She nods dubiously. “I’m not really thirsty.”
I take each photograph out gently and place it in front of her. One, two, three. A fifteen-year-old girl with a face so swollen, she’s unrecognizable. Her blood loss so severe, her skin is practically translucent. The whites of her eyes solid red, her arm dislocated and hanging from its socket. Fresh bruises swelling and bursting in a sick oil painting of horror and death. One eye swollen shut. And when I get further down the pile, to the close-up photos they took for the rape kit, I watch as Agent Dunn’s hands begin to shake.
“Seven men,” I say softly, arranging the photos neatly, just as she would. Just as she did. “Seven men against one little girl. Seven grown men who nearly killed that girl as payback because her father loved the wrong woman. Because he wanted a better life for his daughter. Seven men who took turns holding her down until she was pretty much dead.”
She coughs awkwardly, pushing the photos away and holding a hand to her mouth.
“Now, do you understand?” I ask her quietly, calmly.
She nods, her eyes glossy and wet.
“I don’t need your tears,” I say blankly, “or your pity.”
She nods.
“What do you need?” she asks, her voice trembling.
I smile sadly. “I need you to get in your car, drive away, and forget any of this ever happened.”
Agent Dunn doesn’t answer, but her eyes are filled with tears.
“The Cartel are after you,” she says softly. “I don’t know if Tommy already told you, but they’re closing in, Juliette. Killing the Gypsy Brothers started something. I don’t know how much longer I can keep them off the scent.”
“You’re working with Tommy?” I ask. “A double agent? No, wait, you’re with the Cartel as well. A triple agent.” I raise my eyebrows. “You’re a busy lady.”
She nods. “I took a deal with the DEA after what went down in Furnace Creek. I had to send my daughter away in case the Cartel finds out I’m double-crossing them.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply.
She shakes her head. “I don’t need your pity, either.”
I look at her for a long moment. Her eyes are tired, her hair lank. She looks awful. The lies of her existence must be weighing heavily on her.
“You took a risk coming here to let me know,” I say finally. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” she replies. “Just watch your back. They’re going to find you sooner, not later.”
Afterwards, she gets into her car, and she drives away. I watch from the large bay window in the living room to make sure she actually goes. I watch the car fade into the road beyond, until it’s like watching a matchbox car being pushed around on rough carpet, and then she’s gone. I imagine her driving faster than the limit, gripped by a horror that I have only just begun to shed since Dornan died. I imagine her going back to her daughter, back to her job.
I know the photographs I just showed her will haunt her for the rest of her life.
More importantly: I know I will never see her again.
After I am sure she’s gone, I take the pile of photographs outside, stopping in the garage for lighter fluid. I find an old, empty paint tin and shove the photos in, making sure they’re far down enough to be sheltered from the freezing wind that’s sweeping across Colorado.
I place the tin on the portable barbecue on the deck, fishing a box of matches out of my pocket. I squirt the lighter fluid on the photos, making sure they’re coated, and then I strike a match.
I watch silently as the lit match drops into the tin, immediately catching fire. It doesn’t take long before the photographs are completely consumed by fire.
Once the photographs are reduced to ash, I find Jase outside, on the lake. At this time of year, it’s frozen solid, but that doesn’t stop Jase from sitting out on the small wooden pier and watching the water not move. I know he used to spend a lot of time out here with his mom, and being here brings him great peace and comfort. It’s stunning, this place. It feels … like a home.
It’s so cold here, especially at this time of year. Colorado is like a bitch with bipolar, throwing out random days of snow, punctured with days on either side of sunshine and flip-flop weather.
“Elliot called,” he says, looking adorable in his button-down coat and knitted hat as he opens his arms. He suits the winter. He definitely doesn’t look like a biker anymore. His tattoos are the only things that would hint at the life he’s come from, and luckily, here, he can cover up the worst ones.
“What’d he say?”
