Six Brothers (Gypsy Brothers, #2) Read online

  “I’m so happy to hear that,” Grandma said, closing the gap between us and putting her thin arms around me.

  “You should call Elliot,” she said, patting me on the back. I froze.

  Grandma stepped back and ruffled my blonde hair. “He’ll come back for you, girl,” she said softly.

  But he never did.

  “What are you planning to do with that stuff, anyway?” Elliot asks, changing the subject abruptly.

  I break out into a wicked grin, one that I can feel all the way up to my eyes. “It’s a surprise,” I reply.

  He just shakes his head, but a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, threatening to turn into a full-on smile. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

  Something about that saddens me so much, my eyes well up with tears. I turn my face away, annoyed that he has to see me like this.

  “What did I say?” he asks, reaching out to brush my cheek with his finger.

  I shake my head. “Nothing, it’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

  He’s wise not to press me; he knows when I don’t want to talk.

  It’s silly, really. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. It’s all a lie, though. I’m not doing this because I’m strong. I’m doing this because I’m scared of the monster in my head.

  The monster in my bed, the one who killed my father.

  The monster who destroyed me.

  I’m doing this because I just want to be able to sleep at night without seeing his face.

  That’s not strength. That’s desperation.

  Elliot drops his anger, his face morphing into concerned. And that’s almost worse. He draws me close again, his arms the safest place I’ve ever known, and I fight a battle within myself. “I don’t need your pity,” I say, even as I cling to him, my tears seeping into his jacket.

  “It’s not pity,” he murmurs, one hand stroking my wild hair, the other clutched tight around my shoulders. “It’s love.”

  He draws me closer, speaking softly into my hair. “We may not have worked together, but don’t ever think I’ll give up on you, girl. That’ll never happen.”

  My heart just about fucking breaks.

  It’s as if someone’s taken an icepick and jammed it into my ribcage. My chest burns with the pain of unrequited love. The sad thing is—or maybe it’s not sad at all—is that I did love Elliot. I still do. I love him for rescuing me. I love him for saving my life. I love him for sticking around for three hellish years.

  But I don’t—can’t—love him like that. The way you love someone when they’re your whole world. I loved him for everything, but hanging in that artificial existence where he was my everything, I still hadn’t been able to give myself to him entirely.

  After all, my heart belonged to someone else. Someone who made my breath catch in my throat. Someone who I had loved so fiercely from the moment I had laid eyes upon him, it had almost hurt. Someone who lit up my entire world, even as he believed that mine had ended at the hands of his family.

  “Got you a present,” Elliot says, breaking away from me to dig into his pocket again. He pulls out a brand new, hot pink iPhone, complete with a set of earbud headphones.

  “You shouldn’t have,” I say, fingering the phone delicately. I love it.

  “I’m listed as Tattoo Guy,” he says, pointing at the screen. “Just in case that was unclear.”

  I laugh, scrolling through the music he’s already loaded onto the phone. There’s a whole bunch of stuff. “What’s this playlist?” I ask, tapping the button as I read each song title.

  “Janie’s Got a Gun? Red Right Hand? What the hell kind of music collection is this?”

  “Well, isn’t it obvious,” Elliot asks playfully. “It’s your revenge playlist. If you insist on doing this, you really do need a soundtrack.”

  I just shake my head and smile. “I remember now why I like you so much,” I say, beaming as I slip the phone into my pocket.

  “My extremely large penis?” Elliot jokes as we begin to walk back to the fence.

  I push him playfully. “Because no matter what happens, you can always make me laugh.”

  Three

  “Dornan,” I say gently, tracing the deep lines etched beneath his eyes with my fingertip. “We need to get dressed. The service starts soon.”

  It is just after eight, and the funeral procession and motorcade for Chad will be starting in a few hours. I am equal parts excited and terrified, a newfound determination to get this thing finished settled in my gut like a layer of concrete: heavy, pressing, and always there to remind me what it is I need to do.

