Five Miles (Gypsy Brothers, #3)

by Lili Saint Germain

We arrive at Dornan’s door and I cringe inside. He’s the absolute last person I want to see right now. My mood is so foul, I wonder if it’s almost that time of the month or something. Whatever it is, I’m feeling stabby as hell and I swear, if he tries to make me suck his dick again any time soon, I’m going to bite it off.

  Jase knocks twice and opens the door, shoving me inside the room and closing the door. No goodbye. No nothing. I smile sweetly as Dornan turns from his spot, standing at the foot of the bed, stuffing clothes into a canvas duffel bag.

  “Sammi,” he addresses me without stopping what he’s doing. “Get a chance to do some sight-seeing?”

  I shrug. “Not really. I kind of hid myself away in a motel.”

  He is opening drawers now, grabbing things and packing them into his bag. My stomach lurches when I see my bag open on the floor next to his.

  “Did Jason try anything on you today, Samantha?”

  I swear my heart stops for a second when he asks me that question. “Wh-what?” I splutter.

  He reaches under the bed and pulls out a shotgun, cracking it in half to reveal two shells sitting in the chamber, ready to blast through the first person who dares to defy him. He snaps it shut again and brings the scope up to his face.

  “Jazz tells me Jason’s making eyes at you,” Dornan says, eyeing me through the scope of the shotgun. He’s trying to sound casual, but I can see the veins bulging in his bare arms, running through his many tattoos.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” he growls, lowering the shotgun.

  “No,” I reply in a small voice, thinking please, don’t hurt me today. I can’t take it today.

  “No, what?” he says coldly.

  “No to both of your questions,” I answer, staring at the floor.

  “You’d never lie to me, would you, Sammi?” His throaty question jolts me back to the night he almost impaled me against the wall with his cock, the night he ended up stabbing me after I savored his salty tears.

  You’d never betray me, would you Sammi?

  Suddenly, the handbag on my shoulder feels like it’s a hundred tons, weighed down with the truth of my ultimate betrayal.

  Weighed down with his destruction.

  “Never,” I reply, echoing the same answer I gave him last time when he was fucking me against the same wall I’m looking at right now as he moves around the room once more.

  “I thought you said Jase was gay, anyway?” I ask, attempting to steer the conversation away from the subject of my honesty—or lack thereof.

  Dornan rolls his bloodshot eyes and I wonder if he’s been crying over Maxi’s death. “He’s not gay. He’s just hung up on a girl he used to know.”

  “Really?” I say, tasting bitter saliva in my mouth at his casual flippancy toward the girl who, as far as he knows, he’d raped to death. “What happened to her?”

  Dornan gives a telling smile. “She lied,” he replies, handing me my bag. “Pack your shit. It’s time to show the Colombians some justice for what they did to my boys.” He starts stuffing things into his own duffel bag, giving me a pointed look when I don’t move to do the same.

  I swallow nervously. “Boys?”

  He pauses, a look of grief passing over his face before it is replaced by cold determination. “Chad and Maxi, baby girl. What are Colombians known for?”

  “Um…” I say, “really good coffee?”

  He narrows his eyes at me, pursing his lips together in distaste. “Drugs, Sammi,” he says, shaking his head at me. “Maybe we should dye that fucking hair of yours blonde.”

  “You think the Colombians killed them with bad drugs?” I ask innocently. Oh, this is too good. “Do you think this Ricardo guy is responsible? Do you know where to find him?”

  Dornan grins. “Doesn’t matter where he is, baby girl. We’re going to the source. We’re going to his warehouse and burning that motherfucking place to the ground.”

  I know exactly where the warehouse is; I’ve been there before with my father and Mariana, when they were plotting our escape.

  Only this time, the Ross brothers will be the ones who’ll be making their exit.

  Permanently.

  Dornan leaves the room soon after, giving me a chance to shove the homemade bombs into the false bottom in my suitcase. At that moment I wish for a smaller bag, a backpack, maybe, but I’ll have to make do with what I’ve got and pray that there’s a way to strap this thing to the back of a bike.

