Lindsay lifted his eyebrows. ‘No can do. He goes down with his club.’
‘I love him,’ I said quietly. ‘I can’t let him go down with them.’
‘You loved Dornan once, too. And see how that turned out?’
I closed my eyes and tried not to have a total meltdown. I had to agree to whatever Lindsay was saying or he’d never let me out of his sight again. I couldn’t very well slip away into the night if I was being tracked by the FBI.
‘You say you’re tired of the pain,’ Lindsay added. ‘Let me help you. Let me take it away. All you have to do is say yes.’
I rested my forehead on the back of the seat in front of me. Everything, it seemed, hinged on the next thing that came out of my mouth. Three letters or two.
‘Yes,’ I lied. Without Lindsay agreeing to give John immunity, I wasn’t testifying. I was running. We were running. I just had to get back to John and formulate a get the fuck out of town plan. I sucked in a breath as a wave of dizziness slammed into me. I had to get out of the car before I passed out. I stuffed the gun back into my bag, searching for the door handle. I heard a click as the doors unlocked and I opened the door, gulping in the hot Nevada air as the same dude on the outside of the car held out a hand to help me down.
I slid out of the SUV, turning back to face him as my feet hit the ground. The last image I had of Lindsay Price was his serious expression as he watched me silently. He almost seemed . . . relieved.
I slammed the door so hard, I swear the car moved. My wrist throbbed from the sudden exertion, and I rushed back into the hotel lobby, parting a sea of tourists with the force of my heels against the polished floor.
Soon. Something was going to happen soon.
How was I going to tell John?
We had to leave Vegas now.
I rode the lift back to the hotel suite with one hand against the mirrored wall. I was tired.
I was so fucking tired of this life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JOHN
Two days.
Two whole days and he hadn’t been able to contact Mariana. Something was amiss, but he had no fucking idea what it was or how to find out.
Oh, and they were driving to San fucking Diego, on Emilio’s orders. Caroline, who for once was straight and sober, was driving down with Juliette, for some event Emilio had insisted the entire club attend. And John was riding his motorcycle with the rest of the Gypsy Brothers, because presidential duties demanded he lead the pack. For the moment, at least. After the shit that went down at the strip club with Dornan, he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be presiding over his club much longer. An invested man would have cared. A man who wanted to pull the trigger and run had no time to care about such things.
John had been at home when he’d received a call about an urgent club meet. ‘Stay away from that boy, you hear me?’ he had said to his daughter, as he grabbed his leather jacket and the keys to his motorcycle.
Juliette rolled her eyes at him, barely looking away from the television. ‘Daddy, I don’t even like him. I just feel sorry for him.’ Stretching her long legs out on the sofa, she finally turned her gaze to John. Her expression grew troubled. ‘His brothers are so horrible. They’re always hurting him.’
John shrugged. ‘Boys can be rough, baby. Especially those boys.’ He thought of Dornan’s sons, pack of wildlings that they were. They’d never had a sister to soften them, to teach them that sometimes you had to be gentle. They were loud and brash and they communicated with their fists. Dornan’s oldest sons were in their twenties now, patch-wearing Gypsy Brothers with little kids of their own, and they were still animals.
‘Why did Uncle Dornan do that to Jase’s mom?’ Juliette asked quietly. ‘He’s part of our family. He’s always been good, Dad.’
John rubbed his hand across his stubbled chin, contemplating how to answer that question. His daughter was his only child, his world, and how was he supposed to explain to her what his best friend had done to his own son? How was he supposed to explain to his teenage daughter that dear Uncle Dornan had murdered his son’s mother in cold blood and left her in a bathtub full of blood for him to find?
He couldn’t. He refused to put that mental image inside Juliette’s precious mind. He prayed that the young boy had been vague on the details of the visceral horror he had endured upon seeing his slain mother.
John sat on the arm of the sofa, wondering what the fuck he could say. He bit the inside of his cheek, the memory of Stephanie’s bloody corpse at the forefront of his mind.
