Are you ready for the
conclusion to
The Gypsy Brother’s
Series?
ONE LOVE IS LIVE!
*The final book in the #1 iBooks bestselling Gypsy Brothers series*
Will Julz complete her mission for vengeance against the Gypsy Brothers? Or is Dornan still one step ahead?
More shocking secrets will come to light and lives will be lost in this final, devastating instalment of the Gypsy Brothers series.
One Love (Gypsy Brothers,
Book Seven)
By Lili St. Germain
The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your
enemies.
CHAPTER
ONE
“I want
my lawyer,” I repeat for the hundredth time.
There are
two CIA agents in front of me, and they’re playing a very cheesy rendition of
good cop / bad cop.
We’ve
been at this for hours. Boss Bitch — Agent Dunn, as she’s since told me — on
one side, and her completely dumb but cute male offsider, Agent Brennan, on the
other. In my head, to pass the hours, I’ve nicknamed them Agent Bitch and Agent
Dumbass. I sit across from them, my hands in my lap, heavy metal cuffs weighing
them down.
My throat
is dry, my tongue parched. Agent Dumbass has a fresh can of Coke in front of
him, and I can see the tiny beads of condensation running down the sides. I
want it. I want to reach over and grab the can. I don’t even need to drink
what’s inside. I’ll settle for the condensation making its lazy descent down
the side of the bright red can and onto the dusty Formica table that separates
me from them.
“Let’s
try this again,” the female cop says, tucking a loose blonde hair behind her
ear. The rest is up in a severe bun that reminds me of a matronly grandmother,
even though this woman only looks about thirty. She’s got a slight southern
inflection that reminds me of Elliot’s grandma.
I don’t
reply, waiting for whatever it is she plans on doing next. Her next big
thought, her latest overdone gesture, to try and convince me that I should
spill all of my dirty secrets onto this table between us. So far she’s used
threats against Jase, a plea deal that would grant me immunity, and long
stretches of silence.
None of
that will break me. I’ve been tortured by Dornan fucking Ross. This woman’s
going to have to try a lot harder, or maybe get out some pliers and start
yanking my teeth out of my mouth, before I’ll give her a single damned thing.
She
snatches up a manila folder and opens it, handing a photograph to her male
offsider. “Stick these up,” she barks at him, and he moves slowly, ripping a
section of blue-tack from a large blue ball of the stuff that must live
permanently on the wall to my left. I watch, just slightly interested as to
what they’re going to try and scare me with.
They
don’t disappoint. As I watch them pin 5x7 photographs to the wall, I can’t help
but feel some sense of satisfaction for the lives that ended at my hands. I
have to remain impassive though, so I tamp down the gloating grin that wants to
spread across my face and settle for my resting bitch face instead.
Dunn
peeks at me from the corner of her eye, and I return her gaze impassively. She
might think she can get under my skin, but I grew up in the Gypsy Brothers MC
for shit’s sake. I know how to hold out in front of a cop.
“Chad
Ross,” Dunn says, smoothing her pants as she stands up and circles the table,
coming to stand next to the photographs her partner is sticking up in a
haphazard fashion. I wait for her to reach out and straighten them. Boom. Three
seconds later, she does just that, making sure all of the photos line up.
“Chad
Ross was poisoned,” she continues, tapping one manicured fingernail against the
photo of his bloated death face.
“Looks
nasty,” I reply.
“It’s a
nasty way to die,” Dunn says, peering at me. “The killer added pure
methamphetamine to an energy drink he later consumed. He was probably dead
before he hit the ground.”
He
wasn’t. He suffered. Thankfully.
“And
you’re showing me this why?” I ask, studying my own nails, bitten down to the
quick. I never was a girly girl. It’s not easy to keep your nails tidy when
you’re constantly trying to claw your way back from death.
Dunn
looks at me pointedly before jabbing her fingernail towards the second photo.
Ahhh, yes. Maxi in all his naked, bloody glory. His face is a mess from the
coke I shoved underneath his nose, the coke laced with strychnine that made blood
gush from his nose like warm water from a faucet. I still remember the way his
blood felt on my hands. How surreal everything was, bright and garish, as my
skull burned with a small amount of the poisoned coke I’d snorted myself.
How I’d
nearly died in my quest to kill him.
How it
was so worth the risk to see the look on his smarmy fucking face, when I
whispered in his ear who I really was and sat back on his lap to watch the fury
rise in his cheeks.
As he
realized a black widow was the one who’d just fed him his last meal of poison
and cocaine.
I glance
at Agent Dunn, clearing my throat and attempting to look bored.
“Strychnine-laced
cocaine,” she says. “In fact, the same thing you were admitted to hospital for
that very night. Jason Ross brought you in to emergency room. They said you
almost died.”
“It was a
hell of a night,” I reply curtly. “My nose still bleeds just thinking about
it.”
She
raises her eyebrows in disbelief, and in that moment I have no doubt that she’s
cataloguing me as a sociopath or similar.
“Can I
ask you a question?” I say suddenly.
“Shoot,”
Dunn responds.