Jase shrugs. “Asked me if I’d help him fix his piece of shit car.”
“It’s not a piece of shit,” I protest. “It’s an American classic.”
He looks at me, amused. “It doesn’t have seatbelts, babe. He has a kid. How’s he supposed to drive her to school?”
I shrug. “I guess Amy’s got a regular car.”
He snorts. “How did Agent Dunn go?” he asks.
“She says the Cartel’s looking for us. That they’re going to find us,” I say calmly, looking out across the frozen water. I’m not afraid. After what we’ve been through, we can face anything. I know this now.
Jase nods. “We knew that would happen eventually. What else did she do?”
“She got what she needed, and she went,” I say, shrugging as I step into his embrace, pressing the side of my face to his chest in search of more warmth. My cheeks are so cold I can barely feel them.
“I’m surprised you didn’t shoot her on sight,” Jase says, smiling when he sees me pulling a face.
“I am not that bad,” I protest, pulling back to give him a stern look. “Besides, I’ve been expecting her to turn up here since we arrived.”
“You still sleep with a gun under your pillow,” Jase teases, his arms wrapped around me. “You are that bad.”
I smile, melting back into his chest. I love this man. I love him more than anything else in the entire universe.
“Yeah,” I answer. “But these days I keep the safety on.”
I feel him laugh softly into my neck.
It feels positively sublime.
While he’s pressing his lips to my neck, I wonder what’s going to happen to us next. We’ll probably have to leave. Get new names. Shift our funds. It’s funny, I thought this fight was over when I killed Dornan Ross.
But I was wrong. This fight? It’s only just begun.
But right now, I don’t care.
Everything I have done, every life I have taken, every drop of blood I have spilled.
It was all for this moment right here.
We are broken, the two of us.
He builds me back up, piece by piece.
I will never be whole again.
But I am okay.
I am happy.
I am loved.
she destroyed herself.
too many little thoughts.
she fell apart.
too many little pieces.
she wrote herself.
too many little words.
she lost herself.
too many little places.
she fell in love.
too many little feelings.
she discovered herself.
she believed.
too many little moments.
and in the end,
she was home.
- RM Drake, Beautiful Chaos
A NOTE TO MY READERS
Firstly, a note about One Love and the way I left Jase and Julz.
One year. 230,000 words, and Juliette’s story – and her quest for vengeance against Dornan Ross and his sons – is complete.
When I was writing the ending, some of my beta readers were upset with the brief scene Jase and Julz share at the end. They wanted more. They wanted to see the new life Jason and Juliette have now that Dornan is gone.
And here’s the thing. This story wasn’t a love story. This was a story about love, yes, but it wasn’t a love story.
It was a story about vengeance, about redemption, about retribution.
That story was the battle between Juliette and Dornan. Their story is done.
Jase and Julz? Their story is not done. In fact, it’s only just beginning. I know, some of you wanted this to end differently. For Juliette and Jase to get married, to have a baby, to live happily ever after. But in their world there is no real fairytale ending. They’re cut off one of Medusa’s heads by killing Dornan and his sons, but the threat of the rest of the Gypsy Brothers, and the Cartel, is still very real. This wasn’t a story that could be wrapped up neatly with a pretty bow. This story is ugly, and violent, and dark.
But from that comes the good news. Juliette and Jase are getting their own book. Yes, as I struggled and cried writing the ending scenes, I fought a battle within myself. To end them here? Impossible. To double the length of One Love and show you what happens next? That felt like a cop-out, because the natural conclusion for this series is and always has been Dornan’s death. Juliette has done what she set out to do. She’s killed the men who wronged her so brutally six years ago.
Here’s why I didn’t just give Juliete and Jase a happy ever after: Because they’re not ready for that. They love each other, but they don’t know each other. They’re lovers and strangers, separated by Dornan’s devastating act, brought back together by Juliette’s thirst for vengeance, and now they need time to get to know each other again. To just exist together in a world that isn’t constantly overshadowed by Dornan’s presence. I am so excited to be able to share the rest of their story with you in 2015, and I hope you’ll come along for the ride.
