Текст книги "Seven Sons"

Автор книги: Lili St. Germain

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 6 страниц)

Ten

My mother sold me out for a bag of blow.

There.

I said it.

She was a terrible mother, a liar and a whore and a thief. Falling pregnant with me was an accident – she was barely seventeen and had just met my father.

Growing up, my father was like a mother to me as well. And my mother, when she was around, was like a distant older sister who lashed out at me when I did something wrong, and yelled at me whenever I cried. I learned from a very early age never to cry. I perfected my poker face at three years old, the same age I learned how to climb out of my own cot, how to pull up a chair and fix myself breakfast how to call 911 when my mother overdosed on heroin in the bath.

She was a horrid mother, but she was still my mother, and I loved her more than anything.

 The day Dornan took me – the day I “died” – was like any other day. My father was still at work at the factory; my mother was tearing at her skin, out of cash and out of meth. 

Then Uncle Dornan knocked at the door, flanked by Chad and Maxi. I was a streetwise kid. I’d grown up in the life, in the club. I could see the guns bulging at their waistbands, concealed under thin shirts and patched leather jackets.

My mother answered the door. I was in the kitchen, and heard voices. They were looking for my father, was he home?

When my mother told him that my father was still at work, Dornan burst in, apparently unsatisfied with her answer. 

Then his eyes landed on me, and a shit-eating grin grew on his beard-stubbled face.

“You’d better come with us, Juliette,” he said, his voice like sharp gravel scraping against my bare skin.

I looked at my mother, alarmed. Something wasn’t right.

“Why?” my mother asked, picking at her arm like she did when she was hanging for a fix.

Dornan withdrew a knotted baggie of light brown powder from inside his jacket and held it in front of her. Heroin.

“Relax, darlin’,” he said, grinning. I felt my skin prickle as my heart thudded faster. “We’ll have you back here in a few hours.”

My mother looked uncertain. “Why do you need Julie?” she asked. She always called me Julie. Everyone else called me Julz. 

Except Dornan. He liked to use my full name.

Dornan shook the baggie. “We just need her to help us find something, Carol. It’s a quick in-and-out job. Nothing untoward.”

My mother bit her lip and looked from Dornan, to me, to the baggie.

“I don’t feel well,” I said to my mother, backing away. “I don’t want to go.”

Dornan stepped closer to me, towering over my five-feet-tall frame. “It’s important, Juliette,” he said, his smile vanishing. “Jason’s waiting for you.”

He grabbed my elbow, steering me towards the front door. 

“Mom,” I protested.

Dornan dropped the bag into her open palm and smiled victoriously. “You’re a good woman, Carol. I knew you’d help us.”

“Have her home for dinner,” my mother said, turning and fleeing to the kitchen with her drugs.

Dornan tugged me more forcefully. “Mom!” I yelled. She didn’t answer. She ignored my pleading as three men dragged me out of my house and ordered me into the backseat of their car, the engine still running.

“Where are we going?” I asked them, annoyed and upset. 

Nobody answered. Dornan didn’t make eye contact with me, just glanced up and down our street before slamming my door shut. A moment later, he was in the driver’s seat, and activated the central locking. I was trapped.

I rested my head against my window and stared at my house for what would be the last time.

I watched my mother through the open curtains as Dornan reversed the car out of our driveway. She looked completely engrossed as she drew up cloudy liquid into a syringe.

She didn’t even look up from fixing her hit as her only daughter was driven to her death.

 I sit in stunned silence, shoveling Cheerios into my mouth, thankful that as the grains melt on my tongue, they are washing away the taste of Dornan’s parting kiss.

I am faltering.

I don’t know if I can do this. 

Not now that I have seen my own mother stare through me as if I were a complete stranger.

She thinks I’m dead. I am experiencing a type of mourning for her, one that I never expected to feel. She is a traitor, after all. I think she knew what Dornan was planning to do to my father, but she didn’t care. She didn’t leave, or warn my father or me. No, instead she ran to Dornan, begging for money for her meth habit, always begging for money, and even when I supposedly died at his hands, she still didn’t leave this godforsaken place.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jase says quietly, swinging back on his chair so that only the rear two legs are touching the ground.

