Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series (34 page)

NINE

I’ve dreamed of this moment for over six years. A reality where Jase and I could be together again. In my imagination, this was perfection. This was the culmination of years of longing and loss, of patience and distance and blood. I thought I’d be relieved. I thought I’d be absolved, that we’d live happily ever after, the end.

And now that it’s here, I don’t feel any of those things. I don’t feel relieved, or content, or absolved of my sins.

I’m just afraid.

Afraid of so many, many things.

I feel completely powerless. I don’t know what’s going on with Jase, my only lifeline to the club—my only lifeline at all, for that matter. Over the three days that pass after the bomb blast, he comes and goes from the apartment several times, never really telling me what’s going on. Each time he leaves, I can tell he’s reluctant to be away from me, which is both a comfort and a worry. Is he reluctant to let me out of his sight because he misses me?

Or does he want to keep tabs on me because he doesn’t trust me?

I suspect both are equally true.

And really, he’s justified in his suspicion. I can’t help myself. The first chance I get—the morning after we first sleep together again—I wait until Jase leaves the apartment. As I listen to the roar of his bike fade into the distance, I hurry to the bathroom, a fresh pair of blue contact lenses in my eyes in a matter of seconds. A quick shower to wash any trace of our night together away, a change of outfit from the suitcase Jase thoughtfully grabbed from the clubhouse for me, and suddenly I am Sammi once again.

I take his car keys, slam the door shut behind me, and drive to the private hospital where I know Dornan’s been transferred.

I want to see his pain. I want to see just how close to death I brought him.

When I arrive at the hospital, I enter the large foyer and immediately recognize Dornan’s wife talking on her phone in the corner. I duck behind a large potted fern, praying she hasn’t seen me. Sure enough, she appears oblivious, ending her call and returning to the elevators nearby. I watch as she punches the button to go up, and wait patiently as she steps into the elevator. The doors close quietly behind her. Above the doors, the numbers count upwards, pausing for a moment on five. Level five—that’s got to be it. A large board says that the ICU is on level five, which makes sense. I snicker to myself as I imagine Dornan hooked up to machines and breathing tubes.

Whatever damage he’s sustained? I hope it fucking hurts.

I jog to the stairwell, trying to stay out of sight. I don’t really care if any Gypsy Brothers see me—after all, I am the obsessive club whore who never leaves his side unless I have to. But I don’t exactly want Dornan’s bitch of a wife to see me and start a smack down.

Five flights of stairs later, I’m panting so hard, my chest is wheezing
. I used to be so fit
, I think to myself as I catch my breath in the stairwell. With sex my only exercise of late, it’s no wonder I’m woefully out of breath.

I let a few moments pass before I steel myself. I’m nervous, my stomach in knots, and I’m not entirely sure why.

Jase. Jimmy. There are two reasons right there. I wonder if anyone suspects me of anything yet.

I enter the hospital corridor, plastering a look on my face that’s aiming for concerned girlfriend.

I glance down at what I’m wearing, pleased that I had something Sammi-worthy to wear. A black T-shirt that clings in all the right places and dips to show off my cleavage, paired with dark denim jeans and plain ballet flats. It’s not as whorey as normal, but it’ll have to do.

Thank goodness Jase thought to grab my suitcase from the clubhouse. I don’t think turning up in his sweatpants would really work.

As soon as I step into the corridor, I know which room is Dornan’s. Halfway up the long hall is a doorway flanked by three Gypsy Brothers, who look ridiculously out of place in a hospital. At the same time, they look like you wouldn’t want to mess with them. Which I suppose is the whole point.

I hang around just outside the stairwell, waiting for one of them to notice me. Sure enough, within about three seconds, the shortest of the three heavily tattooed guys makes a beeline for me, his bald head shining under the artificial light.

I smile gratefully as he approaches me. “Hi.”

He smirks. “What are you doin’ here, darlin? Prez is still out cold.”

I nod, squeezing a tear out for effect. “I don’t know what to do,” I say desperately. “I’m so worried about him.”

The dude thinks on something for a moment and then glances at the room he’s just come from.

“Look,” he says. “It’s meant to be family only.”

“I know,” I say dejectedly. “I just—if he wakes up … I don’t want him to think I wasn’t here, worried about him, you know? But I don’t want to upset his family.” I put my hands to my face, acting upset. “Can you help me?”

I bat my fucking eyelashes for all I’m worth, and the guy buys it. Men are idiots sometimes. In this case, it’s to his detriment.

“Stay here, doll. I’ll let you know when his old lady leaves.”

I smile gratefully, watching him as he heads back to the room to stand sentry with the other two bikers. They’re all about Dornan’s age—all would have been in the club with my father when he died.

Traitorous bastards, the lot of them. If it were up to me, if I had the energy and the resources, they’d all be dead as well.

