Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series (58 page)

THREE

As I’m pocketing the cellphone I hear the door open and crouch behind Agent Dumbass, who is crawling around on the floor and still grasping at the pen in his throat. I press the tip of his gun into his back. “Stand up!” I order. He does, and I stand at the same time, always staying behind him, using the big oaf as a human shield.

Agent Dunn looks momentarily shocked, but she recovers quickly, I’ll give her that. She draws her gun and takes aim. Or, tries to take aim. I make her task impossible by hovering behind her partner, always in his shadow, no major part of me exposed and ready for her bullets.

I respond by pressing Agent Dumbass’s gun to the back of his head and keeping my finger on the trigger.

“Put your gun down,” I say. “Now. You try to raise any alarm, and I’ll shoot your partner faster than he can cry for his mommy.”

I peek out from behind the cover that the large male agent affords me, even as he’s bent forward a little and gasping around the pen in his throat. I see the look of resignation on Agent Bitch’s face as she lowers her weapon to the table.

“Step away from the table,” I say, pressing Dumbass forward. As soon as Agent Dunn is out of reach, I shove Dumbass to the side and grab her gun, flicking the safety on and stuffing it into the back of my jeans.

Dumbass doesn’t look so good. He’s gasping and crying like a little bitch. Which is silly, because he’s not even going to die.

Men. They just can’t handle pain.

Well, most men, anyway.

“On your belly,” I order, tapping the barrel of Dumbass’s gun against the side of his head. He looks relieved, slumping down onto the floor. I wince as I see his face fall towards the hard concrete floor, hoping he turns his head to the side before the pen ends up wedged even further into his neck. Thankfully, at the last minute, he does.

“You’re surrounded by CIA agents and air force personnel,” she says, raising her palms as if to placate me. “You’re not walking out of here, Juliette.”

I smirk. “That’s where you’re wrong,” I say, keeping the gun trained on her as I rip Dumbass’s cap from his head and stick it on mine. It’s too big, but my hair takes up some of the spare space. I lift the blue jacket with CIA written on it that’s draped over the seat Dumbass was sitting in, but it’s huge.

“Give me your jacket,” I order Agent Dunn.

She looks affronted, but slowly takes her jacket off, giving it to me without a fight.

I shrug it on one arm at a time, transferring the gun between hands as I do so to make sure she’s covered at all times, and zip up the jacket with a triumphant smile. It fits like a glove. I shove the gun into the large jacket pocket, keeping it aimed at her. With my free hand, I gesture to the briefcase and the white box beside it.

“Open that,” I say. “Put that box in there.”

She blanches, drawing back. “What is that?”

That feeling again, the hot flush in my chest that creeps up my neck.

“None of your fucking business,” I say. “Do it.”

With great reluctance, she snaps the briefcase open and places the white box of ashes inside before closing it again. “Bring it,” I say.

“It’s not a bomb, is it?” she asks, eyeing the case with great trepidation.

I roll my eyes. “It’s not a bomb.”

She doesn’t seem convinced.

“Now,” I say, a victorious grin speeding across my face as I grab the larger jacket that belongs to Dumbass, “Take me to him.”

She looks confused. “Who … Donovan Ross?”

“No,” I sigh. “Take me to Jason. And then get me the hell out of here before I start shooting people.”

She eyes me dubiously. “You won’t get away with this.”

I shrug. “I’m pretty sure I will. But if you try anything? You won’t live long enough to see if I do or not.”

She swallows thickly, her brown eyes drowning in fear.

“Where is Jason?” I ask pointedly.

She gestures to the door. “This way,” she says.

I glance back at Dumbass. “Don’t come out of here until I get back,” I say to him, but he’s already passed out, wheezing as his blood gurgles around the hole in his throat.

FOUR

The cops didn’t give a fuck about the fact that there was no extradition treaty between the US and Colombia.

They just barged in, grabbed us, and took us away in their stream of identical black SUVs. Split Jase and I up. I haven’t seen him since we were at the house, and we were on the road for hours after that. I have to believe that he’s here as well, and that Agent Dunn isn’t just leading me into a trap.

And I assume Jase is close by. I mean, if they were interrogating me, surely they were interrogating him, too?

I walk beside Dunn, my gun pointed at her as I grip it in my jacket pocket. If she tries anything, I will shoot her, no hesitation. She’s working for the Cartel, so I have to assume that she isn’t going to do me any favors.

For a moment, my casual determination to shoot her if needed frightens me. But only for a moment, and then it’s gone, buried underneath years of suffering and hurt. She works for Dornan. And I have no doubt that if the tables were turned, she’d do the same thing to me.

