Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series

by Lili St. Germain

  I nodded, suddenly more awake. The thought of those ruthless bikers, and what they could possibly have to do with a fifteen-year-old girl being in the hospital, had my stomach in knots. I’d seen my fair share of shit on the job, but when women got hurt, it burned me to the fucking core. I had a deep respect for females. Maybe because my grandmother had raised me almost single-handedly, and the only male role models I had were douchebags, but I sincerely believed that women were smarter, stronger, and more capable than the majority of dudes. I think Iverson recognized this in me, and she seemed to trust me with sticky situations like this. “Rival gang?” I asked, digging for something more concrete to go on. What am I walking into here?

  Iverson’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Inside job,” she murmured. “Don’t ask me how I know … but I know. Do whatever you have to. Do not let that girl out of your sight, you hear me?”

  “Yes, Captain.” Inside job? Great … just fucking great.

  Sure enough, Kennedy was waiting downstairs for me. We’d been partners before I was transferred out of central booking and put onto traffic section, before finally moving into tactical response, which is where he’d always wanted to be. Kennedy was a chubby fucker and had failed the tactical physical test. He was only twenty-nine, but he was already in danger of being pushed into a desk job if he didn’t lay off the donuts.

  When we arrived at the hospital, Kennedy was tasked with interviewing the bikers while I covered the girl. “Don’t let her out of your sight,” Iverson had said, and I wasn’t going to. I strode right to her hospital room, despite the doctor telling me she was too weak to interview. I walked straight past the VP of the Gypsy Brothers, Dornan Ross, to get to her, just as he was coming out of her room. Dornan made a point of shoulder checking me as he walked past. The guy was built, about the same height as me, and wearing a leather vest with a patch sewn on that screamed, “GYPSY BROTHERS.”

  “You should watch where you’re going,” I said, my demeanor deathly calm, despite the horror that lurked beneath the surface. I wasn’t afraid of this guy, but I was afraid of laying eyes on this girl and seeing what had happened to her.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked, looking me up and down, making sure I noticed the way his gaze lingered on my name badge.

  I smirked, looking him up and down in response. “You got blood on your boots,” I said, pointing to the spatter on the biker’s steel-capped black boots. “You should get that cleaned up.”

  “You’re observant,” he replied.

  I smiled a smile that contained no joy within it; only scathing. “That her blood?” I asked casually, tilting my head towards the girl in the bed who had lost so much blood, that it had to be replaced not once, but twice.

  The biker looked down at his boot-clad foot, as if he were trying to decide whether he should kick me in the balls or not, but instead he grinned, baring his teeth like a fucking dog about to attack. “Well, I brought her in, so it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “Officer Kennedy will be out to talk to you,” I said, dropping the smile. “Until then, I suggest you don’t come back in here.”

  Dornan narrowed his eyes, but his “fuck you” smile remained. “I can’t get a thing out of her,” he said, his voice chillingly devoid of emotion. “She’s too traumatized to speak. Perhaps you should come back tomorrow, boy.”

  I fought not to erupt. I knew I couldn’t afford to show emotion; to express the rage inside my chest at people like this motherfucker who thought they were above the law. I stared at Dornan Ross and had no doubt that he had something to do with the girl’s brutal attack. “She might not last that long,” I replied. “Don’t you want to catch the people who did this?”

  Dornan puffed his chest out and stepped closer, getting up in my fucking space. I wanted to step back, but I stood my ground. “She’s like a daughter to me,” he said, stepping even closer, crowding me. “I think you should remember that, son.”

  “I’m not your son. I’m Officer McRae, Mr. Ross.”

  The biker smiled. “So you do know who I am.”

  I didn’t even bother replying. I walked into the girl’s hospital room and slammed the door behind me with force, letting the biker know that he was no longer welcome anywhere near this girl who was “like a daughter” to him.

  The girl: the reason I was here in the first place.