  I’m growing impatient. I have six men left to kill, and I’ve already been here for almost a month. Killing them one by one is going to become inefficient at some point in the very near future but for now, I am stuck with the methods I’ve got and this is the best I can do.

  Dornan opens his eyes, raking his gaze over me.

  “You’re wearing gym clothes to a fucking funeral?” he asks me, his gravelly voice scratching at my skin from the inside out.

  “I went for a run,” I explain. “I’ll jump in the shower now.”

  He grabs hold of my wrist, pulling me back towards his face. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

  I lay my hand on his cheek. “I just ran around the block a bunch of times,” I say, pressing my lips to his forehead briefly. “I was never more than a hundred feet from you. The boys were counting my laps for me.”

  It’s a lie, but one he buys. He releases his grip and closes his eyes again, sinking back into his pillow. I’m unsure what to do at this point. I can’t stand to be around him, but I have to play my part.

  I have to finish this.

  And I still have to find that fucking videotape, the one that will ensure that the world will know what Dornan Ross and his sons did to me and to the people I loved.

  I undress and walk naked into the en suite, glancing behind me. It’s at this point that Dornan would normally drag me back into bed, but this morning is different. I stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching silently as Dornan pulls on jeans and shrugs into a shirt.

  He is almost at the door when I reach down and grab his leather coat.

  “Dornan,” I say quietly. He turns, slowly, wearily, and a small thrill shoots down my spine as I see the total devastation etched onto his face.

  I take a step forward and hold the jacket out in front of my naked form.

  “It’s cold out there,” I say.

  He takes the jacket and flashes me a tired smile. It’s the most gentle gesture he’s ever displayed in front of me.

  “I’m sorry,” I lie through my teeth. “I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.”

  He nods, licking his lips slowly. He slings the jacket over his shoulder and opens the door to the hallway.

  “You and me both, baby girl.”

  He closes the door behind him and I back into the bathroom, leaning against the counter for a moment. Sunlight is streaming through the small window set high in the bathroom wall, and it hits my eyes, dazzling me. I close my eyes, those first rays of the day’s sun kissing my cheekbones, and I take a deep breath, savouring the small moment of peace and the way the morning breeze caresses my face. Fresh air and solitude is almost impossible to come by in this place, but here, today, I feel a sense of calm and stillness that makes everything seem right.

  Eventually, the sun moves higher in the sky, the breeze turns colder, and I step into the shower, letting the hot water fall over me. I take my time massaging suds into my hair before letting the steady stream of hot water run over my head and face, as if cleansing me of my sins.

  I dress slowly, savoring every moment. A plain black dress that stops at the knee and cinches at the waist, capped sleeves and a modest neckline. Black patent heels. A slash of red lipstick and some mascara, and I’m ready.

  Ready for the performance of my life.

  Four

  The s
ound of Harley Davidson’s rent the air like machine guns stuck on automatic fire.

  Venice Beach, California. The Ross family are Catholic, so of course they’ll do an open-casket viewing before the funeral. I’m not a part of the viewing, thank goodness. I don’t want to see how bloated Chad’s face is, how the make-up artist has chosen to try and cover the angry red splotches all over his face from the drugs he unwittingly drank. So I’m outside the funeral home, fighting the urge to tap my foot with impatience, as Dornan and the rest of the immediate family spend time with Chad’s empty vessel.

  I struggle to keep a neutral face as I remember Dornan finding Chad.

  Jase and I had finished off the beer we were sharing and gone downstairs to the large communal room that sat off the hallway, adjacent to the garage, for a game of pool. I was equal parts excited and nervous…I had just killed another human being, after all.

  My first kill.

  I could barely keep the smile off my face.

  As a teenager, I’d had the pleasure of kicking Jase’s ass at pool almost every time we played. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good at it—I was just better.

  So when it came time to play again, I didn’t want there to be any chance that he would become suspicious of my skills.

