Chapter 34
Trinity
Ironically, as we head into New Orleans, where people party all day every day for no reason at all, I feel like we’re walking into a morgue.
I wish I could relax and enjoy my first trip here. Maybe even pretend Brody and I are an actual couple on vacation.
If only.
As the train starts to creep into the station, we rise from our seats. Brody offers me his hand.
Everything I want stands right in front of me, all bronzed and muscled with dark, untamed hair and shining eyes. This man used to strike me as so dangerous.
He still does, but now I glimpse even more depth shimmering behind that killer’s gaze. He’s not just the hardened enforcer and murderer who kidnaped me. I’ve yet to peel back all the layers, but he’s proven he’s loyal and compassionate.
I accept his hand. When he pulls me closer, my knuckles brush the outline of the hard drive in his front pocket.
My stomach churns at the reminder.
I have no idea what we’ll do next. Currently, my only plan is to stay alive and follow Brody’s lead. So far, he’s kept me safe, fed, and satisfied. This might be the orgasms talking, but despite our precarious situation, I haven’t felt this at ease in years.
Though Finn must be worried sick at this point. I was supposed to meet his guys in Austin last night. When I never showed, he probably ordered them to tear the city apart. Maybe if I ask, Brody will let me borrow his phone so I can avoid stealing it this time.
As soon as we hop off the train, Brody shifts into Enforcer Mode, scanning the platform for danger.
As I observe him, random trivia bursts from my mouth. “Did you know New Orleans is the home of the first American crime family?”
He pauses his inspection to quirk a brow. “Okay?”
“Just a fun factoid, in case you were wondering.” I’m rambling. Why am I rambling? “In the late nineteenth century, immigrants from Sicily laid down roots here, giving birth to the American mafia.”
Cocking his head, he pats his front pocket. “Are our families related to any of them? How far back does the info on this drive go?”
I laugh a little, the tension slipping from my shoulders.
“To answer your first question, I’m not sure, but I highly doubt it.
I just fell down some deep rabbit holes over the years, more out of curiosity than anything else.
There’s a lot of useless knowledge floating around in here. ” I tap the side of my head.
In response, Brody kisses my temple. “I like all the random facts in your pretty head.” He surveys our surroundings again. “Coast looks clear. Let’s go.”
He tugs me through the crowd. Good thing, too, because I think my brain just short-circuited.
He called me pretty outside of our sexcapades. Said he likes my useless knowledge.
How the hell do I handle that?
When he wraps an arm around my waist, my heart flutters. I realize the action’s meant to keep us from standing out among the other couples on the street, but warmth still spirals through my veins like the sun on a winter day.
With Brody’s hand on the small of my back, we zigzag through people in the train station and step outside.
I stop short.
A sixtysomething Black man stands beneath a sprawling live oak, holding a saxophone to his lips. He sways to the rhythm, and I close my eyes and let the music wash over me.
I’ve never heard anything quite like it. In this moment, I feel…centered. Alive and serene. When I open my eyes again, the world around me appears almost new, vibrating with energy and full of promise and possibility.
“Have you been here before?” Brody pulls me back to reality, and I shake my head.
“No. I’ve read about it, but I feel like this isn’t the best city to travel to alone.
” I try to sound offhand and breezy, though I think my loneliness seeps through.
I’ve always wanted to see more of the world.
My family possesses the means, and I’ve certainly had the time to explore during my breaks over the last few years.
While I know people embark on solo backpacking trips all over Europe, I never felt compelled to travel alone.
Why do that when I can simply crack a book and curl up on my couch with a nice glass of red wine and ignore the fact that I’ve shut out any possibility of friendship with others since Angelica’s death?
Until I met the man beside me, I never realized how small my world was. Ever since Angelica, I seem to have forgotten how to make real friends. I can’t connect with people, so this magnetic pull between Brody and me has proven difficult to comprehend. Ironic, given my field of study.
Like every other freshman in my major, I took Psychology of Human Sexuality, though I sense that I didn’t appreciate the course then as much as I would today.
Looking back, I understand that my walls were up. I wasn’t willing to lower them enough to let anyone in. I didn’t grasp the power of chemistry beyond romance novels and rom-coms, neither of which were my favorites.
When it comes to attraction, psychology often focuses on theories rather than absolutes. I get that now. A lot of variables factor into the different ways attraction works.
