Chapter 31
Brody
On our way out of the club, another one of Kruschev’s guys spots us. I hold the first guy’s Makarov in my grip, but I can hardly shoot to kill here. I shove the gun into the back of my waistband and reach into my pocket for my trusty blade.
This jackass heads straight for Trinity. I slash upward with my knife as he raises his weapon.
Sinew parts under my blade, and blood spurts from his wrist. The gun clatters to the floor amid booted and high-heeled feet.
The man wails and clutches at his wrist while stumbling away from us. If he wants full function of that hand, he better find a good surgeon.
We sprint out of the club and into the blinding white light of day. After spending time under strobe lights, the sun burns like acid.
I blink rapidly in an attempt to clear my vision. “We need to get out of here quickly.”
“By train?” Trinity pulls at my hand.
“Train, plane, horse and buggy. Anything works as long as it gets us away from here.” I squeeze her fingers and pat my pocket, making sure the hard drive is safe and sound against my thigh.
“No, I mean there’s a train station. I scoped it out when I was picking my apartment. I know it’s close by. Maybe a few blocks north?”
“Let’s go. Can you keep pace?”
She nods. Her skin’s still flushed from the rave and near-fucking, but that’s not the only thing I read on her face.
I believe, even if I let go of her hand, she’d stay with me. Not because I carry her life’s work in my pocket either.
Her eyes tell me she’s in this, but as we start sprinting, I can’t focus on what that means.
Through the late-morning hustle and all the joggers and dog walkers, we weave our way to a train station more crowded than the damn club.
What is up with Austin in the middle of the week? Don’t any these people have somewhere to be?
We’re greeted by an adobe brick building, complete with clay roof tiles and classic columns. Joining the throng, we hustle inside. The stuffy space sets my nerves on edge.
Tickets. We need tickets.
Trinity drags me toward a counter. “Where should we go?”
I’d love to pause to figure that out, but we don’t have time. Andrei Kruschev just pushed into the building behind us. His beady eyes skim over the crowd. Even though he hasn’t spotted us yet, I recognize that single-minded expression.
We’ve got minutes. Maybe seconds.
I inhale and work on calming myself. If I yell, if I pull my gun, if anyone looks at us twice…
I bend over to whisper in Trinity’s ear. “Go.”
I shove her toward a train with slowly closing doors, the wheels squeaking as they move on the oiled track. “Get in front of me, hop on, and I’ll follow you.”
She gapes, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. “It’s moving!”
I grab her arm and hoist her closer. “Do it now, before it picks up speed.”
With her pretty cheeks paler than usual, she takes a running leap onto the metal platform. Based on the excited grin she directs at me, she lands with more grace than she anticipated.
Not me. I knew she had that jump in her.
I follow with a grunt, ignoring the sharp, electric jolt that ignites from landing on my left leg.
Doesn’t matter. We’re on, and we’re safe.
I don’t spend much time on trains, but as I pry open the compartment doors, I can tell this isn’t like the ones in action movies. Other passengers mill around with coffee or snacks, returning from what must be a food car.
A guy walks up and down the aisle, asking seated passengers for tickets.
Note to self: don’t sit down.
Wait. Where the hell did Trinity disappear to? Her bright curls vanished.
Sweat beads across the back of my neck.
“Excuse me.” I wedge past an older woman with unsteady hands who’s struggling not to spill her coffee. Does Amtrak or whatever-the-fuck this is not believe in lids?
I peer into the eyes of every person I pass. Did Trinity bail?
She’s a loner like me. Someone who’s had to learn the hard way to trust no one. If I were in her situation, I probably would’ve run.
Somehow, though, I know she didn’t ditch me. Every damn bone in my body insists she’s close by.
“Trinity!” Her name comes out louder than I intend, and half of the passengers in here stare. “Sorry. I just lost track of my girlfriend. Reddish hair, fair skin, about this tall. Really pretty.”
Girlfriend? Guess I bought into the morning’s game.
“Have you tried the restroom, son?” The older woman with the hot coffee points a crooked finger toward the back of the car.
How did she slip by without anyone noticing her? She’s drop-dead gorgeous. She should be turning heads everywhere.
I check the bathroom but find no Trinity.
Six cars, too much awkward eye contact, and a few almost-crashes later, and I still can’t locate her. How the fuck…
The last car holds big, bulky luggage rather than seats or passengers. I glance through the slender window as a baggy-jeaned leg kicks up into the air from behind a rack.
My heart leaps up my throat as I shove the sliding door open and discover Andrei holding Trinity by the throat, his fingers clenched around her windpipe.