I drop my spoon into my milky bowl and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Am I going to get a running commentary the entire time your father is gone?” I ask, pushing my bowl away. “Because I’d rather not.”

He seems surprised at my sudden turn in mood, and, to be honest, so am I. I thought screwing Dornan and having him stare at me like a sick puppy was going to be the most difficult part of this whole thing.

Clearly, I was wrong.

Jase widens his eyes and smiles cheekily. “Hello. Is this the real Samantha? Because I like her more than the fairy floss bullshit you spin in front of Dornan.”

I smile back, but my smile is sour. “Look,” I breathe, leaning over the table, “I like your father, don’t get me wrong. He’s given me a place to stay and money to sort myself out. But–”

“What?” Jase teases, swinging dangerously far back on the chair before slamming the front two legs back onto the ground so that his face is closer to mine. “You don’t like being cooped up inside while Pop goes off with his merry band?”

I drop the smile. “Something like that.”

Jase sniffs and nods, scanning the room. “I get it. This isn’t what you signed up for.”

“Exactly,” I say. “I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong. I’m just a little … overwhelmed right now.”

Jase narrows his eyes, seemingly in deep thought. “Be careful around here,” he says. “Things – people – have a way of getting hurt if they don’t do what they’re told.”

 Please Pop, please don’t, they’re hurting her, please stop, STOP STOP STOP.

 I just nod, chewing on my lip. “Thanks for the tip.”

“So, you hate storms?” Jase says, cocking his head to the side.

He is still trying to figure me out, I think. He still suspects I’m more than just a fuck buddy of his father’s.

“I hate humidity,” I shrug. “That’s all.”

“Huh.” He is silent for a moment, then stands abruptly. “You wanna come up to the roof for a while?”

Isn’t that where the fucking storm is?

“I mean, unless you’re scared.” It’s an open challenge that he extends to me with an outstretched palm and a cocky grin. Asshole.

I smile, putting my hand in his and standing up. “Only if you straighten my hair afterwards,” I say playfully.

“Ahhh… deal? I guess? How the hell do you straighten your hair anyway?”

“With a flatiron,” I smile. “Game?”

“I guess,” he says, not looking too convinced. As he leads me back to the hallway, he reaches his free arm around the doorway and snipes a bottle of Jack from the kitchen.

“For the light show,” he winks, waving the bottle.

I just smile a lie as my stomach flips and my heart sinks all in one.

Eleven

The clubhouse has few windows and a lot of soundproofing, a dream for a girl who is terrified of thunder and lightning.

The minute we get to the top of the stairwell and Jase opens the fire escape, I am cringing at the bright flashes of light and the menacing thunder that rips through every fiber of my being.

Once the door is open, the noise of the wind and thunder becomes deafening, and I cower at the prospect of going out into it.

“Come on,” Jase yells above the din, pulling my hand. “Trust me!”

Trust him? Of course I trust him. He risked his goddamn life to try and save mine all those years ago.

But does Sammi trust him? Should she?

“Fuck it,” I breathe, unplanting my stubborn feet and following him outside into the howling wind and neon flashes. It’s got to be better that being stuck downstairs with my mother.

I squint my eyes, cringing against the sudden assault of stinging, sharp raindrops that are almost solid enough to be considered hail. They bite at my skin like tiny bullets, baying for my blood.

“Why the hell do you want to be out here?” I yell at Jase. He tugs my hand and we keep running. The visibility is terrible and I can barely see what’s in front of me, apart from thick sheets of icy rain.

Lightning strikes uncomfortably close and I scream, practically jumping on Jase. He laughs, pointing at something in front of us. At first, I don’t realize what it is – it’s a room without walls, and it’s not wet inside.

It’s not magic, it’s a room made entirely of glass. A greenhouse.

How odd, I think, and squeal again when another bolt of lightning strikes less than a hundred feet away. I am practically glued to Jase like a spider monkey stuck to his back.

