And the thoughts that occupy my mind are intriguing indeed.
My thoughts wander towards the night I was here last. The last time Dornan fucked me as Sammi. Afterward, I’d been bleeding. At the time, I’d assumed it was his rough treatment of me, but it soon became apparent that my period had started. I’d spent the first few days at Jase’s apartment with the most wicked cramps.
And then, the week after, we had made love.
Unprotected.
At least twice.
And I’d stopped taking my contraceptive pills the day I blasted those bombs and blew the front of this fucking room to smithereens.
And after that? I’d been down here at least a month before Dornan raped me.
Yet I started throwing up before he raped me.
My mind struggles to do the math, to believe that this might actually be real, that I’m not just making shit up in a state of delusion, but as I analyze everything, the dates and the circumstances and everything and I come to one shocking, stunning conclusion that could change everything.
This baby inside me isn’t Dornan’s.
It’s Jase’s.
My mind still reeling from the realization that I’m probably carrying Jase’s baby, I barely even hear the pops of gunfire that start in the background of my death metal marathon. In fact, I don’t notice them at all until the glass in one of the French doors splinters, a neat hole in it thanks to the stray bullet that’s just lodged itself in the wall above me.
I gasp as bits of plaster from the wall rain down on my face and chest like snow. Someone is shooting at the house.
My concern turns to excitement as I repeat that thought inside my head.
Someone is shooting at the house.
The prospect’s final words come back to me, then. It’ll all be over soon. Is this what he meant? I struggle against my restraints, but all I succeed in doing is making them tighter. By some small mercy, though, one of the ear buds dislodges from my ear.
Awesome. I can hear gunshots in one ear and the unintelligible screaming of death metal in the other. I’m not sure which one is worse.
The Prospect flings the door open and marches in, avoiding eye contact as he undoes my hands. I squeeze my hands to get the blood flowing as he hauls me to my feet. “What’s happening?” I ask sharply, eyeing the bullet hole in the window with alarm. Another bullet whizzes past my head and hits the wall just as he pulls me toward the door, and I shriek. That one was way too close for comfort.
“We’re being shot at. Until it’s safe, you have to go back downstairs.”
He pulls me into the hallway and wrenches the door shut behind us, glancing furtively up and down the long corridor.
“Come on.”
I plant my feet, unwilling to move until he tells me what’s going on. “Who’s shooting?” I demand. “And where are you taking me? If you think I’m going back to that fucking room—”
“That’s exactly where you’re going,” a voice says behind me. I jolt, turning around to see my lover standing there, but he’s not that man at the moment. He’s somebody else right now.
“Jase?” I say breathlessly.
He looks like the grim reaper, dressed entirely in black and holding an assault rifle in his hand, his expression tight and focused.
At this point, I don’t know if he’s here to save my life, or take my life.
“Walk,” he says, pushing me with the tip of his rifle.
“You won’t shoot me,” I say, instantly regretting my choice of words.
“I will if he doesn’t,” The Prospect says, leveling his own handgun at me. “Boss says we gotta keep you safe. So hurry the fuck up and move!”
Fuck. I start walking, my own heartbeat thumping wildly in my ears. I want to turn and scream at Jase—I’m so fucking confused—but the gunfire all around us is only getting louder and more frequent, and I seem to have lost the ability to think for myself. The startling realization I had while bound and stuck listening to the death metal comes back to kick me in the guts, literally. I gasp as I feel something push against my thin skin from the inside.
Holy shit. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that was the baby kicking. Isn’t it too soon for that?
A few minutes later, we’re back in that dank little dungeon. I stop in the doorway, staring painfully at the bare bed where Dornan tied me down and raped me. Where he excised my flesh. Where he marked me and shot me full of drugs and tried to destroy me.
I think of the poor baby who was in my womb that entire time, and I wonder how anything could possibly survive such a prolonged onslaught.
Still. I’m here. I’m not dead yet.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask the guys as I’m pushed into the room. They ignore me, The Prospect nodding at Jase before leaving the room.
