Page 65 of Empire (Cartel)

‘Yes,’ I lied. Without Lindsay agreeing to give John immunity, I wasn’t testifying. I was running. We were running. I just had to get back to John and formulate a get the fuck out of town plan. I sucked in a breath as a wave of dizziness slammed into me. I had to get out of the car before I passed out. I stuffed the gun back into my bag, searching for the door handle. I heard a click as the doors unlocked and I opened the door, gulping in the hot Nevada air as the same dude on the outside of the car held out a hand to help me down.

I slid out of the SUV, turning back to face him as my feet hit the ground. The last image I had of Lindsay Price was his serious expression as he watched me silently. He almost seemed . . . relieved.

I slammed the door so hard, I swear the car moved. My wrist throbbed from the sudden exertion, and I rushed back into the hotel lobby, parting a sea of tourists with the force of my heels against the polished floor.

Soon. Something was going to happen soon.

How was I going to tell John?

We had to leave Vegasnow.

I rode the lift back to the hotel suite with one hand against the mirrored wall. I was tired.

I was so fucking tired of this life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

JOHN

Two days.

Two whole days and he hadn’t been able to contact Mariana. Something was amiss, but he had no fucking idea what it was or how to find out.

Oh, and they were driving to San fucking Diego, on Emilio’s orders. Caroline, who for once was straight and sober, was driving down with Juliette, for some event Emilio had insisted the entire club attend. And John was riding his motorcycle with the rest of the Gypsy Brothers, because presidential duties demanded he lead the pack. For the moment, at least. After the shit that went down at the strip club with Dornan, he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be presiding over his club much longer. An invested man would have cared. A man who wanted to pull the trigger and run had no time to care about such things.

John had been at home when he’d received a call about an urgent club meet. ‘Stay away from that boy, you hear me?’ he had said to his daughter, as he grabbed his leather jacket and the keys to his motorcycle.

Juliette rolled her eyes at him, barely looking away from the television. ‘Daddy, I don’t even like him. I just feel sorry for him.’ Stretching her long legs out on the sofa, she finally turned her gaze to John. Her expression grew troubled. ‘His brothers are so horrible. They’re always hurting him.’

John shrugged. ‘Boys can be rough, baby. Especially those boys.’ He thought of Dornan’s sons, pack of wildlings that they were. They’d never had a sister to soften them, to teach them that sometimes you had to be gentle. They were loud and brash and they communicated with their fists. Dornan’s oldest sons were in their twenties now, patch-wearing Gypsy Brothers with little kids of their own, and they were still animals.

‘Why did Uncle Dornan do that to Jase’s mom?’ Juliette asked quietly. ‘He’s part of our family. He’s always been good, Dad.’

John rubbed his hand across his stubbled chin, contemplating how to answer that question. His daughter was his only child, his world, and how was he supposed to explain to her what his best friend had done to his own son? How was he supposed to explain to his teenage daughter that dear Uncle Dornan had murdered his son’s mother in cold blood and left her in a bathtub full of blood for him to find?

He couldn’t. He refused to put that mental image inside Juliette’s precious mind. He prayed that the young boy had been vague on the details of the visceral horror he had endured upon seeing his slain mother.

John sat on the arm of the sofa, wondering what the fuck he could say. He bit the inside of his cheek, the memory of Stephanie’s bloody corpse at the forefront of his mind.

‘It’s not for you to worry about,’ he said. ‘I can’t talk about it anymore.’

Juliette’s face fell. ‘Okay,’ she said, looking back to the TV. It was clear she was hurt, but she didn’t say anything. She was a good girl. Always had been. Sometimes too good.

‘Sweetie,’ John said, cursing the Gypsy Brothers’ existence as he reached out a hand to his daughter. She looked at it like it was a piece of shit and pulled away, out of his reach.

‘Did you help him kill her?’ Juliette asked suddenly. There it was. Her attitude. He was almost relieved to hear it. It was better than her fear.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t help him kill her. I would never hurt a woman. A mother.’

‘But you do hurt people. Don’t you?’ She looked at his messed-up knuckles, and John found himself shoving his hands in his pockets, ashamed.

‘Your Uncle Dornan was out of line,’ John said tightly.

She blinked her big green eyes up at him. ‘It was because Dornan found them, wasn’t it? Jason said he knew–’

John’s expression must have changed, because she stopped mid-sentence. ‘Never mind,’ Juliette said, looking at the floor.

‘You can tell me, Julie,’ John said. He felt sweat gather on the back of his neck. Too many secrets. Too many lies.Don’t shut down on me now, Julie.

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