The
Gypsy Brother’s Series?
One
Love (Gypsy Brothers, Book Seven)
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Blurb
*The
final book in the #1 iBooks bestselling Gypsy Brothers series*
Will
Julz complete her mission for vengeance against the Gypsy Brothers?
Or is Dornan still one step ahead?
More
shocking secrets will come to light and lives will be lost in this
final, devastating instalment of the Gypsy Brothers series.
Chapter
One
By
Lili St. Germain
The
saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your
enemies.
CHAPTER
ONE
“I
want my lawyer,” I repeat for the hundredth time.
There
are two CIA agents in front of me, and they’re playing a very
cheesy rendition of good cop / bad cop.
We’ve
been at this for hours. Boss Bitch — Agent Dunn, as she’s since
told me — on one side, and her completely dumb but cute male
offsider, Agent Brennan, on the other. In my head, to pass the hours,
I’ve nicknamed them Agent Bitch and Agent Dumbass. I sit across
from them, my hands in my lap, heavy metal cuffs weighing them down.
My
throat is dry, my tongue parched. Agent Dumbass has a fresh can of
Coke in front of him, and I can see the tiny beads of condensation
running down the sides. I want it. I want to reach over and grab the
can. I don’t even need to drink what’s inside. I’ll settle for
the condensation making its lazy descent down the side of the bright
red can and onto the dusty Formica table that separates me from them.
“Let’s
try this again,” the female cop says, tucking a loose blonde hair
behind her ear. The rest is up in a severe bun that reminds me of a
matronly grandmother, even though this woman only looks about thirty.
She’s got a slight southern inflection that reminds me of Elliot’s
grandma.
I
don’t reply, waiting for whatever it is she plans on doing next.
Her next big thought, her latest overdone gesture, to try and
convince me that I should spill all of my dirty secrets onto this
table between us. So far she’s used threats against Jase, a plea
deal that would grant me immunity, and long stretches of silence.
None
of that will break me. I’ve been tortured by Dornan fucking Ross.
This woman’s going to have to try a lot harder, or maybe get out
some pliers and start yanking my teeth out of my mouth, before I’ll
give her a single damned thing.
She
snatches up a manila folder and opens it, handing a photograph to her
male offsider. “Stick these up,” she barks at him, and he moves
slowly, ripping a section of blue-tack from a large blue ball of the
stuff that must live permanently on the wall to my left. I watch,
just slightly interested as to what they’re going to try and scare
me with.
They
don’t disappoint. As I watch them pin 5x7 photographs to the wall,
I can’t help but feel some sense of satisfaction for the lives that
ended at my hands. I have to remain impassive though, so I tamp down
the gloating grin that wants to spread across my face and settle for
my resting bitch face instead.
Dunn
peeks at me from the corner of her eye, and I return her gaze
impassively. She might think she can get under my skin, but I grew up
in the Gypsy Brothers MC for shit’s sake. I know how to hold out in
front of a cop.
“Chad
Ross,” Dunn says, smoothing her pants as she stands up and circles
the table, coming to stand next to the photographs her partner is
sticking up in a haphazard fashion. I wait for her to reach out and
straighten them. Boom. Three seconds later, she does just that,
making sure all of the photos line up.
“Chad
Ross was poisoned,” she continues, tapping one manicured fingernail
against the photo of his bloated death face.
“Looks
nasty,” I reply.
“It’s
a nasty way to die,” Dunn says, peering at me. “The killer added
pure methamphetamine to an energy drink he later consumed. He was
probably dead before he hit the ground.”
He
wasn’t. He suffered. Thankfully.
“And
you’re showing me this why?” I ask, studying my own nails, bitten
down to the quick. I never was a girly girl. It’s not easy to keep
your nails tidy when you’re constantly trying to claw your way back
from death.