  “Wanna break?” he said, after he had finished lining up the triangle of balls.

  “Break what?” I asked ignorantly.

  “Break,” Jase repeated. “You have played pool before, right?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  He laughed and handed me the pool cue. “You hit the white ball into the colored balls. That’s called breaking.”

  I stood at the end of the pool table, the cue gripped clumsily in my hands, and he shook his head. “Here,” he said, shifting so that he was standing behind me. He wrapped his arms around mine, his hands covering mine as we gripped the pool cue in unison.

  The sensation of his body pressed into mine was enough to take my breath away. I breathed in sharply, hardly noticeable, but just enough for him to notice. He stepped away as if I’d just electrocuted him, the new tension in the air almost thick enough to see.

  I straightened and looked at him, neither of us saying anything for a few moments.

  “Maybe we should just forget this,” he said, gesturing to me, then the pool table. But we both knew he was talking about more than that. He meant, maybe we should forget about this. This being fireworks, and burning, and electricity jolting every time we were near each other.

  I knew exactly what he meant.

  And I had no intention of forgetting it.

  My rational brain screamed for me to shut up, that it would be better if we just kept our distance, that the closer I got to Jase, the more likely it was that he would find me out.

  “I don’t want to forget this,” I said, taking a step to swallow the distance between us. I leaned back over the pool table, cue in hand, and inclined my head to the side.

  “Get over here and help me break these balls.”

  He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, the way he sometimes did when he was unsure or sheepish. “What if I don’t want to?” he asked, this time with laughter lighting up his eyes.

  I smiled and stood up, pointing the tip of the cue at his crotch. “Then I’ll break your balls,” I joked, turning back to the table.

  Jase laughed at my joke, turning back to the pool table, where he straightened the white ball against the break line.

  “You’re holding that cue all wrong,” he said, and as I opened my mouth to deliver another smartass response, a heart-rending scream pierced the silence, making me jump.

  “What the fuck?” Jase breathed, striding to the doorway. He glanced up and down the hallway, probably trying to decide where the scream had originated from. A second scream, shorter this time, had him turning sharply left to the garage where I had left Chad’s lifeless body. I trailed slowly after him, not sure what to do. I hadn’t thought about the aftermath. To hang back, or to charge in?

  Fuck it. I wanted to see what was happening. Knowledge could be power and all that. I hurried into the garage and past the few bikes left.

  Just at that moment, the drone of Harley’s began, the volume rising rapidly as dozens of bikes entered the compound. The massive tilt-door began to open and sunlight flooded the almost-empty space. Jase ran to the door, his arms up, halting the bikes that were about to take up their spots.

  The sound of the engines was deafening, reverberating off the walls so that it sounded like I was inside an engine. I wanted to clutch at my ears but didn’t.

  I couldn’t show weakness around these people.

  Dornan removed his helmet and shrugged at Jase, as if to say, what the fuck are you doing in my way? Jase’s arms became animated, and he pointed towards what I assumed was Chad. Dornan kicked down the bike stand and jumped off his bike. He briefly turned to face the twenty or so bikers who had piled up in one big line, waiting to come in and park their bikes. He made a twirling motion with his index finger and then pointed to the open space away from the door.

  Bikes started pushing backwards. There were all kinds of yelling and ruckus, but once the front bikes were clear of the door, Jase pressed a button on the wall, sending it shut again with a heavy thud.

  Immediately, the noise of the bikes lessened to something manageable. I watched from the doorway as Dornan and Jase hurried over to where Chad lay dead, the person who had screamed still blocked from my view by a single layer of bikes, parked up in front of the spot where he had taken his final breath.

  “He’s not breathing,” I heard a panicked voice say, and I froze. My mother.

  I threaded my way over to them, needing to know what was going on. The can of drink that had ended Chad’s life sat innocently on the counter, a cleaning rag perched next to it.

