Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series (45 page)

Until he sees me.

His face falls as he sees Dornan using my body as a shield.

Dornan chuckles at the assortment of men with their weapons aimed, nobody daring to make the first move and set off a round of deadly dominoes. Shoot and be shot. And nobody’s in the position to shoot enough bullets to wipe everyone out before they turn on him.

Fascinating. Terrifying.

“Let her go,” Elliot says, his gun trained on Dornan. Dornan laughs. “I’ll shoot her before you can pull your trigger, boy,” he responds gruffly, keeping himself shielded with my body. Elliot’s struggling to keep aim on him; I can tell by the way they are both shifting continuously. I’m still trying not to throw up at the reality of so many guns in one room, especially the one digging into my temple.

In front of me, before I can even comprehend what’s going on, The Prospect shoots Emilio dead between the eyes.
What the fuck?
The noise is as deafening as it is unexpected - as in, very. I gasp as blood and bits of Emilio’s brain explode out the back of his head, hitting the wall behind him with a meaty splat as he topples to the ground, lifeless.

Dornan tenses behind me, choking me harder so that I can hardly breathe. “You little fuckin’ traitor,” he says through clenched teeth. “Jase, shoot him for me.”

Jase points his gun at The Prospect, who’s got his gun pointed at Dornan’s head. I’m struggling to catch up, struggling to breathe, and struggling to understand who the fuck is on whose team. Jase continues to aim at The Prospect as he backs over to where we stand, taking up position next to his father.

I’m so fucking confused right now.

It gets cleared up real quick with what happens next, though.

In the blink of an eye, Jase turns sharply to face his father, his gun now pressed firmly against Dornan’s head. “Let her go,” Jase says to his father, and I feel Dornan tighten his grip on me.

“Get your fuckin’ gun away from my head,” Dornan spits.

Jase doesn’t budge, but he doesn’t have the power position for long.

“Little brother.” A voice sounds from behind Jase. Who the fuck else is in here? I hear another gun being cocked and suddenly, Jase isn’t looking so smug. From where I’m standing—or rather, being held at gunpoint—I can’t see who’s behind Jase, only that there’s a snub-nosed revolver pointed at the back of his head. I can’t keep track of the players in this massive Mexican stand-off. It would almost be laughable, if we weren’t all one move away from being shot ourselves.

“Mickey,” Jase says reluctantly. “You shoulda stayed out of this, man.”

“Protecting the bitch who killed our brothers? What the fuck does that make you?” the voice behind Jase asks. Mickey, who, like Donny, refused to die in the blast that ripped through their motorcycles. I still don’t understand how they survived the explosion that should have wiped them all out.

“It makes him a fuckin’ traitor,” Dornan says angrily. He digs his gun deeper into my temple, almost enough to break the fragile skin there.
Ow
.

I glance at Elliot, who everyone seems to have forgotten, and notice he has a target on Dornan’s head. He raises his eyebrows slightly at me then looks at the floor for a deliberate second.

I think he’s asking me to duck. But I don’t know when. I see him change his aim slightly, without making it obvious, and as he winks at me, two things happen. Firstly, an explosion impossibly close to my ear, as Elliot
shoots the gun right out of Dornan’s hand
. Dornan is flung back dramatically, and before he can take me with him, I drop to my knees, crawling out of the way. In the perhaps two seconds that have elapsed since Elliot shot Dornan in the hand, he’s shifted his aim to Mickey and pulled his trigger a second time, sending the guy backward, spraying his blood all over Jase. Dornan’s howling. His hand is useless and mangled, and his gun on the floor. He snatches it up before Elliot can get off another clean round, aiming right back at him.

I crawl toward Elliot, who’s closer than Jase and not blocked by Dornan. I try not to put my hands in Emilio’s blood, but it’s almost impossible to avoid; the stuff is spreading over the floor so quickly. Gross.

“Pop,” Jase says, his gun still leveled at his father. “Drop the gun. It’s over.”