  I wanted to choke when I turned and saw what she’d been reduced to. I could tell she was a pretty girl, even under the layers of bruising and dried blood. Her blonde hair was knotted and unkempt; Dark bruises encircled her wrists, telling their own story. I slowly approached, afraid that even moving the air around her too fast would make her shatter and break.

  Someone had carelessly tossed a bunch of flowers on the bed beside her. The girl might not be dead, but she looked like it. Only the steady beep of the heart monitor and the slight movement of her chest told me that she was still in this world. She was a mess, . Every visible part of her was bruised, or cut open, or burned. This poor girl looked broken beyond repair.

  I didn’t know why Iverson had even bothered sending me down. The girl was clearly not going to make it. At least, that was my attitude until she opened her eyes and sat bolt upright in bed, making me jump.

  “Jesus Christ!” I yell-whispered.

  “My name’s not Jesus,” she replied, in a husky voice that rose barely above a whisper. She coughed and coughed. I stood there, mute, before I snapped to my senses and rushed for the glass of water beside her bed. I handed it to her and she took it gratefully, sipping it between coughing fits.

  “I’m Elliot,” I said, pointing at myself. Fuck the formal “Officer McRae” bullshit. She was scared and was damn near close to death. I’d spoken to the doctor briefly on the way in. She had severe internal bleeding that they couldn’t stop, and swelling on the brain. She might have been able to talk, but it probably wouldn’t be long before she passed out again.

  “I’m Juliette,” she said.

  “Who did this to you?” I asked quietly. The girl, Juliette, didn’t reply for a long time. She stared off into space at something I couldn’t see. I didn’t think she was going to answer me at all until she spoke.

  “I’d rather stay alive,” she’d whispered, shaking her head.

  That had been three years ago, and now, that fifteen-year-old girl was eighteen, and she was in my bed. She was my girl, and I was the only thing she had in the world. Every other person who had ever loved or known her, thought she was dead. We were in love, or some fucked up version of love that I didn’t fully understand.

  Oh, and she had a gun in her hands.

  “Julz,” I repeated, more urgently this time. “Whatcha doin’?” My words were casual, but my tone was not. I stood at the end of my bed, our bed, and stared down at my girlfriend as she clutched my Saturday Night Special in her hands.

  “Nothing,” she said quietly. “Just thinking.”

  “Can I have that?” I gestured to the gun.

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” she said petulantly, handing me the gun.

  My heart still hammered in my chest as I took it and tucked it into the back of my jeans. “Oh, really,” I replied, attempting to sound more upbeat, but failing. “I don’t have to worry?”

  “I wouldn’t blow my brains out. It would ruin my looks. I mean, how would you have an open casket if I shot myself in the face?”

  Don’t talk like that, don’t talk like that, DON’T FUCKING TALK LIKE THAT.

  She joked like it was absurd for me to be afraid of her killing herself, and yet she’d tried to do just that …not once, not twice, but three fucking times. Her wrist still bore the scar from the last attempt, when I’d found her in the bathtub, full of red-tinged water. My garage still reeked of exhaust fumes after she’d left my truck running and tried to gas herself. And just last week, she’d tried to hang herself over a rafter in my storage shed. It was exhausting, trying to keep someone in this world when they didn’t want to be in it. He
ll, the entire world believed she was already dead, and she was trying to make it truth.

  She must have seen the terror on my face because something in her expression changed. She closed off; became more resigned. It was a coping mechanism she employed regularly to stop me from getting in so she could keep her sadness from leaking out and infecting me. It didn’t work, though. Her despair became mine as I watched her wither and fade away for three whole years. In rare moments, and I mean very rare, I saw her smile. I saw those green eyes turn bright as she recalled happier times, but it never lasted.

  The despair always returned.

  “I don’t want to be your burden,” she whispered, turning her sad eyes towards the floor.

  “You’re not,” I said, sitting beside her, wrapping my arms around her fragile body. I’d burn the world down if it would make her feel one ounce of peace, but I knew she’d be just as sad and broken, no matter what I did. “I promise you’re not a burden to me.”

