Chapter 14
Trinity
Once again, I find myself stuck in this godforsaken car, staring out the windshield at a dark and lonely highway.
He let those men attack me…
I can explain away my body’s reaction to him. Lust is a biological process he triggers whenever he gives into his own sexual depravity. All those times desire caused my body to surrender to his? Pure biological imperatives. Nothing more, nothing less.
But when I saw him watching while those men closed in on me…
My stomach swooped out, like I stepped off a cliff into empty air and spiraled into the abyss. Somewhere over the course of this batshit day, I started believing that Brody might be partly human. That, buried deep inside that rigid body, he might possess some semblance of morality.
But this isn’t a Disney movie. This is real life.
A man who kills for money, kidnaps innocent women at another man’s will, and does nothing when other men attack those women possesses no redeeming qualities.
Except, he intervened before things went too far.
I cut off the little voice that insists on defending him. Trusting Brody would be a monumental mistake. Even when he saved my life back at the construction site, he did so for his own gain. To keep his boss happy, finish his job, and get a pat on the back.
He doesn’t care about me. So I won’t care about him either.
For the millionth time, memories of how his mouth pressed against mine, along with the burn of his hands on my skin and how they twisted in my hair, flicker behind my eyes. I do my best to shake them off because Brody’s a horrible person.
But if I enjoyed being in his arms, even just for a few nanoseconds, what kind of person does that mean I am?
This error in my psychological judgment, this failure of my rational mind—my best and only tool—is equal parts humiliating and infuriating.
That’s why I fought him when he first kissed me. Then I started kissing him back…
Just physiological response to stimuli. That’s all.
Cut yourself a break, Trini. Our biology makes us all susceptible to the intimacy of moments like that, fucked up or not. It’s a natural reaction to pleasant stimuli.
I repeat those words to myself as we survive the last bit of this road trip from hell in stifling quiet. By the time Brody pulls off the highway and onto a strip of dirt, I’m resigned to my fate.
If he brought me out into this desert to use me as a sacrifice in some sort of West Coast Gallagher ritual, so be it. I’m gross, exhausted, and as done with today as I can possibly be. I no longer have the energy to fear what comes next.
As Brody drives us down the long, darkened driveway that leads up to a two-story farmhouse in the middle of actual nowhere, I realize maybe I don’t have to be that afraid.
The safe house, as he calls it, isn’t some abandoned warehouse or old murder shack out in some completely unreachable part of the desert. We drove through the edge of a little town to get to this prison that looks more suitable for a cozy weekend hideaway.
The property, wide, symmetrical, and relatively new, boasts modern accents on the classic wrap-around porch. As we approach, recessed motion-sensor lights blink on, revealing the soft gray paint on the siding and blue shutters on each window.
Brody shifts the BMW into park and climbs out. Now that the dick has removed the child locks, I do the same.
“You can run away if you want, but you won’t last an hour in the desert.” Fatigue deepens Brody’s voice as he locks the car and heads toward the wooden stairs. “The nearest main road is more than an hour away, and there are coyotes.”
“Coyotes don’t hurt people.” My gaze slides in his direction. “Not the way humans do.” I don’t follow him. “Anyway. Thanks for the tip, but I think this is sayonara.”
“Cool.” He lifts an arm and gestures to the open expanse. “Go ahead.”
Is he really so out of it that he’ll let me leave? Well, I don’t plan to stick around to find out.
Even though I’m tired enough to drop onto the driveway and sleep twelve straight hours, I spin on my heel and hurry back the way we came.
So what if there’s barely any signs of life out here? Anywhere is better than with Brody.
The cold air won’t kill me. As long as I keep walking, I’ll stay warm. I can find people—good people, this time—and get myself out of this disaster. If I continue at a quick pace, I bet I could reach that town we passed by morning.
Though night’s already set in, so little light pollution exists out here that all I need are the moon and stars to illuminate the way. I can see just far enough to—
An arm wraps around my waist from behind, jolting me to a stop.
Before I can open my mouth to ask Brody what the hell his problem is, he bends his knees and tosses me over his shoulder.
I thrash against him. “Put me down!”
His grip on my midsection loosens, and my stomach lurches as I tip sideways.
“Careful,” he warns with a ragged voice. “Don’t want me to drop you, do you?”
“Brody!”
His heavy footfalls thump as he ascends the stairs, carries me over the threshold, and proceeds to dump me ungracefully into the nearest chair, like an abandoned new bride.
My heart pounds, and Brody temporarily blinds me when he flips on the lights.
A modern open-concept floor plan greets me, the kitchen separated from this living room by a long bar counter.
The flooring is all pale ceramic tile, and light wood paneling covers the walls beside the windows.
A fireplace sits near the front door. Brody dropped me on one of two brown leather armchairs that match the couch, a TV on one wall and a dark wood coffee table in the center of the space.
The ascending staircase to the right probably leads to three or four bedrooms, going by the size of the home.
At least it doesn’t look like a murder house.
