Chapter 29
Brody
The Austin skyline stretches out in front of me. The dome of the capital building shimmers like a lighthouse, and the Colorado River meanders below us, glittering indigo and gold.
Though the temps are lower in Texas than California, it almost feels hotter without the ocean breeze. The weather’s still mild enough to keep the windows down, and since we’ve traveled through four states with no sign of a Russian tagalong, I’ll take it.
Add that to last night, and I should be nice and relaxed at the moment.
Every time I check the rearview like a good little driver, all I see is us stretched out together in the back.
Trinity’s legs encircling my torso as I pumped deeper and deeper inside her until her eyes rolled back in her head, until her back arched as she moaned and repeated my name, over and over.
Those tight nipples rubbing on my chest through the entire endeavor.
When she came, it was like the heavens parted. The intensity of her beautiful orgasm rivaled the storm overhead. With her face all blissed out, she stole the oxygen from my lungs.
I did that.
Then we caught our breath and did it all over again. Until Trinity, I’ve never once in my life wanted to fuck a woman twice in a row with no break in between.
We smashed a barrier last night. In her field, I think it’s called an attachment bond.
Yeah, I know fancy psychology jargon too. I understand what it means to connect with someone. To experience the warm cocoon of safety. Or at least, I remember how it used to feel. That sensation bursts inside me with a vengeance.
My mother used to be the only person who ever gave me a sense of security. I was a high-energy shit who got into plenty of mischief, and my mother was my safe space. She protected me from Declan until she died when I was seven.
Losing a parent young is devastating. Losing your last shred of shelter, your storm cellar, changes you. Growing up with a mafia boss playing the part of dad because he’s too ashamed to admit his wife cheated is like living through an F5 tornado every single day.
I used to dream of escaping this life. I wasn’t built to be a mafia man’s son. That’s when my breath failed me, my heart tried to beat its way out of my chest, and Maeve did her best to comfort me by acting like a second mother.
Over time, though, my ass eventually got trained like a dog. Acting as Declan’s lackey became the only thing I knew how to do.
My whole life.
I learned to live outside the storm cellar. To not only face but excel at beating the living shit out of the storm. I fight off Category 5 hurricanes on the regular these days. It’s what I do. It’s all I do.
Until last night, when that sensation of belonging somewhere—to someone—hit hard for the first time since my mother was alive.
This job started out as just another bullet point on my resumé. Then Trinity had to go and make me feel…
Understood. Valued.
I don’t know what to do with that.
How am I supposed to go through with my strategy to deliver her and the drive to Declan knowing how she affects me?
Can I hand her over to my father—betray her and everything we’ve shared—just to earn that man’s favor?
What would happen if I said, Fuck it, and let Trinity and her drive with incriminating information go?
Hell, what would a fresh start with this woman look like?
For mere seconds, I allow myself to imagine waking up next to her every morning, seeing those beautiful green eyes each day, hearing that laugh…
Blinking, I force those thoughts from my brain. I can’t afford to go soft.
I side-eye the woman riding shotgun. She’s behaved like a stellar hostage all day and night. Perfectly agreeable.
Perfectly quiet. Once the storm ended, we slept for a little while, woke, and hit the road again, and she hasn’t uttered a word since.
One second, we were reinventing how to fuck. The next, I morphed into some kind of pariah in her eyes.
I keep revisiting what we did and what transpired afterward. Nothing I can think of should’ve caused this weird shift in her.
I glare at the road ahead. When her hands roamed my body, every scar she touched felt like giving away a piece of my soul. Traitors, every last one of them.
This is why I don’t let people in. She knows my stories now. She’s touched them and tasted them. I’m not sure what to do with someone who learns my secrets, only to cut me off. This stranger who’s currently my partner in crime, a co-conspirator in a betrayal I’m only pretending to believe in.
Why won’t she talk to me? I thought maybe as the day wore on, the ride through the Southwest terrain and into Austin would change her attitude, but no luck.
As frustration builds, so does my irritation. This might be a captor/captive situation, but I’ve gone above and beyond. She’s alive because of me. Had Declan implemented the Trinity Plan any later, she’d already be in the hands of the Russians, Grigori Rostov’s guys. She’d probably be dead.
Or wish she were.
My gut clenches at the thought. I glance over at her again.
