Page 25 of Golden Burn

I throw myself onto the leather couch in the living room, close my eyes and descend into a place that has no Odin, no bodyguards, no isolated house in Scotland and no scenarios that cause my emotions to feel like they’ve been through a gymnastics routine drunk on tequila.

When I think I’ve somewhat succeeded, I grab the remote from the coffee table and decide to continue distracting myself by watching a movie.

Beauty and the Beast comes up as an option.

I click play.

Maybe I’ll learn something useful.

I decide to watch it twice because I’m bored, and the music soothes me almost as well as Kacey.

Dusk has settled, the night eerily black. I’m hungry again and have an itch to explore more of my jail cell. I shove the comforting blue and red tartan blanket—made from the softest cashmere—off my legs and kick my ankles in the air to get some feeling back into them.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle with awareness and I glance over my shoulder several times, thinking maybe Odin is standing behind me. He isn’t.

Still, the sensation only intensifies. Despite Scotland being incredibly inviting during the day, it turns sinister at night when the darkness swallows everything.

Then something outside catches my attention, to the left of the window. I squint, trying to make out what it is. I even check that Juniper is still resting at my feet in case she somehow escaped without my notice. I think it’s a tree, maybe even a very tall shrub. But then it moves, and the realization is like a bolt through the chest.

It’s a human. And he’s staring right at me.

10

Etta

‘Wonder Woman’- Kacey Musgraves

Ashrill squeal erupts from my mouth as I launch off the couch.

“Odin! Odin!”

The lurking stranger must realize I’ve noticed him because he darts away, snow flying behind him as he runs.

My feet tangle in the cashmere blanket as I fumble toward the window to get a better glimpse of him, hoping I’m being delusional and it’s just Ford checking in on me.

It’s almost pitch black, with no lights to brighten the outside of the house, but I’m almost positive it’s not Ford. The man I saw was too scrawny, nowhere near the size of Ford’s stature.

I back away from the window and race down the hallway in search of Odin.

“Odin!” I scream, uncaring if I’m being paranoid.

My feet slip and slide as I run down the hallway, pulling on every door handle until I finally find one that isn’t locked. The door wings open and reveals a starkly lit room that resembles a miniature sized gym. Rows of weights are stacked in the corner, a multitude of fat burning, muscle building machinery brackets the wall and stare back at me intimidatingly.

My quick assessment of the room funnels to one particular spot.

A treadmill spins at a terrifying speed, and the man running atop the black deck keeps up with long, easy strides.

I’m struck mute by the sight of Odin’s sweat slicked skin. His brownish blonde hair is perfectly cut, tapered to a strict square at the base of his neck, rolling in wet waves across his crown. His back is saturated with sweat, pooling in the center of his black t-shirt that both hides and highlights the muscles in his shoulder blades.

He’s wearing gym shorts that display strong legs flexing and straining as they fly over the treadmill. His thighs ripple with movement, momentarily hypnotizing me. His domineering frame moves like an Olympic athlete. The peak of masculinity. Dangerously stunning.

The flash of color on his left arm takes me aback. Tattoos cover the flesh from his shoulder to his wrist. I can’t make out any details since his arms are pumping so fast, but somehow it makes him seem not so alien.

The treadmill comes to an abrupt stop, and Odin places his feet on either side of the deck. I can’t seem to get any of my thoughts in order as he steps fluidly off the treadmill. He wears the same black eyepatch. It’s small enough to sit under his eyebrow and rest against the top of his cheekbone, no string or fabric to tie it behind his head. A shackle presses around my throat as he picks up a towel and turns his incredible body so I can’t see his tattoos or his missing eye. He wipes his face, but doesn’t address me directly when he says, “Would you like the room?”

My jaw remains locked in place for two or three seconds before I can find the key. “No. That’s not why—I came to find you—”Jesus, fuck. “There’s someone outside!” I blurt out rather loud.

He wipes his forehead with the towel. “It’s probably Ford checking the perimeter.”

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