  But the words that came out of my mouth were lies.

  *****

  Time was supposed to heal all wounds.

  But it didn’t heal Juliette’s.

  Time gave her too much time; Time to relive the horrors that those sick, twisted fucks had subjected her to. She lived through them every single day without a moment’s peace. And monsters was a poor word. I couldn’t think of a word that adequately conveyed just how heinous they were. Beasts? Yeah. Maybe beasts was more accurate. Beasts that had ripped her apart, and destroyed her, through no fault of her own. And these boys had been her family growing up. The ringleader, Dornan Ross, had been her father’s best friend. It sounded as though he’d been like a father to her, from the way she told the story.

  I watched her thrashing in bed, the rope marks still clearly visible on her neck. My stomach knotted; I knew what would come next. Her mouth opened, sucking in air as her eyes opened, blank and unseeing. They were night terrors. I’d seen her have them enough times that they no longer shocked me. They just filled my gut with icy dread, and heartbreak for her, every single night.

  Because of her memories and her constant suffering, I was depressed all the time, as well. I was stuck with her, and I didn’t want to be. I resented her. I loved her to fucking death,, but most of all, I just wanted her to get better. However, I’d finally come to the realization that she was never going to get better.

  “Hey,” I said, my voice almost monotone. The way she screamed out in the night still scared the ever living fuck out of me, but at least now I knew what to expect. She’d claw at the air above her, and I’d stay out of her way. She’d thrash and battle with imaginary attackers, and I’d stay out of her way. She’d call for him, and a little piece of me would die inside.

  “Jase!” She’d scream. She did this every night for three years until one night, I broke.

  I’d started packing before the sun even rose. I tried to be quiet at first, but I decided fuck it. I’d held her three times—no, wait, four in total—while I freaked the fuck out, not knowing if she’d live through the night or not. She’d put me through hell, and didn’t even care that she was hurting me, even though she knew what she was doing to me. I made a little more noise as I threw more shit in the bag.

  I’d stormed towards the Mustang with nothing but a black duffel bag, crammed with clothes and very few possessions. I was leaving the only girl I’d ever loved, and I wasn’t coming back.

  It wasn’t the fact that she’d tried to kill herself three times already. Fuck, that shit was so goddamn hard on me, but I could hardly blame her. It was a wonder she had survived at all, but was living even worth it if she lived this way for the rest of her life? I couldn’t bear living my life with her this way anymore. It wasn’t because she didn’t love me, because she did. I knew she did. In the night, before we fell asleep, she would search for my hand in the dark, clutching it until she fell asleep. No, it was because after three years, she still called out for that bastard Ross who watched as his father and brothers destroyed a defenceless fifteen-year-old girl he claimed to love.

  Jason fucking Ross.

  My hatred was singularly focused on that son-of-a-bitch. I’d become obsessed with him—with all the Gypsy Brothers, but it would always come back to Jason, because he was one of them, and he was the one she still called out for.

  Julz was awake by the time I started the Mustang and revved the engine, loud enough to wake the entire street. I was out of fucks to give. Let them complain about the noise. I wouldn’t be back to listen to them anyway.

  As I was debating whether to go back inside and grab my hunting rifle from the toolshed, Julz appeared in the window. One look at her face and I knew she knew. Her eyes were glassy, but she threw me a half-hearted smile as she tapped on the glass. Reluctantly, I rolled my window down, my dark sunglasses shielding the tears in my own eyes. I mean, I wasn’t a fucking pussy, but I was pissed. Why’d we have to meet the way we did, in a goddamn nightmare? She was so beautiful and passionate in the moments her demons weren’t dragging her beneath the murky waters and drowning her. Selfishly, I wished she would try harder to be that girl who laughed and said funny things, dazzling me with her smile, instead of the girl who held my gun in her lap and willed herself not to eat it.