  “Came in to clean the benches and I found him like this,” I heard my mother crying. I stepped forward to see her kneeling on the floor in front of Chad’s lifeless body, Dornan on the other side with two fingers pressed to Chad’s neck, Jase’s hand loosely on Chad’s chest as if feeling for breathing.

  I gasped.

  It wasn’t a faked reaction. Suddenly I was terrified. I had just killed someone. If they found out it was me, I’d be a dead woman. Firstly, a horribly, painfully tortured woman; but ultimately a dead woman.

  “Somebody help him!” I cried, rushing forwards. Jase stood and grabbed my shoulders, holding me back.

  “What are you doing?” I demand. “I know CPR. Let me help him!”

  Jase gripped my elbow so tight, it felt like he might snap it. “It’s too late,” he said, an air of finality in his voice. “He’s cold. He’s been dead awhile.”

  ***

  We drove to a funeral home in silence, Jase behind the wheel, me riding shotgun, Chad’s body laying in the back of a van, Dornan kneeling beside him the entire time.

  It was almost like he was saying his last goodbyes to his firstborn son.

  When we got there, Dornan asked for somebody by name. He was still calm then, still in shock.

  I remembered that feeling well.

  The guy wasn’t happy to see us, but he told Jase to pull the van around back, where he had a gurney waiting.

  Dornan sat in silence, as did Jase. I hovered in the hallway, slightly removed from them. I almost wished I hadn’t offered to tag along, knowing that if it hadn’t been a Ross son, if they hadn’t been so damn shocked to find him, that I’d never have been allowed along to what they would classify men’s business in a motorcycle club.

  After many hours, another man approached Dornan, a piece of paper in his hands. He spoke to Dornan in hushed tones, but two words jumped out, the words I already knew, because I had been the one to put them in his drink.

  Pure. Methamphetamine.

  I watched as Dornan asked several questions. How much had he ingested? There had been no needles, so how had it gotten into his body? And was there any way it could it have bee
n an accident?

  When the man walked away, Dornan took a deep breath, turned to Jase, and bit out, “I’m going to kill the fucker who did this.”

  There’s another reason why I chose Chad to kill first, you know. Not just because he was an asshole and a rapist.

  I chose him because he was Dornan’s favorite son.

  I chose him because I knew, if anything could drive that man to tears, it was losing his oldest son and VP.

  It was a good choice.

  Five

  The church is completely packed, with men in leathers bearing club patches, spilling out onto the front steps. I am without my usual escort for once, since the entire Ross clan is occupying the front three rows of the church, and I have been relegated to the very back row, away from the cutting glares of every female in the family.

  The service is boring, people talking about the family and blood being sacred and all that shit. I tune out for the most part and am startled when everyone suddenly rises. At first I think it must be over, until I see everyone lining up to receive communion. I join the line and bear the time patiently, studying the women who have chosen to be a part of the Ross family. I remember some of them from when my father was alive. Others are new but look just like the rest. I have a moment of judgement as I wonder what kind of stupid bitch would choose a life like this, until I stop and remind myself that it might not have been their choice at all.

  “The body of Christ,” the Priest says when I reach the front of the line, pressing a wafer onto my tongue. I close my mouth and savor the thin piece of cracker as it dissolves on my tastebuds. We make our way back to our seats, me in the back and Jase sitting with a row of his surviving brothers. Dornan is in front with his current wife—the mother of his fifth and sixth sons—on one side, Chad’s mother on the other. He holds both of their hands with the desperate resignation reserved only for parents who are grieving the loss of their child.

  I wonder, briefly, how my mother grieved for me.

  Or, if she grieved for me at all.

  Everyone stands for a final prayer before the casket is closed. I watch with a sense of satisfaction as Dornan disentangles himself from his current wife and stands, helping Chad’s mother to her feet. The woman is bawling, and inside I feel nothing but cold and bitter intent. Maybe if she had tried harder, her son wouldn’t have grown up to be such a fucking asshole. I feel no regret. The world is a better place without him.