Dornan addresses his youngest son with barely controlled rage. “I don’t think so,” Dornan says. “I’ll shoot this fucker before you can get a round off, I guarantee you.”

“Don’t shoot him!” I cry at Dornan, referring to Elliot. Dornan shifts his aim to me in the blink of an eye, and suddenly I’m on my knees, my hands covered in Emilio’s sticky blood, with a gun trained on me. Great. And here I was, thinking I was almost free.

“You won’t shoot me,” I say, glaring at Dornan. “I’ve got something you want.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You just try and fuckin’ run, and see how fast I blow your brains out, baby girl.”

I swallow thickly, believing him. It doesn’t matter that he thinks I’m having his baby. He’ll shoot me point-blank without another thought.

Dornan shakes his head, as if something hilarious has just occurred to him. “You know,” he says to Jase, “I’m surprised she took you back after you told her about how her daddy really bit the big one.”

Jase shifts uncomfortably on his feet, his aim still locked on Dornan. “Shut up, old man, before I end you.”

Something about the way Jase is reacting worries me. “What’s he talking about?” I ask Jase. He glares at his father in response. “Nothing. He’s just fucking with your head.”

“Juliette,” Dornan asks in mock sympathy, “would you like to know who really killed your daddy?”

My blood runs cold as I look from father to son, perplexed.

“I already know who killed him, you asshole. You shot him in the head, and then you made everyone believe it was him who killed Mariana. I know it was you who killed both of them.”

Dornan laughs, his gun still pointed at my head. “It’s true, I killed that bitch, and she fuckin’ deserved it, too. I’ve never lied to you, Juliette. Believe me when I say, I didn’t kill your father.”

Jase’s eyes dart between his father and me, Elliot shifting minutely beside me.

“Tell her, son. Tell her what you did.”

Stunned, I stare at Jase, waiting for him to deny it.

But he doesn’t.

“Tell me he’s lying,” I say to Jase. “Tell me he’s lying and fucking shoot him.”

He doesn’t tell me anything. He just stares at his father, sweat and rage pouring from him.

“Say something!” I implore Jase. He looks at me with broken eyes, eyes that have seen the darkest depths of hell and lived to recount the tale.

“It’s not what you think,” Jase finally manages. His attention diverted to me, Dornan chooses that exact moment to let off a round toward Elliot. I scream, hitting the dirt as Jase tackles Dornan in a flurry of punches and a struggle for Dornan’s gun. Two more shots ring out, and then someone is lifting under my arms, dragging me away. I don’t struggle—I’d know Elliot’s embrace anywhere, and I sag into him as we run for the door, making tracks as fast as we can. We get to a van a short way down the driveway and he pushes me into the passenger seat, starting the engine and burning rubber as he drives straight through the padlocked front gates, sending wrought iron and chains flying.

I’m covered in blood, but none of it seems to be mine. I focus on Elliot, and gasp when I see blood pouring from his shoulder.

“Jesus, Elliot. You’re been shot.”

He gestures to a towel on the floor, and I grab it, applying pressure to his wound.

“It’s a flesh wound,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

I stare out of the back window of the van as we pass trees and buildings in a rapid blur. He’s definitely going above the limit.

“We just left them there,” I say, suddenly horrified.

Elliot gives me a tight glance before looking back at the road. “They’ll get out,” he says. “Or they’ll get shot. You’re my problem. They’re not.”

My heart sinks as I imagine Jase and Dornan trapped in gun battle. I can imagine only one of them will end up coming out of it alive.

Elliot’s cellphone rings, and he grabs it off the dash, hitting answer.

“Yeah?”

Unintelligible yelling comes through the other end, and Elliot ends the call just as quickly, throwing the phone back on the dash.

“They got out,” he says blankly “Jason and Luis. Though, given that last piece of news, I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

Luis
. That’s The Prospect’s name. Relieved and sickened, I continue applying pressure to Elliot’s wound as I watch his blood seep right through the material and onto my palm.