ZERO HOUR is that story. It’s the conclusion of Juliette and Jase’s story, and I’ve taken them out with a bang. You can pre-order it here:
http://bit.ly/ZeroHouriBooks
Secondly, a note of thanks to YOU.
I want to thank each and every one of you who picked up Seven Sons and gave an unknown author a chance. You are the reason I write this. You have made my dreams come true. When I started writing Seven Sons, I could never have seen what would happen. You all embraced Juliette, Jase, Elliot and even Dornan, read their stories and demanded more, and I can only hope that I have given you a satisfactory ending. It’s not a cliffhanger, and that scares the crap out of me. Cliffhangers mean there’s more to come. In this case, I can tell you you’ll definitely see these characters again, but Juliette’s quest is complete. Her revenge has been realized, and she is finally, in her own inexplicable way, at peace. For a character who has suffered so much, I couldn’t be happier that she finally gets to be with the man she loves. And, though I doubt I will ever get over the death of the greatest anti-hero I have ever had to pleasure of putting onto paper, I am happy (yet devastated) with the way Dornan met his end. It was fitting, it was justified, and in the end, I think even he knew there was no other way things could have gone down.
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for loving these characters. Even – no, especially – the fucked-up ones.
Here’s that ZERO HOUR link again, in case you missed it:
http://bit.ly/ZeroHouriBooks
Don’t forget to keep reading ahead for the bonus novella, too!It’s straight after the Zero Hour blurb
They say a human being needs few things to exist.
A purpose,
Hope for the future,
But most of all…
Love.
Juliette Portland had all of those things. Her purpose was simple: Seduce. Deceive. Kill. Avenge. Once Dornan Ross and his sons were dead, her future was supposed to be clear. Her life was finally going to begin. And love… Against all the odds, she had the love of a boy she never thought she’d see again.
Everything should have gone according to plan. Everything should have been easy.
Of course, life has a way of fucking with even the most meticulous of plans, and calling in owed debts can have the most severe consequences. Thanks to Juliette’s diabolical retribution, the Il Sangue Cartel has lost it’s Kingpin, but not for long. There’s always someone in the wings, ready to step onstage and seize power. The Gypsy Brothers Motorcycle Club might be reeling from the deaths of their President and his six patch-wearing sons, but they’ve come back swinging.
Two deadly enemies, hundreds of bloodthirsty members, both sides eager to punish those that would try to topple them.
Two survivors, a man and a woman, forced to flee in the night.
For Juliette, vengeance is a hollow victory.
It never, ever ends.
The flames of incomplete vengeance are licking at her heels, and it’s only a matter of time before the Il Sangue cartel and the Gypsy Brothers catch her in their grip and crush her.
Unless she crushes them first.
IBOOKS EXCLUSIVE PRE-ORDER: http://bit.ly/ZeroHouriBooks
AVAILABLE SEPTEMBER 29TH, 2015
BONUS NOVELLA: ALTERNATE
AUTHORS NOTE
I wrote ALTERNATE as a chance for my readers to take a glimpse into the psyche and inner workings of my main male characters: After mourning the end of the Gypsy Brothers series (or, what I thought was the end), I’m THRILLED to be able to dip back into the minds of these dark and delicious men. From the brutality of Dornan Ross, to the tenacity and love of Elliot McRae, and the shattering secrets that Jason Ross harbours deep inside his soul, these stories flew from my fingertips faster than I could type.
If you’re easily offended (who the fuck am I kidding? You just finished the GYPSY BROTHERS series), I wouldn’t read this. Because if you think you know these men, especially Jase?
You have no idea.