I launch a kick at him and nail him in the ear with my boot. His head rocks sideways with a sickening crack. Black spots dim my vision as pain explodes through my bad leg, but somehow I avoid passing out.
When the Russian drops Trinity to the floor, she rolls, knocking into a red set of hardshell suitcases while clutching her throat and sucking in air.
At least she’s still breathing.
She coughs, choking with every inhale, and produces a single word as she points at Andrei. “Knife.”
Fury rages through me, followed by a trickle of satisfaction.
She didn’t leave of her own accord…he threatened her with a blade.
Andrei straightens and spins to face me again, settling into a ready stance with raised fists and lava-fueled wrath in his eyes. Blood trickles down the side of his neck from my foot to his ear. No blade in sight.
This jackass wants to fight me old school. It’s like one dick-measuring contest after the other with this guy.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s obsessed with me.
“Stay out of the way, Trinity.” I can handle this asshole.
I duck the first right hook, but he follows by jabbing with his opposite hand.
Too quick to dodge. Blood pools in my mouth where his fist connects with my lip.
The familiar ache allows me to gauge his strength. Tough, but nothing I can’t manage.
“Brody!” Before I can stop her, Trinity rushes in from the side, swinging a golf club-shaped package.
Andrei grabs the end of the makeshift bat and yanks her forward, shoving her to the ground and pinning her there with the ball of his foot.
Oh, you did not touch her again, you motherfucker.
I push forward, faking a punch at his nose. He forgets about her in order to guard himself, and I drive my knee straight into his stomach.
He groans, staggers back, then swings up with his left fist.
Pretty sure he’s right-handed. Idiot should’ve known better than to come at me with his weaker arm.
I stop the strike with my forearm, grab his wrist, and snap it against my knee, the crunch of bone unpleasantly visceral but effective.
He releases a scream and jerks away while clawing at my face with his free hand.
Where’s your knife now, buddy?
I’m too busy keeping his talons away from my eyes to pull my own gun or knife. As I wrestle with his weight against mine, though, I spot potential salvation.
“Trinity, open that door!”
It takes her a second to realize what I mean. When she does, she races to the side of the car and yanks the handle, grunting with the effort of pulling the heavy metal aside.
As the train picks up speed, the wind whistling against our clothes draws Andrei’s attention.
Stupid mistake.
His distraction allows me the chance to land three quick hits straight to his face. Warm blood spurts across my knuckles as he groans.
The scent of rust wars with the fresh air whipping through the luggage car.
Andrei and I struggle in our battle for the upper hand. With all these suitcases, room is limited, but I manage to wrestle him closer and closer to the open doors, hitting and kicking and headbutting whenever I get the opportunity.
We probably resemble two kids on the playground at recess more than a couple of trained MMA fighters, but even if my moves don’t look impressive, they are effective.
The door hovers inches out of my reach.
I need to push Andrei off this train without him taking me along for the ride.
Too bad he wants to do the same to me.
As we near the edge, Andrei twists the fingers of his good hand into my shirt, using every ounce of his strength to manhandle me toward the opening.
For a second, I’m halfway out of the train, my already injured leg dangling out of the car.
Fear lances through me, colder than the biting wind.
If I hit the ground at this speed, I probably won’t die, but it will hurt like hell.
Good thing Andrei only has one good arm, and I’ve still got two.
I brace one elbow around the doorway, locking myself in place, and close my free hand around Andrei’s neck, choking him the way he choked Trinity.
See how this fucker likes it. Maybe he’ll stick with picking on someone his own size next time.
He tries to cling to my shirt and evict me, but instinct overpowers human will, and in a matter of seconds, he’s clawing at my hand instead of my clothes.
Once his grip weakens, I yank with all my strength and hurl him out.
If he yells, the wind swallows the noise whole.
Panting, I pull myself back into the car and roll onto the floor with a groan.
Shit. It’s over. Good thing, too, because my leg smarts.
“Brody!” Trinity crouches beside me, her hands fluttering over my torso. “Are you okay? You’re bleeding. Shit, your mouth—”
“I’ve had worse.” I swipe my hand over my lips and grimace at the blood that comes away. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
She shakes her head, those copper waves flying. “No, I’m fine.” She glances at the still-open side of the train. “Do you think he’ll live?”
I sit up and scrub my hand through my hair. “Probably. Fucker’s like a cat. But he should stay down for at least a few days.”
Trinity touches my shoulder. “Thank you for saving me.” Her voice comes out soft and uncharacteristically contrite.
I don’t like hearing that tone at all.
“Don’t mention it. We’re a team now, right?”
I meet her gaze, and she graces me with a tiny but gorgeous smile that strikes me like a blow.
I’m so incredibly screwed. And not because of the Russians.