Captive Desire (Irish Kings #7)

Chapter 1

Trinity

When I look at the brilliant azure sky domed above, a single white dove flies free in the wind. That’s me, I realize with a bittersweet twinge. After being cooped up here for four and a half years, today I fly free from Aurelian University with my BA in psychology.

I just need to get through this ceremony first. Balloons, banners, and signs in both green and white deck out the college football field. Proud, supportive families pack the stands, and the AstroTurf brims with bright-eyed graduates like myself.

The sea of black caps and gowns is easy to disappear in. Among the dozens of students who make up the winter semester’s graduating class, I’m completely invisible.

I sit quietly in my seat—second from the left, third row back from the stage—my eyes focused on the small box in my lap. Beneath my chair, my heels bounce a hectic tango. While we’re enjoying a warm, picture-perfect December day in California, I couldn’t be more eager to leave this arena.

Dr. Pruit, Aurelian’s near-ancient Dean of Students, prattles on and on about the school’s esteemed history and the path we’ve all walked to get here. White curls stick out at wild angles beneath his cap, framing the wrinkles and age spots that line his face. His voice shakes like a baby rattle.

I like him. The few times we’ve spoken, he’s always been kind, and on any other occasion, I’d love to hear his speech. Right now, though, I wish he’d just get on with the program.

All around me, I imagine my fellow students are considering their futures.

The graduation celebrations, internships, backpacking trips around Europe, plans to spend quality time at home with their families…

Me?

I’m only worried about the campus post office’s operating hours.

Once this ceremony ends, I’m heading straight there to mail this vital little package to a safe place.

I don’t trust anyone else to accomplish this, and I need to get this precious thing out of my hands as soon as possible.

The timing’s not ideal, but since when have I ever led an ideal life? No, this box is just one tiny bullet point on the exhaustive list of things that have gone wrong over the years.

“Amy Anderson.”

Finally.

The first graduate, a blond tennis star, leaps to her feet as her huge family waves signs with her face on them. The bedazzled tennis rackets they’re swinging around are a real choice.

Amy heads to the stage. The next grad follows, and the next, until a steady stream of people forms.

As we progress, relief burns my chest like a hot coal in water. This will be over soon.

It’s not that I don’t want to be here, exactly.

I’m proud of the fact that I put myself through four and a half years of higher education without having to rely on anyone else.

Doing something for yourself without a man’s help is sadly a big accomplishment for women in my family, and even though my father offered to cover my education, I declined and used scholarships and grants to pay my own way.

I may have needed an extra semester—switching majors halfway through sophomore year will do that—but I managed, all on my own.

I’d like to think I made the most of my college years.

Sure, I was a little more introverted than some of my peers.

While I never really “let loose,” I’ve also never felt the need to.

Playing the piano in one of the campus music rooms was my idea of unwinding.

Occasionally, I’d spend an evening listening to live music at a local bar while sipping a glass of cabernet.

Scraping myself off the quad after a drunken night of revelry never held much appeal.

Maybe that’s just my personality, or maybe that’s the side effect of being a mob boss’s daughter.

Even though I wasn’t really involved in the “family business,” I learned the importance of keeping my head down and staying out of trouble for the sake of leading some semblance of a normal life early on.

Mounting cheers break my focus as the next student strides toward the stage.

Andrew Benten. Student body president. Editor-in-chief of the Aure Review, our prestigious college paper.

Honey brown hair. Blue eyes. The boy-next-door everyone wants to either be or be with.

He’s the kind of guy who’s always surrounded by supporters and adoring fans, and today’s no exception.

The entire graduating class cheers for him like he’s our best friend, myself included.

From their premium seats in the stadium, his family glows with pride, and I can’t glance away from them.

The beauty of the moment, of a family cheering at a kid’s college graduation, strikes me in the chest.

I’ll never have that.

Even if my entire family were alive, today still wouldn’t have been like that.

That’s the real reason I didn’t want Finn to come. None of this would have felt right. Not when my mother died years ago, and my dad…

Grief stabs my heart, along with regret for what could have been. A few months back, Shane Gallagher’s men found him and his driver Tom murdered, most likely by one of his gangland adversaries.

The only other person I might have wanted at my graduation is Liam, my precious half-brother from my mother’s side and a former army ranger who lives entirely off the grid.

We saw each other several weeks ago when we both came to New York for my dad’s memorial service, and I told Liam right then and there not to worry about attending my graduation.

Logistically speaking, Finn’s the only one who could show up today.

Like me, he’s Shane’s kid. He’s also the newly installed leader of the New York City Irish Kings. Though he offered, I didn’t want all his mafia baggage to contaminate my graduation, so I turned him down.

Finn respected my wishes and sent a huge gift basket instead.

So, I’m all alone today.

Even my security detail—two men who trail me from a distance, paid for by the Kings, of course—is gone for the weekend. I told them they didn’t need to attend a silly ceremony and to enjoy some time off.

I’m fine with that. Really.

Having other people around only complicates matters, increasing the possibility of something horrible happening.

After Angelica, that’s a lesson I never let myself forget.

“Trinity Gallagher.”

I pop to my feet, clutching the small box as I march down the white-carpeted aisle to the center stairs that lead onto the stage.

Aurelian faculty members in green-and-white regalia applaud as I cross the stage. From the podium, Dean Pruit beams.

He hands me my diploma with a big open smile that I return as I accept the leather-bound book.

The whole thing feels strangely anticlimactic.

In a few seconds, I’m down the steps on the other side of the platform and free.

Goodbye, college experience.

I pause at the bottom, hopping to the right to stay out of the next student’s way, and just breathe for a second.