“You saved me,” I say in wonderment, as I watch his red blood swiftly devour the white towel.

He flashes me a wicked smile, topped off with a wink. “Just call me Superman, sweetheart.”

NINETEEN

Thirty minutes and an endless stream of backstreets later, we’re at the San Diego port. Why, I have no idea.

Before I’ve even taken my seatbelt off, Elliot is out of the car and in the back of the van, a black duffel bag in his hands.

He comes around to my side, helping me out, looking me over uneasily. I don’t react. I know I look like shit. I’m still wearing the white dress Dornan gave me, now stained with Elliot and Emilio’s blood. Elliot hasn’t even seen my stomach yet, the awful mess where Dornan cut away the tattoo he inked.

“Come on,” Elliot says, tugging my hand. I’m confused, until my eyes fall upon the yacht parked up next to the jetty. “We’re sailing?”

He nods. “Too risky flying. And we can’t exactly drive across the border when Emilio fucking owns it.”

“Emilio’s dead,” I say blankly.

“Yeah, but Dornan’s not,” Elliot says, clearly peeved. “I fucking knew Jase had—”

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t talk about them, please, El.”
He killed my father?
It’s too much to comprehend. I just wanted him to tell me it was a lie, or something. Anything! But he didn’t even try to defend himself.

And Dornan’s not dead? FUCK! The sick motherfucker just won’t die! Not by a bomb, not by a bullet. I’m equal parts disappointed and relieved that he isn’t dead, because when he does breathe his final breath in this world, it should be while he’s forced to stare into my eyes as I watch him slip away.

I notice Elliot’s shoulder is weeping fresh blood again, and I frown, concerned.

I wonder if he’s OK
.

Elliot seems to read my mind. “It was a flesh wound,” he says to me. “I’ll be fine.”

“You suck at sailing,” I say, tilting my head as I study the yacht. “You crashed our houseboat in the river.”

He snorts. “I hired a boat that came with a driver,” he says. “Five-star, baby.”

“Wait,” I say, squeezing his arm. “Where’s Kayla? Grandma?”

He glances at me before tossing his bag onto the boat. “I put them in a safe place around the same time that Dornan blew up my tattoo shop.”

I gasp. “Your shop? Your tattoo parlor?”

“Is no more,” he answers. “May she rest in peace, that sexy bitch of a studio.”

Devastation plucks at my heart at the image in my mind of Elliot’s tattoo studio going up in flames. Because of me. Yet, I can’t help but smile at the way he tells me. No wonder I fell in love with him all those years ago. Elliot can make me smile even after he’s lost everything.

Elliot’s led me below deck so I can rest. He doesn’t understand when I tell him I’ve been resting a lot lately. Instead, I perch myself on a couch in the small but comfortable cabin, grabbing a cushion and hugging it to my stomach. He goes back to the top deck and as I wait for him to return I hear other voices alongside his. My blood runs cold when I recognize them. Jase and Luis. I can’t face Jase any time soon—I don’t even know if I can trust him. He killed my father?

Yet, I know we can’t just leave the pair here to die. And they did have a hand in my release.
I still love him. I still love Jase. I’m so fucking confused right now.

Elliot returns below deck to where I’m waiting, closing the hatch behind him with a resounding thunk. As if to say, the others aren’t welcome down here. He’s protecting me yet again, and I’m so relieved I could cry. Instead, I stare into space, thoughts buzzing in my head like angry wasps.

Soon enough, we’re sailing out of the port and into open ocean. It’s choppy today, rough but not unbearable, or at least it wouldn’t be if I weren’t suffering from the most pathetic morning sickness ever. One minute I’m fine, and the next, I feel positively green.

“Julz,” Elliot says after a while.

“Yeah?”

He stares at me for a long moment, chewing his lip as if he’s nervous.

“Your mom’s not dead.”

