Seven Sons (Gypsy Brothers, #1)

by Lili St. Germain

eyes are full of questions. Full of worry. Full of the past.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get out of here before your father wakes up.”

  Fourteen

  I follow Jase down the stairs and through the kitchen. I don’t look into the servery – the last thing I want to see is my mother when I’m leaving, and I don’t know if I’m coming back.

  I am scared.

  I forgot how crazy Dornan Ross was.

  And I can’t get the image of that poor kid’s blood and brain matter out of my mind.

  When Jase turns left at the hallway, I hesitate.

  “Come on,” he says. “My bike’s this way.”

  “Oh,” I say. “I thought we’d just go in a car or something.”

  He smirks and looks me up and down. “We’re in a biker club, Samantha, not a goddamn minivan club.”

  “I don’t have a helmet. Or a jacket.” I look down at my bare feet. “Or shoes.”

  Jase just laughs as he continues down the hallway. “You think you’re the first girl who ever came in without a helmet, jacket, or shoes?”

  Well, I don’t have anything to say to that. I just shrug in response.

  Jase slides the thick steel door at the end of the hallway open, and ushers me inside. I immediately smell oil, leather, and sweat all mingled together. I look around, taking in the impressive line-up of Harley Davidsons that sit two and three deep in the massive garage.

  “That’s a lot of bikes,” I breathe, squinting under the harsh fluorescent lights that illuminate the warehouse-sized space.

  Jase goes over to the far wall and rummages through a clear tub full of helmets. Fishing one out, he gestures for me to come over. I thread my way carefully through the maze of metal, mindful that if I knock one bike, I’ll start a domino effect of epic proportions.

  He puts the helmet on the counter next to him and hands me a pair of women’s white canvas sneakers. They are at least a size too big for me, but I bend down to lace them tightly so they will stay on my feet.

  Next, he grabs a beaten, chocolate-colored leather jacket from a hook above the counter and passes it to me. I shrug into it and find the zip, pulling it up to my chin.

  “Here,” he says, fitting the open-face helmet on my head. “How’s this?”

  I am about to reply, but the door is dragged open again and loud voices fill the once-peaceful space.

  It is two of the Ross brothers – Chad, who held his hand over my mouth as I screamed for Dornan to spare an innocent life, and Mickey, the fourth brother.

  They are chatting in an animated fashion, every second word Fuck, when they lay eyes on me.

  “Hey, darlin’,” Chad says, striding through the silent motorcycles to where we stand. “Where you off to?”

  Jase looks at him without a single ounce of brotherly affection. “I’m taking her for a ride, Chad,” he bites out. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  Chad slides between his brother and I, forcing Jase to step back. His chest is pressed into mine but I stand my ground, looking up at him through a haze of violent memories, my jaw set stubbornly.

  “Sorry about your little boyfriend,” he says with a broad smile, not sorry at all. He runs a finger down my arm, from shoulder to wrist, and smirks when I jerk my hand away.

  “Sorry about your little hand,” I reply, not taking my eyes off him for a second.

  His smile twitches, and for a moment I get the oddest sensation that he is going to take a swing at me. Instead, he leans real close, so that I can feel his breath on my face. It smells sickly sweet, like pineapple flavoring or those ultra-caffeinated energy drinks.

  “I know what you’re up to,” he says menacingly. “You think you can just come in here because you’re screwing my pop? It ain’t that simple, sugar. There are rules around here.”

  I raise my eyebrows and laugh, unnerving him. “Your father’s head over heels for me. I doubt very much anything you have to say will sway his mind.”

  The smirk reappears on his face, and he slams me against the wall with brute force, planting his hands on either side of me so that I am effectively trapped.

  “Hey!” Jase bellows, trying to pull his hulkish brother away from me.

  Mickey suddenly appears and pulls Jase roughly by the back of his shirt. “He’s not going to hurt her, brother,” he says. He seems irritated, and bored. Everyone here is always either cruel or bored.

  “Yeah,” Chad drawls, grinding himself against me. The move isn’t sexual so much as dominating. “I’m not gonna hurt her, baby brother.” With that, he yanks my black t-shirt up with one hand and rips the clear plastic dressing off my stomach with the other.

  Fuck.

  The lighting is so bright in here, and the coloring isn’t finished. Can he see my scars?

