Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series

by Lili St. Germain

  But I know Dornan Ross. He is not a man who would ever just lie down and die.

  A sob rises in my throat, and I feel tears in my eyes. I have to know. If he regrets it.

  “How many hours do you think it took?” I ask, tears blurring my vision until I blink them away. “Five? Eight? How many hours did you make them rape me, over and over and over?”

  “The tape cuts off at three hours,” he rasps.

  “How do you know?” I whisper. “Been watching it lately?”

  He flinches. “Maybe.”

  “You killed your own grandchild, Dornan,” I say sadly. “Are you sorry for that?”

  He doesn’t answer, his nostrils flaring as he breathes heavily.

  “Are you sorry,” I whisper, “for what you did to me?”

  They say a man is never more honest than in his hour of death, and now I see that this is true. Dornan’s eyes are red and glassy, and suddenly, he doesn’t look like the evil psychopath who killed my father and destroyed my life. The monster who inexplicably caused me to lose my daughter before she’d even taken her first breath. No, for a split second in time, this creature in front of me is a broken man, a dying man, a man who is burdened down with the weight of his own terrible existence.

  “Yeah,” he says finally. “I am.”

  That acknowledgement, that regret, is something I thought I would never hear. I thought hearing it would make me feel like a weight was lifted from my shoulder somehow. Like a vindication.

  You were innocent, and I was wrong. But it doesn’t make me feel any better. It just makes me feel so fucking sad that any of this ever happened.

  “Then why?” I whisper. “Why did you do that?”

  He’s struggling now. I can almost see the life leaving him, the way his skin has turned the color of ash, gray and sickly.

  He coughs again, more blood spat on the floor beside him. I watch him in horror as I realize that this might be it. We could both die here, on the dirty ground, and it will all have been for nothing. What is the use in him dying if I don’t get to live to see a life without the ever-present reality of Dornan Ross forever lurking in the shadows?

  “Dornan,” I say, and he looks at me. Really looks at me.

  “You were his entire universe,” Dornan says, his words rattling in my chest. “You were everything to him. And Mariana, she was everything to me. She was the one thing in this world that I knew I could count on, and it was all a lie.” He laughs bitterly, maybe at the irony, shaking his head. “He took the one single thing in this world that I cared about, and he destroyed it.”

  “And so you destroyed me,” I murmur.

  He coughs forcefully, a gurgling sound in his chest. As he leans over to spit up fresh blood, I make my move, sliding my hand in front of where Elliot’s face lies, wrapping my hand around the butt of his gun. Jesus, I hope you still have bullets in this, I think to myself.

  “How does it feel to die?” I ask him. I want to know that he suffers. I want to know that he is afraid of death. “To know that nobody will mourn you. Nobody will miss you. There will only be relief when you are gone.”

  He chuckles, the act sending him into a coughing fit that sprays more blood from his mouth and onto his already blood-soaked shirt. “This?” he says. “This isn’t death. This is a paper cut, baby girl.” But his words are hollow, and I can tell he doesn’t mean them. False bravado. I think he knows he’s going to die.

  We look at each other for a very long time, my hands clasped around the butt of Elliot’s gun. Finally. I pull it out without breaking our stare-off, aiming it at Dornan’s face with one hand while I desperately try to stem the flow of blood from my stomach with the other.

  “I loved you once,” I say softly. “You were like a father to me. I would have done anything for you.”

  He coughs again. “Ditto, baby girl.”

  I’m crying. Why am I crying? Why do I care?

  “You killed my daughter,” I say, my voice wavering.

  He gnashes his teeth, his dark eyes blazing. “You.Killed.My.Sons.,” he grinds out.

  “They deserved it,” I whisper. “How does it feel, knowing they died because of something you made them do to me?”

  He doesn’t respond. Perhaps he’s never thought of it like that before. Either way, it’s time.

  “You’re going to die now, Dornan.”

  I’m stalling. Why am I stalling? The feeling of Elliot’s blood on my fingers, thick and syrupy, jolts me back to the present.

  “We all die,” Dornan says, speaking with difficulty.