  Then, of course, I have second thoughts, and a minor freak out, before tearing a hold in the lining of my handbag and shoving the dirty bombs back in there. It’s not too noticeable, what with the black lining and the absurdly large size of the bag. I figure that if I have to sacrifice bringing my gigantic suitcase, I’ll just wear the handbag straps over my shoulders like a makeshift backpack.

  After turning this idea over in my head some more, I decide to forget the suitcase altogether. I unzip it and grab a few pairs of clean underwear, a summer dress, a pair of jeans and a pair of flip-flops, and shove them all in my handbag on top of the hidden weapons of mass destruction I’m toting around.

  I sit on the bed, clutching the handbag to my chest, and I wait to be summoned.

  So I can’t help but roll my eyes when Jazz appears at the door, grinning like an idiot. I quickly stand up and hook my handbag over my shoulder, wanting to get into the hallway before I’m cornered in here with him.

  He blocks the doorway with his impressive physique, each hand holding onto the doorframe so that I am effectively trapped.

  “You know, we got interrupted last time I had you all to myself. Maybe we should remedy that right now.” His eyes roam over my body, stopping at my cleavage that peeks out from my shirt.

  “Sorry,” I shrug, trying to push past him. “I’ve got my period. Otherwise, your offer sounds too good to resist.”

  My words dripping with sarcasm don’t seem to dampen his enthusiasm, or his growing erection, which tents out of his loose denim jeans.

  “You could always suck my dick,” he says huskily, putting a hand on my shoulder and pushing down in a not-so-subtle invite to get on my knees.

  I eye him sexily, sucking on my lip as I gaze up at his leering face. “Mmm, sounds so tempting,” I reply in mock seriousness. “But I’ll have to pass.”

  He wraps his fingers around my upper arm, digging in hard. “Maybe I’ll just fuck you anyway. A little blood doesn’t scare me.”

  Maybe I’ll just fuck you until you bleed. It’s like he’s just a younger version of his goddamn father.

  I laugh, shaking my head. “Do you think of anything else except fucking?” I ask him seriously, peering into his face. I remember his hands around my throat, slick with blood, and the burning of the poisoned coke in my nostrils, and then I remember his arrogant face leering down at me while I fought his grip six years ago, and a new wave of hatred slams into me.

  “Not really,” he says, smiling arrogantly down at me.

  “I think I’ve made it clear that I’ve got no interest in you, asshole,” I say, trying to shove him aside and get out of the room, which suddenly feels incredibly claustrophobic.

  His other hand grabs my unencumbered arm and squeezes tight. “Even better,” he breathes, squeezing my arms so hard they ache. “You look like you’d be a screamer. I love bitches who scream.”

  Rage bubbles up in me, and the look on his face is priceless when I bring up my knee and slam it into his erection as hard as I can, my knee humming from the impact. He moans and doubles over violently.

  “Fucking bitch,” he groans, holding his junk with both hands as I squeeze past him and into the hallway.

  “You could always suck my dick,” I say as I saunter past him and down the hallway.

  I head to the garage, slipping into the giant, impersonal space, as Dornan delivers a heated pep talk to four of his sons—Jase, Donny, Mickey and Ant. I hover in the background until Donny notices me.

  “Ge
t out,” he says to me. “This is a family meeting.”

  “It’s fine,” Dornan says, holding his hand out. “She’s coming with us.”

  “She’s coming?” Mickey bellows. “Why the fuck is she coming?”

  “Because I fucking said so!” Dornan yells. “Do you want to come, or do you want to sit here like a sulky little shit while we go avenge your brothers?”

  Jazz casts me a filthy look as he limps up beside me and joins the conversation. “Bitch can’t even stand up straight,” he sneers. “You really think she’s gonna be able to sit on the back of a bike for hours?”

  Dornan’s face softens momentarily. “Take her in your car, Jason,” he says tiredly. “She still looks half fucking dead.”

  Jase just glares at me before returning his gaze to his father.