The place we’re at looks temporary at best. It definitely doesn’t look official, and that makes me think we’re at some private air base as opposed to a US station. Especially because, as we walk in unison down a long hallway, there’s not a single other soul to be seen.

This place, it’s got to be Cartel territory. It’s the only explanation I can come up with for the rotting facade, the stained cinder blocks, the smell of damp that invades my nostrils and holds on tight. It’s humid as hell here, and coupled with the damp and the last six hours in captivity, I feel like I need to scream.

“You’re going to regret this,” Agent Dunn mutters as we walk down the hallway. I shoot my free hand out, stopping her in her tracks.

“Hey,” I say sharply. “Shut up, and do as you’re told. Did you see those photos? Want to be my next science experiment?”

Her face falls. “So it was you.”

I laugh. “Of course it was me. Who else would it be?”

She shakes her head slowly. “You’re a monster. You’re
crazy
.”

I tilt my head, raising my eyebrows at her. “I assure you, I’m not the monster in this fucked-up fairytale. But whatever helps you sleep at night.” I grab her elbow roughly, and this time, I’m not screwing around. “You’ve got one minute, Agent. Take me to Jason or I will end you.”

She glares at me, horrified, before returning her gaze to the cracked linoleum beneath our feet. “This way,” she says softly.

I follow her lead, never once moving my aim from her.

You can never be too careful.

***

“Jesus,” I say a few moments later. “This place is a mess.”

Dunn has stopped answering me now, her gaze to the floor.

“Are we nearly there?” I ask, wiping sweat from my forehead. I’m still weak from all the blood I lost when I lost our baby, and I haven’t eaten all day. I’m usually used to these things, but I’m nowhere near as strong as normal. Losing my daughter has weakened me, punched a hole in the steely disposition I carried with me like body armor.

I can only hope to end this before Dornan or his only remaining son find the chink in my armor and worm their way inside to my weak spot.

Speaking of weak spots.

“He’s in there,” Dunn says quietly. She points towards a thick steel door recessed in the flaking wall, and I’m surprised to see her hand is violently shaking.

“Not so brave when the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?” I ask her. “Open the door.”

She fumbles with a set of keys, dropping them several times. In the end, I push her aside and locate the correct key myself, turning it in the lock with a heavy clunk.

I step back. “You first,” I say. This could be a trap, after all. I could be walking into gunfire, an ambush, or god knows what. Better if I send the agent in first.

She leans against the door with her shoulder, holding it open for me. I catch it, pushing heavy steel as I enter the room behind her.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Jase is in the room, but he’s not alone. He’s facing off against Donny, and it looks like they’re evenly matched for the most part. One throws a punch, the other matches the blow, and they repeat. Even in the few seconds I’m observing, I can see it’s only a matter of time before one of them tires and the other gains the upper hand. Donny’s probably well rested, well fed, and fucking crazy. Jase, on the other hand, is probably just as starving and thirsty as me, though he seems to be cornering Donny. He’s the more skilled fighter.

Donny is just throwing wild punches and hoping they connect with his younger brother.

“Julie!” Donny grins. Jase twists to look at me, and Donny takes the chance to charge him.

I don’t hesitate. I pull the gun from my pocket, aim, and let off two loud shots that send Donny to his knees.

I smile as he screams in agony. “Donny!” I answer, walking up to him and placing my foot in the middle of his chest. The slightest pressure of my foot on his chest causes him to fall backwards, his head smashing into the unforgiving floor as blood gushes from his left knee.

“You shot me in the fucking kneecap!” he howls.

I laugh, bearing down on him. “And isn’t it ironic that your daddy was the one who taught me to shoot a gun?”

I feel a hand touch my shoulder, but I’m not startled. I’d know his touch anywhere. I melt into his touch, turning towards Jase as he reaches for me urgently.

I bite back tears. “Are you okay?” I whisper. He nods. “You?” He sees the blood on my shirt and his eyes grow wider.

I shake my head. “Not mine,” I whisper. I pull him to me, my lips searching for his, and then they burn as we connect. It’s a desperate kiss, full of love and relief and all the things we’ll say to each other later, when we’re alone. I can barely hear Donny’s animalistic groans, don’t even care that Agent Dunn is hovering awkwardly in the background. I can’t bear to be away from this man, not even for the six hours we’ve been separated, let alone the six years we endured apart.

He pulls away, but I can tell he doesn’t want to. Neither do I; I want to push him against the wall and kiss him frantically until I see stars behind my eyelids from the lack of oxygen. But we can’t.