Dunn
looks at me pointedly before jabbing her fingernail towards the
second photo. Ahhh, yes. Maxi in all his naked, bloody glory. His
face is a mess from the coke I shoved underneath his nose, the coke
laced with strychnine that made blood gush from his nose like warm
water from a faucet. I still remember the way his blood felt on my
hands. How surreal everything was, bright and garish, as my skull
burned with a small amount of the poisoned coke I’d snorted myself.
How
I’d nearly died in my quest to kill him.
How
it was so worth the risk to see the look on his smarmy fucking face,
when I whispered in his ear who I really was and sat back on his lap
to watch the fury rise in his cheeks.
As
he realized a black widow was the one who’d just fed him his last
meal of poison and cocaine.
I
glance at Agent Dunn, clearing my throat and attempting to look
bored.
“Strychnine-laced
cocaine,” she says. “In fact, the same thing you were admitted to
hospital for that very night. Jason Ross brought you in to emergency
room. They said you almost died.”
“It
was a hell of a night,” I reply curtly. “My nose still bleeds
just thinking about it.”
She
raises her eyebrows in disbelief, and in that moment I have no doubt
that she’s cataloguing me as a sociopath or similar.
“Can
I ask you a question?” I say suddenly.
“Shoot,”
Dunn responds.
I
reach my hand out slowly, methodically and take hers, a bold move.
She could pepper spray me, shoot me. You’re not supposed to touch
the interrogators. But she’s ballsy enough that she doesn’t want
to take her hand away, even as I watch her flinch minutely.
“How
do you keep your nails so pretty?” I ask sweetly, the saccharine in
my voice not reaching the cold death stare I give her. I hold up my
other hand. “Mine are hopeless. You spend much time in the field,
Agent Dunn?”
She
takes her hand away, and I let my own cuffed hands fall back into my
lap. I know her skin must be crawling from my touch.
I
hope the feeling stays there for a long time. She should not have
fucked with me.
“I
take good care of myself, Miss Portland,” she says briskly. “Which
is more than I can say for you.”
“My
child died,” I say blankly. “Physical appearance isn’t on the
top of my priority list right now.”
She
bristles momentarily. “I am sorry for your loss,” she says
finally.
I
sit back, crossing my legs. “No, you’re not,” I reply.
She
points to the third photograph, which is… hell, I’ve got no idea
what that is. I tilt my head, trying to figure out what I’m looking
at.
“It’s
a leg,” Dunn supplies.
“Ohhh,”
I say, nodding. “Thanks.”
It
is indeed a leg, or at least part of one. Charred and black, with
spots of unmarred flesh and blood still peeking through in sections.
Huh. I wonder who it belonged to.
“Two
Ross brothers were killed in an explosion. Somebody put homemade
bombs in their fuel tanks, can you believe that?”
I
shrug. “Sounds like they must have had it coming.”
Dunn
points to the final photos, and a cloying heat bleeds up my chest and
neck as I remember those three months of horror and torture I endured
at Dornan’s hands before I was broken out. The way Dornan’s
father Emilio flew backwards with a meaty thump as the top of his
head was blown clean off, blood and brains flying everywhere.
Mickey’s look of horror that didn’t fade after the bullet entered
his face, such a satisfying end for men whose only fault in death was
that their ends were much too swift. I imagine how much more
satisfying it would have been to hang them by their feet and burn
their eyes out with cigarettes and blowtorches, or pull their teeth
out with rusty pliers, one by one.
That
would have been much more fitting for the men who tried to destroy
me, the same men who murdered my father.
Still…
they’re dead, and that’s better than them being alive.
“That’s
got to give you a headache,” I joke, referring to the last two
pictures. The blood and gore have no effect on me. My stomach is made
of iron after the atrocities I’ve seen, after all that I’ve
endured. If this bitch wants to rattle my cage, she’s going to have
to try harder.
“And
then we have Jimmy,” she says, sticking one last photograph to the
wall. Jimmy’s face, still frozen in shock, the trail of blood from
his temple where Jase shot him barely noticeable in the extreme
close-up.
