Seven Sons (Gypsy Brothers, #1)

by Lili St. Germain

and snatched my hand back as he released his grip.

  “Good,” he said, standing up and straightening his leather cut. “I’d hate to have to do to your mother what we did to you.”

  I cringed at his not-so-subtle threat and shuddered as he planted a kiss on my forehead. “Don’t act like the victim,” he whispered in my ear. “I know you loved it.”

  He plastered a fake smile on, tossed a bunch of flowers on the bed next to me, and left the room.

  It was the last time I saw him.

  And, ironically, the thing that had burned at me the most, more than the betrayal, was the reasoning. I wanted to know why. But then, Dornan murdered my father two days later, shot him in the head at point-blank range with a shotgun. Blew his head clean off.

  After that, after Elliot told me my father was dead, I stopped wondering why.

  Jase comes back down the stairs, taking them two by two, as if he’s in a hurry to be away from the office. He returns to his spot behind the bar and picks up his polishing cloth. “He’ll be down soon.” I don’t answer straight away, and he looks at me from beneath those gorgeous black eyelashes that I used to tease him about. I must look dreadful, because he jerks his head up and frowns.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod my head slowly, gripping the bar with both hands.

  “Are you sure?” He lifts the cut-out section of the bar counter and comes around to where I am, a glass of iced water appearing in his hand as if by magic.

  “You look like you’re about to pass out,” he says, placing the water on a cardboard coaster in front of me. He brings a bar stool over and sets it down behind me.

  I take the water and the seat gratefully, my entire body suddenly aching and tired.

  You knew there was a chance you would see him. You knew this was part of the deal.

  I shrug and take a sip of water, attempting to pull myself together. If my plan is going to work, I have got to keep it together.

  “It must be the sun,” I say, smiling innocently. “I’m not used to this heat.” I hope he doesn’t ask me where I’m from. Nebraska is even hotter than California. I feel my story already beginning to crumple under the weight of its artifice.

  “Well, take it easy,” he says, going back to his side of the bar.

  “Thank you,” I say meekly, the words tasting like bitter lies on my tongue.

  Dornan appears a short time later at the top of the stairs, whistling loudly. “Come on up,” he says, beckoning to his office beyond. I look around, unsure if he is even speaking to me.

  “Yes, you. Hurry up, I ain’t got all goddamn day.” He disappears past the doorway and I slide off my stool. I take a deep breath. This is my moment of truth.

  This is my one shot to get onside with Dornan and bring this motherfucking family to its shattered kneecaps.

  Three

  He is somehow less frightening than I remember him, and I have to remind myself that I’m taller and stronger than I was when I was fifteen. Back then, I was still so young. Plus, I’m wearing ridiculous heels which make me even taller. Dornan sits behind a desk – my fathers old desk – and sifts through paperwork, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I’m standing there. I use the time to take in my surroundings. Nothing special – a generic particle-board desk, a dead pot plant, a couple of tall metal filing cabinets behind the desk. The only item that looks expensive is the painting on the wall, a beach scene that looks like it’s from Hawaii or someplace equally beautiful. It doesn’t fit in with the room at all, and I wonder if it once belonged to my father.

  “Looking for the safe, sweetheart?”

  I snap my attention back to Dornan, who is smirking as he pounds numbers into a calculator with his long, thick fingers.

  “Looking for the stage,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. My entire plan hinges on him hiring me as a dancer for the club. If he doesn’t, I’ll have to go to plan B. Which I haven’t thought of yet.

  He leans back in his chair and surveys me properly for the first time. I wait patiently, knowing that I tick all of his boxes – brunette, tanned, big tits and young enough to fuck and employ without getting arrested for employing a minor in the club. I bat my eyelashes and study his face. He is older now, but still bears the strong features that made each of his seven sons unmistakably his. He had no daughters, and that could only be a small mercy fate had delivered.

  “What’s your name, darlin?” he asks finally, apparently satisfied with my looks. He is still just as blatantly attractive as he was six years ago. Black hair. Wide, sensual lips. Three days growth on his face that makes him look tough and rugged, but not unattractively so. My stomach sinks as I realize that I was wrong, that he and Jase are actually strikingly similar in looks.

  “Astrid,” I answer, feeling like my heart is about to pound out of my chest.