My patience pays off. About thirty minutes later, I see Dornan’s wife head back to the elevator and disappear inside. Moments after that, Baldy crooks a finger, beckoning me.

He gestures for me to enter the room, but as I pass him, he lays a hand on my shoulder. It takes everything within me not to throw it off and punch him in the face.

“He’s messed up pretty bad,” he says to me in a loud whisper. “You sure you wanna go in?”

I nod. I’m fucking
gagging
to see what’s become of him.

“Okay,” the guy says, taking his hand back. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

I nod, squeezing past him and entering the private room. Even here, in a coma, Dornan’s been afforded every luxury: a private suite that overlooks the Hollywood Hills and a band of merry men to guard him from further attack.

I should’ve brought some kind of poison with me and finished off the job. Silly me for not thinking ahead.

I approach the bed at the far end of the large room quietly and with caution. I don’t know what to expect, only that it’s bad.

As I get closer, my eyes take in every detail of the horrors that have marred Dornan’s face, neck, arms, and hands. I assume the rest of him is similarly injured, but I’m not about to lift the sheets and find out. Not yet, anyway.

A few more steps and I’m close enough to reach out and take his hand, gently avoiding the deep cuts that litter his skin and the drip tube that’s embedded in the top of his hand.

I can’t help it. A satisfied smile spreads across my face as I see the damage the shrapnel from Elliot’s crudely fashioned bombs have wreaked upon the man I want to destroy. It’s not as good as if he were dead, but it’s pretty fucking great.

He’s hooked up to a morphine drip, the same kind as the one I had when I woke up from death six years ago. They’re impossible to overdose, which is unfortunate, with only a measured amount delivered intravenously every fifteen minutes.

Well, if I can’t kill him, I’ll make sure he feels every goddamn thing that’s happening to him. That works for me, too. I locate the needle underneath his skin and push back on it firmly, just enough that it stays underneath his skin, but out of his vein. With any luck, he’ll not only be in pain from the morphine not reaching his bloodstream, but the fluid will also collect under his skin, causing more discomfort.

I lift the sheets back and tuck him hand underneath, patting the blankets back over.

Before I leave, I plant a lingering kiss on his bruised lips.

Karma’s a fucking bitch sometimes.

TEN

“Why?” Jase asks me.

It’s late. He just walked in the front door of his apartment, hours after I got back from the hospital. I’ve been sitting at the counter, waiting for him to get back, knowing he’s probably going to be pissed.

“Why what?” I respond to his question, making him frown.

“You know what I mean,” Jase growls. “Why’d you go to the fucking hospital today?”

I shrug, avoiding his eyes. “I wanted to see the bastard laid up in a coma.”

Jase snorts, shaking his head. “Nice move on his hand, too. Really subtle.”

I actually laugh, which is totally inappropriate given the serious look Jase is leveling at me.

“Oh, come on,” I say to him. “He deserves every bit of pain I can give him.”

“Of course he does,” Jase says angrily. “But Julz—you’re getting a bit fucking careless. A bit fucking
obvious
.”

My face falls as I realize he’s right.

“Jesus,” I whisper. “That was pretty stupid, huh?”

Jase spreads his hands out, a gesture of surrender. “Yeah, well,” he says. “You’re lucky I was there a few hours later and took the goddamn blame for it.”

I hang my head. “Thanks,” I mumble.

He does something totally unexpected then. He comes over, smiles devilishly, and pulls me from my stool into a massive bear hug, squeezing the breath out of me.

“Whoa,” I say when he releases his grip. “What was that for?”

He brushes a stray hair from my face, a cheeky glint in his eye. “You’re crazy, you know that? You’ve got no fear.”

Something about those words stab into my chest painfully. “Believe me, I’ve got plenty of fear,” I reply glumly.

“Are you still afraid of heights?” Jase asks.

“Why?” I ask slowly. “Want to take me base jumping or something?”

“Not quite,” he says. “Remember when we used to go up on the Ferris wheel?”

“Yeah,” I say, flashing back to when we were teenage sweethearts at Santa Monica Pier.

“Grab a jacket,” he says.

I frown, looking at the digital clock display mounted on the front of the oven. “It’s almost ten at night,” I protest.

Jase shrugs. “There’s got to be some upside to being a Gypsy Brother, right?”

Sure enough, the security guard in charge of looking over the Pier waves us in without hesitation. I’m still reeling from the abrupt change of mood Jase showed when he got home, and I’m afraid to say, a little suspicious that there’s something he isn’t telling me.

“I thought you’d be angry with me,” I whisper as Jase hurries me along the wooden pier.

He stops, and I almost collide with him as I continue striding. He turns and catches me by my shoulders, steadying me.

“I’m not angry with you,” he says, squeezing my hands in his. “I’m scared out of my fucking mind
for
you. For both of us.”

