Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series (39 page)

He smiles darkly, and it’s the first time I can see the hurt and the sadness under the malice in his expression. He reaches out and squeezes a hand around my arm again, my vein popping to attention, the needle sliding in with a sharp prick. Warmth floods me and my head lolls back.
Too much.

I feel my heart begin to skip in my chest.

“You should’ve told me, Julie,” he says. “Now you’ve made me angry. Now you’re going to die.”

It’s the last thing I hear. I can’t move. Can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Jesus, I can’t think. How much did he give me? He emptied an entire needle of that shit into me. Heroin. I think of my mother’s huge green eyes as my eyes fall closed and my body relaxes completely.

As I think,
it’s not the worst way to die
.

EIGHT

It’s the end for me. I can feel it. My heart thuds slowly before petering out to a whisper. And then…nothing. It’s quiet in here. Dark. Still.

I am at peace.

I feel acceptance. I feel relief.

Because it’s finally over.

Because I’m finally
free.

NINE

When I wake up, I’m not in heaven.

I’m in hell.

Fuck.

Rough fingers skate along my collarbone, and I start to shake. Everything is so heavy. Even dragging my eyelids open is the biggest effort. I’m crying, and I don’t know why - but I feel so fucking
sad.

It takes a moment to realize where I am. Lying on the bed, the one without a mattress, my wrists limp by my side, not bound for once. I’m not sure if my ankles are tied and I don’t have the energy to care. I don’t have the energy to do anything.

“Wakey, wakey,” Dornan coos in my ear, his breath hot on my neck. I tense, trying to pull away from him.

“Sleep well?” he asks, sitting back in the chair I was just tied to.

I just glare at him.

“You’ve been out for hours,” he says. “You must be hungry.”

I narrow my eyes, wondering where he’s going with that. As if he cares about my appetite.

“I should feed you my cock,” he says, laughing. “But those teeth, mmm-hmm. I don’t think I could risk those.” He strums his fingers on the side of the bed, seemingly upbeat. “I suppose I could break your jaw. That’d stop you from biting down.”

I ignore him. It’s just words. If he were going to do that, he would have done it by now. He’s just goading me.

The packages on the table beside him make me pause and think back to why I’m here in the first place, feeling like I just woke up from death. “You gave me a hotshot,” I slur. “I thought I was dead.”

He smiles, showing a set of straight white teeth that would rip my flesh from my bones if it took his fancy. “You were dead.
I
brought you back.” He holds up a cardboard package that says NARCAN on it, and I stiffen. Holy Shit. That wasn’t a close call. He really did kill me and bring me back to life. I was
dead.

“I told you you’d die for taking my sons from me,” he whispers, leaning in close and nibbling at my earlobe. “I never said you’d stay dead. That’s much too kind.”

I swallow thickly, meeting his gaze as he moves away from my ear.

He tips his head back and laughs, a long, booming noise that rattles my chest and makes me want to scream.

“Oh, Julie,” he says. “You’re in my world now. You know what they call a man who can take life and give it, too?”

I stare at him, guessing what he’s about to say. And true to form, he doesn’t disappoint me.

“They call him a god.”

I would laugh if I had anything in me, but I’m empty and cold.

I close my eyes again. “So, what?” I ask. “You’re just going to keep killing me and bringing me back to life? I don’t think it works like that. My body will give out eventually. And then you’ll be left here all by yourself with nobody to hurt.”

He shrugs. “You’re young and healthy. I think you’ll last awhile.”

“Whatever,” I snap, opening my eyes and staring at the ceiling. I don’t want to look at him, and I’m so goddamn tired I just want to sleep, but I need to keep him in my field of view in case he does something.

In case? Huh. More like
for when
he does something.

“I’ve spent so long daydreaming about all the ways I’m going to make you suffer. And now we’re finally here, and you know you’re never getting away from me.”

I got away from you once
, I think. But he’s right. I am never getting away from him this time.

“Who’s going to save you this time?” he asks. “The rookie cop who happened to stick his nose in where it didn’t belong? I don’t think so.”

My entire body freezes as he mentions Elliot.
Holy fuck.

