Page 23 of Seven Sons (Gypsy Brothers)

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.”

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