Five Miles (Gypsy Brothers, #3)

by Lili Saint Germain

  Jase smirks, something he’s been doing far too much of lately. Life has beaten him down. I have beaten him down. I haven’t seen a smile from him in a long time.

  “Now you’re modest?” he asks, tossing the clothes onto the bathroom counter. “I picked these up for you last night. I was coming back in to give them to you when you decided to go see your friend.”

  I search his eyes, trying to decipher how much he knows. How much he suspects.

  “Thanks,” I say weakly.

  He takes a step forward, forcing me to back up until my ass hits the cold tiles of the wall behind me.

  “How is Elliot?” he drawls, clearly reveling in torturing me.

  I jump when I hear his name. Oh, God. I don’t answer. What would I say?

  “You’re quiet today, Sammi,” he says, brushing a knuckle against my cheek, still wet from the shower. “Run out of lies to tell me?”

  I shiver, swallowing thickly. In this moment, he reminds me of Dornan, and it is almost too much to bear.

  “Is he your boyfriend? Your dealer? What?”

  I still don’t answer.

  “Is that why you went there? You’re sleeping with him?”

  I shake my head.

  “No. But you have. I can tell.”

  I don’t bother to respond to that. I jump as he slams his hands against the wall on either side of me, effectively trapping me, caged within his arms.

  “Sammi!” he yells, making me wince. “Is that even your real name?”

  “Yes,” I say weakly.

  “Look at me,” he commands. I meet his gaze reluctantly, a fat tear rolling from my eye and landing on my cheek.

  “Jase?” I say quietly.

  “Yes, Samantha?”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “Huh,” he says bitterly. “My dad stabs you in the leg and leaves you to bleed to death. My brother tries to get into your pants while you’re overdosing on bad coke, and you’re afraid of me?”

  I stare up at him, thankful that my tears have stopped. I’m cold, standing here with nothing on but a damp towel pressed to my chest and cold tiles at my back.

  He breaks the stare first, turning abruptly and heading toward the door. “Get dressed,” he says, jabbing a finger at the pile of clothes on the counter.

  ***

  An hour later, I’m sitting on a chair on the roof of the clubhouse, sun beating down on my already aching head. I glance down at the outfit Jase chose for me—a pink shirt with ruffles down the front, and a plain black skirt. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the shirt is a pajama top. They might look haphazard and randomly chosen, but the more I look at the two girls sitting next to me, the more I’m sure he’s chosen this outfit of mine entirely on purpose. It makes me look young, innocent and casual, in stark contrast to Betty and Veronica, with their harsh makeup, overdone eyeliner, teeny tiny shirts and tight black pants.

  Betty and Veronica—the girls from Maxi’s party whose names I can’t remember —look a mixture of terrified and defiant, pinned to their chairs by Jazz and Donny, who stand guard behind us all. Dornan is at the edge of the roof looking out to the Venice coastline, gun tucked in the back of his jeans in full sight. He’s been like that for a full fifteen minutes now, and I know he’s doing it on purpose. Making us afraid. Seeing who’ll break first.

  It’s at this point that I realize Jase was probably never ordered to take me to his place before coming here. They’ve been waiting for me to arrive, and the way the girls are looking forlorn and sweaty tells me that they’ve been here a lot longer than fifteen minutes. I wonder if anyone’s reported them missing yet.

  Or if they’re like me, with nobody to miss them at all.

  I try to stand, thinking that if I offer Dornan some sort of consolation, it would be the right thing to do. That’s what a real girlfriend would do, right? But I’m not surprised when a large hand clamps down on my shoulder, slamming me back on my ass.

  “Bitch, did I say you could move?” Jazz asks, standing behind me. I feel something cold pressed against my neck. The barrel of a gun is right under my chin, forcing my head up. I grit my teeth, not moving an inch.

  Jase, who is standing in front of me, glares at his brother but doesn’t say anything. Great.

  Dornan turns, his face a mask of fury and pain. I can’t help it; I suck in a worried breath, my eyes darting between Dornan, Jase, the girls and the bloodstains on the concrete below my feet that no amount of scrubbing could completely remove.