Because
Elliot.

The thought of him, of the situation he’s in, of his poor girls, stabs at my gut like an icepick digging into my flesh. Jase must see the look on my face, because his smile vanishes, replaced by a deep frown.

“We have to get out of here,” he says urgently. I nod.

“How?”

He looks to Agent Dunn, an asshole smile spreading across his face. “With our hostage here.”

She looks horrified, backing towards the door. I cut her off, leveling the gun at her. “Should’ve got me that lawyer,” I say. “You’re going to regret that.”

The look on her face says that she’s already regretting a lot of things.

“Get the fuck up,” Jase says to Donny, nudging him with his sneaker. Donny wails. “I said, get up!”

Donny reels back, still clutching his ruined knee. “I can’t walk, man,” he pleads. “Look at what that bitch did to my leg.”

Jase responds by smashing his fist into Donny’s knee. Donny screams like a little bitch, leaning over and vomiting beside himself from the pain. I make a face at the acrid smell of vomit in this enclosed space.

“She’s not a bitch,” Jase says, offering his hand to his brother. “Now get up before she shoots you in the other knee.”

Donny awkwardly climbs to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. “I can’t walk anywhere, man,” he says. He’s so pathetic that I briefly contemplate shooting him in the face and leaving him here. But I need him for leverage against Dornan, a valuable pawn in this sick game of chess we’re playing, a life for a life, a chance to offer a trade on Elliot’s behalf so we can get his ex-girlfriend and their daughter back from Dornan’s clutches.

God, I hope we can get there in time.

“You,” I say, pointing at Agent Dunn. “Give me that.” I click my fingers, gesturing for the briefcase. She hands it to me slowly, and her eyes are glassy, almost as if she’s in shock.

“I have a daughter,” she says softly, her voice wavering.

I have a daughter.

I had a daughter.

I snatch the briefcase from her. “Help him walk,” I command, tilting my head towards Donny.

Her movements are robotic as she walks towards Donny. He’s shaking, his blood all over the floor, and he looks as white as the dry-erase board on the wall behind him.

“Bandage him up,” I say. “I don’t want him dead. Yet.”

Donny and the agent both snap their gazes to me when I say yet, and I smirk at them, the power high I’m on right now so satisfying it’s almost scary.

“What, you think you’re getting out of this alive, Donny boy?” Jase asks. I glance at him, something squeezing inside my chest. My dear boy. My Jase. We might just make it out of this yet.

“Fuck you,” Donny grunts, sweat dripping from his forehead. His suit doesn’t look so crash hot now, drenched in blood.

“I don’t have any bandages,” Agent Dunn says.

“Use his shirt,” I respond. “And hurry.”

While she’s helping Donny out of his suit jacket and shirt, I take the phone from my pocket, handing the briefcase and gun to Jase. “Don’t lose that,” I say. He gives me a quizzical look, but I don’t elaborate. I don’t want to mention what’s in the briefcase right now. Our baby’s ashes. Because if I did, if I told Jase the way Donny had touched the box that housed all of our hope and sorrow, he would surely kick his brother to death here and now, in this tiny room of horrors.

“You know your dad’s phone number?” I ask Jase. He shakes his head, and we both look to Donny.

“Donny!” I say loudly. “What’s your dad’s number?”

He spits on the floor beside him, watching in horror as Agent Dunn kneels before him, trying to stem the flow of blood from his mangled knee. “Fuck you, bitch.”

Jase steps forward, grabbing his brother’s face in one hand and squeezing so his mouth opens awkwardly. Donny’s too far gone to put up much of a fight, especially when Jase shoves the barrel of the gun into his mouth as far as he can.

“The number,” Jase says, his eyes wild. “Come on, bro. You were always good with numbers.”

Donny’s shaking, trying to pull his head back, but there’s nowhere to go past the wall behind him. He starts choking, more sweat pouring down his face. He’s pointing to his pocket and garbling something around the gun that I can’t understand.

Ohh. He’s got his own phone in his pocket. I leap forward, digging my hand into the pocket and withdrawing a small silver flip phone that looks about ten years old.

“Jesus, Donny,” I say, opening the phone and scrolling to Dornan’s number. “You really need to step into the smart age. This phone is almost obsolete.”

I step back, hitting dial and waiting for the line to connect. After a few beeps — an international connection, I assume — the line starts ringing and my heart starts beating wildly.

“Donny,” Dornan barks down the line.

I clear my throat. “Donny’s a little busy right now,” I murmur, in the bitchiest voice I can summon. “But I can talk.”