Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series (43 page)

The room starts to spin, and I can’t breathe. The galloping sound, the heartbeat of
a baby
, is so loud it’s overwhelming. I sit up and swipe at the machine, getting it away from me, kicking and screaming as Dornan pins me easily with his brute strength.

“Stop,” he says, that glint in his eye telling me he’s getting off on this.

I don’t stop. I keep kicking and screaming until I feel a sharp prick in my arm, and warmth floods my body. My body stills, and I feel so fucking relieved.

Dornan leans over, tracing my lips with his fingertip, making me shiver despite the warm sunshine in my veins.

“Hooked already,” he chuckles. “Just like your momma.”

***

A while later—how long, I have no idea—I hear someone shift beside me, and push myself up into a sitting position, rubbing my eyes.

Dornan is sitting beside the bed, having pulled up one of the white wicker chairs, and when he sees me he grins, reaching for a glass of water.

“Here.” He hands me the glass of water and I take it, thirsty complicit little slave I’ve become. I’m too drug-fucked to even care he’s gained total control over me in such a short time. I’m just empty. Done. A broken shell carrying a product borne of vengeance and hate.

Oh, Jesus
. The sound of the fetal monitor dances in my head again and I take a deep gulp of water.

“Take these,” Dornan says, holding out two brown pills that look like they’re made for a goddamn horse.

“What are they?” I ask, taking them slowly.

“Vitamins, baby girl. It’s a little late, but we want our boy to be strong, don’t we?”

I scowl at him as I take the tablets one at a time.
Fucking asshole
. If I had anything left inside me to throw up, I would, but breakfast must have been a while ago, because my stomach is growling again.

I’m still reeling from the apparent confirmation of our little bundle of horror so much, I barely even notice when The Prospect walks in, rapping twice on the open door as he enters hurriedly.

“What?” Dornan barks.

“Boss, we got an issue.” He looks worried.

“Well spit it out,
ése.
I’m busy with my baby mama.” He laughs, glancing at me. I keep my face impassive as I stare at the floor.

I see The Prospect glance at me in my peripheral vision before he turns his attention back to Dornan. “It’s the nurse lady, boss. Violetta found her this morning. She’s dead.”

It takes me a moment to understand he’s talking about my mother.

Dornan chuckles. “Well, what’d you do? Feed her to the pigs?”

The prospect shifts uneasily on his feet. “Jason took her to the funeral home, sir,” he replies. “The one you usually use in Tijuana.”

Dornan swats at the air dismissively, and The Prospect leaves quickly, closing the door behind him.

Dornan looks at me with a satisfied smirk. “Aww, did you hear that? Your stupid mother finally took too much. I’m amazed she lasted this long, the old dog.” He chuckles. “Sad, baby girl?”

I laugh. “Hardly.”

I see surprise flicker across his face before he returns to his customary smirk. “Well, if I didn’t know better, and if you didn’t look so much like your fucking father, I’d say you were
my
daughter.”

I can’t stop the disgusted look on my face at the thought that Dornan could ever be related to me, and I thank my lucky stars for inheriting John Portland’s features amid my mother’s eyes and hair.

Dornan shrugs. “It’s all semantics, anyway. I’ve owned you the moment the nurse handed you to me after your stupid mother had you.”

I glare at him, furious at the thought that even
that
moment of my life was overshadowed by Dornan fucking Ross.

“You know, I’m confused,” I say, my brain slightly clearer now that the heroin high has tapered a little. “You say I’m pregnant, but what kind of father shoots his baby up with enough drugs to kill it? You know, it’s going to be born an addict, if it even survives everything you’ve done to me.”

Dornan scowls, but I can tell my argument hits him somewhere. “Well, you were born an addict, and look how you turned out?”

“Bullshit.” He’s lying.

“Mmm-Hmm. Your stupid cunt of a mother couldn’t stay off the juice for a day, let alone nine months. You were in the hospital for weeks! Crying and fucking performing. You weren’t even signed out to her when you finally left.” He grins as he delivers his final blow. “You were signed out to
me
.
I
brought you home. Celia fucking took care of you until you detoxed, while your mother didn’t even miss a beat. Went back to the club the very next day.”