  “Going somewhere?” she asked, looking at the black duffel in the backseat.

  I nodded, tearing my gaze from her.

  “Yeah.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her trying not to cry. “Are you coming back?” I gripped the steering wheel so tight, my fingers turned white. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t even answer her. If I’d let myself get sucked into her doe-eyes again, I’d never be able to leave. I was afraid that if I stayed, I might end up killing us both to stop feeling so fucking miserable. “It’s okay, Elliot,” she said, trailing her hand over my cheek. “I’d leave me too, if I could.” I swallowed back all the words I’d never be able to say to her. Her fingers left my face and she stepped back from the car.

  I could have stayed, but I didn’t. I was done. Maybe without me, she’d get better instead of sliding into the blackness until it consumed her and she really did die.

  I revved the engine one last time and took my foot off the brake pedal, slamming the accelerator as hard as I could and sped away from the scene of my ruin.

  The first time I saw Juliette Portland, after six years of death, I didn’t even notice her. She was just a generic girl with fake tits and a dazed expression on her face as she looked around the bar, taking the place in. I barely glanced at her as I moved racks of clean beer glasses into the refrigerator, getting the bar of my father’s strip club ready for another night of customers. They’d swill beer and get their rocks off as they tucked crumpled dollar bills into tiny thongs that left nothing to the imagination, and I’d fix drinks and count down the hours until I could leave.

  She was wearing ridiculously short cut-offs that showed the underside of her pert ass cheeks, but she didn’t even make my cock react. She looked like every other girl who walked into that strip club with stars in their eyes and left with my father’s jizz on their tongues.

  But looking back on that day, knowing what I know now, I think that’s the hardest thing of all for me to accept inside myself. That I had the girl I thought I’d lost forever, and she was standing right in front of me, and. I could have grabbed her and taken her away from the all the madness before my father ever had the chance to lay his hands on her again; and I didn’t even know it.

  My father’s dead now, and we’re safe – for the moment, at least – but Juliette’s retribution cost more than I could have ever fathomed. She’s not the same girl I knew when we were young, and I’m not the same boy I was when we met. We’re all grown up, now. And what a hellish fucking upbringing it was.

  The first time I ever met Juliette Portland was in a filthy little room in the Gypsy Brothers clubhouse. Only days earlier I’d existed in a different world, where my father was a figment of my imagination instead of a ruthless b
iker, where we were safe from people like the Gypsy Brothers. I’d arrived home to our house in Colorado to find my mom murdered and the father I’d never met, sitting at our kitchen table, eating a fucking sandwich with her blood still on his hands. Being the stupid teenager I was, instead of running, I’d tried to fight him, and I lost. I lost everything. He knocked me out with one blow and kept me drugged in the trunk of a car for two days. When I finally woke up from my drugged slumber, I’d pissed all over myself.

  I turned into a fucking animal. I lunged at them, raged at them. I even tried to escape, but I was just a kid with massive amounts of drugs in my system. I moved like a clumsy drunk, crashing into walls as I took swings at Dornan, the man who’d both given me life and returned to take it away from me. I might’ve been clumsy and disoriented, but I refused to let anyone within ten feet of me … until Julz.

  She crept into the room like she wasn’t supposed to be there while I crouched in the corner. She was so young, so beautiful, like a fucking angel that had been sent to save me. She didn’t save me, but she did bring healing ointment for the GYPSY BROTHERS tattoo that now took up my entire back. It had taken hours upon hours of a needle being dragged through my skin, and I’d finally passed out from the exhaustion and the drugs as my brothers held me down and laughed.

  Funny how we both ended up waiting for the other to miraculously materialize and save the other. After they killed her, my father took me to my grandfather’s compound in San Diego.

  I’d had barely a year of freedom between my mother’s death and Juliette’s, but in that time, I’d fallen hard for John’s daughter. I’d realized that he was the man who visited my mother and checked in on us, but I never uttered a word. I knew if I did, my father would probably kill him, too.