Seven Sons (Gypsy Brothers, #1)

by Lili St. Germain

my moment of refuge.

  “I just have one question for you, baby girl.”

  One question. Sounds easy. I turn to face him and nod in anticipation.

  “Your ex. What was his name?”

  It’s one teeny, tiny white lie. “Michael,” I say, my fake backstory flashing before my fake blue eyes. “Michael Trevine.”

  He nods. “He’ll never hurt you again. Why won’t he hurt you again?”

  I smile dreamily, imagining the look on his face when they put him in orange overalls and slam his jail cell shut forever. Maybe they’ll give him the death penalty.

  They should.

  “Because,” I say playfully, tracing his lips with my finger, “I’m yours?”

  He just fucking laughs. “What have I done to deserve you?” he breathes.

  Now I am the one who laughs.

  Nine

  I grew up next to the ocean. Until I was fifteen years old, I had no idea that some people could go an entire lifetime without ever seeing the sea.

  And then, one night, I was forced to flee from it, ripped from its beauty forever.

  I didn’t see a beach for six years. Landlocked and bitter, surrounded by dirt and storms and nightmares of Dornan Ross’s face.

  So when I wake up, after barely sleeping, to see his unshaven face peering down at me, it is all I can do not to scream.

  “Whoa,” he says, grinning like the cat that got the motherfucking cream. “Bad dream?”

  I sit up, pushing the sheets off me to discover I am completely naked, my tattoo angry and red and burning. Elliot warned me about this. But instead of trying to avoid thinking about the pain, I relish it. The burn helps me to remember why I am here.

  It makes me remember how good it feels to be alive.

  “Good morning,” I say, rubbing my eyes. I lean back, letting my breasts jut out in full view so that he can see them. “Oh Jesus,” he says, groaning loudly. I can see the bulge in his pants. The man is literally ready to go any time of the day.

  “Wish I could stay, baby girl,” he says, handing me a mug of hot black coffee. “But I gotta go run a job with my boys.”

  “That’s okay,” I say, arranging the sheets around myself. “I’ve got to go and get this tattoo finished, anyway.”

  “Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” he says. I almost choke on my coffee.

  “P-pardon?” I ask, wiping coffee from my chin.

  “Severe storm warning’s in place,” he says, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’ve got about ten minutes before this motherfucking weather outside becomes damn near impossible to drive in. Lucky we weren’t planning to ride.”

  “So, you want me to stay here?” I ask. “By myself?”

  He drains his own coffee cup. “Nope. My son’s gonna be here. Jase. He’s staying behind with you.” He looks at me oddly for a moment, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Besides, little runt is the only one of the lot that I’d trust to take care of your fine ass.” He leans closer and smiles conspiratorially. “I’m eighty percent sure he’s gay. Don’t tell anyone, though. Little fucker’d be beaten to death by his brothers if anyone else knew.”

  Jase. Fuck.

  I just smile vacantly, my mind going a million miles an hour. I’m essentially trapped, without a phone or a way out. I memorized Elliot’s number, but that doesn’t actually matter if I haven’t got a way of calling him. And I don’t want to raise any suspicions by making a big deal of contacting him.

  I just pray he doesn’t get impatient and report me missing. Especially since, technically, I’m already dead.

  “Okay,” I say brightly. “Where are you going?”

  Dornan chuckles as he pulls his leather cut on over his black t-shirt. My throat gets tight as I see the club colors adorning the black leather, the President badge unmissable. It is exactly like the jacket my father used to wear.

  “It’s a surprise, babe. You’ll see soon enough.”

  A surprise. I wonder what the fuck that could possibly be. I have to strain forcibly to stop my eyes from rolling violently back into my head.

  “I like your jacket,” I say softly. “It looks comfy.”

  He puffs his chest out and studies himself in the mirror next to the bed. “I got it when I became president of this club,” he says, and something inside of me dies a little. So it is my father’s jacket.

  “Get dressed,” Dornan says, still preening himself in front of the mirror. I obey, swinging my legs out of the bed. I find my bag next to the bed and select a new outfit – dark denim jeans and a white halter top that exposes my cleavage nicely. I pull on the jeans and halter, then make my way into the adjoining bathroom to apply some more mascara and fix my bed hair.