“Everything will be fine,” I whisper, but a little voice inside of me is screaming for attention. Demanding answers to those questions that keep plaguing me.

Why are you still here?

Why didn’t you kill them years ago?

I block them out, because who knows how much time we have left together? I don’t really want to ask those questions of him, because I don’t know if I can bear the answers.

I don’t know what answers would satisfy me, anyway.

He gives me a weird look, takes one of my hands, and continues dragging me along. A moment later, he’s lifting me up into one of the passenger cabins before clambering in himself.

“It’s not going anywhere,” I point out.

Jase shrugs, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as we sit side by side in the darkness of the empty pier, the only noise the waves crashing onto the sand below us.

I can’t help it. I have to ask.

“What … happened to you afterward?” I ask him in a voice barely above a whisper.
After I died.

He immediately stiffens, his arm around me rigid. “Nothing,” he says quickly.

“Jase,” I press. “You can trust me.”

He sighs. “It’s not about trust, Julz.”

“Well, what then?” I ask.

He relaxes his arm again, and I can tell it’s taking every ounce of self-control he possesses to act casually when something is burning him inside.

“Jase,” I say plainly. “Why didn’t you leave?”

He rips his arm away from me so quickly I don’t know how to react. My mouth falls open as I watch his forced casual manner shift into rage.

“Nobody saved
me,
” he says bitterly. “Nobody whisked me away into the night and faked my death. So, yeah. I had to save myself. Or die trying.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask him, suddenly cold without his arm around me. “Jase, I’m not trying to be a bitch. I’m just trying to understand.”

He balls his fists up angrily and stands, leaping out of the stationary passenger cabin. “I don’t give a fuck if you understand or not,” he seethes, dumbfounding me. “There are some things that we don’t talk about.”

“Jase—” I try to say …

“Do you want me to ask you what it’s like to fuck my father?” he demands. Holy shit, he’s really worked up. I’m so stunned I can’t even be offended by his question.

“What do you think happened, Juliette?” he asks me, like I’m the stupidest person in the entire world, and it takes everything within me not to cry. “Don’t you think I would have left the first chance I got? That I would have killed every one of them for what they did to you?”

My heart sinks as I imagine what he must have suffered through as he watched them defile me, and after I died.

“I’m sorry,” I say desperately. He kicks at the ground, refusing to look at me.

“Yeah, so am I,” he says. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” I blurt out, immediately regretting my choice of words.

“No,” he says bitterly. “I don’t want to talk about it.
Ever
.”

The spontaneous Ferris wheel trip ruined, we walk home in pensive silence, Jase charging along as I scurry behind him, taking two hurried steps to his every one. Once we’re inside the apartment he goes straight to his bedroom and closes the door in my face, leaving me alone in the hallway.

Alone with my morbid curiosity. What the hell happened to him after I died? I’ve never thought about the details, always too wrapped up in my own despair. Fuck. I can’t believe I’ve been so blind to the pain he’s carrying inside like a grenade, ready to explode at any second. I never stopped long enough to imagine his loss. His fear.

Nobody saved me.

His words tear at my heart.

Nobody saved him.

I wait fifteen agonizing minutes before I knock on his door gently. When I don’t get a “fuck off,” I open the door slowly and look around. Jase is lying in the middle of his bed, arms tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He glances in my direction before resuming his ceiling stare-off contest.

I decide to go for the straight-on approach, jumping on the bed and straddling Jase’s hips before he can push me away. He meets my gaze, clearly unimpressed.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “It came out wrong. I didn’t mean it like that.”

I press my palms to his chest and am surprised when he grabs my wrists and yanks them hard, causing me to topple forward so that my chest meets his.

“Yeah, you did,” he says quietly. “I’d ask the same question if I were you.”

I don’t say anything, just chew on my lip as we survey each other warily.

“I can’t go there,” he says, his face etched with the pain of his past. “I’ll just say this. Three years I went without seeing sunlight. Three years, and I was convinced I was better off dead with you every single day. ”

Three years without sunlight
? My mind spins at what he’s inferring.

“You mean—”

“You saw Emilio’s place,” Jase says with difficulty. “You didn’t see what’s underneath it.”

My imagination fills in the blanks. “They kept you locked up in a basement for three years? What the hell did they do with you for three whole years?” I whisper, as tears prick at my eyes.

His eyes cloud over with pain.

“Forget it,” I say quickly. “Don’t answer that.”

He looks relieved. But I’m far from it. I’m sick over what those three years might have entailed, and how the worst event of my life had lasted a few days in comparison.

“Shit, Jase,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck as I bury my face in the warm spot between his ear and shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t answer me, but in my head his words go round like a Ferris wheel that never stops.
Nobody rescued me …