Page 22 of Seven Sons (Gypsy Brothers)

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.”

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