking her head between my jaw and shoulder, draping her body on my lap. “Just another day in the life of a blue ring octopus.”

I kiss her head, pull her close. “You were so brave, sweetheart.” She shudders and adjusts herself until she’s tucked in tight and safe. “Etta the Bull,” I say, remembering her mother’s nickname. She whimpers mournfully, happily.

At this moment, as the chaos settles, I decide none of this is worth it. I want to create a new life. One filled with animals and fossils and dreams and golden sunsets and smiles.

No more of this.

“Martin?” I call. He turns toward us. “I quit. It’s your turn now.”

He smiles. “I thought you’d say so.”

I hold Etta in my lap, stroking her hair, breathing in her skin, kissing her as much as I can. She smiles the entire time and then asks me, “You love me?” As if she needed to hear it again.

I press a kiss to her pretty lips. “I love you, Etta.” She sighs, sweet and pure. “You’re my golden hour.”

Ford is asleep, but Etta is desperate to see him with her own eyes. Dom waits in front of the hospital room for us. The lines on his forehead are more pronounced than I’ve ever seen them. When he spots us, he smiles weakly.

The surgery to remove the bullets from my legs has left me wheelchair bound, but I grip onto Dom’s hand and pull him down, wrapping my hands around his back. I can’t find the right words to apologize. I don’t think I ever will. Dom sags a little, but his palms on my spine still hold some strength. “You okay?” I ask, pulling back to grip his shoulders.

He nods and straightens. “Yes. It’s been hell. But he’s alright.” Then he moves so he can hug Etta, too. She clings to him, whispering apologies.

“Don’t apologize, please,” Dom asks. “We all knew the risks. How’s your head?”

Etta touches her fingers to the padding on her right eyebrow. “Fine. It was only ten stitches.”

“Only,” I mutter, grabbing her other hand. I made sure to be there with her as they stitched her wound close. I don’t ever plan on seeing her hurt again.

She shrugs and adjusts her hair. “It was a close call. They want to get a plastic surgeon to make the scarring as minimal as possible, but I think I’ll decline.”

Dom chuckles. “Sounds like something Ford would do.”

“Speaking of,” I interrupt. “Can we see him?”

“Yes. Come in.”

Dom opens the hospital door, and we file into the room. Ford is lying on his back, tubes attached to his arms, body wrapped in bandages. His skin has a yellow sheen, but I prefer that over the gray that consumed him as he was taken away. His black hair has been combed and his jaw is shaved clean. Dom has been tending to him while he’s been unconscious. It sends a shiver down my skin.

Etta and I move to stand on the other side of his bed, peering down at our friend that we almost lost. A beat or two passes as we listen to the monitors and the sound of his breathing.

Ford’s eyes flick open, shocking us all. “Boo!”

“Ford!” Etta exclaims, smacking him lightly on the arm. “Sorry!”

He winces and grits his teeth, then chuckles lightly. “I’m just messing around.” His focus lands on Etta’s injury. “So, he’s dead?”

“Yep.” Etta beams.

“And the DEA is giving us new identities?”

“Also, yes.”

Ford searches for Dom and grabs his hand. “How do you feel about Massimo as my new name?”

Dom groans, a smile curving his lips. “Am I even allowed to decline after almost losing you?”

“Sure, you can. But I have a long list,” Ford says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Although, some of them I’ll save for our kids.”

Chuckling, I reach across and slip my arm around Etta’s waist. She drops her lap onto mine and reclines on my shoulder, still drained and recovering mentally from so much stress. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, I find Ford’s attention. “The house in London, the one near Chelsea, is yours. Put it under both of your names, whatever you choose. I know it’s your favorite Dom.”

He smiles. “It is.”

Ford grins, an excited gleam in his dark eyes. “Can we do Christmas this year?”

Etta straightens and looks up at me, smiling. “That sounds amazing. I love the snow.”

We leave Ford to get some more rest, heading out of the busy hospital in Athens to travel to our hotel. We have to pack our bags to catch a flight soon. Our last flight for a while. The next few months Etta and I are going to spend it on the ground, lost in each other’s company and the sprawling hills that border the farm in Montana .

Inside our hotel room, Etta helps me onto the bed. I grab her and she falls into me, wrapping her legs around my waist. She kisses me fiercely, once, twice, and then nuzzles her face into my neck.

“How did I get so lucky?” I say, mostly to myself, kissing her neck in return.

“Me too,” she breathes, rubbing her hands through my hair. She takes off my eyepatch and rests it on the bed beside her. “I’ll never get used to this,” she whispers. My heart thunders, so full and alive that it aches .

“Neither will I,” I reply, kissing her softly.

Etta smiles at me. “Lucky we have forever.”

“Lucky we do.”