Chapter 13
Brody
I don’t find men roughing up a young woman the least bit entertaining. Though my muscles vibrate with the instinct to defend Trinity, I call on my willpower to wait for the right moment.
That moment when Trinity Gallagher shatters.
She has to experience terror to realize that running away is worse than staying with me.
Controlling her will be a hell of a lot easier if she polices herself. Hostages that trust their captors more than the unknown are simple as pie to keep in line, and that option is better for us both.
So I don’t plan on intervening until she truly grasps what I’m saving her from.
When that prick pushes her to the ground, though, all my plans fly out the window.
An inferno ignites in my blood, raging through me faster than a California wildfire.
I don’t stop to consider why I care. Why seeing her fall—when I just tripped her myself—snaps the thin veneer of my self-control.
The why doesn’t matter. Trinity is my hostage.
No one else is going to touch her like that.
Shoving off the SUV, I rush toward the tall, sleazy fuck of a leader and tap him on the shoulder. “Hey, dickwad.” He spins with a growl, and I crack the knuckles of one hand against the other. “Lay another finger on her, and you’ll be picking teeth out of the cracks in the pavement.”
The bikers throw their heads back, laughing in unison. Two of them grab Trinity under the arms and hoist her up behind them like they’re claiming a prize.
“Oh.” The leader drawls the word, and his ugly smirk grows. Metal gleams as he flips an object out of his pocket. “Are you challenging us for that slut?”
With a snarl, I lunge, feinting to the side to avoid the swipe of his blade. When he cranes his head to look at me, I punch him in the face. He stumbles before flopping onto the asphalt, out cold.
So he’s a one-punch-and-done kind of creep. Figures.
I shake out my fingers to relieve the ache in my knuckles from the force of the hit. Guess I’m out of practice when it comes to hand-to-hand.
Growls of dissent rise in waves through the rest of his leather-bound crew.
Just perfect. How many guys do I have to drop before I get some rest?
Any other day, I’d appreciate the practice, but I’m just so damn tired. Which is too bad for these idiots, because I was already in a piss-poor mood before they knocked Trinity down.
Two men lunge at once.
The next one to reach me—a short man with a bull ring in his nose—yanks his fist back.
I capture that fist and twist, throwing him to the ground with a resounding thud.
Another man flails at my face, metal glinting in his hand. A blade whistles past my ear as I duck his sloppy attempt to stab the shit out of me.
Spinning, I hook his ankles. He hits the ground face down with a groan. Blood spurts from his nose.
A small herd tries to swam me next, and that’s when my patience runs out. In the blink of an eye, I whip out my gun and aim. “This was fun, boys, but I’ve got better places to be.”
The two men closest to me rear back with their hands in the air.
“Let’s get out of here.” The biker guarding Trinity thrusts her toward me before mounting his ride and roaring off into the night, the few who remain upright following suit.
For a motorcycle gang, they’re pretty quick to flee. No points for loyalty either. They left two of their own men groaning, bleeding, and half-unconscious on the pavement in the middle of nowhere.
I scan the area and find Trinity power walking toward the small parking lot off to the side of the gas station. Like she’s hoofing it back to the interstate and plans to prance her bratty ass home.
I reach her in a few long, jogging strides. She doesn’t even glance at me when I wrap my hand around her arm.
She jerks and tries to pull away, but the attempt is weak compared to earlier.
While she fights me to no avail, my eyes rove over her disheveled body. Her hair’s caked with the grime of the day. Dirt, dust, and filth stain her little tank top and pants. Small cuts litter her face and hands. Some of those might have occurred when I tripped her outside the bathroom.
Serves her damn right for feeling me up earlier.
Fire simmers beneath my sternum at the memory. Her fingers touching, taunting…
She’s a tease. A brat. Yet damn if I wasn’t ready to shove her against the wall and fuck her.
Then she hurled my damn phone into the nearby underbrush.
I can’t believe I fell for that shit.
Anyway, she’s not seriously hurt, which means I don’t practice any restraint when I shove her up against the passenger-side window and crush my body over hers. I cuff my aching, bloody fingers around her throat and glare into her wide green gaze.
