Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series

by Lili St. Germain

  “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 of 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 standoff. 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.

  I crawl toward Elliot, who’s closer than Jase and not blocked by Dornan. I try not to put my hands in Emilio’s blood, but it’s almost impossible to avoid; the stuff is spreading over the floor so quickly. Gross.

  “Pop,” Jase says, his gun still leveled at his father. “Drop the gun. It’s over.”

  Dornan addresses his youngest son with barely controlled rage. “I don’t think so,” Dornan says. “I’ll shoot this fucker before you can get a round off, I guarantee you.”

  “Don’t shoot him!” I cry at Dornan, referring to Elliot. Dornan shifts his aim to me in the blink of an eye, and suddenly I’m on my knees, my hands covered in Emilio’s sticky blood, with a gun trained on me. Great. And here I was, thinking I was almost free.

  “You won’t shoot me,” I say, glaring at Dornan. “I’ve got something you want.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “You just try and fuckin’ run, and see how fast I blow your brains out, baby girl.”

  I swallow thickly, believing him. It doesn’t matter that he thinks I’m having his baby. He’ll shoot me point-blank without another thought.

  Dornan shakes his head, as if something hilarious has just occurred to him. “You know,” he says to Jase, “I’m surprised she took you back after you told her about how her daddy really bit the big one.”

  Jase shifts uncomfortably on his feet, his aim still locked on Dornan. “Shut up, old man, before I end you.”

  Something about the way Jase is reacting worries me. “What’s he talking about?” I ask Jase. He glares at his father in response. “Nothing. He’s just fucking with your head.”

  “Juliette,” Dornan asks in mock sympathy, “would you like to know who really killed your daddy?”

  My blood runs cold as I look from father to son, perplexed.

  “I already know who killed him, you asshole. You shot him in the head, and then you made everyone believe it was him who killed Mariana. I know it was you who killed both of them.”

  Dornan laughs, his gun still pointed at my head. “It’s true, I killed that bitch, and she fuckin’ deserved it, too. I’ve never lied to you, Juliette. Believe me when I say, I didn’t kill your father.”

  Jase’s eyes dart between his father and me, Elliot shifting minutely beside me.

  “Tell her, son. Tell her what you did.”

  Stunned, I stare at Jase, waiting for him to deny it.

  But he doesn’t.

  “Tell me he’s lying,” I say to Jase. “Tell me he’s lying and fucking shoot him.”

  He doesn’t tell me anything. He just stares at his father, sweat and rage pouring from him.

  “Say something!” I implore Jase. He looks at me with broken eyes, eyes that have seen the darkest depths of hell and lived to recount the tale.

  “It’s not what you think,” Jase finally manages. His attention diverted to me, Dornan chooses that exact moment to let off a round toward Elliot. I scream, hitting the dirt as Jase tackles Dornan in a flurry of punches and a struggle for Dornan’s gun. Two more shots ring out, and then someone is lifting under my arms, dragging me away. I don’t struggle—I’d know Elliot’s embrace anywhere, and I sag into him as we run for the door, making tracks as fast as we can. We get to a van a short way down the driveway and he pushes me into the passenger seat, starting the engine and burning rubber as he drives straight through the padlocked front gates, sending wrought iron and chains flying.

  I’m covered in blood, but none of it seems to be mine. I focus on Elliot, and gasp when I see blood pouring from his shoulder.

  “Jesus, Elliot. You’re been shot.”

  He gestures to a towel on the floor, and I grab it, applying pressure to his wound.

  “It’s a flesh wound,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

  I stare out of the back window of the van as we pass trees and buildings in a rapid blur. He’s definitely going above the limit.

  “We just left them there,” I say, suddenly horrified.

  Elliot gives me a tight glance before looking back at the road. “They’ll get out,” he says. “Or they’ll get shot. You’re my problem. They’re not.”

  My heart sinks as I imagine Jase and Dornan trapped in gun battle. I can imagine only one of them will end up coming out of it alive.

  Elliot’s cellphone rings, and he grabs it off the dash, hitting answer.

  “Yeah?”

  Unintelligible yelling comes through the other end, and Elliot ends the call just as quickly, throwing the phone back on the dash.

  “They got out,” he says blankly “Jason and Luis. Though, given that last piece of news, I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

  Luis. That’s The Prospect’s name. Relieved and sickened, I continue applying pressure to Elliot’s wound as I watch his blood seep right through the material and onto my palm.

  “You saved me,” I say in wonderment, as I watch his red blood swiftly devour the white towel.

  He flashes me a wicked smile, topped off with a wink. “Just call me Superman, sweetheart.”

  NINETEEN

  Thirty minutes and an endless stream of backstreets later, we’re at the San Diego port. Why, I have no idea.

  Before I’ve even taken my seatbelt off, Elliot is out of the car and in the back of the van, a black duffel bag in his hands.

  He comes around to my side, helping me out, looking me over uneasily. I don’t react. I know I look like shit. I’m still wearing the white dress Dornan gave me, now stained with Elliot and Emilio’s blood. Elliot hasn’t even seen my stomach yet, the awful mess where Dornan cut away the tattoo he inked.

  “Come on,” Elliot says, tugging my hand. I’m confused, until my eyes fall upon the yacht parked up next to the jetty. “We’re sailing?”

  He nods. “Too risky flying. And we can’t exactly drive across the border when Emilio fucking owns it.”

  “Emilio’s dead,” I say blankly.

  “Yeah, but Dornan’s not,” Elliot says, clearly peeved. “I fucking knew Jase had—”

  “Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t talk about them, please, El.” He killed my father? It’s too much to
comprehend. I just wanted him to tell me it was a lie, or something. Anything! But he didn’t even try to defend himself.

  And Dornan’s not dead? FUCK! The sick motherfucker just won’t die! Not by a bomb, not by a bullet. I’m equal parts disappointed and relieved that he isn’t dead, because when he does breathe his final breath in this world, it should be while he’s forced to stare into my eyes as I watch him slip away.

  I notice Elliot’s shoulder is weeping fresh blood again, and I frown, concerned.

  I wonder if he’s OK.

  Elliot seems to read my mind. “It was a flesh wound,” he says to me. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You suck at sailing,” I say, tilting my head as I study the yacht. “You crashed our houseboat in the river.”

  He snorts. “I hired a boat that came with a driver,” he says. “Five-star, baby.”

  “Wait,” I say, squeezing his arm. “Where’s Kayla? Grandma?”

  He glances at me before tossing his bag onto the boat. “I put them in a safe place around the same time that Dornan blew up my tattoo shop.”

  I gasp. “Your shop? Your tattoo parlor?”

  “Is no more,” he answers. “May she rest in peace, that sexy bitch of a studio.”

  Devastation plucks at my heart at the image in my mind of Elliot’s tattoo studio going up in flames. Because of me. Yet, I can’t help but smile at the way he tells me. No wonder I fell in love with him all those years ago. Elliot can make me smile even after he’s lost everything.

  Elliot’s led me below deck so I can rest. He doesn’t understand when I tell him I’ve been resting a lot lately. Instead, I perch myself on a couch in the small but comfortable cabin, grabbing a cushion and hugging it to my stomach. He goes back to the top deck and as I wait for him to return I hear other voices alongside his. My blood runs cold when I recognize them. Jase and Luis. I can’t face Jase any time soon—I don’t even know if I can trust him. He killed my father?

  Yet, I know we can’t just leave the pair here to die. And they did have a hand in my release. I still love him. I still love Jase. I’m so fucking confused right now.