I breathe a sigh of relief as he opens a door in the glass and pulls me inside, closing it behind us. The storm still rages around us, but at least I feel a little more protected. The room is pretty big, at least twenty feet across and with a stunning view of the Venice Beach coastline.

“What is this place?” I ask. “A marijuana farm?”

Jase smiles. “Used to be. Until the cops started doing aerial surveillance. Now it’s my hangout when I get sick of being down there with my idiot brothers.”

“Do you bring all your father’s whores up here?” I ask him, wringing the extra moisture out of my long brown hair.

Jase chuckles. “Did you just call yourself a whore?”

I smile wickedly. “Let’s keep ourselves firmly planted in reality, shall we? I’m sleeping with your father so he’ll let me stay here in his club. What else would you call me?”

Jase raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know. A girl who had to make some hard decisions to protect herself?”

I shrug, shivering. “That’s a much nicer way of saying it,” I concede.

“Here.” Jase shrugs out of his long-sleeved leather jacket and puts it around my shoulders. I can’t help but notice that the jacket is plain, devoid of any patches or club insignia. That must piss Dornan right off.

“Thanks,” I say, a thrill coursing through me as his fingertips brush my shoulder.

I am amazed. Even after six years, even with him oblivious to who I actually am, there is a chemistry between us that cracks and fizzes like the storm that rages all around us.

“Take a seat,” Jase says, pulling out a couple of upended milk crates. He sits on one and produces a half-empty bag of pretzels to go with the bottle of Jack at his feet. He munches on a pretzel before offering me the bag.

I take it, eating a pretzel and watching as he unscrews the whiskey and takes a long, deep drink. I imagine how it must burn his throat, his tongue, his lips.

His lips.

“Do you always start drinking at ten in the morning?” I ask him.

He grins cheekily and looks at me from underneath his thick black eyelashes. He has his mother’s dimpled smile, and for that I am eternally grateful.

“Only when I’m babysitting whores,” he jokes, offering me the bottle. I take a swig and the liquid burns all the way down to my stomach.

“You don’t even know me,” I say, popping another pretzel in my mouth. “I don’t even think you like me. Why bother bringing me up here?”

Jase takes the bottle back and takes a swig, gulping the burning liquid down. He studies me for a moment, giving me an uneasy feeling in my belly.

Because he looks at me like he does know me.

“You remind me of a girl I used to know,” he says quietly, looking away.

“Oh, really?” I ask casually, a river of pent-up tears burning a hole in my fucking heart. “Where is she now?”

He looks at the ground for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “She died.”

I swallow back the enormous lump in my throat. I can’t cry. If I cry, this is all over. And it can’t be over, not yet.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my carefully laid plans threatening to shatter to pieces like the flimsy glass building we are sheltered within.

 “It’s fine,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “It was a long time ago.”

 We sit there in silence for awhile, munching on pretzels and sharing the Jack. After awhile I start to feel relaxed.

 Stop drinking. You need to keep your wits about you.

 “Your dad’s a little… full on,” I say finally, piercing the silence.

Jase looks at me with an expression devoid of laughter or light. “He’s one of a kind,” he says, and I can hear the bitterness in his voice.

“You two aren’t close?” Please say no, please say no.

“Huh!” Jase chuckles, but there is no joy in the sound. It is more like a strangled cry of desperation.

“No. We’re not close.” There is so much more behind those words, a story I can tell he wants to share, but he’s smart not to. He doesn’t know me. I could go and blab everything he’s telling me to Dornan.

“He’s kind of scary, isn’t he?” I say gingerly, not sure how much he’ll reveal.

He just stares at me with his watery blue eyes until I want to blush under the power of his gaze. “What?” I say. “Did I say too much? I’m sorry.” I shift uncomfortably as he continues to watch me.

“You’re kind of freaking me out,” I say finally, looking away.

“Sorry,” he says, the tension broken. “I just–”

“You just what?”

He leans closer to me and looks around nervously. “You need to be careful,” he says, the worry in his voice clear. “You seem like a nice girl. My father meets girls like you and gets a little obsessed.”

“I’ve noticed,” I say, no humor left in my voice now either. I shake my head. “I just wanted a job,” I whisper. “Now he’s got me here, I feel like he won’t let me leave.”