I can’t find a single scar or read a single thought. She was more vulnerable pressed against my cock in the office closet at the Cypress than she is now, after I’ve touched, licked, or fucked every inch of her perfect body.
I’ve played the hero and acted as her personal chef. I’ve served as her bulletproof vest. And just like with Declan, it’s not enough.
A dull ache throbs beneath my rib cage. I urge myself to stop acting so dramatically. It’s a blow to my ego. That’s all.
In these last twenty-four hours, I seem to have lost track of the mission and become nothing more than a tool for others.
Maybe she’s figured that out too. Is she over me? Am I not enough? Am I a simple toy she’s had her fun with?
She analyzed every other truth inside me without breaking a sweat. Maybe she found my best-kept secret.
That I haven’t thought for myself in years. I feel like my free will vanished ages ago. That I’m chasing after some kind of validation from Declan that he’ll never give.
Has she seen all the way through me? Am I no longer appealing to someone like Trinity, who’s all books and brains?
I thought, after last night, things would change.
She seemed so open. She shared so much.
I was sure she trusted me completely.
Now? It’s like we’re back to square one.
I eye her pink cheeks, her little ski-slope nose. Her shimmering, coppery hair that challenges the sunset to a duel of color.
She’s beautiful and infuriating, and I don’t know what to do with her.
I shift in my seat, but my pants stick to my thighs and rub my stitches. A small grunt escapes me before I can stop it.
From the corner of my eye, I catch her head shifting in my direction before stopping short. She just talked herself out of showing concern.
A few days ago, she could’ve been a free woman. But she decided to stay, to help me, to offer me a new life.
To trust me.
Where the hell did that Trinity go? What’s this new role?
Declan always told Connor and me to “marry young and marry dumb.” It wasn’t until I met this woman that I realized he wasn’t being his normal sexist self.
Managing the mind of an intelligent woman is exhausting.
I’d rather face down Andrei’s thugs, ten to one, where at least I can see my odds as they come at me and strategize effectively in real time.
Even so, Trinity’s mind is her most attractive quality. If I want to understand her, I need to understand that brain.
Or at least try.
Maybe she believes she can mess with me by acting like the sex meant nothing.
Fine by me.
I’m used to being out in the cold, Trinity.
Nothing she can do could ever compare to the family landmines I started navigating while still young enough to catch frogs and climb trees. Nothing.
She’s unmoving in the passenger seat, but I swear her mind’s working in overdrive. I imagine a brain like hers burns glucose in the megawatts.
Well, I’ve got an agenda too.
I can’t believe I woke up considering alternative options, like a world where I got to keep her. The details stayed foggy—a beach at dawn, a road trip to the mountains—but they spawned sometime between leaving the hospital in California and waking up after that incredible van sex.
I flex my hands on the wheel. I need to get my shit together. In what world can I ride off into the sunset with Trinity?
Declan would grill my heart and serve it up for Friday night family dinner before he’d let me have her. We both just pawns on his chess board.
Trinity and I were never going to work. As much as I might have wanted that.
I need to rid myself of the fantasy before it breaks me.
Trinity releases a sigh as she traces a finger along the window.
“You bored?” I turn down the radio. “We can talk if you want.”
She taps the window with her nail a few times. “The apartment leasing office closes at five. I don’t think we’ll make it.”
I scrub a hand over my chin and ignore the pinch beneath my sternum. “I’ll find us a hotel.”
Brody
We share a single queen bed, but the night is awkward as hell. We don’t even kiss.
By the time morning comes, I’m pushing us out the door by five after seven, desperate to get to the apartment as soon as we can. After fueling up both the Dodge and us with a couple of gas station lattes, I drive the minivan across town to a brand-new complex.
Starlight Town Center. Whimsical.
Four three-storied structures of gray siding and white trim circle a central Mediterranean-style pool, along with a couple tennis courts and a “doggy spa station,” whatever the hell that is.
The leasing office sits right out front, big glass windows and a sign above the double doors advertising a first-month-free special.
A few college-aged residents linger on the front sidewalk, a little fufu dog walking between them on a pink leash.
This place looks like Trinity, all right. As we rumble into the parking lot, I try not to roll my eyes.
The van does not handle like my BMW, and I’m reminded of that every time I round a corner too fast. The brakes screech as I pull into one of two Future Resident parking spaces right up front.
I hop out of the vehicle with a mission on my mind.