  He scrapes his calloused hand along the length of my freshly scabbed tattoo, making me wince. He studies the design, poking and prodding, before letting my t-shirt fall again, apparently satisfied.

  “Nice tatt,” he says, baring his teeth in a vicious smile.

  “Thanks,” I spit back. “If you wanted to see it, all you had to do was ask.”

  “I don’t ask, sugar. I tell. And you know what else I’ve got to tell you?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you’re about to give it to me.”

  He leans close and whispers in my ear. “When you get angry, you lose that little southern drawl you’re putting on, sweetheart.”

  I don’t visibly react, because I already know he is suspicious of me, but inside I turn cold and fill with dread.

  “That Michael boy hadn’t seen your slut face in his lifetime,” he spits. “I’m onto you, darlin’. And once I figure out what you’re playing at, it’s game over for you.”

  I don’t answer. Any argument I put forward is going to sound like defensiveness. I think of ten different comebacks, and every one of them makes me look culpable.

  “You’re crazy,” I say instead.

  He grins and steps back, still observing me closely. “Crazy smart,” he replies. His eyes look funny, and I’m guessing that he is just as high as Dornan was when he was insatiable this morning.

  “That’s enough,” Jase says, pushing his brother aside. This time, Chad lets him, laughing.

  “You like her, baby brother?” he teases. “You wanna fuck her? Because Pop doesn’t share his women with his sons.”

  Jase ignores him, handing me my helmet and guiding me by my hand to his motorbike, which sits in a sea of identical bikes.

  “Check her for weapons!” Chad calls to his brother, laughing like an asshole. “Cavity search the bitch in case she has a knife hiding up there in her lying pussy.”

  I turn my head to glare at him and he grins. I remember that grin. It is the grin of a thousand nightmares. The grin of someone without a soul. The grin of a firstborn son who has been given a virgin to rape as penance for her father’s sins.

  As the oldest brother, Chad had been given the green light to go first. His younger brothers pinned me down, one on each hand and another holding my feet.

  Chad’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning when he approached me, his jeans unzipped and his erection full and tight in his hand.

  “You sure you don’t want to do this, Pop?” he asked Dornan, his eyes full of lust and malevolence.

  Dornan laughed and shook his head, slapping his oldest son on the back. My eyes grew wide as he lowered himself onto me and forced his leg between my thighs, creating a juncture.

  I did the only thing I could think to do. I started to beg. “Please don’t do this,” I begged him. “Chad, please. I’ve never … I’ve never done it before.” Shame at being exposed in front of eight men turned my skin red and I began to cry again.

  Chad grinned that grin, and I started to struggle against the hands that held me down. I bucked and screamed like a wild animal caught in a snare as Chad draped himself over me, a wicked glint in his eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut, unwilling to see what I knew he w
as about to do.

  And then. Pain. Burning, searing pain that never stopped. It felt like I would break in half. I screamed so loud, my throat felt like it would collapse. A hand covered my mouth, muffling my sounds, and I bit down on that soft flesh, choking as I tasted coppery blood spring forth.

  “Bitch!” Chad yelled, punching me in the jaw so hard I felt bone crack. I gargled an unintelligible noise as something soft, some kind of fabric, was stuffed into my mouth to still my screams.

  “Well, I’ll be goddamned,” Chad groaned, as I burned and cried. “Tight little bitch was telling the truth.”

  I tear my gaze away from Chad, a scowl on my face, and watch impatiently as Jase kicks his bike over. It roars to life, the sweet sound of a roaring Harley and the exhaust fumes conjuring a lifetime of happier memories of my father. I focus on those, trying desperately not to slip back into that other memory, determined not to let Chad best me before I’ve even put up a fight. Jase nods his head to the side and I swing my leg over the seat of the bike, shuffling forward and wrapping my arms around his hard midsection.

  The minute my feet are securely braced on the passenger pegs, Jase takes off, and I hold on tighter as he accelerates. He maneuvers the beast of a bike deftly through the stack of other gleaming machines, until we are at the roller door. He fishes a remote out of his pocket and presses a button on it, sending the roller door skywards. Sunlight drowns the artificial light and I squint without my sunglasses.

  My entire body relaxes as we leave the confines of the clubhouse and drive through the open gate, the bike hugging the road as Jase rides with precision and skill. I can