Brody returns to the door and taps a code into the nearby keypad. The unmistakable clicks of locks rise around me like a symphony.
I whip my head back and forth, tracking the noises. This place has four enormous square casement windows set into every wall. Probably so that the people hiding here can see an enemy coming from any direction.
Little metallic twitches at the base of each sill hook my eye.
Brody just shut us in here like this is a panic room.
My heartrate accelerates, and I fight to keep my breaths from becoming shallow. Now, I’ll never be able to escape him.
The helplessness of this awful situation threatens to crush me until the rustle of Brody rummaging through the stainless steel fridge yanks me out of my looming depression.
He sets a few packages on the black granite counter, then pulls open a white cabinet to take stock of what’s available.
Guilt slams me as I ponder the kiss by the car all over again.
Angelica’s face flashes through my mind. Her green eyes, her bright red curls…
What the hell is the matter with me?
Men who wanted to hurt me as a child kidnapped and murdered my best friend instead, and when my shitty karma finally catches up with me, I make out with my captor? Let him touch me?
Searing self-loathing fries me to a crisp.
By kissing Brody, I committed the most flagrant, blatant act of disrespect toward Ange’s memory that I ever could. How could I have done that?
Shame chases the self-loathing, encasing me in a cocoon of self-flagellation.
All I can think about is Angelica and how I failed her. How everyone failed her from the very beginning.
I’m so stupid.
Her smiling face chars my memory. For years, her death has haunted me, and she’s the sole reason that the hard drive even exists. I needed some way to deal with my pain and isolation. So I resorted to research.
I couldn’t save Ange, but at least I could discover who murdered her and help bring them to justice.
Learning who snatched Ange, tracking down the people who slaughtered my best friend while trying to get to me and my family…
I became obsessed with my investigation.
All my fact-finding and data gathering efforts congealed into an intricate ledger of my father’s criminal world. The hard drive I mailed this morning after graduation isn’t just information.
It’s my life’s work.
My vengeance.
Forget my mind. That hard drive is the only real weapon I have, and Brody, the man currently banging around in the kitchen, can never, ever know about it. If he ever got his hands on that…
I shudder.
The bad news is the drive’s information is equally as dangerous in the Russians’ hands.
My survival and secret mission depend on escaping Brody as fast as I can. If I don’t, I’ll never achieve my goal.
Without that hard drive, I don’t have a prayer of avenging Angelica.
The glorious, all-consuming scent of bacon permeates my crowded thoughts.
My god, the killer cooks.
He seems perfectly at home while navigating around the kitchen, which unsettles me.
My dad always had a cook. In fact, the Gallagher estate in New York City has several cooks, all of them working together to feed any family members in residence or home from missions.
I’ve never seen an enforcer fry up bacon once in my life. Though I’ll never admit this to him, the smell intoxicates me. Whether he offers or not, I also refuse to eat anything he prepares. I refuse to insult Ange’s memory any more than I already have.
I doubt he even cares if I eat. The man capable of letting those guys at the gas station jump me probably doesn’t give a damn about my woefully empty stomach.
As he cracks eggs into a skillet, I try to ignore him. The delicious aroma of sizzling bacon that follows feels like the worst type of torture.
After a few more minutes, Brody plates the food and faces me. I glance away before he catches my stare. With my stomach empty and demanding food, I struggle to maintain my composure.
I’m not sure what time it is, but based on when the sun went down… I haven’t eaten in over twelve hours.
He walks my way, which layers my gut with dread. I remain calm until he steps right in front of me and lowers the plate down onto the coffee table across from my knees.
I make the mistake of glancing at the scrumptious meal before I tilt my head back to glare. “What’s this?”
“Dinner.” He drops a silver fork on the plate. “Humans need it to survive.”
He returns to the kitchen and grabs another plate.
Everything in me wants to say, No, thanks. But that’s too close to being polite.
Instead, I set my jaw. “I don’t want it.”
Brody glances up to meet my eyes. “Yes, you do.”
Oh, so he’s not offering. He’s demanding.
This is a power move.
Fine. He won’t win.
Even under the weighted intensity of his honey-eyed gaze, I don’t break. I can tell he won’t leave me alone until I end this stalemate.
Although the act almost kills me, I shove the plate away. A vein in Brody’s neck pulses.
Perfect. That was the right call. Despite my own hunger, I’d rather piss him off than submit to his display of dominance.
“Maybe I wasn’t being clear. I don’t want food. I want answers.” I fold my hands in my lap. “What is Declan going to do with me now that we’re here?”
“My job is to deliver the asset.” His lips curve back from the words. “What happens after isn’t my concern.”
“Let me get this straight.” Disbelief laces my voice. “You’re willing to protect me from mercenaries and lecherous biker gangs, but you’re also willing to just hand me over to your ruthless boss to do who knows what?”
“It’s not personal—”
“Really? Because it kind of feels personal.” I curl my nails into my palms. “Exactly what kind of man are you?”
Brody’s expression deadens, and a muscle tics in his jaw.
Uh oh. Clearly, I hit a nerve.