Page 71 of Golden Burn

Dom and I spend the afternoon scouting the wedding venue and tipping owners and residents a hefty amount of cash in the buildings that surround us, so that if they notice anything suspicious in two days time, they’ll report it to us instead of letting it slide.

I don’t want to believe Cerbera will hire snippers to kill us or, God forbid, plant a bomb in the building. I don’t think he’s the type to kill his own people to get to us, but I can’t rule it out.

Cerbera loves causing chaos, but he loves money just as much. And without funds, he has no freedom to run crazy or the means to hide it. Without me and my empire, he has nothing.

When I return to the hotel, it’s late, past dinner.

I’m hoping to find Etta in the room, still angry with me, of course, but not as fired up. But when I arrive, I find the hotel room empty. Hollow.

Instantly, I pull out my phone and call Ford. It goes to voicemail. Ignored or unheard.

I try again. No answer.

My blood pressure spikes, my lungs feel rough inside my chest. I try not to let worry dig into my system, but it’s becoming more and more difficult these days after everything that’s happened. Paranoia seems to be one step behind me at all times. I try calling Dom and he answers after the first ring. “Where’s Ford and Etta?”

“Aren’t they at the hotel?”

“No, and Ford isn’t answering my calls.”

That sends alarm bells ringing. “I’ll track his car. Give me a second.”

While I wait, I head into the bedroom and find a dozen shopping bags open, and the contents spilled all over the floor. Sparkling dresses and strappy heels. Lipsticks and makeup palettes and earrings. The bathroom is a mess of blotted tissues, plastic wrappings, and countertops with tiny droplets of foundation.

Etta put makeup on and went out with Ford. Etta dressed up in something fancy and went somewhere she didn’t want me to know about.

My vision turns white as I realize that Etta has thrown herself into danger yet again. Has she not learnt her fucking lesson?

Dom’s voice comes through the speaker on the phone. “He’s parked near the Shari Vari PlayHouse.”

“The club?”

“It looks like it.”

“Thanks.” I hang up the phone and head back out into the main section of the penthouse suite. There’s no way I’m staying here while Etta is out. I’m going to have to drag her back here by her ears and punish her properly. And there’s no fucking way my feelings are this serious, but as I speed off in one of the agent’s cars, it’s really difficult to deny it.

I see Ford first.

He’s sitting in the driver’s seat of a black BMW, watching the front of the nightclub fill with expectant patrons dressed to impress strangers from around the world. The music thumps from within, repetitive and loud, and a few of those waiting to get in sway their hips to the rhythm it bleeds into the night.

I don’t knock or even brush the car, but Ford spins to face me as I come up to his side. From the look he gives me, it’s obvious he’s been expecting me.

He opens the door and gets out. He hasn’t even reached his full height before I clock him across the jaw with a balled fist. Ford staggers back into the car and rubs the spot I hit. Working his jaw side to side, he says, “Well, I guess I deserved that.”

“Ignore my calls next time and we’re done.” The words are impossibly hard to say, but they exit my mouth anyway, ripping the muscles around my lips and almost causing me to grimace. Internally, I’m begging Ford to never make me panic again. I hate being this guy. I hate how much it sucks to be angry at him.

He nods. “Alright.”

“Where is she?”

He jerks his head toward the building. “Inside.”

A low pressure begins to build in my stomach, like steam in a sauna room with no cracks to slip through. “You’re a fucking lunatic for letting her go by herself.”

“She’s okay. I went in not even ten minutes ago. I’m tracking her vitals.” He hands me his phone that currently shows Etta’s heartbeat. It’s elevated, but not excessively. I fist my hands into the pocket of my pants when the temptation of pulling the gun at my hip tugs too hard at my patience. Ford will be the death of me. If Etta gets hurt tonight, I don’t know who I’ll hate more. Him or myself.

“She just wanted time to herself,” Ford says.

“Well, time’s up.”

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