  I see movement in the corner of my eye and follow it. My heart sinks as I see Tommy standing in the doorway, his gun drawn, wearing a DEA bulletproof vest. He looks at the gun in my hand, and follows its aim to Dornan, who can barely hold his gun, he’s so completely fucked.

  Dornan smirks, coughing. “Well, look what the fuckin’ cat dragged in. My rat.”

  Tommy looks from Dornan to me. He’s going to jail for the rest of his life, I hear in my head, and I beg Tommy silently. Just go, just go.

  He stares at me for a long moment, something passing between us. “You got about fifteen seconds. Make it count,” he hisses under his breath.

  “Clear!” he yells, closing the door and leaving us to finish what we started. Thank Christ for small favors. He’ll probably lose his job for that stunt, but I can’t worry about that now. I’ve got a mission to complete.

  I know I’m almost out of time at this point, that Tommy or other agents could reappear at any time and save Dornan’s sorry ass, but I can’t shoot him yet. I’m not finished. I lower the gun momentarily. “You killed Dad because Mariana fell in love with him. Weren’t you the one who told me when I was a little girl, if you love something, set it free? You didn’t have to do that to me. You didn’t have to kill them. You could’ve been a good man, Dornan, if you’d just let them leave.”

  Something flashes in his eyes, and he leans forward, opening his mouth as if he’s about to say something.

  I don’t give him the chance. I pull the trigger, the gun blast deafening, the kick reverberating painfully up my arm. I might be bleeding and on the verge of passing out, but my aim is true — right between the eyes. Dornan slumps back against the wall, blood streaming from his forehead just above his nose. He slowly sags to the side, until he’s lying on the floor, his dark brown eyes still frozen open.

  I can’t move for a second, still looking at his eyes. I wish he’d closed them. I wonder if he’s still dying in there, if he can still see me for a few seconds as his heart and brain fade away to nothing.

  I don’t want to take any chances. I aim again, at his chest this time, and fire off four more rounds, pulling the trigger until I’ve emptied the clip into him.

  Six and a half years after he betrayed me so viciously, we’ve come full circle.

  Dornan Ross is dead.

  But I don’t feel relieved, or happy.

  I feel … nothing.

  EIGHTEEN

  “Elliot,” I whisper.

  He’s cold to the touch, and so pale he looks like a translucent version of himself, superimposed over a background of bright red blood and a dead man who caused us all of this in the first place.

  I can’t lose him. I can’t lose Elliot, not after we’ve finally destroyed Dornan and the last of his deadly legacy.

  “Elliot,” I say softly, tears pricking at my eyes. One hand on my stab wound, I use the other to shake him. He won’t respond. I crawl over to Jase, horrified when I see the way he’s bleeding from his chest. I need to stop the bleeding. I take my CIA jacket off, wincing at the shooting pain in my side that results from my movement, and press it to Jase’s chest, both hands weighing down on the place where Dornan’s bullet ripped into him. He’s so pale, and I don’t think he’s breathing.

  “Jase!” I scream.

  The door bursts open, DEA agents and a pair of paramedics with a stretcher streaming in. Tommy’s looking sheepish as some guy in a suit, I presume
his boss, glares at him. “I thought you said this room was clear?”

  The paramedics move at lightning speed, transferring Elliot onto the stretcher and wheeling him away. I need to go with him. But I need to stay with Jase. I’m so fucking torn right now, I don’t know what I’m doing. And Dornan, fucking Dornan, the source of all this misery, is mocking me from his spot on the ground. He’s dead, but I don’t feel any better off. I just feel cold, and dizzy, and like I need to cry.

  “He shot him,” I say to Tommy, who bends down beside me. “Shit,” he says when he sees the blood on Jase. “We need another paramedic in here!” he calls out the door.

  “We have to save him,” I say. “We have to fucking do something!”

  Tommy’s face falls, and that makes me really fucking angry.

  “Tommy!” I yell. “Help me!”

  “This is bad,” Tommy says, horrified as he presses his fingers against Jase’s throat, searching for a pulse.