  “Not your stage name,” he says, looking irritated. “Your real name.”

  “Samantha. Sammi.”

  He looks unimpressed. “You twenty-one?”

  I nod. “Twenty-two, actually.”

  “You got ID to prove that?”

  I nod, sliding my fake ID out of my back pocket and handing it to him. I fight back the urge to flee as my fingers brush against his.

  He leans back in his chair and studies the small rectangular card. I know he is looking for signs it’s a fake. He holds it up to the light, turns it over in his palm, and scrapes his thumbnail along the edge.

  “It’s real,” I say. He doesn’t respond.

  “What’d you say your name was, again?”

  “Sammi. Samantha Peyton.”

  “Two first names?” he says dubiously. “Who has two first names?”

  I smile. “I don’t know, Mr. Ross. It is a little strange.”

  He smirks, the closest thing to a smile he’s cracked since he called me up here. “Well, Sammi two-first-names Peyton, what kind of job are you looking for?”

  I can’t believe I’m saying this. “What kind of job do you want me to do?”

  He drops the smile. “I’m a busy man. Let’s cut to the chase. You dance?”

  I nod.

  “You do private dances?”

  I nod.

  “You do anything else that sets you apart from the other hundred girls who come here each week looking for a job?”

  I smile wickedly. “I can dislocate my jaw so my mouth opens real wide.”

  He laughs and slaps the desk in front of him, sending the papers spilling over the side.

  “I like you,” he decides. “So why here? I mean, I’m sure you know about our… reputation.”

  I try to look young and helpless. “I just got out of a bad relationship,” I say. “Back home in Texas. I could use the protection you offer your employees.”

  He sucks on his lip, mulling that over.

  “Your ex,” he says. “Is he a member of any rival motorcycle clubs? A cop? Links to anyone I should be aware of?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “You positive about that?”

  I nod. “Yeah. He’s just an asshole who thinks he owns me.”

  He nods, apparently satisfied with my act. “You wanna dance first or fuck first?” he asks casually.

  I grin from ear to ear, because I’m in. And I know it.

  “Mr Ross,” I say, leaning over the desk so that my tits are inches from his face, “after I fuck you, it won’t matter how well I dance.”

  Dornan slides past me as he shuts and locks the door, making sure to brush his hardness against my ass as he squeezes past. There is plenty of room behind me and it’s completely unnecessary that he even needs to touch me as he walks past, but he obviously feels the need to assert his domination over me. He stands behind me as I face the desk and I can feel his warm breath on my shoulder.

  “Turn around,” he commands, and I do. He’s standing so close to me, I can feel the heat radiating from him in the already stuffy room. His pupils are dilated and he’s clearly excited by me.

 
“Shirt off,” he commands, and I oblige, whipping it over my head so that I am wearing nothing but my tiny cut-off shorts and a scrap of lace that cost way more than a bra of that size should. I unhook my bra and let it fall to the ground between us.

  “Nice,” he says, cupping a breast in each hand. “Not real, though.”

  I shrug. “I doubt any of your dancers have real ones.”

  He smirks, and I shudder inwardly. I’m going to make you a star.

  “Shorts,” he says, tugging at the frayed denim that hugs my thighs. It is at this moment that I panic.

  Oh, fuck.

  My hip bone. The scars. I really hadn’t been expecting to have to screw him right here in the office, not today. I had expected to come in, talk business, and come back to audition at night when the stage was set for the rest of the dancers. I know what will happen if he sees it.

  He’ll kill me.

  And this will all be for nothing.

  He can see my hesitation and steps back.

  “You sure you can handle this kind of work?” he asks me, obviously unimpressed.

  I smile tightly. “Of course. I just wasn’t expecting it to be today.”

  “You gonna fuck better next week?” he asks impatiently.

  “No,” I say quickly. I turn around, shimmy out of my shorts and panties so that I am completely naked, and place my palms flat against the desk. I turn my head to see Dornan watching me with what appears to be a mixture of lust and intrigue.

  “I was just thinking,” I shrug, flashing him a wicked grin, “I should show you my best stuff straight off the bat.”

  He laughs and slaps my bare ass with his open hand, squeezing a handful of flesh.

  He leans close to my ear, tugging a handful of my long brown hair, forcing my head back.