“What’d you find?” he barks, and I hear excited chatter on the other end. The other person seems to have a lot to say, and as I study Jase’s expression, I have the oddest sensation that the voice is talking about me.
His face goes from angry, to concerned, to completely baffled.
“He was?” he asks the person. “Thank you.”
He ends the call and shoves the phone back in his pocket, his eyes alight with something indescribable. Confusion, yes, but there’s something more, a deeply buried sorrow that threatens to burst forth.
In that instant, he suspects the truth. I know it. It’s there, in the way his eyes wander to my covered hip and back to my eyes. I can practically see him doing calculations in his head and seeing the clues stacking up. But at the same time, I know he’s thinking that he’s delusional. That I can’t possibly be her. That she’d never do the things I’ve done. That she and I look nothing alike.
“Jase—” I begin, but he holds his hand up to silence me.
“It’s my turn to speak,” he says gravely, his eyes roaming my body, feverish, panicked, and no matter where he looks, his gaze always comes back to rest on my hip.
I swallow thickly, closing my eyes briefly, because I know what comes next, my soul weighed down by the absolute futility of it all.
Jase opens his mouth to say something but closes it again, like a goldfish that’s accidently been tipped out of its bowl. That stunned, wild look grows more desperate by the moment, and I’m suddenly very sad.
“Before he loved you,” Jase’s voice cracks, “Did he save you?”
My eyes betray me. Me, the girl who doesn’t cry, has tears the size of rivers running down her face. I must look a mess.
“Jason,” I choke.
“Tell me,” he says, his eyes wide and shocked, his hands shaking. “Tell me the truth.”
I can’t. I can’t do this.
“He gave me a tattoo,” I lie, swallowing thickly. “That’s how I met him.”
Jase’s beautiful face twists into a terrifying vestige of pain and despair.
“You’re lying,” he screams, throwing me across the parking lot. I land on the ground with a thud, my head and my ass taking the brunt of the hard concrete. I see stars as he straddles my hips, yanking at my shirt.
“Don’t!” I beg, pushing his hands away. He ignores me, and shuffles down, his eyes so close to my bare skin, and the light under the artificial street lamps so painfully bright, it is as if I am splayed naked in front of him, all of my secrets and lies in full view.
I squeeze my eyes shut and sob as I feel his warm breath on my hip. I cry as he traces those seven ugly lines with his trembling fingers, virtually invisible unless you’re looking for them.
I have no doubt now as to what he sees and what he knows.
I open my eyes as I hear him choke. He rolls off me, leaning back on his hands in a kind of daze. There are tears in his eyes.
“Is it true?” he asks dreamily, and I don’t know if he’s asking me, or the night air that surrounds us.
“I thought you were dead,” he says to me incredulously, and he is suddenly a scared teenage boy again.
I can’t think. I can’t speak. I’m suddenly mute. What am I supposed to say?
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks. “Are you even real?”
I can’t speak, so terrified that if I speak, that once I confirm his suspicions, he will kill me.
“Answer me!” he screams, leaning over and shaking me by my shoulders.
I am so terribly afraid. “Are you going to shoot me?” I ask him softly. “Or are you going to tell your father what I’ve done?”
My soul is resigned to whatever fate he chooses for me. He deserves that much choice, at least.
He looks shocked. “I promise not to kill you if you tell me what you’ve done. What you’re doing here.” He repeats the phrase again that tears at my heart. “Is it really you?” He shakes his head slowly, half-crazed. “I thought you were dead.”
“I killed your brothers,” I finally whisper, half-crazed as it all tumbles out of me. “I poisoned Chad. I held strychnine-laced coke under Maxi’s nose until he overdosed. I planted the bombs that killed the other two.” I suck in a deep breath and start sobbing again. I can’t look at him anymore, so I look up at the sky instead.
He lets go of my shoulders and puts his hands on either side of my face, guiding me up from the position he pressed me down into, flat on my back on the ground.
