Page 112 of Golden Burn

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.

41

Odin

‘Murder Song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1)’ - Aurora

The moon hangs high as we scout Cerbera’s location. His boat is one of the larger ones currently docked at a port on the other side of Athens, which means when things go to shit, we’ll be easily spotted. The movement on deck already indicates they’re readying to depart.

The notion makes me sweat. Etta is on board and at the mercy of a man that causes chaos wherever he goes. I’ve been praying to any god that will listen, hoping that they spare me the heartache of another wife put into the ground because of my mistakes.

“It’s now or never,” Ford says, clamping his hand onto my shoulder, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

Dom is remaining behind on our yacht. He’s got weapons in case things go sour, but from what Ford and I have been able to gage, there’s roughly eight men on board, including Cerbera and Martin. If we cansurprise more than half—shoot to kill—then the job should be easy enough.

I crack my knuckles, my neck and breathe in deep as I check I’ve got enough ammo strapped to my body, and that the guns are loaded and ready. Ford does the same, then shoves his pocket knife into his boot and gives me a nod.

Ford and Dom share a look, one that’s full of emotion I’ve always been secretly jealous of. “I’ll see you soon,” Dom says, his confidence slightly shaken.

Ford winks. “You bet your ass you will.”

They share a quick kiss and then Ford and I are off, keeping low, using the other docked boats as cover as we race toward Cerbera and his men.

I alerted Martin to our presence, mostly as a warning to stay out of our way. He replied with two words, “Wait signal.” I have no idea what his signal could possibly be, but my patience is non-existent. I need to get Etta out right fucking now.

Light is scarce, but the port provides enough to guide us along the docks, past sleeping birds and softly rocking boats. The air is balmy, the scent of sea salt strong. My heart pounds so hard, so desperately, it’s a miracle I can focus.

Ford signals for us to pause, ducking down behind the boat nearest Cerbera. Two men stroll the deck on patrol. Their guns are in their waistbands, within reach, but if we are fast enough, they won’t have lifted a finger before they’re dead.

I lift my own weapon, the silencer screwed into place, and loosen my breath.

Ford shakes his head, stopping me. I want to roar at him for delaying us any longer. He pats my arm, pointing to the bridge where a familiar mop of black curly hair comes into view.

Martin.

He’s pacing inside the captain’s quarters, sipping on what appears to be a mug of coffee. He turns and stares out into the night, as if he can hear our pulses. He checks quickly that no one else is approaching him on the bridge and touches something on the control board.

All the lights on the boat go out.

“I think that’s our signal,” I whisper to Ford. He nods and takes off. I follow in behind him, racing toward the boat on light feet. We’re up the stairs and on board in seconds flat.

Conversation between the two men on watch sparks to life about the blackout and ends just as quickly when Ford strikes them with a single bullet each to the back of the head.

The darkness is not ideal, but it works to our advantage. I slink inside the cabin, swinging my gun from side to side, keeping it steady.

Noise from below rumbles under my feet. Some men are waking up. Clearly alerted by the sound of bodies thumping on the ground.

In the corner of my good eye, I see a shadow pass beside the window to my right. I swing in the direction, my finger ready to blow, but Martin holds up his hands and points down.

He must mean Etta. She’s down below.

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