“I’m going to find him, Julie. Your little boyfriend thinks he can hide from me, but I’ll find him soon. And when I do, I’m going to make you watch while I gut him like a fish.”

He knows about Elliot. What else does he know about? Does he know about Jase?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say stubbornly, staring at the ceiling.

He laughs, a deep, throaty chuckle that shakes me from my scalp to my toenails. “You’re a terrible liar, baby girl. You should’ve stayed in Nebraska with Grandma. I’m gonna find her too, and I’m gonna make her die slowly for hiding you away from me. Everybody will know. You. Are.
Mine
.”

I blink back tears as he falls silent for a while. I don’t care about me. This is what I deserve for playing with fire. To burn and suffer. But Elliot? Grandma? Kayla? The thought of Dornan hurting them is too much to bear.

His cold fingers fidget with mine. I don’t even have the strength to pull my hand away. “You understand, don’t you, baby girl? That I’m just cleaning up your mess. These people are going to die because you’re a selfish bitch.”

A wave of anger builds inside my chest. “You want me to understand you?” I bite out. “I’ll never understand you. I’ll never understand the things you’ve done.”

His voice is a gravel whisper, a rock tugged along my bare nerves. “That’s where you’re wrong, baby girl. You’re just like me. I killed your father, I ruined your mother, and you tried to wreak your revenge on me.” He pauses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m smarter than you, better than you, more
depraved
than you, little girl. You ventured into my playground and now I’ve got you in my web.”

I turn my head to the side, my eyes boring into him, and if looks could kill, he’d be convulsing on the ground right now.

“What do you get when you cross two vengeful beasts?” His teeth gleam in the dim light the naked bulb throws off, and I imagine him cutting my heart out and devouring it whole. I can’t help but ponder his question. What do you get? You get him and me locked in a battle of wills, trapped together in this place of torture and pain. You get two animals fucking and killing and biting and tearing each other apart in pleasure and pain. You get blood and agony and ultimately, one of you ends up dead.

I just didn’t think it would be me.

“You get a war,” he answers his own question. “And I’m the fucking winner.”

“Really?” I murmur. “Body-count wise, I’d say I’m winning.”

He smacks the smile right off my face, a mighty backhand that rattles my cheek and leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. I’m so used to tasting my blood now, it’s no longer foreign. It’s just part of my existence. I’m glad I affect him, glad my words cut him the way his knife cuts me every day.

“You think you’re winning?” he asks, standing so that he is towering over me as I lay tied to the bed. I shrug. He must have no idea about Jase, I think. That reassures me. I want to keep it that way. And if he says he can’t find Elliot, then hopefully that means Elliot is smart enough stay hidden until things blow over.

Which, knowing Dornan, means forever.

“Mark my words, baby girl. Everyone who ever helped you is going to die.”

He winks at me, grinning as he leaves the room. As the door slams behind him, I feel the bed frame shake, and silently pray to anyone who’s listening that he’s just bluffing.

But I know Dornan Ross.

He doesn’t bluff.

TEN

Another couple of days pass, and I’m in real trouble. I’m sick - really, really sick, and Dornan hasn’t come back. Once a day, The Prospect unlocks the door and slides a tray of food to me, before slamming it shut again. I wish he’d talk to me. But he doesn’t, nobody does - and I huddle in the corner, wheezing and coughing until I throw up.

And nobody fucking cares.

I’m burning up before long, and this time I know it’s not just the lack of temperature control in my windowless dungeon. Sweat pours from my forehead and makes my back itch, and my lungs feel thick and full. It’s impossible to take a full breath.

I can’t breathe in here.

One day, they’ll slide a food tray in here and find me dead.

I decide that might not be so bad, but my stubborn primitive brain demands that I try and survive. It’s so annoying - I try to squash the thoughts like ants, but they keep multiplying like toxic amoeba, urging me to fight.

And I just want to give up.

In the end, I get creative. Or maybe, just desperate. Instead of trying to call for help—because they’d never answer, anyway—I switch positions, laying my body on the floor across the doorway. The door to this room opens inwardly, so somebody is going to have to hit me with the door to get in here. Maybe it’ll work, maybe not, but I need something to change before I go completely insane.

