If I’m too scared to even try, though, then we can never, ever win.
I need to be honest with Brody. Let him in.
As he gazes up at me, his eyes shine with some unnamed emotion. A release like I’ve never experienced before is building inside of me.
“Trinity,” he whispers. “Let go.”
Like my body is his puppet, the pressure shatters. I spasm around him, falling into a wave of ecstasy that goes on forever. As I come, my mind completely blanks.
With a curse, he follows, groaning my name between clenched teeth as he pumps me full of heat. I shake on top of him, shuddering through the aftershocks.
Once I can breathe again, I collapse onto his chest. We’re both sticky with sweat, but I don’t care. Brody strokes my back with trembling fingers while his heart pounds beneath my ear.
If not for our less-than-private location, I could stay in this position all day. The heady aftermath swirls through me, and I lose myself in the glow.
Whatever worries and misgivings that weighed me down earlier, I now feel free of the burden. Lighter.
We’re alive. Together.
In this moment, that’s all that matters.
I only pray that our future extends beyond the confines of this train, and that these feelings of connection don’t vanish when the real world intrudes once again.
Chapter 33
Brody
After spending a full day together on the train, I can only explain this weird sense of peace fuzzing up my mind as “marital bliss,” or whatever our equivalent might be. I’m not sure when the switch flipped or what caused the change, but I don’t ever want to give up this natural high.
Twenty-four hours ago, we sprinted for our lives through the streets of Austin, dodging college kids, dogs, bullets, and strobe lights. Fighting off mercenaries and my apparent mortal enemy.
Now we’re sharing breakfast in the dining car after I managed to secure us a room for the night by paying the attendant off. Trinity sits across from me, finishing off the latte that came with our feast of eggs over medium, bacon and sausage, country hash browns, and cinnamon French toast.
Apparently, Trinity has a sweet tooth like my sister. I can’t help but wonder what else they have in common. They’re both outgoing, intelligent women, and if circumstances were different and the two could meet, I think they’d hit it off.
Maybe someday.
We acquired new outfits, courtesy of the luggage car. My t-shirt didn’t survive the chase, and the rest of our clothes were trashed from both runningandthe rave. Every article stank,saturated in the body odor of two hundred-plus dancers. I sure as shit wasn’t about to continue bathing in the combined stench of that and Kruschev’s blood with a near-bottomless supply of clothes at our disposal.
Hard as I tried, I couldn’t find a black shirt that fit me, so I settled for a baby blue one and some fresh pants. I’m lucky I found a pair of jeans to accommodate my quads that didn’t fall right off my waist.
In her new duds, Trinity could pass for a young soccer mom. She looks good in a matching set of joggers and a jacket, with a white tank underneath. At her nudging, I left our generous donors a nice tip. Whatever items they miss from their wardrobe, they can replenish and then some once they arrive at their destination.
“Take it easy.” I raise a brow at my dining partner, who’s shoveling food down her throat as if she hasn’t eaten for the past week. “This isn’t the Last Supper.”
She folds a piece of bacon into quarters and crams the whole thing in her mouth. “I’m fueling up. Because you never know.”
Sipping my coffee, I watch her demolish a slice of French toast next. She narrows those green eyes at me.
“What are you staring at?” she asks, though around that mouthful of eggy, syrup-drenched bread, the sentence sounds more like, “Wuh-ah-oo-arin-a?”
I adjust my weight in my seat. For some reason, her lack of manners revs my engine. Pretty much everything about her does. “Nothing.” I grin. “Well, you are kind of glowing.”
Holding up a finger, she chews and swallows. “Endorphins. Specifically, oxytocin and estrogen, which can give you a pink-hued complexion. Not to mention the reduced cortisol and uptick in blood and oxygen circulating through my system.” She winks. “You know, from all the fucking.”
I nearly spit out my coffee.
The couple next to us turn to not-so-subtly gawk. The man glares at me while the woman flushes, though I doubt endorphins triggered her reaction. Her perma-scowl suggests she’s never been fucked properly.
