Page 19 of Golden Burn

I hate that I like it.

Dom finds me standing in the doorway. “Etta, your room is in the right wing, first door on the left. Your clothes and other items should be here by the morning.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. I’m so lost as to how I should be reacting to such kindness in a situation filled with malice.

Dom must sense this. “Dinner is ready. I’m sure you’re starving,” he beckons, and I follow him to the kitchen, where Ford is already setting up the island like a dining table, handing out plates and cutlery amongst the many containers of take away Indian food. They really must be rich if Dom could find a restaurant like that in the middle of nowhere and get it delivered so quickly. Hell, maybe they have a private chef hidden under the floors.

I take my puffer jacket off and place it under my legs as I take a seat. Juniper finds me and rests her head in the space between the marble countertop and my thigh. Her eyes bore into mine, her silent begging made abundantly clear.

“Is there anything for Juniper?”

Ford strides over to the double door fridge and pulls out a bag of lamb off cuts. Juniper races over and sits on her hind legs, tail wagging. “Shake?” Ford demands. Juniper lifts one foot, then the other. “Can you drop?” She drops onto her paws and springs back up. Ford nods his head in approval. “But can you sing?” Juniper’s answering three barks forces Ford to concede. “Alright, smarty pants, you can have your dinner.”

He places some offcuts into a metal bowl near the floor with her name painted across the bottom of it. Jesus, these guys work fast.

My attention returns to the makeshift dining table, and the bubble of joy watching Ford and Juniper pops when Odin slides into the seat opposite me. We don’t make eye contact. But just from the way his movements seem stiff, his jaw grinding, I know he hates that I’m here. I just don’t understand why. I wish his other eye was still present because every time he turns away from me, the eyepatch—now black instead of gold—stares back. Unreadable.

“Did you want some of this?” Ford asks, passing me a lentil curry. I take it and pile some on to the rice on my plate. Miraculously, my stomach accepts every mouthful without the urge to heave it back up. I’m beyond being nauseated over this predicament. The anger has overridden my system—consumed me—and with each second that I have to sit across from this man, the control I have over it slips. I’ve never felt so connected to animals who are cornered and primed to lashing out. My discipline under duress is non-existent.

It’s a dangerous place to be.

I take the lentil dish, struggling to seal the door to my emotions, and pass it over to Odin. “Did you want some?” He ignores me. Flat out ignores me. Oh boy. My brain starts ticking down till the inevitable explosion. “Is there a problem?” I ask, my hands beginning to shake.

He keeps his gaze downcast as he eats. “No.”

“This is such fucking bullshit,” I mutter under my breath as I drop the offering back to the table. Dom and Ford exchange looks, both of them with a fork halfway to their mouths.

“You must be tired,” Dom offers.

“Amongst other things.”

I try to eat some food, but my hands won’t stop shaking and an acidic pressure is building in my chest. My eyes keep flicking to Odin and watching his every move. I hate the way he eats. I hate the way he swallows. I fucking hate the way he can ignore me, like a lion ignores an ant whenI’mthe one who’s been ripped from my life.

I’mthe one who should be furious. Not him.

“Do you have a problem with me?” I ask, keeping my voice level. Finally, Odin lifts his chin. His single gray eye levels at me. “You obviously hated my father. But why do you hate me? What have I done?”

“You exist,” he says.

My breathing grows heavier, the air in the room thins. “Wow. Okay. Not sure how I can apologize for that.” He remains silent, impenetrable. Meanwhile, my head is spinning. The anger inside of me is rising. “I should take my knife and shove it in your other eye.”

“That’s maybe not—” Ford interrupts.

I ignore him. “You. Took. Me.” I slam a fist onto the table. “Ishould be the one who’s hating every second of this.Ishould be the one who can barely look at my kidnapper. Not the other way around!”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’re fucked in the head. This whole thing is fucked.” I pile my plate high with some lamb korma and a handful of papadums. Pushing back, I stand and take my plate away from the table.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Odin barks at me as I retreat.

I keep my back to him as I yell. “Fuck off, Odin! I’m not your wife yet.”

Juniper follows in my wake. I find my room, step inside, and slam the door as hard as I can.

8

Odin

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