“He
looks unwell,” I comment. “Thing is, I’m still not sure why
you’re showing me all of this.”
Dunn
frowns so hard it looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel.
“Here’s
the thing,” she says, throwing a stack of photographs in front of
me. “We’ve got you. We have your DNA on the first two victims,
and motive. We’ve got probable cause to take you to trial.”
I
sift through them, suppressing a twisted smile as I see what happened
to Jazz and Ant after they bit the big one when bombs in their
motorcycle fuel tanks exploded, ripping them to pieces. It isn’t
pretty, what became of them. But to me, it’s beautiful.
I
drop the photographs on the table and lean back in the hard metal
chair I’ve been sitting on for the past five hours.
“These
people are — were — like family to me. Don’t you think it’s a
little tacky showing me all of this? I’m still grieving for these
boys. They were like brothers to me.”
Agent
Dunn actually rolls her eyes at me. At least she’s got some spunk
somewhere in there. “Give it a rest, Miss Portland,” she says
impatiently. “You’ve got more motive than anyone else, and no
alibi for any of these murders.”
“Motive?”
I ask sweetly. “And what might that be?”
Agent
Dunn hesitates. Go on, I think.
Say it.
They raped me until they thought I was dead. The murdered my father,
and you want to arrest me? Say it.
“I’m
not authorized to talk with you about an active investigation,”
Dunn says finally. “But I really think you should start talking,
Miss Portland.”
I
roll my eyes. “Okay,” I say finally. “I give up. You got me.
I’ll tell you something. Let me write it down.”
Dunn’s
beady eyes practically wig out of her head. She studies me for a
moment, probably to see if I’m telling the truth, and I stare right
back at her. If she wanted a wallflower who’d stare at the floor,
she arrested the wrong girl.
After
a beat, she stands up, turns and bustles out of the room. I divert my
attention to Agent Dumbass, who looks like he’s about to fall
asleep in his chair.
“I’ll
make a full confession,” I say, “if you give me that.” I point
to the coke can and he eyes it dubiously. After a pause, he slides
the can over to me with one finger. With a smile, I pick up the can
between my cuffed hands and take a long drink.
The
fizzy liquid burns on the way down my throat, but it’s delicious. I
drink as much as I can before Agent Bitch returns, setting it back
down on the table and smiling at Dumbass. I slide the can back
towards him with a wink. Let him think we’re friends. Let him think
I’m just a silly young girl who couldn’t possibly hurt anyone. He
looks surprised, taking the can back as Agent Bitch walks back into
the room.
She
looks between me, the can and the goofy look on Agent Dumbass’s
face and shakes her head.
Sliding
into her seat, she drops a yellow legal pad on the table between us
as she addresses Dumbass.
“She
killed a man by poisoning his drink with pure meth,” she says to
her partner. “You sure you want that back?”
“Allegedly,”
I add.
The
oaf stares at the can for a few seconds. Finally, he pushes it back
in my direction with an embarrassed look.
In
the past five hours or so since I was unceremoniously dumped in this
interrogation room, I’ve gone through the whole gamut of emotions.
Fear. Shock. Despair. Now, I’m at anger. Anger that bubbles within
me. Anger that is thinly disguised as apathy to these two morons.
Dunn
drops a blue Bic pen on the legal pad and pushes it over to me. I
hold up my cuffed wrists helplessly.
“I
can’t write with these things on,” I say.
Dunn
gives me the filthiest look before nodding at Dumbass. He stands and
circles around to me, removing my cuffs before returning to his spot.
I
WANT A LAWYER.
I write it as obnoxiously large as I can, underlining the word LAWYER
three times.
Agent
Bitch’s smile disappears, replaced by a thin line of contempt at
her mouth. I grin. Good luck getting those cuffs back on me,
motherfucker. I sit back in my seat and snatch up the Coke, draining
the rest of the can before they think to take it from me.