I reach
my hand out slowly, methodically and take hers, a bold move. She could pepper
spray me, shoot me. You’re not supposed to touch the interrogators. But she’s
ballsy enough that she doesn’t want to take her hand away, even as I watch her
flinch minutely.
“How do
you keep your nails so pretty?” I ask sweetly, the saccharine in my voice not
reaching the cold death stare I give her. I hold up my other hand. “Mine are
hopeless. You spend much time in the field, Agent Dunn?”
She takes
her hand away, and I let my own cuffed hands fall back into my lap. I know her
skin must be crawling from my touch.
I hope
the feeling stays there for a long time. She should not have fucked with me.
“I take
good care of myself, Miss Portland,” she says briskly. “Which is more than I
can say for you.”
“My child
died,” I say blankly. “Physical appearance isn’t on the top of my priority list
right now.”
She
bristles momentarily. “I am sorry for your loss,” she says finally.
I sit
back, crossing my legs. “No, you’re not,” I reply.
She
points to the third photograph, which is… hell, I’ve got no idea what that is.
I tilt my head, trying to figure out what I’m looking at.
“It’s a
leg,” Dunn supplies.
“Ohhh,” I
say, nodding. “Thanks.”
It is
indeed a leg, or at least part of one. Charred and black, with spots of
unmarred flesh and blood still peeking through in sections. Huh. I wonder who
it belonged to.
“Two Ross
brothers were killed in an explosion. Somebody put homemade bombs in their fuel
tanks, can you believe that?”
I shrug.
“Sounds like they must have had it coming.”
Dunn
points to the final photos, and a cloying heat bleeds up my chest and neck as I
remember those three months of horror and torture I endured at Dornan’s hands
before I was broken out. The way Dornan’s father Emilio flew backwards with a
meaty thump as the top of his head was blown clean off, blood and brains flying
everywhere. Mickey’s look of horror that didn’t fade after the bullet entered
his face, such a satisfying end for men whose only fault in death was that
their ends were much too swift. I imagine how much more satisfying it would
have been to hang them by their feet and burn their eyes out with cigarettes
and blowtorches, or pull their teeth out with rusty pliers, one by one.
That
would have been much more fitting for the men who tried to destroy me, the same
men who murdered my father.
Still…
they’re dead, and that’s better than them being alive.
“That’s
got to give you a headache,” I joke, referring to the last two pictures. The
blood and gore have no effect on me. My stomach is made of iron after the
atrocities I’ve seen, after all that I’ve endured. If this bitch wants to rattle
my cage, she’s going to have to try harder.
“And then
we have Jimmy,” she says, sticking one last photograph to the wall. Jimmy’s
face, still frozen in shock, the trail of blood from his temple where Jase shot
him barely noticeable in the extreme close-up.
“He looks
unwell,” I comment. “Thing is, I’m still not sure why you’re showing me all of
this.”
Dunn
frowns so hard it looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel.
“Here’s
the thing,” she says, throwing a stack of photographs in front of me. “We’ve got
you. We have your DNA on the first two victims, and motive. We’ve got probable
cause to take you to trial.”
I sift
through them, suppressing a twisted smile as I see what happened to Jazz and
Ant after they bit the big one when bombs in their motorcycle fuel tanks
exploded, ripping them to pieces. It isn’t pretty, what became of them. But to
me, it’s beautiful.
I drop
the photographs on the table and lean back in the hard metal chair I’ve been
sitting on for the past five hours.
“These
people are — were — like family to me. Don’t you think it’s a little tacky
showing me all of this? I’m still grieving for these boys. They were like
brothers to me.”
Agent
Dunn actually rolls her eyes at me. At least she’s got some spunk somewhere in
there. “Give it a rest, Miss Portland,” she says impatiently. “You’ve got more
motive than anyone else, and no alibi for any of these murders.”
“Motive?”
I ask sweetly. “And what might that be?”
Agent
Dunn hesitates. Go on, I think. Say it.
They raped me until they thought I was dead. The murdered my father, and you
want to arrest me? Say it.
“I’m not
authorized to talk with you about an active investigation,” Dunn says finally.
“But I really think you should start talking, Miss Portland.”
I roll my
eyes. “Okay,” I say finally. “I give up. You got me. I’ll tell you something.
Let me write it down.”
Dunn’s
beady eyes practically wig out of her head. She studies me for a moment,
probably to see if I’m telling the truth, and I stare right back at her. If she
wanted a wallflower who’d stare at the floor, she arrested the wrong girl.
After a
beat, she stands up, turns and bustles out of the room. I divert my attention
to Agent Dumbass, who looks like he’s about to fall asleep in his chair.
“I’ll
make a full confession,” I say, “if you give me that.” I point to the coke can
and he eyes it dubiously. After a pause, he slides the can over to me with one
finger. With a smile, I pick up the can between my cuffed hands and take a long
drink.
The fizzy
liquid burns on the way down my throat, but it’s delicious. I drink as much as
I can before Agent Bitch returns, setting it back down on the table and smiling
at Dumbass. I slide the can back towards him with a wink. Let him think we’re
friends. Let him think I’m just a silly young girl who couldn’t possibly hurt
anyone. He looks surprised, taking the can back as Agent Bitch walks back into
the room.