  Another male paramedic enters the room with a stretcher and Tommy motions him over. They snap into action, hauling Jase onto the narrow stretcher. Another agent helps the paramedic as they wheel him away. Too fast.

  “I have to go with him!” I protest, trying to stand. The paramedic pushing Jase away glances down at my shirt. “We need another stretcher in here,” he says into the small radio attached to his shoulder. “Priority.”

  “I can walk,” I protest, taking one step before my knees buckle. Tommy catches my arm, steadying me.

  “Let them help you,” he says. “I’ll make sure you ride with Jase, okay?”

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  As the third stretcher is brought in for me, I take one last look at Dornan, just to make sure.

  Yep. Dead. A small ache of relief throbs inside my chest.

  Outside, it’s unbearable. I’d almost convinced myself it was night in the dark confines of the underground tunnels, so being stretchered back out into daylight sucks. I sit up as soon as we’re above surface, much to the annoyance of the paramedic.

  Sure enough, I get to ride with Jase. For a moment, I feel conflicted, my heart demanding that Elliot not be alone, either. But then I see Amy and Kayla in his ambulance as the doors are shut, and I feel stark relief.

  He’s got his girls. He’s not alone.

  I insist on sitting up in the ambulance while the paramedics treat Jase. Luis sits beside me, holding my hand the entire time. We don’t talk. There’s nothing left to say, after he tells me Agent Dunn is alive and her daughter is safe. What else could he say that would make me feel better? I’m watching the man I love die before my eyes. The paramedics want me to lie down so they can treat me, but I push them away. His heart stops beating twice on the way there. I watch on in shock, not willing to entertain the possibility that I might lose the man I love, the man I’ve only just managed to find my way back to after all these years apart. He can’t die.

  I won’t survive without him.

  NINETEEN

  Elliot opens his eyes and groans.

  “Don’t try to move,” I say, placing a hand on his chest. “You were shot.”

  He winces. “Am I dead? Is this heaven?”

  I laugh, despite the seriousness of the situation. I’m running on no sleep and I’m starting to go slightly mad, I think.

  “If you were dead, and I was here, you’d call that hell,” I reply.

  He jolts suddenly. “Kayla!” he says, trying to sit up. Which is really stupid when you’ve got a big ol’ bullet hole in the middle of your stomach.

  “They’re fine, Kayla and Amy are both perfectly fine,” I reply, pressing him back down. He reluctantly drops his head back into his pillow. “Where are they?” he asks.

  “Kayla fell asleep on Amy’s lap, so she decided to try and get some sleep as well. The nurses let them take one of the beds in the staff lounge. They’re fine, El. Kayla’s upset about her daddy being sick, but she’s fine. Amy’s a little beaten up, a couple bruises, but she’s okay.”

  The relief on Elliot’s face makes me relieved. He’s awake. He’s alive. One up, one to go. Now I just need Jase to get through the surgery and wake up and never, ever leave my sight again.

  “Jase?”

  He must see my face fall.

  “Julz,” he says, reaching a hand out.

  “He’s in surgery,” I say thickly. “He got shot. Bullet nicked his heart.”

  “Fuck,” Elliot says. “Dornan shot him, too?”

  I nod. And then, much to my horror, I burst into tears.

  “Oh, Julz,” Elliot says, pulling my face under his chin and stroking my hair. “He’s gonna make it. He is. And you’re finally going to have your life together.”

  His remark stabs deep; we’re finally going to have our life together.

  “El—” I say.

  “I love you, Julz,” Elliot says, and I have to wonder if it’s him talking or the morphine they’re pumping into him for the pain. “I always have. But you two belong together. All those years, I hated him, but he’s the best thing for you. He just looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the entire world, and you deserve that.”

  I smile through my tears. “Thanks, El,” I say.

  His smile fades. “And Dornan?” he asks somberly.

  I nod. “Dead.”

  “Like dead dead?”

  “Like, extremely fucking dead, bullet in the head and the rest of the clip in his chest, dead,” I reply.

  He smiles dreamily. “Thank you.”

  “How’d you know it was me?” I ask.

  Elliot raises his eyebrows. “Oh, come on,” he says. “You gotta have some serious hate for someone to shoot a whole clip into them.”