  “Maybe you should drive, too,” I whisper to Jazz in mock sympathy, since he’s standing close enough that our arms are touching. “You look like you can barely walk. You really think you’re gonna be able to sit on a bike for hours?” He looks like he wants to punch me in the face, and I smile sweetly at him.

  “Maybe I will,” he murmurs, so that only I can hear him. “Maybe I’ll rape your ass in the backseat while little bro’ drives.”

  I turn my attention back to Dornan, fighting to keep the anger off my face. This is going to be so goddamn sweet when I press that trigger and blow these fuckers to smithereens.

  “Ready?” Dornan says. Everyone grunts or mumbles in response.

  “Good,” he says, swinging a leg over his bike. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. Jase, we’ll meet you two there.”

  Jase nods stiffly and steps back while the rest of them get onto their bikes and rev them loudly. The noise is deafening, and I have to fight to urge to stick my fingers in my ears to drown them out. That would appear weak, and the last thing I want is to appear weak around these men.

  The tilt-door opens and Dornan takes off, a billow of smoke trailing behind him. It seems odd, and I watch as the other bikes depart with virtually no smoke coming from their exhaust pipes. Soon, the angry buzz peters out and then is gone altogether, leaving Jase and I alone with nothing but his bike standing between us.

  He turns his head slowly to look at me the way someone might look at a dead cockroach on their floor, or a piece of dog shit on their shoe.

  I shrug. “Looks like I won’t be leaving your sight, after all.”

  He grabs his own bag and storms off, leaving me standing there in the empty garage. A few strides away, he turns and addresses me stonily.

  “Hurry up,” he says. “We’ll already be hours behind them in the car.”

  It takes three hours to drive to our destination. Three hours of silence, peppered with the occasional awkward small talk started by me and ended by him.

  It’s a far cry from the passionate kisses and long talks I’ve shared with Jase in the past few months, and it makes my heart hurt.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, two hours into the journey.

  “Mexico,” Jase answers in monotone.

  “I don’t have a passport,” I remind him. “What are you planning on doing, anyway?”

  He turns to glare at me as we speed down the freeway. “That depends.”

  The hairs on the back of my arms bristle, and I suddenly feel very cold. “Depends on what?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer me. I sit patiently for five minutes, my hands in my lap, but his taunting is driving me crazy, and I haven’t forgotten that I’m now essentially a prisoner. Before, I was trapped by Dornan, but at least I had Jase to look out for me, to make sure I didn’t die.

  Now, it seems like he’d be the first to pull the trigger if it came to that.

  “Please talk to me,” I plead, imploring him with my eyes.

  He glances at me like I’m a dead piece of road kill smooshed on the side of the road and flicks his gaze back to the road. “I don’t have anything to say,” he replies stonily.

  Panic bubbles in my chest and I feel like it’s getting harder to breathe. That stupid buzzing in my ears and in my stomach is back again, like a bunch of angry wasps are attacking me from the inside, laying painful stings laced with poison within me.

  I want to cry, I feel so helpless. He’s going to figure me out. He’s going to figure out that I’m the girl he thought dead for six long years, and he’s going to realize I killed his brothers, and he’s probably going to shoot me in the head.

  “I grew up in a place just like this,” I say softly, brushing my fingers against the window. I can’t bear the tense silence between us for one more minute, and even if he tells me to shut up, I at least need to fill some of the moments in between now and then with words and noise.

  “Oh, yeah?” Jase smirks. “A rival club? Do tell. My dad would love to hear all about that.”

  I tip my head forward so that my forehead rests against the passenger side window, the slight vibration of the road buzzing faintly against my skin.

  “My dad was in a club just like this,” I say, smiling sadly at memories of happier days. “Not a rival club, no. He didn’t die in a car accident. He was murdered.”

  Jase sucks in a deep breath but doesn’t say anything.

  “Since he died, I’ve just been trying to keep out of trouble.”

  “Let me guess,” Jase says, throwing me a look. “Trouble just seems to find you.”

  I shake my head. “No, I definitely go looking for the trouble,” I reply. “I find it before it finds me.”