I’ve really finished this. Once I leave here, I’ll never step foot on this field again. In a few days, I’ll move away to start my new life, and Trinity Gallagher the undergraduate will be a remnant of the past.

I’m happy. I am. Still, a little sinkhole in my chest opens up as I spin back around to scan over the stadium one final time.

I knew college would come to an end eventually, but Aurelian has been my home for four and a half years. I’ll miss this place.

As my gaze glides across the busy space, I land on one face that stands out.

Like a misplaced gem in a cornucopia of fruits and vegetables, a handsome man observes me from the edge of the seating area. I would guess he’s someone’s relative—older brother, sexy cousin—except he’s not smiling or paying heed to any of the other walkers. Maybe he’s a TA?

A powerful, muscular TA with bronze skin, broad shoulders, and striking facial features anchored by a strong, off-center nose.

I suck in a breath. Damn. If I had him as one of my professors, I would’ve never missed a single class, even at eight in the morning.

He’s easily the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in real life. Not a model, sure, but that sharp jaw and sun-kissed skin suggest that he’s exactly my type.

Though I don’t have the time, I allow myself a few seconds to admire him.

As I stare, his eyes shift and settle directly on me. The distance between us obscures the exact color, but the heavy weight of his attention still settles on my shoulders.

A shiver snakes through my body, curling my toes.

He’s one of those guys who can make a woman feel naked with a single glance.

Enough, Trinity. Focus on your mission.

Shaking thoughts of the visitor-TA-sex god aside, I leave the stage area and head left toward the edge of the field.

A part of me wants to stay and toss my cap in the air with my peers, but I don’t have the luxury.

Besides, I got what I came for.

Climbing the steps that lead out of the stadium and to the small public parking lot, I suck down a breath of warm air. The crisp breeze feels divine on my skin.

While the day might be absolute perfection, each step carries the risk of hitting an emotional landmine that could blow this sense of peace to bits.

Ignoring the pressure squeezing my ribs, I cross the parking lot at more of a power walk than a jog so I can avoid weird side-eyes from other pedestrians.

When I stop at the curb for cross traffic, the thud of footsteps behind me catches my ear. I peer over my shoulder, spotting a man beelining for a pickup truck a few cars away from where I stand. Hairs lift on the nape of my neck.

The way he carries himself—shoulders stiff, fingers twitching—tickles the back of my mind. He reminds me of my brother and his enforcer friends.

When traffic clears, I pick up the hem of this stupid robe and break into a run across the street. Once I’m safely on the other side, I pivot to check. The man stays by his vehicle, fiddling with the key.

I shake my head and laugh.

You’re paranoid, Trinity.

And I don’t have time for paranoia.

Trinity

I race across campus as though my life hangs in the balance, clutching the cap and gown I shed so that I appear less ridiculous.

While the post office won’t close for another hour, I only have five minutes until the cutoff for mailing this package priority overnight.

When I push inside the door, I’m panting a little, but I arrived with plenty of time to spare. I pay the dimple-faced woman behind the counter, my graduation attire half-slung, half-tucked over my arm, and leave with a spring in my step.

Who knew that one little box could weigh me down so much?

Now I just have to pack up the rest of my apartment.

I’ve experienced about all the endless summer I can handle.

Even if I adored the sunny West Coast, I wouldn’t want to stick around after Finn’s warning about the brewing conflict between the New York faction of the Irish Kings and the offshoot branch in Los Angeles.

As soon as he told me, I made arrangements to move. The last thing I need is to be dragged into that saga. I also decided to off-load the package, just in case something went screwy.

As much as the idea of getting snatched scares me, an LA Gallagher getting ahold of that box would be infinitely worse.

I figure Texas should be far enough away until I figure out my real post-college plan. Austin’s always been a dream visit, so why not? For the past few years, I’ve followed a local band on social media, and the city’s vibrant live music scene fascinates me.

I would have applied straight to graduate school, but I couldn’t decide which psychology program to choose. Child Psychology, Marriage and Family Therapy, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Jungian Psychology, Wilderness Therapy… The list goes on.

For now, I plan to settle in Austin and find work at a crisis center. I spoke briefly with Finn’s wife about her work at a women’s shelter, and I think that sort of setting would be a good place to begin.

Maybe pursuing such an intense start to my psychology career isn’t wise, but after what happened to Angelica, I could never forgive myself for easing into things just for the sake of comfort.

Thinking about her always puts me on high alert. Complacency is my enemy, and so is any false sense of security.

On impulse, my eyes skate around, surveying my surroundings.

With the campus mostly deserted for winter break and only a few graduates and their families lingering post-ceremony, I’m one of the few souls out here.

I spin in a small circle, following the line of brilliant blue sky above me.

As I do, my breath catches in my throat.

Loitering about fifty paces behind me, a man hovers near the edge of an alley.

Thick, burly build with a barrel chest and muscled arms clearly earned from daily labor or violence rather than the gym.

Rough stubble blankets a mean face with scars and nicks. Unlike the beautiful specimen of a man I spotted in the arena, this guy—with his steel-reinforced combat boots hidden beneath dark jeans and a jacket big enough to hide his double holster—is downright scary.

Tattoos peek out from the edge of his collar, and the flat, cosmos black eyes of a killer meet my gaze.

An anxiety-fueled orchestra of alarm bells rings in my brain. Wait a second. I saw this same guy in the parking lot earlier.

I assumed he was just a straggler. Or someone out for a smoke.

My heart stampedes through my chest. Why, oh, why did I give my security detail the day off? Big mistake, because I finally recognize that man as a mob enforcer.

And I think I’m his target.