  Ten minutes later, I am being paraded around in front of the club members who are still at the club. We are downstairs in the main room, which features lots of low-back leather couches, a fully-stocked bar that we stand in front of, and a small stage at one end. There are no windows, which makes me itch. I know why. Windows mean people can see inside. Windows mean people can shoot bullets through.

  I look around, scanning the dozen or so guys and girls hanging off Dornan’s every nauseating word. I guess most people have decided to return home after the storm warning was issued. I tune in to what Dornan is saying as he’s finishing up.

  “Nobody is to touch her,” he finishes. “She’s mine. You hear?”

  I smile vacantly as a few guys jostle and wolf-whistle and a few slutty-looking girls look seethingly jealous as they look me up and down.

  Dornan snaps his fingers and grabs my arm. “Come on,” he says. “Time for me to go.” I trot after him like an obedient puppy, taking in every detail I can about the place.

  Some things have changed, and some have stayed exactly the same. Dornan is still an asshole – that definitely hasn’t changed.

  I follow him out of the main club room, down a narrow hallway that has several closed doors and which eventually opens up into a large kitchen, complete with several dining tables.

  “Wait here,” he says, stabbing a table with his finger. I sit at the table and look up at him. “What am I waiting for?”

  He leans on the side of the table and studies my face. “We’re just waiting, that’s all.”

  I nod, looking around the room. Photos of club members dot the walls, and my throat catches when my gaze lands squarely on a photo I remember well. A photo I’ve been carrying around for six years. My copy now lies in a safety deposit box under another fake name in downtown LA.

  My father.

  I force myself to look away, certain Dornan is studying me. He may have allowed me into his club, but I know damn well that he still doesn’t trust me an inch.

  Jase hurries into the room a few moments later, looking as though he’s just stepped out of a shower fully dressed. He’s creating a water slick behind him and when he stops in front of his father, that slick becomes a full-fledged puddle.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Dornan says, towering over his son even though they are both about the same height.

  “You’re making a goddamned mess, boy.”

  Jase wipes the moisture from his face and more droplets of water rain down. I have to force myself not to smile. Jase clearly enjoys making his father upset.

  “I had to ride through the rain. It’s crazy out there.”

  It is only now that I realize he’s carrying a black motorcycle helmet in one hand, the chin strap looped over his fingers.

  Dornan shakes his head. “Borrow a fucking car next time,” he says. “I don’t need you dyin’ out there.”

  Jase nods. “Why’d you call me down? I thought you wanted me in the club today.”

  Dornan shifts so that Jase can see me. Jase immediately looks unimpressed.

  “I gotta go on a run for a day or two,” Dornan says. “I need you to keep this one company for me.”

  “This one?” Jase asks caustically. “Isn’t this one supposed to be working to
night?”

  Dornan looks from me to his son and sighs. “Look, boy, I don’t have time to get into it now. She’s something special, you hear? I’ve decided she’s better off here at the club, keeping your old man company.”

  I am dying to speak, but I know Dornan likes his women stupid and obedient, so I keep my mouth shut.

  “How long you planning to be gone?” Jase asks, looking generally disinterested.

  “Two days, tops,” Dornan replies. “Get Kathy to cover you at the club. And son … ” He pulls me from my seat by my shoulder and stands me in front of Jase - “I would never let your brothers near Sammi here, you understand?”

  Yeah, right, I think to myself.

  “But you, son, I know you’ve had it real hard since Raelene left us. God bless her soul. So if you wanna sample this fine piece of ass,” he slaps my ass with his wide hand, “you go right ahead, you hear?”

  My whole body jumps a little at being slapped and I look at Dornan questioningly.

  Jase is glaring at his father and refuses to look at me or even acknowledge my presence. “I don’t need your sloppy seconds,” he says to his father, and I want to vomit. This is so much harder, so much more real, than I ever imagined it would be. The way Jase looks at me, when he does look at me, makes me want to scream.

  It is a far cry from the guy who offered me a glass of water and a seat yesterday, and nothing at all like the boy who wanted to save me from all of this once upon a time.

  The boy who I used to love.

  “Are you sure you’re not one of those fucking faggots?” Dornan asks, clearly pissed off at his son’s blatant rejection of what he no doubt considers to be a generous offer.

  Jase