‘It’s not for you to worry about,’ he said. ‘I can’t talk about it anymore.’
Juliette’s face fell. ‘Okay,’ she said, looking back to the TV. It was clear she was hurt, but she didn’t say anything. She was a good girl. Always had been. Sometimes too good.
‘Sweetie,’ John said, cursing the Gypsy Brothers’ existence as he reached out a hand to his daughter. She looked at it like it was a piece of shit and pulled away, out of his reach.
‘Did you help him kill her?’ Juliette asked suddenly. There it was. Her attitude. He was almost relieved to hear it. It was better than her fear.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t help him kill her. I would never hurt a woman. A mother.’
‘But you do hurt people. Don’t you?’ She looked at his messed-up knuckles, and John found himself shoving his hands in his pockets, ashamed.
‘Your Uncle Dornan was out of line,’ John said tightly.
She blinked her big green eyes up at him. ‘It was because Dornan found them, wasn’t it? Jason said he knew–’
John’s expression must have changed, because she stopped mid-sentence. ‘Never mind,’ Juliette said, looking at the floor.
‘You can tell me, Julie,’ John said. He felt sweat gather on the back of his neck. Too many secrets. Too many lies. Don’t shut down on me now, Julie.
‘Jason said he knew you before,’ she said. ‘That you sent them money. Is that why we never have any money?’
John looked around the cramped living room, acutely aware of how well Caroline could hear things, even when she was high. ‘Where’s your mother?’
Juliette shrugged. John looked around again, feeling deeply unsettled. ‘We can talk about this later,’ he said, taking a twenty out of his beat-up wallet and passing it to Juliette. ‘Order pizza if you get hungry. And don’t tell anyone about what you and Jason discussed, okay?’ He lowered his voice to a barely audible level. ‘If your mother hears talk about sending money off, she will lose her goddamn mind. Understand?’
She nodded.
‘Don’t go to his house,’ John added. They both knew who he was referring to.
Juliette frowned. ‘Don’t tell me I can’t see him, Dad,’ she said. ‘If I don’t go see him, he’s all alone.’
He could hardly argue with that. Instead, he kissed the top of her head before shrugging into his leather jacket. The thing seemed to get heavier with time, and it was true, the burden of who he was and who he had to be was a weight he bore alone, a weight he couldn’t bear to hold for another moment but which stayed with him, unrelenting, pressing down on his shoulders with every step he took. He glimpsed himself in the hallway mirror on his way out. He looked worn out, used up. He looked like somebody who should’ve gotten out of this game a long time ago.
Before he could go anywhere, though, he got the phone call from Viper. Club business in San Diego. Dornan had demanded John’s presence immediately. And Caroline’s. And Juliette’s.
Not just club business, though. A celebration. Seemed the woman he would have laid down his life for, the woman he loved more than anything, had been unreachable for two days because she was busy marrying Dornan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MARIANA
Dornan’s father lived on a compound that belonged in a Hollywood movie. It was ridiculous: a massive parcel of land, the main part of which was surrounded by a six-foot solid brick fence. A fence topped with razor wire and broken glass. Basica
lly, unless Emilio wanted you to enter or leave, you were fucked.
Which was why it seemed such an odd place to hold a party. Yeah, you could jazz the place up, get out some tables and break out the crystal wine glasses, but at the end of the day the place resembled a prison more than the palatial homestead it was obviously trying to convey. Perhaps I was just biased; I’d started my days as a captive in this very place, locked underground in a tiny cell, stripped and humiliated and prepared for an auction where Emilio had planned to sell me as a slave.
Dornan had been the only reason I hadn’t ended up living in a dog cage at the end of some psychopath’s bed, naked and wearing a chain around my neck. Maybe. Probably.
But now I was one of the familia, welcomed with open arms. It was surreal, like a nightmare that you can’t quite wake up from but that you know is about to give you a heart attack if you stay in it for a moment longer.
