Page 30 of Seven Sons (Gypsy Brothers)

“Thanks,” I spit back. “If you wanted to see it, all you had to do was ask.”

“I don’t ask, sugar. I tell. And you know what else I’ve got to tell you?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you’re about to give it to me.”

He leans close and whispers in my ear. “When you get angry, you lose that little southern drawl you’re putting on, sweetheart.”

I don’t visibly react, because I already know he is suspicious of me, but inside I turn cold and fill with dread.

“That Michael boy hadn’t seen your slut face in his lifetime,” he spits. “I’m onto you, darlin’. And once I figure out what you’re playing at, it’s game over for you.”

I don’t answer. Any argument I put forward is going to sound like defensiveness. I think of ten different comebacks, and every one of them makes me look culpable.

“You’re crazy,” I say instead.

He grins and steps back, still observing me closely. “Crazy smart,” he replies. His eyes look funny, and I’m guessing that he is just as high as Dornan was when he was insatiable this morning.

“That’s enough,” Jase says, pushing his brother aside. This time, Chad lets him, laughing.

“You like her, baby brother?” he teases. “You wanna fuck her? Because Pop doesn’t share his women with his sons.”

Jase ignores him, handing me my helmet and guiding me by my hand to his motorbike, which sits in a sea of identical bikes.

“Check her for weapons!” Chad calls to his brother, laughing like an asshole. “Cavity search the bitch in case she has a knife hiding up there in her lying pussy.”

I turn my head to glare at him and he grins. I remember that grin. It is the grin of a thousand nightmares. The grin of someone without a soul. The grin of a firstborn son who has been given a virgin to rape as penance for her father’s sins.

As the oldest brother, Chad had been given the green light to go first. His younger brothers pinned me down, one on each hand and another holding my feet.

Chad’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning when he approached me, his jeans unzipped and his erection full and tight in his hand.

“You sure you don’t want to do this, Pop?” he asked Dornan, his eyes full of lust and malevolence.

Dornan laughed and shook his head, slapping his oldest son on the back. My eyes grew wide as he lowered himself onto me and forced his leg between my thighs, creating a juncture.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I started to beg. “Please don’t do this,” I begged him. “Chad, please. I’ve never … I’ve never done it before.” Shame at being exposed in front of eight men turned my skin red and I began to cry again.

Chad grinned that grin, and I started to struggle against the hands that held me down. I bucked and screamed like a wild animal caught in a snare as Chad draped himself over me, a wicked glint in his eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut, unwilling to see what I knew he w

as about to do.

And then. Pain. Burning, searing pain that never stopped. It felt like I would break in half. I screamed so loud, my throat felt like it would collapse. A hand covered my mouth, muffling my sounds, and I bit down on that soft flesh, choking as I tasted coppery blood spring forth.

“Bitch!” Chad yelled, punching me in the jaw so hard I felt bone crack. I gargled an unintelligible noise as something soft, some kind of fabric, was stuffed into my mouth to still my screams.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” Chad groaned, as I burned and cried. “Tight little bitch was telling the truth.”

I tear my gaze away from Chad, a scowl on my face, and watch impatiently as Jase kicks his bike over. It roars to life, the sweet sound of a roaring Harley and the exhaust fumes conjuring a lifetime of happier memories of my father. I focus on those, trying desperately not to slip back into that other memory, determined not to let Chad best me before I’ve even put up a fight. Jase nods his head to the side and I swing my leg over the seat of the bike, shuffling forward and wrapping my arms around his hard midsection.

The minute my feet are securely braced on the passenger pegs, Jase takes off, and I hold on tighter as he accelerates. He maneuvers the beast of a bike deftly through the stack of other gleaming machines, until we are at the roller door. He fishes a remote out of his pocket and presses a button on it, sending the roller door skywards. Sunlight drowns the artificial light and I squint without my sunglasses.

My entire body relaxes as we leave the confines of the clubhouse and drive through the open gate, the bike hugging the road as Jase rides with precision and skill. I can

feel a smile growing wider on my face as my long hair whips behind me, my legs snugly wrapped around the first boy I ever loved. Even if he doesn’t know who I am, even if he can never know… in this moment, just to be alone with him, on the open road, is enough for me.

After we get a few miles, Jase slows the bike and pulls over to the shoulder. Smiling, he turns his head and speaks. “Where to?” he asks. Elliot.

“I need to get this tattoo colored in,” I say, loud enough so that he can hear me over the roar of the engine. “Lost City Tattoos?”

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