My cheeks burn. I’m angry because I know he’s probably telling the truth.

“My father would never let that happen.”

“Your father was in prison,” Dornan says. “Six months in Sing Sing. And your mother came back to me, just like always.” He smiles, as if the memory is a fond one, and brushes his knuckle against my cheek. I shrink back from his touch, and he laughs again.

“Oh, baby girl,” he says. “In years to come, you’ll be begging me to touch you. Because this is
it
for you. Me and you and this room. I hope you enjoyed the last twenty-one years. Because until you take your last breath, the only person you’ll ever see again is
me
.”

He leaves the room then, slamming the door for effect behind him. As soon as I hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway, I scramble off the bed, tiptoeing toward the French doors that lead to the balcony. Everything appears to have been repaired since one of the bombs I planted exploded right below this room, as it tore a gaping big hole on the side of the mansion. I peer out of the glass, glimpsing several armed guards at various points around the property, and in the distance, the smoggy lights that mark the border separating the US from Mexico.

I don’t know how I’d even get past the guards. How I’d get down to the ground floor from the second floor balcony. How I’d not freeze in this stupid little dress that’s totally unsuitable for winter.

But I’ve got to do something.

I put my hand on the curved brass door handle, which is cold and heavy. My breath catches when I push it down…and it gives. No resistance. Excitedly, I push the doors open, but the sight that greets me isn’t the one I expected.

I squeal, stepping back just in time to avoid falling through the non-existent balcony to the hard tiles that adorn the ground-floor verandah.

My heart racing, I step back into the safety of the room, realizing that the repairs aren’t, in fact, complete. There’s a huge fucking piece of the balcony missing that almost swallowed me up whole and left me smashed on the ground in a tangle of broken limbs and blood.

The wind from outside rushes in, cold and sweet after three months of stale air. I feel my loose hair fly wildly around my face as the door behind me crashes open and Dornan rushes over to me, hands fisting in my hair as he tugs me back violently.

“Oww!” I cry, as he uses the momentum of tugging my hair to throw me past him and back onto the bed. I land face down, but before I can crawl away he is on me.

“Shut up!” he roars, digging his fingers painfully into my arm as he flips me onto my back. Before I can get away, he’s looped something around my wrists, and secured them to the bedhead.

I struggle briefly before going limp. We’ve done this dance before and the guy knows how to tie his knots. I’m stuck.

I glare at him derisively. “You gonna make me come before you stab me this time?” I ask sarcastically, remembering the night he made my entire body shudder to life before he sank his knife into my thigh.

He smirks. “Only good girls get to come. You’re not a good girl, are you, baby?”

He takes something from the drawer beside the bed and I crane my neck to see what it is. An iPod with headphones already plugged into it.

Strange.

The smirk doesn’t leave his face as he shoves the ear buds into my ears. “I’ll be back in a few days,” he says, winking at me. “But don’t worry. I made sure this is on repeat.”

He presses something on the iPod and tosses it onto my chest, just as someone that sounds like Sepultura starts screaming in my ears about hate and blood. Really fucking loud.

I glare at Dornan as he blows me a kiss and slams the door shut behind him, while a dude screams into my eardrums.

SEVENTEEN

It’s so fucking loud, I feel like my ears are going to start bleeding. I wiggle my head forcefully, but those headphones are shoved deep into my ears, and it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting them out without the use of my hands.

And it doesn’t stop. For fucking
hours
. I listen to the entire, ear-shattering, vomit-inducing album, which might be fine at a regular volume—if you love death metal, which I do not—but at full volume it makes me wish I were already dead.

There’s nothing I can do to escape the noise, until eventually it feels like the screaming and the notes become a part of me, trapped like waspish, screaming, vengeful ghosts in the darkest recesses of my mind.

Finally, after what seems like days but what is probably just a few hours, I feel warm fingers at my ears. My eyes fly open and I see The Prospect standing above me, holding one of the ear buds up to his ear to see what I’ve been listening to.

“Damn,” he says, shaking his head. “That shit is terrible.”