Trinity follows, slamming her door closed and making that little rat-dog bark up a storm. “Brody.”
I stop and raise a brow at her frown. “What?”
She crosses her arms. “I’m going to be living here. Can you power down the enforcer and just act, like, a boyfriend or something while we walk into the office?”
My jaw slides open. “Like a what?” Does she really expect me to play the happy partner? After hours of stone-cold silence?
For a few fleeting minutes, I thought that maybe I could be her boyfriend. Drive her to her graduate classes, take her out for dinner, and make her wild in bed every single night.
No Declan or Russians or Finn to get in the way.
Then I woke the fuck up, because dreams like that are for kids.
Now, after yesterday, she’s demanding I play nice? I don’t think so. “Why the hell would I ever be your boyfriend?” I sneer.
She scowls while tossing a copper curl out of her eyes. “I’m just saying, first impressions are powerful. You could at least—”
“You’ve barely said two words to me during our road trip. Don’t tell me how to act.”
“Brody, come on—”
“I’m not doing this.” I plow ahead, past the Mediterranean-style pool and old sycamore encircled with daisies, and march toward the glass doors.
She’s got a lot of nerve.
As I reach for the door handle, a hand grips my forearm with surprising strength. Shoving past me, Trinity glares before plastering on a bright smile for the pink-polo wearing, middle-aged man behind the desk.
I guess she wants to be in charge. Fine. As long as we gain possession of the drive, I don’t care.
“Kenny?” She extends her hand. “Hi, I’m Trinity Gallagher. I’ll be moving into—”
“205-A. Trinity, it’s so nice to meet you in person.” Kenny rises and shakes her hand, his eyes crinkling like a happy grandfather’s. His accent isn’t as thick as I expected, but he’s still got some Texas twang.
His gaze drifts to me, his brown eyes widening as he checks me over.
Not the first guy to size me up and decide to proceed with caution.
Trinity loops her arm through mine, which draws Kenny’s attention. “This is my boyfriend, Brody. He drove and will be doing all the heavy lifting.”
She gives my forearm a squeeze. Guess we’re playing the boyfriend game after all.
I plant a closed-lipped smile on my face, determined to suffer through niceties for now so I can get my revenge later.
“I can see that.” Kenny relaxes, the easy grin returning to his face. “You’re not due to move in for another three days, so the apartment’s not quite ready yet, but I can take you over to see it if you want. They’re just finishing up the paint, I think.”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to be a bother.” Trinity waves a hand toward the doorway behind Kenny. “I was actually just hoping you might have a package for me. I had it delivered here, yesterday maybe.”
“You know what, I believe I do. Hold on one second, hon.”
Kenny disappears through the door, and Trinity and I exchange a quick look of relief.
The man returns with a small brown package covered in handle with care stickers. Your average delivery through the postal service.
Could be candy or photos, but instead it’s decades worth of dirt on the Gallaghers. A grenade in a cardboard box.
Trinity opens her palm, but I grab the parcel with a sharp grin.
“I got it, babe. I’m the muscle, right?”
Kenny laughs. “I think he’s a keeper.”
“Yeah. Definitely.” Trinity’s lips tighten at the corners as she tugs on my arm. “We should get out of your hair. Thanks, Kenny. See you in a few days.”
Outside, Trinity spins around and glares. “You almost blew our cover. You need to watch that resting enforcer face.”
“Whatever. We got it, didn’t we?” I shake the box, and the rattle soothes the ragged edge in my chest. “Now what?”
Trinity exhales. “I need to call Finn and—”
“Shit.” I grasp her arm and yank her behind the van, out of sight of the main road.
She stumbles, scraping her elbow on the passenger mirror. “What the hell?”
Four black Escalades, windows tinted darker than coal, turn down the street toward the apartment complex.
I point through the windshield. “We’ve got company.”
They must have discovered Trinity’s lease here. There’s no other way they tracked us down.
Trinity freezes, her eyes wide as saucers. I need to educate this woman on the fight-or-flight response. She must’ve been absent the day they taught that in class.
I rip open the van door and push her forward. “Get in.” As she fumbles with her seat belt, I hustle to the driver’s side, hot-wire the ignition again, and toss the package in her lap. “Open it. That’s too big to carry easily.”
Then I peel out of the parking lot, not especially excited about putting the soccer-mom mobile to the test against an angry fleet of Russian mercenaries.