  I don’t want any more blood spilled because of my stupid mistakes, and it’s at this moment that I decide no matter what, these girls are not going to cop the blame for Maxi’s death. Even though I planted the coke in their bags.

  Even though it might mean the end for me.

  Dornan stalks over, his gaze traveling over me, before eyeballing the two girls. Rage is radiating from every pore in his body, and I can only imagine what I’ll be in for afterward, assuming I make it off this roof without a bullet between my eyes.

  He leans against the railing of the building—the same railing Jase and I spent hours hanging over talking while we watched the water below—and drags a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket.

  Huh. A small squeeze of satisfaction grips me as I realize he’s taken up smoking again. He quit when I was a small girl, at least twelve years ago.

  Sucker.

  He lights up, taking a long drag of the cigarette before stepping forward and blowing it in the brunette’s face. She coughs, turning her head away and batting at the smoke cloud in front of her.

  Scared as I am, I am hyper-aware of everything around me. The hand digging into my shoulder; the way Dornan is so full of rage—he almost shimmers in the stark sunlight—miniature tremors all over his body. A vein is bulging in his neck, beating furiously, and I fight the urge to try and run.

  Show no weakness.

  “Recovered your memory yet?” Dornan asks her, his voice low and menacing. She chokes out a stilted little sob and shakes her head, no.

  He chuckles, but there is no humor behind the noise. Moving across to the next girl, he takes the cigarette from his mouth and presses the lit end down onto the bare skin on top of her knee. She jumps, crying out, and tries to shuffle her chair backward, only for a set of burly arms to push her back down.

  I glance up at Donny, getting a smug glare complete with curled upper lip in response.

  “How about you, blondie?” Dornan growls. “Where’d you get the coke that killed my fucking son? Huh?”

  She doesn’t respond, just does this sobbing thing that makes Dornan’s face turn red.

  “Who fucking killed my son!?” he roars, loud enough to hurt my ears and rattle my chest. He shakes the girl for good measure, his grip on her shoulders looking both painful and familiar.

  She starts to cry. “I don’t know,” she says, pointing at me. “She gave me a pill and I don’t remember anything else.”

  Great. Every pair of eyes on the roof swivels to me, the grip on my shoulder tight enough that I feel like my shoulder blade is going to snap in half.

  “Sammi?” Dornan questions gruffly. “Did you give this broad a pill?”

  I nod my head, putting on my best doe eyes. “Maxi had a whole bag full of them. Didn’t you find the rest?”

  Dornan tilts his head to the side, his eyes bloodshot and wild. “No,” he breathes. “We found a bunch of bad coke in their bags,” he points to the girls who are cowering on their seats, “and if they don’t tell me where they got it soon,” he looks at each of them with dramatic pause, “then I’m going to get my shotgun and shoot their fucking heads off.”

  “It was Maxi’s coke,” I cut in. Dornan whips his head back to me and the girls both look relieved.

  “Why the fuck would my son have had coke from another supplier? We deal directly with one person, and our shipments have always been clean.”

  I shrug. “I think he had a problem. I think he was having it a lot. He was always so wire
d, wasn’t he?”

  Dornan huffs, looking to Jase and the other brothers.

  “Boys?”

  Donny squeezes my shoulder almost to breaking point, causing me to double over from the pain. “He didn’t have a problem,” he scoffs.

  Dornan withdraws the gun from his belt and holds the barrel to my forehead.

  “He told me who he got it from,” I say desperately.

  Dornan shrugs as if to say, yes? Who? He leans closer and I speak loud enough so that only he can hear me.

  “He said, Ricardo gave it to him as a sample. Said if it was really good he was going to get you on board and change your mainland supplier.”

  Recognition sparks in his eyes, and something else, something dangerous. Even though I know it’s a physical impossibility, I swear I see orange flames glisten in his pupils before returning to black.

  “Horseshit,” Jazz says loudly behind me. I jump. Although I whispered, he’s obviously close enough to hear me.

  “He’d never do business with the Colombians.” Jazz sneers. “He knows the history.”