“Listen, Trinity.” I give her neck a gentle squeeze for emphasis. “The next time a man touches you, his death will be on your hands.”
Beneath my thumb, her pulse flutters an unsteady beat.
She sucks in a breath and narrows those glittering eyes at me. “You know what?” The strength in her voice startles me. “You’re worse than those dirtbags back there.”
The sharp words sting more than I’ll admit.
Maybe it’s because I’m exhausted and my guard’s down. After a full night’s sleep, I bet nothing she says will bother me.
She continues, her voice a cutting edge. “They would have done it…” Her eyes widen, and I can almost see the horror movie montage of what those scumbags would have done floating past her irises. “But you would have let them. And that’s way worse. That’s evil.”
I recoil.
I’m a lot of things, but I’ve seen evil. I’ve killed evil. That’s how I’ve handled all the shit I do every single day.
All the terrible people I kill deserve to die. I’m no angel, but I don’t hurt innocent women.
Warring thoughts and emotions clash between my ribs.
Knowing Trinity thinks I would have let those pieces of shit do unspeakable things to her ignites a simmering rage in my blood.
I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t. “Just teaching you a lesson. I never would have let them hurt you for real.”
I press my thumb to her mouth and trace her bottom lip, causing her cheeks to flush. Touching her soft mouth brings unbidden sensations back to my mind.
Kissing her in that hotel room. Almost fucking her in the office closet at the Cypress.
My breathing becomes ragged. Hers hitches too. I swear our mouths are magnetic, tugging us toward each other while lust snakes up my spine.
Lowering my voice, I stare at her lips. “Don’t run from me again.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, the trance between us breaks. She twists her face away from mine, and I pull back far enough to open the car door and half-help, half-force Trinity inside.
Though she infuriates me, nothing I do seems to curb this unfortunate attraction. I want her more than I remember ever wanting anyone.
Back on the road, we return to a chilly silence.
Driving is entirely different now that she’s awake and sitting up front. I no longer get to sneak glances at her sleeping form in the back seat. Instead, I need to strain my periphery if I want to catch a glimpse of her shut-down expression.
Without so much as another peep, Trinity stares blankly out the window. She’s not ignoring me. It’s more like she’s vacated her body and traveled somewhere far away. I only ever feel this alone while with another person when I’m in the presence of my father.
This woman has me off-kilter, and she’s not even doing anything.
I clench my fingers around the wheel. What the hell is wrong with me? Exhaustion-fueled delirium? As we continue to drive, that helpless sensation persists.
My mind keeps returning to Trinity.
For two people who just met this morning, we’ve already been through a lot together. She’s not the spoiled, wimpy little rich girl I envisioned.
She’s a fighter. Smart. Able to think on her feet.
One hell of a survivor.
Considering she’s managed to crawl inside my head more than once in less than twenty-four hours, psychology is perfect for her.
But still, the question remains: Why do the Russians want her?
Maybe they’re trying to get an edge on the Irish Kings just like we are. Or it might be for different reasons altogether.
Does she have something they need?
As I consider my curious hostage, Trinity’s harrowing silence drags on. No nagging, no small talk, no deceptively effective flirtation.
The girl is a statue, her gaze fixed on the middle distance.
Then I catch the shimmer of a single tear on her cheek. A mace cleaves my heart.
Fuck. I really do feel like a monster when she acts like this.
My focus shifts, my mind now hyperaware of everything Trinity. I notice fresh red marks on her arms. The bikers grabbed her so roughly, the spots have morphed into bruises. Those join the scratches I caused, along with the other scrapes and minor injuries she accumulated today.
A Molotov cocktail of guilt explodes in my chest.
I can’t have her hurting like this.
Flipping on the hazard lights, I steer onto the crunchy, gravelly shoulder. Trinity doesn’t even flinch when I climb out and head around to the back of the SUV to grab the first aid kit.
Once I have the kit in hand, I march to Trinity’s side of the car, pull open the door, and crouch beside her.
First, I work on ankles scuffed with cuts and scratches. Then the scraped and bloodied knees under her jeans. Slowly and carefully, the way Maeve always was with me, I treat her injuries with betadine and antibiotic spray.