Tears of relief burn my eyes and I blink them away impatiently, hardly able to hear him through the music which still seems to be bouncing around in my head. I feel like it’ll be there forever, and the thought makes my stomach turn.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, and he smiles in response.

“I told you I was a nice guy,” he whispers. “You want something to eat?”

I nod enthusiastically, starving and on a wicked comedown from that last dose of heroin, and wait as patiently as I can while he undoes the scarf around my wrists. He helps me to sit up and I massage my numb wrists as he does.

He places a paper bag in front of me. McDonalds. My eyes light up as I imagine the fat and grease that might be in the bag. I look at him for approval and he gestures, smiling.

“Gee,” he says, as I snatch up a cardboard box of fries and start stuffing them into my mouth. “I’ve never seen a girl get so turned on by fast food.”

I ignore him until I’m done, first the fries, then a cheeseburger that practically melts in my mouth. In less than five minutes, there’s not a crumb left. As soon as I’ve finished the food he hands me a Coke—cold and icy—and I sip on the sugary drink like it’s liquid gold.

When I’m finished, I wipe my mouth with a napkin and crunch the rubbish into a ball. “Thank you,” I say, and I really am so fucking thankful it hurts.

The events that happened last time I saw him slam into me, and I frown, remembering poor Violetta on her knees.

“You made that poor girl suck your dick,” I say to him.

He frowns. “Dornan made that poor girl suck my dick.” He corrects me. “It wasn’t exactly a turn-on, or didn’t you notice?”

I nod reluctantly. “Dornan makes people do a lot of things they don’t want to do.”

He lets me use the bathroom and drink some water before he leaves. He looks at the bed uneasily, but I’m lying on my back before he can even ask, my arms stretched above me.

Obedient little slave I am. I disgust myself.

He looks relieved at my cooperation as he re-knots the silk scarf around my wrists, tugging it to make sure it’s tight. I’m fine, until he places the iPod back on my chest and moves the ear buds toward my ears.

He must see the look of horror on my face because he pauses, patting my shoulder awkwardly.

“I have to put it back on,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

I nod bravely, but I start crying. A concerned expression flickers across his face.

“Hang in there. I’ll turn it down a little,” he whispers in my ear, so faintly I can barely hear it. “It’ll all be over soon.”

He leans back and I stare at him, hardly daring to believe what he’s saying.

“What?” I mouth, barely above a whisper. He shakes his head, pointing to his ear and then to the door. I know exactly what he’s getting at. It’s exactly the same thing Jase tried to tell me when he was in here. 
Someone is outside the room, and they’re listening
. They both seemed comfortable to gesture though, which tells me there are no cameras in the room.

The Prospect pats my shoulder again affectionately, and the small gesture makes me burst into tears. Looking like he’s handing me a death sentence, he gently nestles the ear buds back into my ears and presses play.

This time, the music takes me on a journey. First, I cry. Get rid of every tear that’s still inside of me. Then, I seethe; my anger only helped along by the lyrics in the death metal songs that blast at my eardrums. More than once, I imagine my eardrums have burst and splattered blood everywhere. But it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me.

After what I estimate to be a few hours, I come to a point of acceptance. Staring at the pressed ceiling above me, I can finally separate myself from the thrashing music, can finally decipher my own thoughts. The heroin has worn off too, and no doubt the sugary cola has given my brain a bit of a boost.

And the thoughts that occupy my mind are intriguing indeed.

My thoughts wander towards the night I was here last. The last time Dornan fucked me as
Sammi
. Afterward, I’d been bleeding. At the time, I’d assumed it was his rough treatment of me, but it soon became apparent that my period had started. I’d spent the first few days at Jase’s apartment with the most wicked cramps.

And then, the week after, we had made love.

Unprotected.

At least twice.

And I’d stopped taking my contraceptive pills the day I blasted those bombs and blew the front of this fucking room to smithereens.

And after that? I’d been down here at least a month before Dornan raped me.

Yet I started throwing up before he raped me.

My mind struggles to do the math, to believe that this might actually be real, that I’m not just making shit up in a state of delusion, but as I analyze everything, the dates and the circumstances and everything and I come to one shocking, stunning conclusion that could change everything.

This baby inside me isn’t Dornan’s.

It’s Jase’s.