Chapter 16
Trinity
For the next half hour, I remain in the spacious living room, my mind as empty as the desert that surrounds me.
I analyzed him accurately, but…the fact that he was right about me crushes any pride I feel over my success.
I have no idea why I kissed him.
The heat of his mouth on mine burns in my memory like a hot poker. His touch was…enticing. His fingers holding, possessing, claiming. I wanted more of them, more of him.
The way his lips moved against mine… As furious as he makes me, I’ve never experienced anything like the sizzling lust that flooded my system.
He slips past all my defenses and turns my body inside out. Creates a strange, unstable need within me.
And I can’t allow him to continue doing this.
I have to find a way out of here. If I just distract Brody long enough to get some sort of distress signal to Finn, maybe I could—
The creak of a door swinging open stiffens my spine.
The bathroom is behind me, and so is Brody. His heavy, pointed stare settles on my shoulder blades. I feel unsafe with my back to such a predator, but swiveling around to face him would be admitting defeat in another one of our weird little battles.
So I stay put.
Brody comes to stand in front of me, his wet, chiseled form wrapped in a towel, scars and bruises decorating his exposed skin.
The wet nest of spikes on top of his head draws my eye. I itch to comb my fingers through those dark strands.
He nods toward the bathroom. “All yours.”
If I weren’t so desperate to get away from him and scrub the grime of today off me, I might have feigned disinterest. Instead, I shoot to my feet without protest and hurry to clean up.
As soon as I’m inside—surrounded by pristine, modern lines and bright white granite counters and tiles—I try to shut the door, but a foot blocks the wood.
Brody’s standing in the threshold.
Now he’s coming inside.
He walks farther in and leans against the wall by the sink counter, staring like he’s waiting for something to happen.
“What now?” I cross my arms over my mid-section.
A hint of a smirk plays at his mouth. “Property surveillance.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I groan. This is us and that disgusting gas station bathroom all over again.
“Look, Brody. I just want to take a shower. To relax, by myself, in private, for five fucking minutes after you’ve dragged me to hell and back all day.
This room doesn’t even have a window. Could you find it in your big, buff heart to leave me alone? ”
My attempt at pleading glances right off his smug, striking face.
“Nope. You shower. I watch.”
“Tell me something. When you’re going through basic training to become an enforcer, is ‘How to Be a Pervert 101’ part of the curriculum?”
“Your five fucking minutes are almost up.” He shows me his teeth.
Some thick thread of sanity deep within snaps altogether.
“Fine.” I draw my tank top up and over my head, exposing myself in all my bra-less glory to the man who abducted me after my college graduation.
The flood of annoyance smothering me like a too-thick comforter leaves no room for shame.
How did my life come to this?
Trapped in a bathroom with a killer who’s violated me in more ways than I can count in a single day…
And not even caring that he’s seeing me naked.
I unbutton my baggy jeans and pull my underwear down with them.
I’m like an angry stripper, kicking my clothes toward the man who’s drinking me down like ice-cold water. Hunger burns in his eyes, and lust practically radiates from his heaving chest.
I should fear this, but I instead find myself calmed by the knowledge that his biology is working just fine. Even when my world flips upside down, at least I can count on the rules of humanity remaining constant.
I’ve spent the past four and a half years trying to wall myself off from emotions.
To analyze and understand humanity, I’ve done my best to not be a human myself.
But in a few mere hours, Brody’s placed giant cracks in every single wall I built. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Even sexually.
He’s forced me to experience things I’ve had little or no time to evaluate, and as terrifying as this entire adventure has proved, I’m better on my feet now than I was forty-eight hours ago.
I can’t remember the last time I was this angry. Or this clearheaded.
Right in front of Brody’s leering eyes, I settle on my next psychological attack.
The best way to win is by convincing your opponent that you’ve lost.
Lure them in with a false sense of security.
Unearned arrogance.
Brody’s kidnapped me, humiliated me, and touched me as though he owns me. I can’t out-muscle him. A whole fleet of angry Russian mercenaries couldn’t out-muscle him.
That doesn’t mean he’s immune to me, though, or that I have no recourse.
Despite that eight-pack he’s sporting, Brody has a weakness. Every straight man I’ve ever met possesses the same flaw, so far as I can tell.
They’re all fascinated by the idea of a woman wanting them. Even when the notion of her attraction makes zero sense, the idea intoxicates them so much that they deceive themselves into believing.
With any luck, that’s what Brody’s doing at this very moment.
Stripping for him isn’t an act of submission. It’s my first real attempt to truly weaponize and wield the sexual tension. Lust is like a gun. Just because it isn’t mine doesn’t mean I can’t use it.
The idea that I’m some helpless victim waiting for my big brother to come save me burns me up inside. I’m not just some damsel in distress.
Finn will come for me, but when he does, I want him to see that I’ve been fighting just as relentlessly to get to him as he’s been working to get to me. I don’t want him to think of me as dead weight. As someone he’s got to hide away.
