Page 34 of Seven Sons (Gypsy Brothers)

I nodded and lay back down. “Yeah.”

He poised the needle above my skin. “Which one first?” he asked, and I immediately knew what he was asking. Which one was I going to kill first.

“Chad,” I replied softly. “The oldest one.” The worst one.

He nodded and I tensed as he gouged sharply into my flesh.

Seventeen

“Hey. Earth to Samantha!” Jase is waving a hand in front of my face. We have stopped at the end of the Venice Beach boardwalk and all of the crazy that lies along it. I can see a guy juggling fire, a middle-aged Filipino woman belting out bad karaoke, and plenty of body builders still working out at the bank of metal gym equipment that sits in the sand.

Memories of being a teenager flood through me. It even smells the same. I have to force myself to pay attention to Jase as he speaks.

“You want to eat?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “Let’s swim,” I say, drawn to the ocean like a magnet. I kick my borrowed shoes off and leave them on the sidewalk, stepping off into the gloriously warm sand. It feels blissful. It feels like home.

Jase smirks. “We don’t have bathing suits.”

I shrug. “My underwear will work,” I say, tugging my shirt off and throwing it on the ground beside the shoes. I unzip my pants and shimmy them down, kicking them onto the pile as well. I am wearing only a black bra and matching bikini-cut panties, and I know I look good.

I look back at Jase and laugh. “Come on,” I say. “Unless you’re scared.”

“Scared of getting arrested,” he says devilishly. “I don’t wear underwear.”

“Oh,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Well, at least roll those jeans up and step into the water with me.”

I leave him on the sidewalk, cussing at his laced boots as he tries to pull them off, and run across the sand and into the water. Diving underneath the surface, I keep my eyes firmly closed in case my contact lenses should become dislodged. Between my tattoo, my contact lenses, and trying to remember my fake name, keeping this disguise up is starting to get really annoying. And it’s only the beginning.

I surface again and kick my legs, the salt water a welcome cleansing from the horrors of the past few days.

Jase hovers at the edge of the water. His toes are barely getting wet. He has removed his leather jacket and shirt, and I can appreciate his six-pack and build from where I float lazily. The gangly boy I left has morphed into a very attractive man. His tattoos are completely different to Elliot’s – mostly gang related – and when he turns to look up the beach, I catch sight of his Gypsy Brothers tattoo. It looks identical to the one Dornan sports, and my stomach roils. Turn around, Jase.

He does, wading in a little deeper so that the water laps at his ankles. “Come out here, you pussy,” I tease him.

“My jeans’ll get wet,” he says. I stick my lip out and pout dramatically. He laughs at that.

“The water’s soooo good,” I say. He fishes his keys and cellphone out of his pocket, throwing them on the sand just out of the water’s reach. Nobody will touch them. He’s a Gypsy Brother. They pretty much own Venice Beach.

He strides into the water, up to his knees. The bottom of his jeans are immediately soaked with salt water.

“Further,” I call, kicking backwards.

He shakes his head and doesn’t move. I swim towards him, a devilish grin on my face. “Don’t–” he warns, but before he can finish his sentence, I pull his arms, making him keel over into the water. He surfaces, laughing and spluttering, and my heart feels a little less heavy.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Welcome,” I reply. “Told you the water was good.”

He just shakes his head, smiling in amusement.

He watches the horizon for a moment before speaking more seriously. “So are you, like, my dad’s old lady now?”

I almost choke. “What?” I splutter.

“My pop. Are you guys, like, an item?”

My smile is completely gone, and I press my feet firmly to the sand beneath us. But he has posed an interesting question. Does Dornan consider us in a relationship, no matter how short our acquaintance has been, no matter how blatantly dysfunctional?

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