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.
Shedidn’tleave 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.