When I reach for a cut on her cheek, she slaps my hand away. I stand so I don’t lose my balance, as does she, shoving me back a step in the process.
She shoves me again, crying out with the effort, her voice drawing some guttural anguish from her core.
She doesn’t try to flee.
This is pure, focused rage rather than a struggle for freedom.
“You let them touch me!” She lunges, her nails poised to claw my face right off.
I dodge one swipe but fail to evade the next one. Her violent backhand swings my head to the side.
All right. I probably deserve that.
“You watched.” Her cry rattles me more than the sting of her slap.
Before she can come at me again, I capture her wrists, surprised by her feral strength. I’m bigger and stronger, but Trinity fights with the unpredictable furor of a cornered animal.
She kicks, aiming for my shins. When she tries to knee my groin, she even clips one of my balls. She focuses every ounce of her energy on hurting me, with zero regard for her own safety.
She must be past the point of caring.
Distracted by the beauty of her anger, it takes me far too long to push her back against the side of the car.
This time, I flatten my forearm across her collarbone like a crossbar, trapping her hands between our bodies.
We both pant, our breaths mingling in the cool night air.
Adrenaline thrums beneath my skin.
Her eyes, wild with hatred, appear blue in the dusk. Deep and wide like the ocean.
In the glass of the passenger-side window, I glimpse my reflection. My eyes are dark and opaque, but there’s a flicker of something new there too.
A glint of excitement.
Anticipation.
Trinity’s open defiance, her raw fire, isn’t just a challenge for me, but a thrill.
“You learned your lesson, didn’t you?” I pin her squirming body in place.
Her glare could incinerate a body in seconds. “Fuck you, you bastard.”
I crush my mouth to hers. The moan that barrels up my throat the second I taste her is real and unfiltered.
It’s not a kiss. This is…a punishment. That’s all. An answer to her challenge.
A fight of dominance and will.
I kiss her with rough, demanding force, biting down on her lower lip just enough to make her gasp.
For a few seconds, Trinity struggles, until a broken, enraged noise rips from her throat. In a heartbeat, she abruptly changes tracks and kisses me back with equal fury.
We engage in a battle of teeth and tongues and willpower.
I smell like sweat and danger, and she tastes like rage.
This break in protocol is sloppy. Stupid, even.
So why do I crave this so much?
I slide one hand up her neck to tangle in her hair. With eager fingers, I yank her head to one side, granting myself better access to her open mouth.
My other hand snakes around her waist, and my thumb digs into her hip bone while I pull her flush against me and grind my cock against her once.
I’m harder than a steel plate, which serves as a stark, physical reminder of what I could do to her. Of what we could do together, all alone in a safe house not that far from here.
Trinity’s hands remain tucked between our chests. She could be fighting me, shoving me off, smacking my face.
Instead, her fingers clutch the fabric of my shirt, tugging me closer.
She clings to me like I’m the only thing saving her from falling.
Her small act of submission tells me I’m not alone in needing this. I’m not the only one sliding down a slippery slope.
Knowing she’s also a slave to this insane crackling energy only revs my system even more.
She arches against me, pushing her breasts into my chest. I cup her ass with one hand and haul her up closer, slotting myself between her thighs and swallowing her moans with relish.
The fight in her dissipates, replaced by heat and need and reckless abandon.
I am this close to losing the upper hand.
One by one, my inner restraints snap open. If I don’t find a way to regain control of this moment, I might tumble into the void of lust and desire, never to recover.
She has some kind of hold on me that I need to break from before it’s too late.
With the abysmal amount of self-control I have left, I tear my mouth from hers and point to the passenger-side door.
“Get in the car.” The anger in my voice surprises even me.
Trinity teeters on weak legs, catching herself on the door handle.
For a moment, she stares, frozen and wide-eyed. I etch her hazy, lust-filled expression into my memory. Lips swollen and cheeks flushed, chest heaving for air under distant starlight, her limbs tremble like the final sparks have yet to die out…
As the seconds tick away, we simply stare at each other.
I didn’t win this fight, and neither did she.
This showdown ended in a draw.
Irritated, I break eye contact, shove her into the car, and slam the door shut.