“Where is he going?” I ask Jase worriedly. “Jason, what the hell is happening?”
He strides over to me, his cheeks flushed, his presence overpowering. “Listen to me,” he says desperately. “If anyone comes in here, you’re scared of me. Terrified. Do you understand?”
I nod. It’s true. I am scared of him.
Jase looks around the room, as if only now realizing where he is. “Jesus,” he chokes. “This is where you’ve been this entire time?”
I can’t help myself. I’m a bitch and I shouldn’t say it, but I do.
“Why didn’t you come and save me?” I ask brokenly.
Jase grabs my arms and shakes me. “You ran away!” he says, his eyes wild and glassy. “I didn’t even know he had you. And then Elliot called me—”
“Elliot called you?” I interrupt. “Elliot’s here?” Oh Jesus, this is getting worse by the second. “Jason, what the hell is going on?”
Jase motions for me to stay put, stepping out into the hallway and glancing around before coming back to join me, where I stay rooted to the spot. I’m so confused right now, and if Jase isn’t here to help me, he’d better just shoot me in the face right here and now.
“Listen to me,” Jase says quietly, looking at the doorway over his shoulder. “Three years, I was in here. In this goddamn room. After I watched your father die…after he died in my arms…they brought me down here. Shut the door. And left me. I tried to wipe away his blood, but it dried on my skin. Seeped into my pores, until finally, it was like it became a part of me. He became a part of me.”
“You’re not the only one who wanted revenge, sweet girl. I thirsted for it the way a dying man in the desert thirsts for water. I wanted it so badly. I fought. I resisted. I fucking raged. But three years may as well be three hundred. May as well be forever.”
I think of the three months I spent in this room, and how I might die here, tonight.
I don’t want to die.
I’ve never wanted to live more than I do right now.
“I don’t know how you survived,” I whisper, my heart breaking.
He smiles sadly. “I thought of you. And how much I loved you. And how, when I finally got out, I was going to kill every last fucking Gypsy Brother for what they did to us.”
I inhale sharply. “So what happened?”
He shrugs. “I made them believe I was brainwashed. That I was one of them. I got the tattoos, I rode the bike, I—” he hesitates painfully, “—killed enough people to prove myself worthy to them.”
I glance at the door worriedly as more gunshots ring out, closer this time.
“If you knew what I’d done—” he says brokenly.
“Stop,” I say. “I killed four of your brothers. I know what it means to have to kill somebody. But I’m confused. You say you were out for three years, Jase. Why not kill them? Why take your place as Dornan’s son?”
He grits his teeth. “I almost killed them all, once. But then I met a man who offered to help me give them something worse than death.”
My eyebrows shoot up in anticipation and disbelief.
“Julz,” he says. “I’m working with the DEA. And can I just say; they’re pretty
fucking pissed that a girl came in and started killing off Gypsy Brothers and ruining their massive case.”
I swallow thickly. Of course. I knew there had to be a reason why he was so eager to stay with the club after everything that happened. Relief spreads through my limbs, joining the panic and fear that already resides there.
“Jason!” I hear a voice roar, far away that we might still have a few moments together.
“Jesus,” Jase says. “Julz, I promise, we’re getting out of here tonight. But first, I have to make Dornan believe I’m on his side. I have to hurt you. Do you understand?”
I nod excitedly.
He draws his fist back and holds it there. “Fuck,” he mutters, letting his hand drop. “I can’t hurt you!” His eyes dip to my mouth, and before I know it, his lips are on mine, a fleeting, fiery kiss that sets my heart alight.
He pulls away reluctantly as Dornan’s voice booms at the other end of the hallway.
“He’s coming,” I whisper desperately. “He’ll kill us both if you don’t punch me.” I grit my teeth. “Do it.” He hesitates. “If you love me, fucking do it!” I hiss, slapping him across the face. That’s enough encouragement for him.
Hope and fear spike in my chest as his fist connects with my face and I feel blood gush from my nose.