After Dornan had finally woken from his drugged slumber around noon, we left Vegas. We’d stopped off in LA briefly on our way back, for showers, extra clothes and Dornan’s motorcycle. I’d voted to stay in the limo, but Dornan rejected that. He hadn’t told me anything about where we’d be going on the motorcycle, other than that we were celebrating our quickie nuptials with his family. Something I was just thrilled about. He also hadn’t seemed suspicious about the way he’d passed out for several hours after drinking the drugged coffee Lindsay had sent up to our hotel room, which was a small mercy.
At Emilio’s compound, four hours later, I had to fight to keep my jaw off the pavement as I surveyed no less than fifty Harley-Davidson motorcycles parked up inside the compound, flanking the long driveway that culminated in a large circle in front of the main house. There were dozens of cars too. I spied John’s, and wondered where he was. How he’d been told about what had happened in Vegas, and by who.
If he thought I’d betrayed him.
A deep sorrow spread through me. My finger was still throbbing. How had it come to this? Marrying a man by force, letting him flaunt our union in front of everyone he knew? In front of the man I actually loved? Lying to everyone, conducting secret meetings with the FBI after allowing them to drug said husband . . . Things were spiralling completely out of control.
And in the middle of the raging storm was the image of my son. He was waiting for me. He was safe, but for how long?
I pushed him out of my mind as Dornan pulled me from his motorcycle, placed his hand into the small of my back and propelled me along the path that led to the front door of Emilio’s mansion. It wouldn’t do me any good, thinking about Luis when I was about to enter the lion’s den. I needed strength, not weakness.
I needed cunning, not despair.
‘Are you ready?’ Dornan asked me, and I plastered on my fake smile. I let the mask fall into place and steeled myself for the biggest act of my life. The lie. I love you. When really, I wanted to burn this place to the ground with Dornan and his father inside. Lindsay’s words played on repeat in my head, a soothing chant, a reassurance that this was all going to be blown up soon.
‘I’m ready,’ I murmured, leaning into him.
He liked that. It seemed to make him proud as he looked me up and down, from my throbbing finger marked with his brand, to my eyes, covered expertly with layers of heavy makeup to hide the marks. The scarf around my neck, to conceal the bruises he’d raged upon my skin. I was beaten and broken, but in that moment, all I felt was impatience. I wasn’t afraid. I was just waiting. The FBI was coming for us. Lindsay Price was going to make sure Emilio and Dornan were punished for their sins.
I just had to get to John and let him know what had transpired before he was punished, too.
***
It was a lavish party, to say the least. Every Gypsy Brother seemed to be in attendance, as well as at least half of the children fathered by the club members. I caught John’s eye as Dornan and I walked into the room to applause and cheers, but he looked away. It didn’t matter; what could I communicate to him in a crowd of Gypsy Brothers and cartel members who would murder us if they knew the truth? I had to find a way to get to him. But I had to be patient. Get Dornan hammered, break away and hope John came looking for me. I knew he’d be dying to get me alone, if only to demand an explanation as to why the fuck Dornan and I were now married.
The minutes dragged on. It was almost like an out-of-body experience – I was there, but I wasn’t. Somebody had made a wedding cake, but instead of a bride and groom on top, there were two tacky motorcycle helmets. I tried not to throw up in my mouth when I saw that. I spoke to so many people I’d never even met, and it was strange, going from being the girl hidden away and not talked about, to the girl Dornan suddenly wanted to parade around like a prized head of cattle. He kept worrying, too. Kept taking me aside and touching my neck and asking if I was all right, until I snapped at him and told him to relax and quit reminding me of what he’d done. He largely ignored me after that, which was a blessed relief.
John, I screamed inside my head. I need you. Where are you? I had to warn him before Lindsay and the FBI moved in, and closed off our only hope of getting out of this alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DORNAN
Dornan left Mariana with Jase and Juliette and approached John. He’d been planning this moment since John’s fist had connected with his face a few nights earlier. When he’d dared to question Dornan in front of their club. You didn’t question a brother. Ever.
