Page 61 of Golden Burn

Dom clears his throat. Martise takes a seat beside him, while Ford stands with his arms crossed, leaning against the door. “We have a late dinner with the Lombardos tonight, and I think we should all be on the same page.”

“Tonight?” I say, stunned by the need to do everything so soon. Can’t we all just take a break? Breathe for a second? I don’t know. Fucking sightsee?

“Correct,” Dom answers.

Odin’s leg shifts closer to mine. Knee against knee. If I broke down and asked him to not go through with it, would he? How far has our relationship evolved?

My head beats painfully. My energy is wavering. I need a fucking nap before I’m introduced to my extended family.

My fingers curl into Juniper, my body purposely leaning toward Odin. I try my best to listen, but all I can think about is fucking this all up.

I’m not an actress, far from it.

I know I’m going to say something stupid, maybe something rude, especially if I’m this tired and wound up. This debrief is imperative if I’m going to maintain this ruse and make it out of it alive.

“What do I need to do?”

“Don’t drink anything they hand you, don’t take any drugs they offer you, and don’t find yourself alone with any of them,” Dom says. “Stick close to Martise. She knows how to handle these types of people.”

I glance at Odin and read a message in his eye.

And hate me. Hate me throughout it all.

That might be the hardest part.

The seriousness of the situation crystallizes. These people are dangerous. The law doesn’t bow down to them. And if I’m not careful and clever, they could hurt me, or someone in this room.

Swallowing, I nod. My skin is cold and clammy, but I try to show Odin that I’m strong.

In a situation where I’ve never had a choice. I have one now. And I know that I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I play my part and play it well, even if it means throwing myself as chum into an ocean full of starving sharks.

23

Odin

‘The Weakness’ - Rustin Kelly

Isend Etta off to the hotel room to get some rest before we have to sit with the Prince of Hell tonight, sipping wine and chatting about inventory.

If I don’t put a bullet through his brain, I’d call it a success.

Dom and Ford stay behind, both of them as tired as I am. The bags under their eyes are evident enough. It’s my fault I ordered the wedding forward. It’s my fault they haven’t had a break in weeks—months. It’s my fault I dragged them into this, knowing the dangers, all for the sake of revenge.

And yet… I can’t stop. Not when I’m so close.

“When were you going to tell me about hiring a wedding planner?” I ask Dom, failing to keep the edge from my voice.

“I wasn’t. You have enough to focus on. Gwen is my problem.”

“Problem? Do you two have a history?”

Dom sighs. “Yes, we do. But it’s none of your business. She knows the intricacies, the power balances of this underground world better than all of us, and she needed a job. I can handle it.”

I hum, accepting his answer. If Dom didn’t think it was worth his time, then he wouldn’t do it.

My attention switches to Ford, whose expression is grim as he reads a document. “This is some list.” He passes me the stapled papers. At the top of the page is a single line—Etta’s Options—and a list that cascades down in alphabetical order of country, followed by the state in which you can find each of the properties I own and whether it’s available.

“Please, tell me your thoughts,” I drawl, striding over to the mini but lavish kitchenette to make myself an extra strong coffee.

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