“Juliette,” he whispers, and the way he says my name, my real name, sets my soul alight.
“I’m not sorry,” I cry stubbornly, meeting his gaze. “After what they did to me… none of them suffered enough.”
His hands on my head grip tighter and I squeeze my eyes shut.
This is it. He is going to snap my neck.
My entire body jerks as I feel a set of lips on my mouth, a fiery kiss that could light up the night sky above us. I can’t help but respond, my body betraying six years of longing and despair in one single moment.
It is better than I ever thought it would be, to be kissing Jason Ross again. His hands move to my hips and jerk me closer, our chests pressed together, our hearts beating rapidly in unison.
And if I said I wanted this moment to be any other way, I’d be lying. Because, it was always going to end like this; in a blaze of glory. He was always going to find out that I am her. That I am alive and in front of him, wreaking my vengeance. I hadn’t counted on it being this soon, but he’s smart, and I underestimated him.
“Christ,” he whispers in between hungry kisses. “Julz. You’re here. You’re here.” His palms are warm as they slide against my bare stomach, my shirt hanging open thanks to him violently ripping it apart only moments ago, touching every exposed part of my flesh. It’s not a sexual act so much as a desperate one; a touch that begs the question Is this real?
Finally, he breaks away and I see that his eyes are shimmering, too.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he growls. “Who do you think I am?”
I pull away slightly, my skin on fire wherever he touches me.
“I think you’re Dornan’s son,” I say sadly. “And you just kissed the girl who’s going to kill him.”
He looks from my eyes, to my mouth, and swoops down again, devouring me with his mouth. I am confused but I don’t fight it. He was so angry just a few minutes ago. Doesn’t he want to kill me for what I’ve done?
His lips leave my mouth and trail hot, wet kisses down my neck. “I’ll stop,” he gasps between kisses. “You say stop and I’ll stop, I swear to you.”
I run my fingers through his short hair, each spike like a thrill to my oversensitive nerves.
“Don’t stop,” I say, tears leaking from my eyes. “Please don’t ever stop.”
I know he’s going to stop kissing me soon, and then he’s going to be angry again, and he’s going to want to know why. But right now, suspended in time, kissing the boy who I lost all those years ago, I can’t help but think that, even if he is going to kill me?
At least we got to do this first.
If you prick us do we not bleed?
If you poison us do we not die?
And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?
- William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice
PROLOGUE
I am afraid.
There, I said it.
Terrified, anxious, strung out, waiting for my lies and my past to come crashing down around me.
The thing that terrifies me the most? It isn’t Dornan owning me, or Jase hating me, or even dying.
No, I am not terrified of death. I came close enough to it once that I know it intimately. Death itself is not what terrifies me.
I am afraid that I’ll never feel alive again.
I used to pray, even though I’m not a religious person. I’d lie on the grass in the backyard beside Elliot in Nebraska, and stare up at the millions of bright stars that I’d never been able
to see through the smog of L.A. It was beautiful, and it was terrifying.
I used to wish on those shimmering stars that one day, I’d be free. That I’d feel alive again. And the most terrifying thing is that in Dornan’s arms, reliving his grief and his loss as I kissed his tears, was the only place I felt truly vindicated.
It’s so terrifying I can barely even talk about it, but that’s my fear.
That, once Dornan is finally dead, I still won’t feel any different.
That I’ll still be the ghost girl who’s dead inside.
Sometimes that fear is almost too much to bear.
ONE
“Juliette. Juliette.”
Jase’s mouth on mine, drowning out my little sobs, forcing quiet my sighs. Kissing me like he wants to devour me.
The way he keeps repeating my name. My real name.
Part of me wants to surrender completely, to melt into his arms and stay there forever, but another part of me, screaming inside my head, needs to know how he found out? How the hell did he figure out who I am?