  I smile sadly, turning when I hear my name.

  It’s Luis.

  “He’s in recovery,” Luis says, his expression unreadable.

  I rush to Jase, running through a maze of hallways. My side hurts, but I don’t care. I have to see him. He’s been taken to a different floor to Elliot, in the ICU.

  When I reach him, I gasp. He’s unrecognizable, tubes and wires all over his bare chest. They’re at complete odds with the tattoos adorning his skin. I reach out a hand tentatively, resting it on his arm. His chest is covered in bandages that are already turning red, his blood seeping up from his skin and soaking the gauze.

  I sit in the chair beside him, leaning over the bed and resting my head on his shoulder. The only noise in here is the steady hiss of the machine breathing for him, and the constant, slow beep of his heart on the monitor. His skin is cold, and I wish I could cover him with a blanket and wrap my arms around him.

  I cling to him, crying into his shoulder, one thought going over and over in my mind.

  Wake up. Wake up. Please, wake up.

  It takes two days, but eventually, Jase hears my prayers.

  He wakes up.

  He lives.

  And finally, I start to feel something again.

  ONE MONTH LATER

  “You gonna watch it?” Tommy asks.

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  I take the tape Tommy found in Dornan’s safe and drop it on top of his grave, crushing it beneath my boot. It cracks in several places, exposing the fragile ribbon of black tape that is imprinted with things so horrific, I cannot bear to look in case I see a captured fragment of that afternoon.

  The afternoon that Dornan Ross and his sons thought they destroyed me.

  But they didn’t destroy me. I’m here, standing on top of the place where Dornan is buried, and they’re all dead, and I can finally get on with my life.

  I crouch down and wriggle my finger into the cracked casing, getting a hold on the ribbon of tape inside and pulling. Reams fall out in haphazard loops, and my stomach lurches nervously.

  This is it. My final moment, my act of retribution coming to an end.

  And I’m so, so ready.

  I reach my hand out as Jase hands me a box of matches. I watch, transfixed, as he douses his father’s gra
ve in petrol before tossing the jerry can beside it.

  I strike a match; it glows bright in the darkness of night, a tiny flame that I toss onto the petrol-soaked tape. It catches instantly, roaring to life as the flames devour everything beneath it.

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  I brush the snow from my daughter’s gravestone, marveling at the weather as I thread a fresh bunch of flowers into the vase attached to her headstone. It’s been weeks of sub-freezing temperatures, and my body isn’t used to the bitter Colorado cold.

  I can feel eyes watching me. They’ve been here for a while, observing me, but I’m not alarmed. I carry a gun with me wherever I go. If anyone were to try something, I’m fully prepared to do what I have to.

  Beside our daughter’s grave, Jase’s mother’s grave needs new flowers as well. I take the old ones out, replacing them with fresh-cut flowers from the market. This week I’ve gone with yellow tulips. They were expensive, but I don’t care.

  I turn and see my secret admirer duck behind a tree. Emboldened, I stand, making my way right over to the person who thinks I’m too ignorant to notice they’ve been following me all morning.

  I round the corner, shocking my follower.

  “Agent Dunn,” I say, smiling warmly. “How are you?”

  She looks around. “I — uh …”

  “You’ve been following me all morning,” I say. “Was there something you were looking for? If you’re here to kill me, you should probably be more discreet about being here in the first place.”

  “I’m not here to kill you,” she replies, shocked.

  “Good,” I say. “That must mean you’re here for answers. Answers, I can give you.”

  At home — our home, the place Jase’s mother raised him — I make a pot of tea for Agent Dunn, leaving her to add her sugar and milk as I excuse myself for a moment. I go to the bedroom and open the safe, pulling from it a box of horrors so tragic, I can hardly bear to keep them instead of burn them.

  But I was waiting for this exact moment with her, and so I have held onto them, stark remnants of my past.

  I take my box of horrors to the kitchen and place it down between us, noticing she hasn’t touched her tea. I take the tea from her and sip it myself. “It’s not poisoned,” I say to her. “Happy?”