Page 92 of Golden Burn

As Dom finds his place on my side, I pull the gun from my back pocket, hold it casually by my side, and point it right at his stomach. Etta squeezes my arm. I remain steady. I’m not putting her life at risk.

“Congratulations,” Roberto says, dipping his chin. He notices my gun and raises his hands, but he doesn’t appear worried.

“Thank you,” I reply, my grip tightening.

“Odin,” Dom interrupts. “This is Special Agent Henry Martin.”

I lift my chin. Interesting. “Does Cerbera know this?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Martin answers. “I’ve managed to keep it under wraps.”

Suddenly, the door to the room unlocks and swings open. Gwen, the wedding planner Dom hired, pokes her head in and sighs when she sees us. “Here you are. Dinner will be served—”

“Gwen!” Dom chastises, reaching to shut the door.

A startled inhale comes from the other side of the room. “Gwen?” Martin looks at her like he’s seen a ghost. “Gwen? Is that you?”

Gwen’s eyes widen as her attention lands on him. “Leo?” How on earth do these two know each other?

“Leo?” I question. “Thought it was Henry Martin.”

Special Agent Martin, or Leo, or whoever the fuck he is, stumbles over his words as he tries to clarify. “It is. They are. I am.Fuck.”

Gwen ignores the special agent in the corner of the room, finally noticing the tense space between us and the gun in my hand. Her face pales. “I’ll give you a moment.”

“Wait—Wait, Gwen.” Leo launches after the woman, with the secret identity even I don’t know, then halts and spins to face us when he hears me pull back the safety.

“Hold your horses. You have some explaining to do,” I say.

His neck flushes with color. “My apologies.”

“So, Henry Martin. Who’s Leo, and why do you want to talk to me on my wedding day?”

“Henry Martin is a cover. But one I’ve used for a decade.” Something we have in common, it seems. Martin straightens, shakes off whatever took hold of him when he saw Gwen. “My real name is Leo King.”

“You’re Jendrick King’s son,” Dom says, his eyes widening in recognition. I, too, am familiar with the King name. To the world, he ran his late wife’s makeup company, building it up to be a million dollar empire, but behind the facade, his dealings with cocaine and heroin made him known as the Flesh King. No one stepped in his way. Everyone who worked for him and was caught didn’t last a month incarcerated.

“I am.” Leo clears his throat. “I was. We aren’t on speaking terms. He holds a bit of a sore spot toward me because I put him in jail.”

A tiny part of me is impressed by the rejection of his father, a similarity we both share, but my patience is running thin. “What do you want, Martin?”

“I want to bring you into the bureau and get you to collaborate with the DEA and the FBI. We want to bring the Lombardos to justice the right way.”

I scoff.

“I’m serious,” Martin says. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Listen to him,” Etta whispers at my back, sending shivers down my spine.

“We should head back into the room,” Dom urges me.

“I understand your logic, but you’re a little late. Besides, this is the only way to control them. I know that firsthand.”

Martin’s fists clench. “Cerbera will kill you; he told me so himself.”

Etta gasps, her grip on me tightening.

“Not if I kill him first,” I reply. “Trust me. He won’t be alive by the end of the week.” I turn and take Etta’s hand. “We need to get back to our guests.”

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