She looks
between me, the can and the goofy look on Agent Dumbass’s face and shakes her
head.
Sliding
into her seat, she drops a yellow legal pad on the table between us as she
addresses Dumbass.
“She
killed a man by poisoning his drink with pure meth,” she says to her partner.
“You sure you want that back?”
“Allegedly,”
I add.
The oaf
stares at the can for a few seconds. Finally, he pushes it back in my direction
with an embarrassed look.
In the
past five hours or so since I was unceremoniously dumped in this interrogation
room, I’ve gone through the whole gamut of emotions. Fear. Shock. Despair. Now,
I’m at anger. Anger that bubbles within me. Anger that is thinly disguised as
apathy to these two morons.
Dunn
drops a blue Bic pen on the legal pad and pushes it over to me. I hold up my
cuffed wrists helplessly.
“I can’t
write with these things on,” I say.
Dunn gives
me the filthiest look before nodding at Dumbass. He stands and circles around
to me, removing my cuffs before returning to his spot.
I WANT A LAWYER. I write it as obnoxiously
large as I can, underlining the word LAWYER
three times.
Agent
Bitch’s smile disappears, replaced by a thin line of contempt at her mouth. I
grin. Good luck getting those cuffs back on me, motherfucker. I sit back in my
seat and snatch up the Coke, draining the rest of the can before they think to
take it from me.
“We can
play this game for however long you want, Miss Portland,” she says curtly,
fiddling with the stack of crime scene photographs in front of her. I smile.
“I’ve got
all day,” I say sweetly, even though I really, really don’t. Dornan has
Elliot’s daughter and ex-girlfriend, and possibly Elliot himself, and Jase and
I have twenty-four hours to meet him and get the girls out of danger before he
kills them. At least, that’s what I’m assuming he plans to do to them. I can’t
even comprehend what else he might be planning to do to those poor girls to get
back at us.
Agent
Dunn shakes her head one last time, gathering up the files and stalking towards
the door. “I’ll give you some time to think about your position,” she says.
“Isn’t
this illegal?” I call out to her. “I’m an American citizen. I have the right to
an attorney. Get me a goddamn lawyer!”
Really, I
just need a lawyer to post bail so I can get the hell out of here. Not that I’m
sure I’d actually be bailed out, but I need something, and talking to these two
is proving fruitless. A cold panic is building up inside my stomach, in the
hollow space where my baby once lived and died.
God, it’s
still so raw, so vicious when the memory of our tiny little baby takes hold and
squeezes me. Sometimes, selfishly, I wish I could forget about her, because
losing her has cursed me with more pain than I could ever imagine.
If I had
any remnants of doubt about killing Dornan before? They’re gone, bled from me
in the moments after our daughter was born, still and dead, in the early hours
of the morning when the world was still dark.
He took
her from me. From us. And I cannot rest until he’s dead and buried, a rotting
corpse in the cold ground, a memory and nothing more.
Dornan
Ross needs to burn for the things he’s done.
Agent Dumbass
follows his partner out of the room and pulls the door shut. I immediately
stand up and go to the door, testing the handle. Locked from the outside. Of
course. I go back to my chair, collecting the pen someone so thoughtfully left
for me and shoving it into my pocket. You know, just in case I need to stab
somebody sometime soon.
Which, as
it turns out, is sooner than I’d anticipated.
About an
hour later, Agent Bitch sticks her head back into the room. “Your lawyer’s on
the way,” she says, closing the door behind her again.
This
could be anyone. A cop posing as a lawyer to get a confession on tape. A hit
man, sent by the Gypsy Brothers or the Cartel. I’m like a sitting duck in here,
and I don’t like it one tiny bit.
But what
greets me isn’t any of those things.
It’s so
much worse.
I don’t
move an inch as the door swings open and he walks into the room. Dressed in a
suit I’ve seen before, clutching a black leather briefcase by his side. He
looks positively fucking amused.
“Well,” I
say bitterly, “They’ll let any motherfucker take the bar these days, won’t
they?”
One Love Trailer
Gypsy
Brothers Series by Lili Saint Germain
Seven Sons (Gypsy Brothers,
Book One) FREE
Six Brothers (Gypsy
Brother, Book Two)
Five Miles (Gypsy Brothers,
Book Three)
Four Score (Gypsy Brothers, Four)
Three Years (Gypsy
Brothers, Book Five)
One Love (Gypsy Brothers,
Book Seven)
GIVEAWAY
Kindle
About the Author
Lili writes dark romance, suspense and paranormal stories. Her serial novel, Seven Sons, was released in early 2014, with the following books in the series to be released in quick succession. Lili quit corporate life to focus on writing and so far is loving every minute of it. Her other loves in life include her gorgeous husband and beautiful daughter, good coffee, Tarantino movies and spending hours on Pinterest.
She loves to read almost as much as she loves to write.
Comments
Post a Comment