John needed to be displaced.
‘Congratulations,’ John said, looking anything but congratulatory.
Dornan could empathise. He’d just gotten rid of his own ball-and-chain in the form of divorcing Celia, and John was still stuck with that whore Caroline, who was currently harassing a poor young waitress for more champagne.
‘Thanks, Johnny Boy,’ Dornan said, slapping John on the arm. He hadn’t used that name for his best friend in a long time. He didn’t pause before he delivered his next line.
‘Boys are waiting in the garage,’ he said. ‘We’re voting. Now.’
John’s eyes seemed to cloud over momentarily when he heard the words. We’re voting. John didn’t ask what they were voting on. Something told Dornan he already knew.
John quickly regained his composure, passing Dornan as he made his way to the large garage at the other end of the house. Dornan followed, watching the large, red and black Gypsy Brothers patch that sat in the middle of John’s back. Everyone else had black and white patches. Only the president got red.
They’d have to get someone to unravel all that thread. Dornan might be taking the patch, but he’d never take the jacket off a brother’s back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
JOHN
The vote for prez went in Dornan’s favour. Overwhelmingly.
John understood. It was like a chain reaction. He stared at the faces of his brothers in arms as they sat around a makeshift table and cast their votes for the Gypsy Brothers presidency, men he would have laid down his life for – many that he actually had risked his life to protect. Yet, one by one, they voted against him. They were afraid, John realised, about halfway through the proceedings. Not Dornan’s sons, of course – the board was half made up of people somehow related to Dornan by marriage or blood, so it wasn’t surprising that his coup was so successful.
What was surprising was that John didn’t care. He just couldn’t muster a single fuck about what was happening. No, instead a nervous buzz began in the pit of his stomach and spread through his body. At first he didn’t understand what it was, and then he could have laughed when he figured it out.
He was excited. He was thrilled. He was getting out.
Then he remembered that Dornan and Mariana were married, and his brief elation was tempered by rage.
John sat back and watched as Dornan was sworn in as president. That buzz became an angry scream in his ears, as he imagined Mariana having to say the words ‘I do’ to this motherfucker. That was the sole reason for his violent need t
o kill Dornan in that moment. If it were just a matter of being usurped by the Gypsy Brothers, he would have gotten up on the table and done the fucking moonwalk.
After they voted Dornan in, it was time to decide on a new VP. Not surprisingly, almost half the men voted for John. Perhaps that was their way of trying to make amends for essentially betraying their president by overthrowing him and installing a madman as leader. But despite the votes, one person got more – Dornan’s oldest son Chad, who was possibly the least intelligent person John had ever encountered. Jacked up on a daily cocktail of roids and speed, Chad was a surprising choice.
It just showed how far things had gone.
It was only when Dornan was passing his VP patch to Chad that John realised he needed to give his patches to Dornan. He’d lived in this jacket for years, ever since the last one had been shredded by knife slashes when he’d been in a fight with a rival cartel member. The patches were originals, having survived the past several decades unmarred. Stained with engine oil and probably blood, but always with him.
John slid off his jacket, realising for the first time how heavy the thick leather was. The thing weighed a ton. No wonder his shoulders always felt like they bore the weight of the world on them. Was this how it felt to be free? To be a normal person? Just a thin shirt on your back, no traces of a club patch that acted as a homing beacon for violence?
John turned the jacket over, but before he started to tug at the thread holding the club insignia to the beat-up leather, he stopped. He held the jacket out to Dornan, who didn’t move.
‘I’m not taking your jacket, John,’ he said, and for a moment John could have sworn he saw shame flicker in Dornan’s eyes.
Undeterred, John dropped the jacket onto the table in front of Dornan. ‘I want you to have it,’ he said, stepping back. ‘I’ll get a new one.’ I’ll trade you my fucking jacket for your wife.
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