  “That’s all he said,” I hiss, watching Dornan closely. “I swear.”

  Dornan removes the gun from my temple and bounces it against his leg, biting his lip. I steal a glance at Jase, who has relaxed visibly since the gun was removed from my head. If I weren’t being eyeballed by a bunch of asshole bikers, I’d smile right now.

  “Shoot them both,” he says, pointing to the girls dismissively.

  “Wait!” Jase holds his hand out, tugging his father to the side and murmuring animatedly. Jazz and Donny wait patiently, their own guns aimed at the girls as they cry and cover their heads with their hands.

  Because that’ll stop a bullet.

  Dornan and Jase talk a few moments more, before Dornan returns to us. “Cut them loose,” he says, gesturing to the two girls.

  “What?” Jazz roars.

  “You heard me,” Dornan replies, his voice deathly calm. Too calm.

  “Cut those two loose. Now.”

  Donny scoffs, but shoves his gun in his pocket and grabs each girl by an arm, dragging them to their feet. As they hurry past Dornan, he clears his throat deliberately, making Donny jerk the two girls to a stop.

  “Please don’t shoot us,” the blonde whimpers, hanging her head.

  Dornan places his hands on either side of her head, forcing it up so she meets his terrifying gaze.

  “You tell anyone you were here, I’ll find you and gut you like a fucking fish, you hear me?”

  She nods frantically, her long blonde hair falling in her eyes.

  “I didn’t hear you?” Dornan says, threading his fingers through her hair and pulling.

  “Yes,” the girl gasps. “I promise, we won’t say a word.”

  He looks at the brunette expectantly, eyebrows raised.

  “We’ll never tell,” she nods quickly. “I swear on our lives.”

  He smiles and puts his cigarette back between his teeth. Jerking his thumb towards the door, he addresses Jazz and Donny.

  “Throw them outside the gate. I don’t need anyone else digging through my fucking clubhouse.”

  The brothers push the girls toward the door and then down the flight of stairs, where they quickly disappear.

  Leaving me, Dornan and Jase on the rooftop.

  Delightful.

  Dornan turns his gaze toward me. “Ricardo, huh?” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.

  I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

  He rubs his free hand on his chin, in deep thought.

  “And Jase, you think the Colombians have something to do with the meth that killed Chad?”

  Jase looks pissed. “You’re talking about this in front of her?”

  He shrugs, dropping his finished cigarette to the ground and smooshing it into the concrete with the heel of his boot.

  “Sammi knows what happens to girls who don’t behave,” he says darkly.

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat, wondering if I’m allowed to get up yet.

  “What happens to girls who don’t behave?” Jase asks his father, his eyes never leaving mine.

  Dornan just laughs.

  “Come on, son,” he says, slapping Jase’s cheek. “You know exactly what happens to girls who don’t behave.”

  Jase’s jaw flexes, his fists squeezed so tight I can see his knuckles turning white.

  The girls are turfed unceremoniously out the front of the gate and I am ushered (okay, dragged) down the stairs and up the hallway by Dornan. It’s not clear if my own interrogation is over or is just moving locations, but at least the girls are out of the club and can run far, far away.

  He practically throws me into his bedroom, following close behind me. He slams the door shut as I stumble on my feet, trying not to fall flat on my face.

  “What the fuck happened last night?” he asks. “If I find out you had anything to do with Maxi…” he pauses, as the next word is reluctant to form on his lips.

  “Dying,” he finally manages, “I’ll peel your flesh from your fucking bones while you watch.”

  I squeeze out a tear for his benefit. “I promise you, I had nothing to do with it. Maxi was snorting so much, and even when his nose started bleeding he wouldn’t stop.”

  Dornan growls. “Why didn’t you come and get me?”

  I look at the floor. Good question, asshole.

  “He wouldn’t let me leave,” I reply. “I was scared. I didn’t want to make him angry.”

