Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series (68 page)

she destroyed herself.

too many little thoughts.

she fell apart.

too many little pieces.

she wrote herself.

too many little words.

she lost herself.

too many little places.

she fell in love.

too many little feelings.

she discovered herself.

she believed.

too many little moments.

and in the end,

she was home.

-
RM Drake
,
Beautiful Chaos

A NOTE TO MY READERS

Firstly
, a note about One Love and the way I left Jase and Julz.

One year. 230,000 words, and Juliette’s story – and her quest for vengeance against Dornan Ross and his sons – is complete.

When I was writing the ending, some of my beta readers were upset with the brief scene Jase and Julz share at the end. They wanted more. They wanted to see the new life Jason and Juliette have now that Dornan is gone.

And here’s the thing. This story wasn’t a love story. This was a story about love, yes, but it wasn’t a
love story
. It was a story about vengeance, about redemption, about retribution.

That story was the battle between Juliette and Dornan. Their story is done.

Jase and Julz? Their story is not done. In fact, it’s only just beginning. I know, some of you wanted this to end differently. For Juliette and Jase to get married, to have a baby, to live happily ever after. But in their world there is no real fairytale ending. They’re cut off one of Medusa’s heads by killing Dornan and his sons, but the threat of the rest of the Gypsy Brothers, and the Cartel, is still very real. This wasn’t a story that could be wrapped up neatly with a pretty bow. This story is ugly, and violent, and dark.

But from that comes the good news.
Juliette and Jase are getting their own book
. Yes, as I struggled and cried writing the ending scenes, I fought a battle within myself. To end them here? Impossible. To double the length of One Love and show you what happens next? That felt like a cop-out, because the natural conclusion for this series is and always has been Dornan’s death. Juliette has done what she set out to do. She’s killed the men who wronged her so brutally six years ago.

Here’s why I didn’t just give Juliete and Jase a happy ever after: Because they’re not ready for that. They love each other, but they don’t know each other. They’re lovers and strangers, separated by Dornan’s devastating act, brought back together by Juliette’s thirst for vengeance, and now they need time to get to know each other again. To just exist together in a world that isn’t constantly overshadowed by Dornan’s presence. I am so excited to be able to share the rest of their story with you in 2015, and I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

ZERO HOUR
is that story. It’s the conclusion of Juliette and Jase’s story, and I’ve taken them out with a bang. You can pre-order it here:

http://bit.ly/ZeroHouriBooks

Secondly
, a note of thanks to YOU.

I want to thank each and every one of you who picked up Seven Sons and gave an unknown author a chance. You are the reason I write this. You have made my dreams come true. When I started writing Seven Sons, I could never have seen what would happen. You all embraced Juliette, Jase, Elliot and even Dornan, read their stories and demanded more, and I can only hope that I have given you a satisfactory ending. It’s not a cliffhanger, and that scares the crap out of me. Cliffhangers mean there’s more to come. In this case, I can tell you you’ll definitely see these characters again, but Juliette’s quest is complete. Her revenge has been realized, and she is finally, in her own inexplicable way, at peace. For a character who has suffered so much, I couldn’t be happier that she finally gets to be with the man she loves. And, though I doubt I will ever get over the death of the greatest anti-hero I have ever had to pleasure of putting onto paper, I am happy (yet devastated) with the way Dornan met his end. It was fitting, it was justified, and in the end, I think even he knew there was no other way things could have gone down.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for loving these characters. Even – no,
especially
– the fucked-up ones.

Here’s that ZERO HOUR link again, in case you missed it:

http://bit.ly/ZeroHouriBooks

Don’t forget to keep reading ahead for the bonus novella, too!It’s straight after the Zero Hour blur
b


They say a human being needs few things to exist.




A purpose,




Hope for the future,




But most of all...



Love.





Juliette Portland had all of those things. Her purpose was simple: Seduce. Deceive. Kill. Avenge. Once Dornan Ross and his sons were dead, her future was supposed to be clear. Her life was
finally
going to begin. And love... Against all the odds, she had the love of a boy she never thought she'd see again. 


Everything should have gone according to plan. Everything should have been easy. 