I want to be an active participant in my life, even when anyone else might cower and hide in a quiet corner.
This might be a strange time to feel emboldened, but here I am deliberately taking my time as I turn toward the shower, giving Brody a panoramic view of my body.
And if I enjoy the weight of his attention on me? That’s just a bonus.
I draw the shower curtain open and peer over my shoulder to find him staring at my ass. His eyes are like a physical touch, rippling over the back of my neck and down my spine. My tightly strung nerves coil even more, ready to snap at a moment’s notice.
The size of his erection, barely disguised beneath the towel, distracts me a few seconds too long. I tip my chin up, hoping my eyes will follow, and climb into the shower.
I pull the curtain closed slowly. Show’s over. Come back tomorrow.
Predictably, Brody yanks the fabric aside after less than a second.
“I watch everything.” He lingers just at the tub’s edge, his eyes blazing.
“Well, unless you’re planning to shower with me, I suggest you watch from over there.” My hand settles on the shower knob and twists. The frigid water nearly burns as it sprays my skin, but I don’t react.
Even as my nipples harden to stone under the sudden arctic temperatures.
I’ve got to stay stoic. Maintain the act.
I keep turning the knob until the water heats.
Brody doesn’t move. His eyes stay trained on my breasts.
Men really are easy.
I angle my body one way, then the other, until the warm, relaxing water covers me after this shit show of a day.
I can almost forget Brody’s here in the bathroom. Almost.
With a stare as present as a hand on my skin, he’s impossible to entirely dismiss.
He remains still at the edge of the tub. A half-naked, dripping statue with a boner the size of a drainpipe.
I shut my eyes, shifting my focus to the way the water soothes my skin. I don’t ignore him, though.
“You like this.” I keep my tone level. “Voyeurism’s your thing, huh, Brody?”
No need to bother with flirting. The scene at the hotel proves that my acting isn’t up to the challenge.
Instead, I capitalize on the momentum that he himself constructed. If I can focus on that—and not on my pounding heart—I might actually survive this.
Brody obviously intended for this scenario to further humiliate me. Recognizing that instills the clarity that only rage provides.
Except with him standing so close, groping me with his eyes, lust floods my soul too. Dark, thrilling need coils through my body.
I’m doing such a good job arousing him that I’m arousing myself. This is textbook countertransference. Psychotherapy 240.
I aced that class, the same way I’m going to ace this.
He’s not privy to my lust the way I’m privy to his. So if I appear unbothered and uninterested, he’ll drive himself crazy.
After a brief hesitation, Brody steps away from the rim of the shower, water rivulets streaming down his sculpted chest. He returns to the wall by the sink and leans his back against the tile, his eyes never leaving my skin.
Good.
For this to work, I need to ensnare Brody with his own biological response.
His desire must surpass his rational thinking.
I could try to make him believe that I want his approval, that I want him to watch me. But that’s a slippery slope.
Even doing as much as I’ve done has my heart racing.
It’s scary how real my playacting feels.
I’m naked before Brody in defiance, but my body doesn’t seem to realize that.
It’s almost like I’m actually trying to seduce this man.
Moisture gathers between my thighs as I bathe under the spotlight of his undivided attention.
Goosebumps rise across my skin, and I anticipate the touch of those rough hands as if Brody swiped right on a dating app rather than abducted me like a criminal.
I’ve already proven my dedication to survival. Still, this man and I have made out twice already, and we’ve only known each other for a day.
In my rush to get him to make a mistake…I may also trip myself up.
Which I can’t let happen.
I won’t. He’s horrible and evil, and I don’t care how attractive he is or how my body reacts to his presence or his touch.
I’m going to control myself the way he can’t, and when he slips up, I’ll make a move.
So, to keep my cool, I luxuriate in the shower. Instead of minding the wolf by the door, I close my eyes and bask in the warm spray and steam.
I ignore how his unguarded attraction to me unravels my focus like a dog ripping up carpet threads.
I squeeze my legs together against the antsy sensation in my clit, angling away from Brody and giving him a full view of my backside while I stand beneath the showerhead and comb through my doused, stringy hair.
Dark excitement bounces through my body as I lather up with the sandalwood soap once, twice, three times…
Something about the process of taking a shower borders on meditative. A study in self-destructive seduction.
As a bonus, it’s amazing to finally rid myself of the grime and blood and dust. By the time the finale comes, I nearly feel like myself again.
When I turn off the water and step out of the shower, naked and soaking, he doesn’t have to know that I’m wet between my thighs too. Thank you, female biology.
Brody hasn’t left his perch. He just stares, emotions and impulses flitting through his gaze too quickly for me to decipher.
My clothes lie in a crumpled pile on the floor not far from his feet.
On the wall to his right, a fresh towel hangs folded over the bar.
I glide toward the towel bar. Before I can grab the plush fabric, though, Brody pushes off the wall and blocks my path.
I freeze.