“He won’t,” Jason says flatly. “My father’s fucking intense. He wants you, he’ll have you.”

I look at him, horrified. I remember Dornan being obsessive and calculating when I was a child, but not like this.

Although, he did organize for his sons to take turns raping a fifteen year old girl who called him Uncle. So, its not terribly surprising, I suppose.

“You’ll be fine,” he says quickly, seeing my face. “Just don’t piss him off. He’ll get a new obsession in a month or two, and then you can breathe easy.”

I nod, suddenly overwhelmed and claustrophobic despite being in a room with see-through walls. I take the bottle from Jase and have a long, deep drink from it. Screw staying sober. I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to deal with being Dornan’s prisoner when all I came here for was to dance at the burlesque club and get close to the clubhouse. This close wasn’t part of the plan. Although, at the same time, it’s deliciously convenient and will no doubt speed things up considerably.

“What happened to his last obsession?”

Jase takes the bottle back but doesn’t drink. He is thinking.

“Maybe I don’t want to know,” I say reluctantly.

“I can’t talk about it,” Jase says finally. “I just met you. He’s my father.”

I nod, but inside I’m deflated. Jase is protecting him. He’s protecting Dornan, who held his high school sweetheart down and raped her. While he made Jase watch.

“I get it,” I say flatly. “He’s your father. Of course you want to be loyal to him.”

Jase appears pained. “Want to? Have to. You think you’re the only one trapped here with no way out?”

I swallow thickly and sit there, my heart pounding in my chest.

Not protecting him.

Being held hostage by him.

It all makes perfect sense now.

 We stay in the glass house for hours, eventually talking of lighter things, only leaving when the sun decides to slip below the horizon. By the time we do, something has definitely shifted between Jase and Sammi. Which is a wonderful thing to cling to amongst the madness I am drowning in.

 When I finally collapse into Dornan’s king-sized bed at midnight, tipsy and exhausted, I can only hope that he stays away another day.

Twelve

When I wake in the morning, I am still alone. Thank Christ for small miracles. After spending a blessed day with Jase, the last thing I want to do is wake up to a nightmare. I have a pit in the bottom of my stomach when I wake up, a nervous, cloying tension that something is wrong. I wonder if it’s because Elliot is going crazy trying to contact my useless, smashed phone.

 There is a soft knock at the door and I sit up, tensed for whoever might be there, and wishing I had a gun. I relax when Jase sticks his head in.

“Awake?”

“Yeah,” I reply, stretching lazily. I stand up, brightening when I see he is holding a tray with two coffee cups.

“My father’s on his way back,” he says. “Should be here any minute. You want breakfast?” He holds up a brown paper bag. “I grabbed bagels.”

I love bagels. “Sure,” I say. “Just let me get changed.”

“Meet you on the roof,” he says, leaving my coffee on the dresser next to the door.

I sip the coffee as I change into a sleeveless turquoise-colored dress with little lace details cut into the hem. I had to buy a whole new wardrobe when I had my boobs done. Nothing from my old life fits me anymore, which is kind of a good thing. New clothes for a new identity.

I slip my feet into clear plastic flip flops and tie my hair in a messy bun on top of my head. Grabbing my sunglasses and my coffee, I head up to the roof.

  This morning, the storm has cleared and the view of the ocean is stunning. Jase has buttered two blueberry bagels and sat them on a brown paper bag on the edge of the building, which comes up to my waist.

“Thanks for breakfast,” I say, shoving a piece of buttery bagel in my mouth and following it with a slug of warm latte. “I would’ve settled for Cheerios and instant coffee, but this is delicious.”

Jase smiles. “No problem. The first one’s free.”

“Oh, really?” I ask. “What does the next one cost?”

He opens his mouth to answer me, but before he does, the fire escape door bursts open and several of the Ross brothers appear. I almost choke on the bagel in my throat.

“They’re up here!” Chad calls down the stairs.

I stand there, looking for a weapon just in case. I don’t know what they’re up to. I don’t trust any of them for a second.

Except Jase.

 My worst nightmare arrives at the top of the stairs, bound, gagged, and bloody.