Physical factors play a role, of course. Biologically speaking, do I want to jump Brody’s bones?
Abso-fucking-lutely. Physically, he’s a beautiful specimen.
Sociocultural factors matter too. Since we come from similar backgrounds and the same sort of family, our surface-level attraction makes sense.
The biggest theory—off the charts where we’re concerned—involves the physiological processes that occur to create attraction.
I’m talking about the body’s involuntary response to another person, like a racing heart.
A surge of dopamine. Driven by brain chemistry, the rational, thinking mind has no say in how or when the switch flips on.
What’s happening between us is a theory that can only be proven by the two people experiencing the reaction.
He gives me a squeeze, bringing me back to the city street as we drift away from the musician and step into a crosswalk. “Lucky for you, I’ve come here a time or two on business. I can show you the ropes.”
“What about the running-for-our-lives thing?”
His brow crinkles like a newspaper. “Hold that thought.”
Brody steps away from me and extracts his phone. To call…Declan, maybe?
A hissing little serpent of doubt tickles the base of my skull. I realize he can’t just abandon his family right away. He needs to pretend he’s still working for his father, at least until we connect with Finn’s men.
But…what if he’s not pretending? What if I’m the one he’s really lying to?
I push my misgivings away. No. I trust Brody. He wouldn’t do that. Not with the way Declan’s always treated him.
Thirty seconds later, he ends the call with a grin. “Declan and I just agreed on something for the first time in this century.” Brody plants a kiss on my lips. “The city is ours for a day or two. Let’s explore.”
Just like that, physiology kicks in, and I’m damp between my thighs.
I’ll touch base with Finn later. “Okay.”
“We’re about ten minutes from the Ritz. Let’s grab a room first.”
Though I’m no New Orleans expert, I do know that the Ritz is on Canal Street, in the heart of the city.
My chest warms when I realize he intends to give us the full NOLA experience.
We detour on the way, weaving in and out of tourist shops so we can buy clothes and toiletries, along with a duffel bag to carry them in.
About a half hour later, we enter the most lavish hotel lobby I’ve ever seen.
His sister Maeve’s hotel is a baby compared to this place. The building is over a century old. The Cypress showcases modern architecture with a classic Hollywood vibe. The Ritz, on the other hand, is Beaux Arts style, an homage to old-world France.
High arched ceilings. Five-hundred-pound glass chandeliers. Marble everywhere with plush Eastern rugs slathered all over the floor. The walls pop with heavy wallpaper and vibrant colors.
Though fully booked for the Christmas season, someone just canceled their reservation for the honeymoon suite.
Brody pays the exorbitant rate without blinking.
As we waltz into our room, with its four-poster bed buried under piles of white sheets with a velvet fuchsia comforter folded open, I can’t help the laugh that tumbles from my mouth.
With the ornate gas fireplace opposite the bed and all the little luxuries and diamonded teal-and-gold walls, the scene would fit into a fairy tale.
All I can focus on, though, is getting Brody out of those stranger’s jeans.
“Brody.” I sigh his name as I slip off my shoes at the door and enter the foyer. “This room is magnificent.”
His eyes lock on me as he tosses the key cards onto a marble counter. “What room? I don’t see any room.”
In the next heartbeat, I’m pinned to the wall. He strips my jacket off me, followed by the white tank.
We don’t reach the bed for the first round. Or the second. By the time I collapse onto the sheets beside him, I no longer care when I call Finn or what my brother might say.
I’m falling for Brody. Falling hard.
So hard in fact, that no matter what happens, I plan to stick right here by his side.
Trinity
When our stomachs demand that we fill them promptly, Brody leads me down to the street and introduces me to the wonders of Creole cuisine at Antoine’s, a fixture in the city that never stops.
How Brody manages to secure us a table, I don’t know, nor do I care.
Though this restaurant does seem like the kind of place that might have mob ties.
The hostess escorts us to a side area with emerald green walls embossed in gold trim and seats us at a two-top with a white linen tablecloth. A heavy crystal chandelier casts strips of amber light. Romance oozes from the atmosphere.
After glancing at me for approval, Brody orders for us both. We’ll share shrimp remoulade, crawfish artichoke au gratin, and a bottle of a two-hundred-dollar red wine.