“We
can play this game for however long you want, Miss Portland,” she
says curtly, fiddling with the stack of crime scene photographs in
front of her. I smile.
“I’ve
got all day,” I say sweetly, even though I really, really don’t.
Dornan has Elliot’s daughter and ex-girlfriend, and possibly Elliot
himself, and Jase and I have twenty-four hours to meet him and get
the girls out of danger before he kills them. At least, that’s what
I’m assuming he plans to do to them. I can’t even comprehend what
else he might be planning to do to those poor girls to get back at
us.
Agent
Dunn shakes her head one last time, gathering up the files and
stalking towards the door. “I’ll give you some time to think
about your position,” she says.
“Isn’t
this illegal?” I call out to her. “I’m an American citizen. I
have the right to an attorney. Get me a goddamn lawyer!”
Really,
I just need a lawyer to post bail so I can get the hell out of here.
Not that I’m sure I’d actually be bailed out, but I need
something, and talking to these two is proving fruitless. A cold
panic is building up inside my stomach, in the hollow space where my
baby once lived and died.
God,
it’s still so raw, so vicious when the memory of our tiny little
baby takes hold and squeezes me. Sometimes, selfishly, I wish I could
forget about her, because losing her has cursed me with more pain
than I could ever imagine.
If
I had any remnants of doubt about killing Dornan before? They’re
gone, bled from me in the moments after our daughter was born, still
and dead, in the early hours of the morning when the world was still
dark.
He
took her from me. From us. And I cannot rest until he’s dead and
buried, a rotting corpse in the cold ground, a memory and nothing
more.
Dornan
Ross needs to burn for the things he’s done.
Agent
Dumbass follows his partner out of the room and pulls the door shut.
I immediately stand up and go to the door, testing the handle. Locked
from the outside. Of course. I go back to my chair, collecting the
pen someone so thoughtfully left for me and shoving it into my
pocket. You know, just in case I need to stab somebody sometime soon.
Which,
as it turns out, is sooner than I’d anticipated.
About
an hour later, Agent Bitch sticks her head back into the room. “Your
lawyer’s on the way,” she says, closing the door behind her
again.
This
could be anyone. A cop posing as a lawyer to get a confession on
tape. A hit man, sent by the Gypsy Brothers or the Cartel. I’m like
a sitting duck in here, and I don’t like it one tiny bit.
But
what greets me isn’t any of those things.
It’s
so much worse.
I
don’t move an inch as the door swings open and he walks into the
room. Dressed in a suit I’ve seen before, clutching a black leather
briefcase by his side. He looks positively fucking amused.
“Well,”
I say bitterly, “They’ll let any motherfucker take the bar these
days, won’t they?”
One
Love Trailer
Gypsy
Brothers Series by Lili Saint Germain
Amazon
US: http://amzn.to/1t6zQIy
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Six
Brothers (Gypsy Brother, Book Two)
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US: http://amzn.to/1pQjAOq
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Five
Miles (Gypsy Brothers, Book Three)
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iTunes:
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Four Score (Gypsy
Brothers, Four)
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iTunes:
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Three
Years (Gypsy Brothers, Book Five)
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US: http://amzn.to/1rbbD1z
iTunes:
http://bit.ly/1rBWdHu
Two
Roads (Gypsy Brothers, Book Six)
Amazon
US: http://amzn.to/1uo8AEd
One
Love (Gypsy Brothers, Book Seven)
Amazon:
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& N: http://bit.ly/1utEZPg
About the Author:
Lili Saint Germain
Lili
writes dark romance, suspense and paranormal stories. Her serial
novel, Seven Sons, was released in early 2014, with the following
books in the series to be released in quick succession. Lili quit
corporate life to focus on writing and so far is loving every minute
of it. Her other loves in life include her gorgeous husband and
beautiful daughter, good coffee, Tarantino movies and spending hours
on Pinterest.
She
loves to read almost as much as she loves to write.
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