I hit the wall behind me and slide down to the floor, lying on my side. There’s blood in my mouth and nose, sweet and cloying. I roll onto my back, choking as blood slides down the back of my throat.
“Jase?” I whisper, feeling wet blood on my lips.
He turns back to me heartbreak and rage written on his face. He raises his eyebrows in question.
I’m selfish, I know. So fucking selfish as I tell him the news that will probably distract him enough to get him killed. But if we do die, I want him to at least know what was what. That I was his. That he was loved.
I cough on more of my blood as I try to speak. “The baby,” I choke, through the haze of blood and gunshots and utter fucking despair. “It’s yours.”
His eyes widen and he freezes for a second. I think I see his eyes turn watery, when suddenly there are footsteps behind him. He swipes at his red eyes, storming back into the room. He drags me up by my throat, and my cry is more of a pained gurgle.
Dornan stands in the doorway, his eyes alight with worry and anger. “Jason!” he yells.
Jase’s eyes are so sad, I think my heart is going to break into two pieces right here and now. It hurts so much.
“Let go!” I beg, struggling against his death grip on my neck. He fumbles with something in his pocket, producing a knotted-up rag in one hand. The look on his face is absolutely fucking terrifying.
I think that maybe I’ve been wrong about him, now, as he stuffs the rag in my mouth.
“Shut up, bitch!” he yells, delivering one final hit to the side of my head. My head rings as I slump to the ground and he laughs.
“Sweet dreams, you fucking whore,” he spits, nudging me with his boot.
The door slams, the gunshots become slightly muted thanks to the thick door, and I hear Dornan and Jase’s footsteps retreat down the hallway as I try to stop my sobs. I feign unconsciousness, lying there awkwardly until my bones scream and my muscles begin to quiver in pain. When I finally think there’s nobody close by, I sit up slowly. I’m bruised and sore, but thankfully nothing seems broken.
I dry retch as the piece of rag stuffed into my mouth brushes against the back of my throat. I pull the rag out of my mouth, coughing in the process, and it’s then that I feel something small and hard amongst the cloth.
I squeeze my fingers around the hand spot, my heart hardly believing that this is what I suspect it is. I stare at the door, listening again for any noise, as I tear at the rag, trying to locate what’s amongst it. Finally, I unearth a small piece of metal, but it’s so much more than that.
I burst into tears. It’s a key.
It’s my salvation.
A few seconds later, I’m inching my way down the dimly lit hallway as gunfire continues upstairs. I get all the way to the end of the hallway before I realize I have no idea where I’m going. I know the way back upstairs, but that’s precisely where the shooting is happening, so I want to avoid the main part of the house. Instead of going up the stairs, I continue along the hallway until I reach the end. There’s a doorway, faint sunlight streaming through and hitting the hallway floor, and I figure if nothing else, it’s a step closer to being outside. I can hide once I’m out there and wait for a ceasefire - or until everyone’s killed each other.
God, I hope Jase is all right.
I peer around the corner, seeing nothing untoward in what looks to be a dry food store, and I creep in, making my way around sacks of rice and canned fruit stacked halfway to the ceiling. I look up, seeing that the light was coming from a window set high in the wall, and I groan inwardly. It’s fucking high, and probably locked. I keep it in mind as an alternative while I forge forward, leaving the food store and turning another corner into what appears to be a large wine cellar.
I hear the click before I even see him. I jump slightly as cold metal presses against the back of my neck.
“How the fuck’d you get out here?” Dornan asks gruffly, as he grabs me in a chokehold, pulling me close to him so my back is pressed firm against his chest.
“Picked the fucking lock,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Well,” he says, dragging me to the side. “Aren’t you industrious?”
I dig my fingernails into his thick arm, but he doesn’t even flinch. Shit fuck! Freedom is so close, I can taste it on my tongue, and now he’s got a goddamn gun to my head.
I’m so fucking dumb. I should have gone upstairs.
He continues dragging me, and I gasp as a crapload of guns are leveled at both of us. It’s unnerving having so much gunfire aimed at me, even if some of them are trying to get through me to shoot Dornan.