Fuck.

Dornan pushes the poor boy forward, and I rush to them, freaking the fuck out.

This is bad. This is so very, very bad.

“Baby girl!” Dornan booms, clearly amped up on a mixture of adrenalin and some kind of drug, probably crystal meth. “Got you a gift!”

“Dornan,” I stutter. “What are you doing?”

Dornan removes the boy’s gag, and grabs the back of his neck, pointing his gaze towards me.

“Remember her, motherfucker?!” Dornan demands, spittle flying from his mouth and landing on the boy’s face.

“Dornan, it’s not what you think!”

“Shut your mouth,” Dornan yells at me. “Let him speak.”

Oh God. What am I going to do?

“Dornan, he’s not who you think he is–”

“Chad, shut her the fuck up, will you?” Dornan points to me and before I can move, Chad has sidled up alongside me and grabbed me in a bear hug, his hand planted firmly over my mouth. I gasp, unable to scream. I look over at Jase, whose peaceful breakfast has been shattered by all the ruckus.

“Pop,” Jase says slowly, “what’s going on? Who the hell is this guy?”

“What’s your name, son?” Dornan demands. “Speak!”

“M-Michael.”

Michael Trevine.

I just have one question for you, baby girl.

The boy is terrified. One of his eyes is swollen shut, there is blood all over him, and I wonder how much of the long journey back to LA was spent beating him.

 Tears form at the corner of my eyes as the full brunt of Dornan’s obsession with me becomes apparent. He left me here for this. He asked me who my ex-boyfriend was, and then proceeded to travel across the country to kidnap an innocent boy from his house. A boy who has never laid eyes on me, a boy who I found online and added to Sammi’s backstory for credibility.

 A boy with a gun pointed at his head.

 I struggle against Chad’s stronghold, but it is useless. The guy is built, and he’s probably been snorting the white powder with Daddy Dornan all the way home.

 I bite down on Chad’s hand and he pulls it away, yelling at me.

“He’s not my ex!” I scream, fighting against Chad’s rigid embrace.

 Dornan looks at me like a man possessed. A man on a mission.

 “I lied,” I gasp, still struggling. “I’ve never met him before. Please, just let him go.”

 Dornan lowers his gun and looks me up and down. “You don’t have to be scared of him anymore,” he says.

He lifts the gun, his finger putting pressure on the trigger.

“Please!” I scream.

My pleas go unheeded.

He pulls the trigger.

Two things happen. Firstly, the roar of a single bullet as it leaves Dornan’s gun and enters the back of the boy’s head. Secondly, almost at the exact same time, I am showered with a fine mist of blood and what I think are pieces of Michael Trevine’s skull.

Michael lays on the ground, motionless. The red cloud around his head grows swiftly, reaching my flip flops. I scream and Chad releases me, letting me slump to the ground. I crawl through blood and bits of skull to get to the dead boy, cradling him in my arms. He is heavy, a dead weight, because he is dead. And it is my fault.

I heft the boy onto my lap and realize his eyes are still open.

Fuck.

With trembling fingers, I reach over and press his eyelids shut.

I feel hands on my shoulders, pulling me away, and it takes everything inside me not to kick and claw and bite Dornan as he carries me away. He pulls my clothes off and puts me in the shower, where I huddle into a ball and stare at the lines of grout that separate each white tile.

You don’t have to be scared of him anymore.

I make a strangled sobbing sound, but nothing much comes out of my throat except a dried-up, pathetic scream.

Dornan pulls me from the shower, wraps me in a towel and walks me to his bed, where he sits me down.

“Do you understand how much I care about you now?” Dornan asks with a throat full of gravel. His hands are all over me, feverish, and I don’t fight back when he presses me down onto the bed and unbuckles his belt.

I just lay there, in shock, his lips at my throat and his hands roving every inch of my shell-shocked body.

“Do you know why I did that?” he breathes in my ear as he grips my hips and slides inside me.

My breath hitches in my throat as he begins to thrust into me, and I feel a single tear roll down the side of my face.

“Because I’m yours,” I whisper into the darkness.