Page 44 of Golden Burn

Back inside the cabin, I make sure the doors are securely locked. I’m half tempted to swallow the key if it means she will stay put. But judging by the way she eats, the dimmed energy she exudes, I don’t think she’ll be going anywhere, anytime soon.

In the meantime, I have some business to attend to.

“Where are you going?” Harriet asks as I stride toward the door.

“Out. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“I get that I need to be safe, but you can’t just lock me in here and leave!” she stands and shouts after me.

“I can and I will.” We lock gazes for two heartbeats. I’m the one that severs the connection. I slam the door shut and make my way over to Dom’s and Ford’s place. They have a bottle of whiskey that I want and the silence that I crave.

17

Etta

‘Slide’- Hi Life (Feat. Harvie)

The clock on the nightstand reads one in the morning.

Odin still hasn’t returned.

It didn’t bother me that much when the hour passed and there was no sign. Now, it’s been several and I hate to admit that I’m getting worried.

Despite my solo trip out into the surrounding jungle, I don’t want to be here alone. Even if it means I’m locked up with my future husband via arranged marriage. It’s better than talking to myself, getting lost in my own mind.

I avoid it all together by drinking. Too much.

When the rain begins to pour, so does the whiskey into the crystal glass I found on the mini cart in the corner. I took small sips to start, but when it wasn’t working fast enough, I gulped down the fiery liquid, grimacing with each swallow.

I’m quite light-headed now. A little delirious. Definitely giggly.

As the clock flicks over to 1:15 a.m., the door opens with a soft click. My hands fly through my hair, fluffing and fixing, whilst I try to position myself on the bed in a manner that’s casual. Not something that screamsI couldn’t sleep because you weren’t in the room, even though I hate you, which maybe I don’t as much as I should, and so I waited for you, and now I’m drunk and trying not to appear as though I’m not waiting for you.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is. My husband,” I announce as Odin enters, appearing a little soggy from the rain, his casual safari gear damp against his skin. I almost purr at how delicious he is.

His hypnotic gaze fixates on my position. “Not yet,” he clarifies, his tone dryer than the dust on the wheels of the safari Jeeps we spent all day in, snuggled up close.

“My apologies, I meant to say to my fiancé.” He’s not angry at me anymore, that much is clear. I finish my drink and slam the glass down on the bedside table.

“Are you drunk?” he asks.

“No.” A hiccup escapes my mouth. “Are you?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Shall I make you a drink?” I swing my arm toward the cart, making a show of the display. My body tilts to the side, my hands fumbling to catch me. I fall sideways into the obnoxiously large pillows.

“How about I make you one,” Odin suggests and heads over to the drink cart. Slowly, he chooses a bottle and pours a nip of the caramel whiskey I’ve been enjoying.

“One for you, too,” I demand.

Odin raises his brow. “What are we drinking to?”

“To civil communication betweenfiancés.”

He walks over toward the bed carrying two sparkling glasses. He passes me one and we both clink them in a silent toast. Our eyes lock over the rim as we sip. A heated second. A slip of focus. Under my skin, blood rushes with vigor.

I look away first.

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