Of course, life has a way of fucking with even the most meticulous of plans, and calling in owed debts can have the most severe consequences. Thanks to Juliette's diabolical retribution, the Il Sangue Cartel has lost it’s Kingpin, but not for long. There’s always someone in the wings, ready to step onstage and seize power. The Gypsy Brothers Motorcycle Club might be reeling from the deaths of their President and his six patch-wearing sons, but they’ve come back swinging.




Two deadly enemies, hundreds of bloodthirsty members, both sides eager to punish those that would try to topple them.




Two survivors, a man and a woman, forced to flee in the night.




For Juliette, vengeance is a hollow victory. 




It never, 
ever
 ends.




The flames of incomplete vengeance are licking at her heels, and it’s only a matter of time before the Il Sangue cartel and the Gypsy Brothers catch her in their grip and crush her.




Unless she crushes them first.

IBOOKS EXCLUSIVE PRE-ORDER:
http://bit.ly/ZeroHouriBooks

AVAILABLE SEPTEMBER 29
TH
, 2015

BONUS NOVELLA:
ALTERNATE

AUTHORS NOTE

I wrote ALTERNATE as a chance for my readers to take a glimpse into the psyche and inner workings of my main male characters: After mourning the end of the Gypsy Brothers series (or, what I thought was the end), I’m THRILLED to be able to dip back into the minds of these dark and delicious men. From the brutality of Dornan Ross, to the tenacity and love of Elliot McRae, and the shattering secrets that Jason Ross harbours deep inside his soul, these stories flew from my fingertips faster than I could type.

If you’re easily offended (who the fuck am I kidding? You just finished the GYPSY BROTHERS series), I wouldn’t read this. Because if you think you know these men, especially Jase?

You have no idea.

Love,

Lili

The moment Samantha Peyton walks into my office, I want to fuck her. More than that, I want to wrap my fingers around her throat and fuck her until she passes out on my desk. I see the resemblance and my chest constricts like I’m having a heart attack.
Goddamn
. She looks like a dead woma
n—
a dead woman who ripped my fuckin’ heart out.

Mariana.

As soon as I notice the resemblance, it’s gone; like a flicker of a memory I’ve tried to drown in blood and whores for far too long.

She’s a pretty girl; young, and probably stupid like the rest of them. Before she even opens her mouth, I see a hunger in her bright blue eye
s—
so vivid, they almost look fak
e—
but more than that, she looks familiar, and she feels fuckin’ dangerous.

Now that can’t be right … or can it? I’m the danger around here, because I
own
this town, just like I’ll own this little bitch faster than she can open her mouth to say please. Before she turns around to let me fuck her in her tight, round ass, I’ve already decided I’m going to keep her. I’m going to use her until I can snuff out that light in her eyes and replace it with the kind of despair that will make me come like a fucking freight train when I press her face into my desk and make her beg me to stop.

The first time I fuck her? It’s brutal. It’s the same with every woman I get my dick wet with. I don’t hurt them as a side effect. I fuck them to hurt them, and if they bleed, it’s even better. Blood and pain and fucking are so inexplicably linked for me, that I’ll take a woman to the brink of death just to make myself feel alive for that split-second of release. So I rear back and slam my cock into this little bitch’s ass, again and again, not caring if anyone hears the sound our skin makes when it slaps together or the stunned little gasps coming from her mouth as she tries to hide how much I’m hurting her. Her pain is my pleasure.

When I finally reach breaking point and come inside her, I slam her head against my desk one last time, to daze her, to hurt her, but most of all to show her who’s in fucking charge here. She might have walked in off the street thinking she was the one in control, but now that I’ve marked her, she’s mine.

As she’s leaving, I realize she’s the first girl I’ve properly fucked in this offic
e—
John’s old stomping grounds. Normally I save that shit for the Gypsy Brothers clubhouse, where as President, I’ve got the pick of every whore I’ve allowed into my inner sanctum. Whores that aren’t allowed to just walk in off the street and lean their elbows on my desk as they present their pert little asses to me. Whores aren’t allowed to say no, because if they do, it only makes me more determined to take what’s mine. Because this whole fuckin’ town is mine.