My eyes widen as I look at the players in this Mexican standoff. There’s Emilio, with a gun in each hand, both pointed at Elliot. The Prospect has one gun leveled at Elliot, the other at me. Elliot’s locked onto Dornan’s head, the red laser target from his impressive-looking gun right between Dornan’s eyes. And Jase is aimed at Elliot, though he looks pretty fucking calm.
Until he sees me.
His face falls as he sees Dornan using my body as a shield.
Dornan chuckles at the assortment of men with their weapons aimed, nobody daring to make the first move and set off a round of deadly dominoes. Shoot and be shot. And nobody’s in the position to shoot enough bullets to wipe everyone out before they turn on him.
Fascinating. Terrifying.
“Let her go,” Elliot says, his gun trained on Dornan. Dornan laughs. “I’ll shoot her before you can pull your trigger, boy,” he responds gruffly, keeping himself shielded with my body. Elliot’s struggling to keep aim on him; I can tell by the way they are both shifting continuously. I’m still trying not to throw up at the reality of so many guns in one room, especially the one digging into my temple.
In front of me, before I can even comprehend what’s going on, The Prospect shoots Emilio dead between the eyes. What the fuck? The noise is as deafening as it is unexpected - as in, very. I gasp as blood and bits of Emilio’s brain explode out the back of his head, hitting the wall behind him with a meaty splat as he topples to the ground, lifeless.
Dornan tenses behind me, choking me harder so that I can hardly breathe. “You little fuckin’ traitor,” he says through clenched teeth. “Jase, shoot him for me.”
Jase points his gun at The Prospect, who’s got his gun pointed at Dornan’s head. I’m struggling to catch up, struggling to breathe, and struggling to understand who the fuck is on whose team. Jase continues to aim at The Prospect as he backs over to where we stand, taking up position next to his father.
I’m so fucking confused right now.
It gets cleared up real quick with what happens next, though.
In the blink o
f an eye, Jase turns sharply to face his father, his gun now pressed firmly against Dornan’s head. “Let her go,” Jase says to his father, and I feel Dornan tighten his grip on me.
“Get your fuckin’ gun away from my head,” Dornan spits.
Jase doesn’t budge, but he doesn’t have the power position for long.
“Little brother.” A voice sounds from behind Jase. Who the fuck else is in here? I hear another gun being cocked and suddenly, Jase isn’t looking so smug. From where I’m standing—or rather, being held at gunpoint—I can’t see who’s behind Jase, only that there’s a snub-nosed revolver pointed at the back of his head. I can’t keep track of the players in this massive Mexican stand-off. It would almost be laughable, if we weren’t all one move away from being shot ourselves.
“Mickey,” Jase says reluctantly. “You shoulda stayed out of this, man.”
“Protecting the bitch who killed our brothers? What the fuck does that make you?” the voice behind Jase asks. Mickey, who, like Donny, refused to die in the blast that ripped through their motorcycles. I still don’t understand how they survived the explosion that should have wiped them all out.
“It makes him a fuckin’ traitor,” Dornan says angrily. He digs his gun deeper into my temple, almost enough to break the fragile skin there. Ow.
I glance at Elliot, who everyone seems to have forgotten, and notice he has a target on Dornan’s head. He raises his eyebrows slightly at me then looks at the floor for a deliberate second.
I think he’s asking me to duck. But I don’t know when. I see him change his aim slightly, without making it obvious, and as he winks at me, two things happen. Firstly, an explosion impossibly close to my ear, as Elliot shoots the gun right out of Dornan’s hand. Dornan is flung back dramatically, and before he can take me with him, I drop to my knees, crawling out of the way. In the perhaps two seconds that have elapsed since Elliot shot Dornan in the hand, he’s shifted his aim to Mickey and pulled his trigger a second time, sending the guy backward, spraying his blood all over Jase. Dornan’s howling. His hand is useless and mangled, and his gun on the floor. He snatches it up before Elliot can get off another clean round, aiming right back at him.
Three Years Page 9