It’s like I’ve been punched square in the face again. “What? Yes she is. The Pros-
Luis
told Dornan this morning in front of me….” I trail off as I remember whose side Luis has been on the entire time.

“Where is she?”

Elliot begins to pace, and it’s really hard to follow him with the way the boat is rocking to and fro.

“She’s safe,” he says. “They took her to a rehab center to try and get her off some of the drugs.”

That familiar feeling of nausea swells within me again, and I swallow thickly, trying to push it down. It doesn’t work, though, and a moment later I’m rushing to the small bathroom, getting there just in time to puke my guts up in the sink.

Several lurches later, I rinse everything away. I cup my hands under the running water and take a long drink.
Much better.

Elliot appears behind me, one hand lightly on my shoulder. I turn quickly, not used to a friendly touch, and he takes his hand away like it’s been burnt. “Sorry,” I say, reaching out to take his hand in mine.” I….”  I don’t know what to say.

“It’s okay,” he says, his forehead pinched with stress. “What’s happening in here?

I panic. I can’t tell him. Sickness rushes up in my throat again and I turn, throwing up again in the sink.

“I’m seasick,” I say, after I’ve finished.

He looks very, very troubled, glancing down at my rounded belly.

“You don’t get seasick,” he says quietly. “You’ve never been seasick.”

I think of the week we spent on the Mississippi river, catching fish and making love and sunning ourselves on the deck of the houseboat he had hired. It was right before he left me.

He’s right. I never got seasick. Not even on the days when the water was so choppy, we were forced to stay inside and ride out the tide.

He sees right through my lie even as he suspects the truth. It’s something I’ve always been able to do - decipher Elliot’s expression quicker than he even realizes what he’s thinking.

It is absurd how closely we mirror the Elliot and Juliette of six years ago, me puking my heart out and him beside me, his face resigned and stricken.

He makes a pained coughing noise as he realizes I have carried a piece of the devil out of the compound inside me, a shard of glass embedded into my womb, the price I pay for trying to right his sins.

I can’t believe how stupid I am, that after everything we went thought six years ago, I have let this happen again.

“
Jesus Christ
,” he says, as I turn and vomit again.

After I’ve finished throwing up, I flush everything away and rinse my mouth under the tap again. I turn to look at Elliot, standing in the doorway, but it’s not Elliot anymore.

It’s Jase.

My knees go weak as I take him in. He’s covered in blood and dirt. I feel my mouth fall open, unable to form words, as my broken heart pounds painfully.

“Julz,” he says, his face worried, his eyes almost black. Just like Dornan’s.

Finally, I find my voice. “You’re just like him,” I say, shrinking back. “I
loved
you. I thought you were different.”

“It’s not what you think,” he says, his voice cracking. He steps closer, trying to grab at me, trying to embrace me.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” I spit, grabbing the door and trying to push it closed. “Elliot!” I don’t remember when I started crying, but there are tears on my cheeks, tears that burn my skin. “Get out. Get out!”

Elliot appears next to Jase, who is still wedged between the door and the doorframe to stop me from closing him out.

“Give her some space, man,” he says sharply. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

I glance at him, thankful, letting the door slam shut as soon as Jase steps back. As I flick the lock, I see a shadow at the base of the door, and it doesn’t move for a long time. I hold my breath and let it go, again and again, an old habit I used to do when I was stressed out. Three held breaths and the shadow is still there.

“I’m not talking to you,” I call, to the person behind the door. “Go away.”

But he doesn’t.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, “I’m never leaving you again.”

As I slide to the floor, sobbing, thinking of the horrid fucking mess that I’m in, the baby nudges the inside of my belly, the boat lurches to the side, and I hang on to the floor for dear life.

As the boat rocks on the rough sea, my own words come back to haunt me.

Four sons dead before you even fucking noticed me.

Well, Dornan’s noticed me now. And he thinks I’m pregnant with his baby. He’s going to tear the world down until he finds me and makes me pay.