An image of Dornan flashes into my mind and I momentarily cringe. He’s in a coma, so I’m safe for the moment. But I need to know how Jase discovered my secret, and if anyone else in the club knows.
I have to know if I need to disappear, before someone else makes me vanish … permanently.
Jase’s rough fingers skate along my collarbone, as his lips continue to press against mine, greedy and sweet. I’m crying and he’s crying and it’s like all of my dreams and all of my nightmares have been realized in one messy, beautiful moment.
I’m elated. I’m devastated. But mostly, I am afraid.
With shaking hands I manage to push him back so that we are eye to eye. I’m still crying, and his eyes are shining, too. I’m sitting on the concrete, my legs out in front of me. Jase kneels and straddles me.
That’s when I see it, that first spark of anger light up on his face. I see it seep into his relief, probably even before he knows it’s there. His mouth twitches—his lips are still damp from mine—and his smile slowly fades as we continue to stare at each other.
I knew it would come. I was waiting for it, but seeing it there makes me so incredibly sad.
He stands, offering a hand out to me. I take it, my legs aching as he hauls me back to my feet. My ears are ringing from the bomb blast back at his grandfather’s house and I’m dizzy. I step back, letting go of his hand, and lean on the trunk of his car.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he growls through clenched teeth.
I tear my gaze away from him, looking out to the street beyond the crumbling walls of the hospital parking lot.
“Julz?” he snaps.
I turn my eyes back to him and shrug. “Because you would have made me stop. And I can’t stop until it’s finished.”
“You could die,” he says, his hands balled into fists. “We both could. I thought you were already dead, for Christ’s sake. And you’re here, tempting fate a second time?”
I set my jaw stubbornly. “It’s too late to think about things like that.”
He steps forward, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. “We have to go,” he says. “You need to get away from here before anyone in the club figures out what the hell you’ve done.”
He pulls at my arm but I don’t budge, and that’s when things get really fucking scary.
“No,” I say.
“What?”
“I want to see him,” I say, shrugging his hand away.
He roars in frustration, completely invading my personal space as he presses himself against me, pinning me to the car again. It shouldn’t scare me because this is what I expect. It’s what I deserve — his wrath, his fury — so it shouldn’t scare me, but for some inexplicable reason, it does.
“What is wrong with you?” he hisses. “You want to see him?”
I push at his chest angrily, but he doesn’t budge. If I had heels on, I’d stomp on his foot to get him to back up, but I’m barefoot and covered in a fine film of dust and debris, thanks to Elliot’s bombs in Dornan’s gas tank.
“Back up,” I say. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
He just smirks, continuing to hold me. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he bites out, his eyes ablaze. “You’re still as fucking stubborn as you were the day I met you.”
The day I met you. I can’t let my mind go there right now. I just can’t.
“Get off me or my knee gets real intimate with your dick,” I threaten, taking my fingers and squeezing them around his wrists, digging my fingernails in deep enough to draw blood.
He doesn’t even flinch.
“You don’t want to hurt me,” he says. “I can see it on your face, Juliette. You won’t hurt me to get to him.”
“I don’t want to,” I say, continuing to dig my nails into his flesh. “Doesn’t mean I won’t.”
“Juliette!” he barks. “Quit it! Just get in the goddamn car and give up your little vendetta for two seconds!”
I open my mouth to say no, but before I can, movement catches the corner of my eye. I turn my head to the left, where a sea of cars spread out beside the hospital building, and fight the urge to scream.
There’s a guy standing there, watching us.
A guy wearing a leather cut.
A goddamn Gypsy Brother.
Jase steps back quickly as he notices the guy, his fingers firmly around my forearm. I wince as he squeezes hard, and I sincerely hope that it’s a stronghold designed to protect me rather than to imprison me.
“Juliette?” the guy sneers, coming closer. “John Portland’s Juliette? Bullshit. That dead little whore was a blonde.”
I open my mouth before I can even think about denying it. “It’s called hair dye, motherfucker.”