*****

If I’d known she was here to overthrow me when she first arrived, to pick off my sons one by one until they were all dead, I would have pressed the bitch down on my desk and shoved a Glock in her mouth instead of my dick in her ass. I would have shot a bullet into her pretty face and left her face down in a dumpster. At least, that’s what I think I’d do.

Hindsight is a motherfucker, ain’t it? When you’re dying, when your whole life flashes before your eyes, you start to wonder where you could have stopped things from going so monumentally wrong. There was a night, six years ago, when I could have stopped things.

But since that didn’t happen, there was another moment. When she opened her mouth and told me her fake nam
e―
Samantha Peyto
n―
I’d looked at her fake ID and thought,
no fucking way
. If I’d been smarter, if I’d figured out it was John’s fucking kid standing in front of me, then yeah, sure. Maybe I would have killed her. Most likely.

Now? In hindsight? I would have handed the bitch my gun, pointed it at my head and told her to go to town. I mean, that’s where we ended up anyway, right? Each fighting to destroy the other. I hated her. I loathed her, but I couldn’t forget the little girl I’d taken home from the hospital and treated like my own. I couldn’t shake the knowledge that gnawed at me deep down where it was murky and rancid. 

When something seems too good to be true, it probably is. My father taught me that..

I should have listened to him.

*****

I should be fuckin’ dead right now. A lesser man would be, but there’s a very clear reason I’m still alive. I feel the sorrow coursing through my veins, the undeniable fucking rage that threatens to splinter me apart, piece by torturous piece. The same way those dirty homemade bombs ripped two of my sons apart and killed them, landing two more of them in the hospital. I should be there, with them, watching over them like a good father would.

I’ve never claimed to be a good father, but I am a ferocious one. I always said to Celia that the day Chad came into the world was the day the beast inside me was awakened and cranked to fucking eleven. I would kill for my boys—I would die for my boys.

My boys started dying though, and I didn’t have anyone to kill. I was too fucking stupid to realize their murderer was right beside me—right underneath me—as I pounded into her mercilessly, her blood spilling on my sheets as I drove my desperate grief and anger inside her.

I had no idea she was the one.

But as of an hour ago, I found out that the little harlot in my bed I called Sammi, and John’s dead daughter, Juliette, are the same fucking person.

I’m more than slightly fucking embarrassed that she’s been right under my nose for months ... mortified, actually. Shame makes me vengeful. It’s a dirty emotion. I don’t want it inside me, clamouring up my black soul, making me feel like a royal fuck up, but I did. I can only blame myself. I was mesmerized by golden ass and magical pussy.

I didn’t even run a proper background check on Samantha fucking Peyton.

Samantha Peyton is actually dead, turns out. She’s buried in a family plot somewhere in the middle of fucking nowhere. She died in a car accident years ago and my dear little Juliette stole her identity when she decided to come back to L.A. and fuck me, good and proper.

I killed her six years ago. That night I took the girl I’d considered a daughter and turned her into my victim. I haven’t had a night of solid sleep since. She died because of me.

Only she didn’t fucking die.

“Sammi,” I say.

She’s standing in front of me now, pretty little cockroach in a tight t-shirt that shows her tits and jeans that hug her ass, and
she doesn’t know I know
. For the first time in a very long time, I have the upper hand. How ironic is it that I thought I had it all along, but that’s my fault for letting my dick rule my mind. The uneasiness that spread through my gut the first time I saw her pretty blue eyes should have been the tip-off, but my cock’s a powerful thing. Wouldn’t be the first time it led me astray. I’ve got the pile of bodies to prove it.

“Are you okay?” she asks, standing on the other side of my desk.

I stand, because I can’t sit here under her dead stare for one moment longer. If I don’t get this rage out of my somehow, I’m going to pull out my piece and start tearing a bunch of brand-new, shiny red holes in her skin, and that’d be far too merciful a punishment for the things she’s done to me and mine.

“You can walk,” she says, her surprise genuine, a flicker of fear in her cocky fucking expression. “I can’t believe it. After what happened?”