In the times when I’m asleep, I have vivid nightmares. A knife through Elliot’s chest, a pillow over Grandma’s face, and I can’t even say what I dream of him doing to Elliot’s daughter, it’s so depraved.

So when the door slams into my stomach, and the person attempting to open it swears loudly, I respond with a low, guttural groan. I scrabble to my knees, head still spinning, and I’m relieved when I see it’s The Prospect. The dude who let me shower. The nice one who told me I had eyes just like her.

“I’m sick,” I say to him, backing up my story with a genuine hacking cough. My chest rattles with mucous; my breathing is ragged and desperate.

“Please,” I say, my arm darting out to close around his wrist. “You said I looked just like her.  My mother’s here. She’s a nurse, she can help me.”

He snatches his hand away, narrowing his eyes at me. “What the fuck do I care if you’re sick?” he asks.

I feel my face fall. “Where’s Dornan?” I demand, trying to peek down the hallway. A look of annoyance passes across his face as he kicks at me with his steel-capped black boot. “Get back inside,” he says, pressing himself and the food tray through the narrow opening and slamming the door shut behind him.

I scoot away, giving him some room to stand.

“That’s your mama out there?” he asks, his eyes darting around the room.

“Caroline?” I reply. “Yeah.” I fucking knew it. I knew that bitch would be here with Dornan.

“You know she’s got no idea who the fuck you are, right?”

I stare at the ground. There’s an awkward silence, until finally he nudges me with his boot. I look up to see he’s extending his hand to me. “Come on,” he says. “Get up. Eat something.”

I look at the tray of food in his other hand with renewed enthusiasm. “The starve-out’s over?”

He shrugs, hauling me to my feet with zero effort. He seems like an incredibly intense asshole, but he’s somehow different to the rest of Dornan’s mongrels. Is it my imagination, or does he seem to dislike Dornan? I wonder if I could somehow convince him to help me.

I bat my eyelashes at him, smiling as much as I can while I feel like I’m dying from the fucking plague, and search his face for any indication of his intentions.

“What’s your name?” I ask softly.

He laughs, plonking the tray on the small wooden table beside him. “Oh no,
nina bonita
. Don’t flutter your pretty eyelashes at me. I’m not going to help you.”

My heart sinks, but somewhere in the back of my mind, that phrase registers.
Nina Bonita
. The pet name Mariana had for me.

“You just called me pretty girl,” I say excitedly.

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles. “The girl speaks Spanish. Good for you. Eat your food and stop blocking the fucking door.”

He turns to leave, and I catch his sleeve as he moves. He freezes, staring at my hand like it’s bird shit on his shirt.

“You’re Colombian,” I whisper.

His face turns to thunder, his hands to tight fists. I back away as fast as I can without even thinking.

He stalks over to me—his steps slow and agonizing—and it’s all I can do not to throw my arms up in front of my face.

“I’m
Mexican
,” he says darkly, towering over me. “Born and fucking bred. Don’t ever fucking mention Colombia again in this house or I will shoot you in your
Nina Bonita
face. Got it?”

I’m shaking. I nod my head.

“Words, girl. A nod means shit to me.”

“Yes,” I say dejectedly.

“I thought you were nice,” I call out as he opens the door. I almost stamp my foot, but I’m not five years old. Fuck. I really did think he might be useful in getting out of here.

He pauses, chuckling dryly. “The boss thought you were nice too, baby. Look how that turned out.”

He slams the door with force. As I stare at it, I think to myself, yeah, you’re right.

But you’re Colombian.

Mariana was Colombian.

I have to wonder if he’s somehow connected to her. A younger brother, perhaps? A
son
? She would have been young to be his mother, but it’s entirely plausible. But if so, what’s he doing here, now, under Dornan’s thumb?

Is he like me?

My mind goes full speed with wild conspiracy theories for the next hour, until I have to stop myself and think about something else. I’ll go insane otherwise, and I’m already pretty close to insanity as it is.

But his face doesn’t leave my thoughts.
Should I remember him?