His mouth curls up into an ugly grimace, and he raises his eyebrows in an amused expression. “Oh yeah. Now I recognize you. John’s little bitch. You look pretty fuckin’ good for a dead girl.”
My father’s name on his mouth is like blasphemy. Bile rises in my throat and my thoughts begin to race as it becomes very clear that I’m no longer in control of this situation.
He knows. He’s going to kill me.
I don’t have a weapon. I don’t even have fucking shoes. My ears are ringing from the blast, and I’m cold and tired and hungry, and this fucker knows.
“Jimmy,” I address my father’s traitorous friend with so much vitriol, I can practically see it floating in the air between us.
His steel-capped boots crunch on the leaf-littered concrete as he approaches us. Jase has eased away from me, and we stand side by side. I sneak a glance at Jase and am surprised to see him eyeing me smugly.
That worries me. Does he know something that I don’t?
Did he know Jimmy was going to be here?
Whose side is he on, anyway?
“Let me guess,” Jimmy says, his footsteps getting closer. “You’ve got something to do with this little disaster. Dirty bombs in fuel tanks, really? That’s a low blow, killing a man when he’s riding.”
I narrow my eyes, inching closer to Jase. “It’s a low blow killing a man for trying to leave.”
Jimmy laughs, a throaty noise that reverberates around the cavernous parking lot.
“That’s not why he was killed,” Jimmy replies, “and we all know it. You take something that doesn’t belong to you, and you pay the price.”
I roll my eyes. “If you’re talking about Mariana—”
“I’m talking about the fucking money,” he spits, only three steps separating us now. “I’m talking about him trying to take Dornan’s son.”
He flicks his gaze over to Jase, a look of distaste evident as he assesses him.
Which is when I act.
I don’t even think. I react to the small window of opportunity I’ve been given. Without tearing my gaze from Jimmy, I wrench my arm free from Jase’s grip and reach my hand into the back of his waistband. I pluck the gun from the space between his warm s
kin and denim jeans, and raise it to Jimmy’s smug face.
The smug look vanishes from his face, only to be replaced by bitter loathing. I smile cruelly, the gun heavy in my steady hand.
“You always were too slow, Jimmy. That’s why they made you low rank, remember?”
Jibing him about his low status in the club despite his years of service works an absolute charm. I can practically see the steam billowing from his ears.
I place my finger on the trigger of the gun. “Reckon you can close your eyes before I blow your head off?” I ask him, a shit-eating grin plastered on my face. Jimmy’s lip curls up, and he opens his mouth to say something when I’m violently slammed against the car by the one person I thought would back me up.
Fuck.
I haven’t been watching Jase, and that’s my foolish mistake. Before my finger can pull the trigger, he tackles me, one arm around my throat in a headlock, the other hand wrenching the gun from my grip. I hold on as long as I can, but my battle is futile. He’s got sixty pounds or more on me, and he’s much stronger than I am. He forces my wrist back painfully and I open my grip with a frustrated cry, my heart ripped into a million shreds as I realize Jase is not on my side.
He’s against me.
I love him. I fucking love him! And he’s got me pinned over the hood of his car, his hard chest locking me in place as I struggle against his grip.
Fuck.
“Stop struggling,” he commands, and I do. Not because I want to obey him. But because I may as well conserve my energy.
All the fight goes out of me and I let myself go limp. Seemingly satisfied, he lets go of me, steps back and shoves the gun back in his waistband, clicking his fingers at Jimmy. I slowly straighten, my back still resting on the car.
“Give me your gun, Jimbo,” he says. “I gotta take this bitch and get rid of her.”
Jimmy looks at Jase incredulously. “You have a gun.”
Jase gives him a withering look. “It’s registered. Yours isn’t.”
Jimmy looks at Jase for a moment, apparently undecided as he hovers his hand over his shoulder holster.
Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series Page 26