She’s got that smirk on her glossy lips.
How did I not realize she’s got her father’s mouth
? The past slams into me like a goddamn freight train as I recall that same expression on John’s face, right before I put a bullet in him. He didn’t know I knew he was fucking my woman. I made him understand that you do not fuck with me and get away with it. Nobody gets away with it. Not John, six and some change years ago, and not his devil fucking spawn, standing before me like a smarmy seductress, six and some change years later.

“Come here, you fucking cunt,” I grind out painfully as her eyes light up. She doesn’t look scared. She looks amused, standing in my office with her tiny shirt showing off her cleavage, looking just like she did when she first waltzed into my office and began her carefully planned destruction of my universe. It’s time to repay the favor. I’m going to wreak vengeance upon her for taking what’s mine. Four of my sons are dead.

Dead
.

I can’t even confront the reality of that statement. I’m practically fucking vibrating with rage, and this little slut can’t see that I’m about to attack. She’s got a set of brass balls, I’ll give her that. Sickeningly, she reminds me of myself. She strolled into this joint like
she
owned it. Well, not anymore.

My cock hardens when I think about all the horrible things I’m going to do to her as soon as I knock her the fuck out and get her out of here.

“Whoa. You kiss your mother with that mouth?” she asks, her voice light and unencumbered by the weight of the world. My heart seizes in my chest. For a split second, I see a little girl standing on Santa Monica Pier, her hand in mine, as we line up to ride the Ferris wheel.

She’s probably only four years old and her hand is sticky with ice cream, but I don’t pull my grip away; I hold her hand tighter. There are crazy people in the world. I won’t let her out of my sight. She’s not my daughter, she’s John’s, but to me there’s no difference. She’s my responsibility. She’s the daughter I never had. As long as I live, I’ll always protect her.

I blink. The laptop screen plays a video on an endless loop as I watch the damning footage of
the daughter I never had
, dressed in a nightgown and bare feet, unscrew the lid to the fuel tank on my motorcycle and drop two homemade bombs inside. After she’s finished with that one, she moves on to the next bike. Six bombs for five bikes, and she makes sure my bike gets two, the vengeful little cunt. Either that, or she can’t fuckin’ count.

I’m guessing it’s the former.

There’s a voice inside me that screams, “
This is your fault
,” but I push that down into the blackness because shit like that doesn’t help. Emotions, other than rage and cold calculation, don’t work for me. They only lead to weakness. I’ve already shown enough weakness when it comes to this bitch, and look where it’s gotten me: four dead sons, a face full of angry red shrapnel scars, and a lifetime of fucking misery and regret.

On a whim, I turn the laptop around so she can see what I see. My chest does some weird kind of jump when I see the recognition light up in her eyes when she sees what the granulated pixels are presenting to her.

Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?
She’d asked me.

I smile cruelly, the bitter taste of satisfaction leeching from my tongue into my mouth as I round my desk and charge at her. She goes for the door behind her, but it slams shut, because I wasn’t going to let her slip through my fingers this time. I hear Viper slide the lock into place on the other side of the door, sealing her and I inside this sarcophagus of secrets together. I see the panic in her eyes, and it makes my cock throb.

Yes. It’s my turn now, you silly little girl.

I wrap my large hand around her swan-like neck, so fucking tight I could snap it in half. I lean in real close, watching her eyes go wide as terror and regret bleed together underneath the blue contact lenses that are hiding her bamboo green eyes from me. Her hands come up, scrabbling at my flesh as I squeeze harder, choking her. Her nails dig into my skin so hard they draw blood, and the sight revitalizes me.

There’s going to be so much more blood in our future, and it’s going to be beautiful. I’m going to carve this cunt up like a Thanksgiving turkey, piece by painful piece; like a butcher with his blade. She’ll be unrecognizable to anyone but me soon enough.

I shift my grip to her face, my hand over her mouth, and feel her greasy lip-gloss on my palm. She struggles, her fists pummelling against my chest and her knee trying desperately to find my balls, but I’ve got her pinned with my hips. She isn’t going anywhere … not now, not ever.

“I know you think this is going to be bad,” I say, pleasure and rage sizzling in my veins, “but however bad you think this is going to be, it’s going to be
So.Much.Worse
.”