  “I still don’t get you,” he says, drumming his fingers against the gear shifter between us. “When you’re with me, you act like this victim of circumstance, but then you go back to him, and you act as though you like it.”

  I squeeze the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger and exhale audibly. “I’m incredibly fucked up. Another thing about the way I grew up. People like me? We aren’t normal. We’re twisted.”

  “Is that why you’re with him? Because you have daddy issues?” His casual question and sneer is like a slap in the face.

  “Yeah,” I say honestly. “Something like that.”

  Nobody speaks for a few moments.

  “I told you I’d help you leave,” Jase says bitterly.

  “I know,” I say, staring at my hands.

  “I don’t even know who you are,” he spits. “You’re screwing a cop.”

  “I’m not,” I say.

  “I don’t believe anything you say any more. Just stop talking.”

  We keep travelling, emotion biting at me the entire time. I feel constantly on the verge of tears, the handbag resting against my foot practically burning my skin with the truth of its deadly contents. Suddenly, I feel like I have to tell him something, let him know that I do feel something strongly for him. I get all choked up, blinking back tears and wishing for my sunglasses. I keep swallowing, choking a little, my face turned away from him so he can’t see my pain.

  I look up with a start as I realize we have stopped, and are sitting stationary in the emergency lane.

  “Why are we stopped?” I ask, wiping my face.

  He doesn’t respond for a moment.

  Then, “Sammi,” he says gently, a soft hand on my arm.

  I frown, looking at him over my shoulder, my cheeks burning. I don’t want him to see me like this.

  “Sammi,” he says, and even though it’s not my real name, the emotion I can hear behind his voice makes me lose it. Because I realize, this is it. This could be the end for us. The last shared moment, the final frontier of Sammi and Jase.

  When I say I lose it, I fucking lose it. I double over, the ache in my stomach like a million stabbing knives, hot, constant and burning. I unleash what feels like a lifetime of tears, stored up and ready to rain. Which they do—on my knees, on the tops of my thighs, all over my hands—as I ugly cry.

  “Jesus, Sammi,” Jase says, looking around outside before placing his hands on my back. “I’m sorry.”

  I start to hyperventila
te, not wanting this moment to finish, not wanting his hand to pull away from my skin. Because when he takes his hand away and steers the car back onto the road, that will really be the end.

  I am about to extinguish his entire family, and nothing will ever be the same.

  As I continue to suck in shallow, ragged gulps of air, still doubled over with my cheek pressed to my knees, Jase places his hands on my shoulders and pulls me up and toward him. He studies my tear-streaked face and must assume that I’m being genuine, because he pulls me into his arms, my face pressed into his shoulder, one hand running through my loose hair.

  “Hey, hey,” he soothes gently. “It’s okay. Whatever happened, you’re okay right now.”

  I pull back so that we’re eye-to eye.

  “Please don’t hate me,” I say, sobbing as I speak. “I know this whole situation is incredibly fucked up. I see the way you look at me. The way you ask yourself what the hell I’m doing with him!” My voice is rising now, getting louder and more panicked with each word, but I can’t stop the avalanche that tumbles out of my mouth. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you one day, Jase. One day really soon. And you might understand me, or you might just hate me. But right now, I can’t bear it if you hate me, Jason. Not now. Please?”

  “I don’t hate you,” he says, wiping my tears away with his large, warm hands. “Some days I want to hate you, and other days I want to take you away from all of this. From him. I can’t figure you out, Sammi, and I hate that you’re keeping shit from me, but I don’t hate you, okay?”

  I nod in response, because I can’t say what I’m thinking.

  You don’t hate me. But you will.

  It’s only a matter of time.

  A little while after our strange exchange, I compose myself and Jase drives the car back onto the busy freeway. Without me asking, he stops silently at a gas station a few miles down the road.

  “Go wash your face,” he says. “You’re all blotchy. Dornan will kill me if he thinks I made you cry.”

  He’s being nice to me again, and it’s even worse than if he was being mean to me. Now, I feel like I’ve manipulated him into rescinding his suspicions, albeit temporarily, by having a massive tantrum in his car.