The sharp words sting more than I’ll admit.
Maybe it’s because I’m exhausted and my guard’s down. After a full night’s sleep, I bet nothing she says will bother me.
She continues, her voice a cutting edge. “Theywould have done it…” Her eyes widen, and I can almost see the horror movie montage of what those scumbags would have done floating past her irises. “Butyouwould have let them. And that’s way worse. That’sevil.”
I recoil.
I’m a lot of things, but I’ve seen evil. I’vekilledevil. That’s how I’ve handled all the shit I do every single day.
All the terrible people I kill deserve to die. I’m no angel, but I don’t hurt innocent women.
Warring thoughts and emotions clash between my ribs.
Knowing Trinity thinks I would have let those pieces of shit do unspeakable things to her ignites a simmering rage in my blood.
I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t. “Just teaching you a lesson. I never would have let them hurt you for real.”
I press my thumb to her mouth and trace her bottom lip, causing her cheeks to flush. Touching her soft mouth brings unbidden sensations back to my mind.
Kissing her in that hotel room. Almost fucking her in the office closet at the Cypress.
My breathing becomes ragged. Hers hitches too. I swear our mouths are magnetic, tugging us toward each other while lust snakes up my spine.
Lowering my voice, I stare at her lips. “Don’t run from me again.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, the trance between us breaks. She twists her face away from mine, and I pull back far enough to open the car door and half-help, half-force Trinity inside.
Though she infuriates me, nothing I do seems to curb this unfortunate attraction. I want her more than I remember ever wanting anyone.
Back on the road, we return to a chilly silence.
Driving is entirely different now that she’s awake and sitting up front. I no longer get to sneak glances at her sleeping form in the back seat. Instead, I need to strain my periphery if I want to catch a glimpse of her shut-down expression.
Without so much as another peep, Trinity stares blankly out the window. She’s not ignoring me. It’s more like she’s vacated her body and traveled somewhere far away. I only ever feel this alone while with another person when I’m in the presence of my father.
This woman has me off-kilter, and she’s not even doing anything.
I clench my fingers around the wheel. What the hell is wrong with me? Exhaustion-fueled delirium? As we continue to drive, that helpless sensation persists.
My mind keeps returning to Trinity.
For two people who just met this morning, we’ve already been through a lot together. She’s not the spoiled, wimpy little rich girl I envisioned.
She’s a fighter. Smart. Able to think on her feet.
One hell of a survivor.
Considering she’s managed to crawl inside my head more than once in less than twenty-four hours, psychology is perfect for her.
But still, the question remains: Why do the Russians want her?
Maybe they’re trying to get an edge on the Irish Kings just like we are. Or it might be for different reasons altogether.
Does she have something they need?
As I consider my curious hostage, Trinity’s harrowing silence drags on. No nagging, no small talk, no deceptively effective flirtation.
The girl is a statue, her gaze fixed on the middle distance.
