Page 109 of Golden Burn

“Us?You’re with him?” I roar.

Martin’s phone begins to crackle like he’s moving somewhere else. “Calm your shit, Bolt. Yes, I’m with him. I have been for two fucking years. But he knows something is up with me. He’s been testing me.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants you dead. Simple as that. He knows you were never going to let him live.”

My fingers grip the phone, my blood boiling. “How could he know that? I’ve only ever threatened his business, never his life.”

“Because I told him. It was either give him a piece of information or let him kill me.”

My voice turns deadly. “So it’s your fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault, Bolt. It’s just how the game is played.” He moves again, the connection worsening. “I’ll keep Etta safe until you get here. I swear it.”

“If you don’t. I’ll kill both of you.”

“Roger that.” He hangs up the phone.

Ford approaches, already strapping on his bulletproof vest. “So, when do we leave?”

A text comes through from Martin’s phone. A tracking number for the boat they’re holding Etta on. I give it to Dom. His fingers fly across the keyboard, the satellite sending back coordinates in record time. “She’s less than four hours away. We can get there faster if the weather is in our favor.”

Ford watches Dom type. “We can’t approach during daylight hours.”

“Agreed,” I nod. “We’ll strike at midnight.”

If Cerbera wants to steal Etta using distraction and shadows as his cover. Then I’ll slit his throat with only the moon as my guide.

I send out a prayer to Etta and hope she can hear me.

I’m coming, sweetheart.

40

Etta

‘Forever’ - Labrinth

Ifeel like shit.

My head pounds so hard it’s like my brain has been replaced by a subwoofer speaker that plays Skrillex on a torturous loop.

These motherfuckers drugged me. Twice!

Cerbera struck a needle into my leg as soon as I lifted my foot off the rescue boat. I fainted into his arms and with the chaos around us, it seems he got away with taking me no questions asked.

The second dose came roughly as we bordered his monstrosity of a yacht. I woke up choking on my own saliva. They gave me some water, a single cracker, and then drugged me again in the opposite leg.

Fuckingpricks.

A wave rocks the boat. Vomit rises up my throat. I swallow it back down. The acidic liquid resettles and continues to churn, waiting to be released.

No one has come to check on me since I woke up. I’m in the main dining area of the yacht, my ankles chained to the leg of a table fused into the floor, my hands bound with itchy rope. Pushing up, I rest my back on the section behind me.

“You look a little green, Mrs. Bolt,” Cerbera says, striding in from the back deck and taking a seat on one of the couches opposite me. I glance his way, but don’t give him my full attention. I can’t look him in the eyes right now. Not when I still want to throw up everything in my stomach.

“Fuck off,” I mumble, scrunching my hands into fists. God, my head fuckinghurts.

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