Love,
Lili
The moment Samantha Peyton walks into my office, I want to fuck her. More than that, I want to wrap my fingers around her throat and fuck her until she passes out on my desk. I see the resemblance and my chest constricts like I’m having a heart attack. Goddamn. She looks like a dead woman—a dead woman who ripped my fuckin’ heart out.
Mariana.
As soon as I notice the resemblance, it’s gone; like a flicker of a memory I’ve tried to drown in blood and whores for far too long.
She’s a pretty girl; young, and probably stupid like the rest of them. Before she even opens her mouth, I see a hunger in her bright blue eyes—so vivid, they almost look fake—but more than that, she looks familiar, and she feels fuckin’ dangerous.
Now that can’t be right … or can it? I’m the danger around here, because I own this town, just like I’ll own this little bitch faster than she can open her mouth to say please. Before she turns around to let me fuck her in her tight, round ass, I’ve already decided I’m going to keep her. I’m going to use her until I can snuff out that light in her eyes and replace it with the kind of despair that will make me come like a fucking freight train when I press her face into my desk and make her beg me to stop.
The first time I fuck her? It’s brutal. It’s the same with every woman I get my dick wet with. I don’t hurt them as a side effect. I fuck them to hurt them, and if they bleed, it’s even better. Blood and pain and fucking are so inexplicably linked for me, that I’ll take a woman to the brink of death just to make myself feel alive for that split-second of release. So I rear back and slam my cock into this little bitch’s ass, again and again, not caring if anyone hears the sound our skin makes when it slaps together or the stunned little gasps coming from her mouth as she tries to hide how much I’m hurting her. Her pain is my pleasure.
When I finally reach breaking point and come inside her, I slam her head against my desk one last time, to daze her, to hurt her, but most of all to show her who’s in fucking charge here. She might have walked in off the street thinking she was the one in control, but now that I’ve marked her, she’s mine.
As she’s leaving, I realize she’s the first girl I’ve properly fucked in this office— John’s old stomping grounds. Normally I save that shit for the Gypsy Brothers clubhouse, where as President, I’ve got the pick of every
whore I’ve allowed into my inner sanctum. Whores that aren’t allowed to just walk in off the street and lean their elbows on my desk as they present their pert little asses to me. Whores aren’t allowed to say no, because if they do, it only makes me more determined to take what’s mine. Because this whole fuckin’ town is mine.
*****
If I’d known she was here to overthrow me when she first arrived, to pick off my sons one by one until they were all dead, I would have pressed the bitch down on my desk and shoved a Glock in her mouth instead of my dick in her ass. I would have shot a bullet into her pretty face and left her face down in a dumpster. At least, that’s what I think I’d do.
Hindsight is a motherfucker, ain’t it? When you’re dying, when your whole life flashes before your eyes, you start to wonder where you could have stopped things from going so monumentally wrong. There was a night, six years ago, when I could have stopped things.
But since that didn’t happen, there was another moment. When she opened her mouth and told me her fake name―Samantha Peyton―I’d looked at her fake ID and thought, no fucking way. If I’d been smarter, if I’d figured out it was John’s fucking kid standing in front of me, then yeah, sure. Maybe I would have killed her. Most likely.
Now? In hindsight? I would have handed the bitch my gun, pointed it at my head and told her to go to town. I mean, that’s where we ended up anyway, right? Each fighting to destroy the other. I hated her. I loathed her, but I couldn’t forget the little girl I’d taken home from the hospital and treated like my own. I couldn’t shake the knowledge that gnawed at me deep down where it was murky and rancid.
When something seems too good to be true, it probably is. My father taught me that..
I should have listened to him.
*****
I should be fuckin’ dead right now. A lesser man would be, but there’s a very clear reason I’m still alive. I feel the sorrow coursing through my veins, the undeniable fucking rage that threatens to splinter me apart, piece by torturous piece. The same way those dirty homemade bombs ripped two of my sons apart and killed them, landing two more of them in the hospital. I should be there, with them, watching over them like a good father would.
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