  He leans over me on the bed, his large frame overshadowing mine. I push away memories of being pinned beneath him as I screamed six years ago, but the fear is still a real and living thing within me that makes me tremble under his weight.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” I plead, making my eyes as wide as they’ll go. He lets out a low growl as one hot hand wraps around my throat, squeezing with a slow intensity that gets tighter and tighter, until I can’t breathe and I see stars in my vision.

  Something changes in his expression. Maybe it’s the fact that he can see I’m passing out, because he releases his grip on me and straightens, the frustration evident on his face as he paces the small room.

  “Tell me exactly what happened,” he says. “From the moment you got into his room until the moment you came out. And Sammi?”

  His face is terrifying.

  “If you lie to me? Next time I won’t let go. Next time I’ll squeeze until your fucking neck breaks in my hands.”

  I don’t doubt him, and I’m reminded once more of the dangerous game I’m playing here. Like Russian roulette, but with more bullets in the gun, and I’m the girl holding the gun to my head, hoping desperately to hear an empty click each time I pull the trigger instead of my brains splattering on the wall behind me.

  I tell him a story, and it is a story, because none of it is true. Sure, I add in the parts about the pills and the girls passing out, but that’s where my truth ends.

  “Maxi was so angry when they both passed out,” I finish, after talking and talking while he paces and stalks the room. “He wanted me to stay because they wouldn’t wake up. He was yelling and his nose was bleeding and he made me snort the coke!” The words tumble out of my mouth, and I guess he must be buying my performance, because his hands aren’t around my neck again.

  Yet.

  “How does someone make you snort coke?” Dornan asks.

  I gaze into his black eyes as emotions duel within me. Vengeful pride wars with fear inside me.

  “They hold their hand over your mouth and make you inhale through your nose,” I say blankly, remembered sins of myself doing exactly that dancing in my mind.

  “He was so strong,” I add, knowing that I must look weak and tired right now. “Not as strong as you, Dornan. But still too strong for me to stop him.”

  Dornan turns and punches the full-length mirror that hangs on the wall beside the bed, the shattered glass raining down on the floor and making me flinch away.

  “If these Colombian’s a
re really trying to start a war,” he says darkly, “they’ve waited a long fucking time to do it.”

  I look down at the broken pieces of mirror and the blood dripping from his knuckles as I respond to him, “Why would they be starting anything?”

  Dornan stops, runs a hand through his dark hair. He looks terrible. I try to think of what a caring girlfriend—okay, whore—would do in this situation. I don’t want to hug the motherfucker. I can fuck him any way he likes, but I can’t hug him.

  He collapses into the high-backed leather chair in the corner of the room—a damned throne for a King who is rapidly losing control of his kingdom.

  What will endear me to him right now?

  The cigarettes. Yes.

  I spy the packet of cigarettes he’s dumped on the nightstand and reach for it, withdrawing a single cigarette and a black brass lighter with a dragon carved into the front. I light the cigarette between my teeth and take a drag, taking two steps to where he sits, dropping to my knees, my hands on his thighs.

  “Here, baby,” I say, taking the cigarette and placing it between his lips.

  He accepts the smoke, his black eyes watching me with a mixture of what looks like curiosity and thinly veiled rage. I take my shirt off so that I’m only wearing a bra, pressing the cotton shirt to his bleeding knuckle.

  I look up at him through my eyelashes, my other hand on his zipper. I tug it carefully, snaking my hand into his pants, searching for his distraction. A few gentle tugs and he grows hard, his cock bursting forth from his pants. His face gives nothing away, impassive as he continues to draw heavily on his cigarette. I make my hand into a fist and start gliding his cock back and forth, his uncircumcised hood sliding up over to cover the tip and back down with each deliberate stroke.

  I wet my lips and open my mouth wide, teasing the underside of his hardness with a flick of my tongue before taking him into my mouth. He tastes like salt and bitterness, and I have to give myself a mental pep talk to keep from stopping.

  Come on. You can do this. What’s a little blowjob? You’re a killer, baby girl.

  Ugh. Dornan’s nickname for me, in my own mind, in a pep talk I’m giving myself, is just wrong. I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry, but either would be out of place as the loyal club whore, so I suppress them as I suppress my gag reflex, taking him into my throat.