Published by Lili Saint Germain

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This is a work of fiction. Any

resemblance it bears to reality is entirely

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Produced by Lili Saint Germain at Lili

Saint Germain Publishing

Formatting by Max Henry of

Max Effect

Copyright© 2014 by Lili Saint Germain

All rights reserved.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

A Note For My Readers

Cartel

About the Author

“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 bad
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 partner, 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 moisture
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 stack of photographs
to Agent Brennan. “Stick these up,” she
barks at him, and he moves slowly,
ripping a section of sticky tack from a
large ball of the stuff that must live
permanently on the wall to my left. I
watch, slightly interested at what he’s
going to put up.

He doesn’t disappoint. As I watch

him pin several 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 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 long 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 see 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. It’s
not hard. I am bored.

“Strychnine-laced cocaine,” she says.

“In fact, the same thing you were
admitted to hospital for that very night.
Jason Ross brought you into emergency.
They said you almost died.”

“It was a hell of a night,” I reply

curtly. “My nose still bleeds just
thinking about that coke.”

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.
“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.

“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 that is.

“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 a right
to a lawyer. 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.”

That makes Donny laugh.

Donovan “Donny” Ross laughs, but

there is no trace of pleasure in the
strangled noise that comes from his
throat. It’s a painful laugh, weighed
down by death and despair.

My laugh probably doesn’t sound that

different, come to think of it.

“Well, stand up,” he says. “I’ve

missed my little sis.”

I glare at him, standing abruptly so

that my metal chair falls behind me.

“Relax,” he soothes, motioning for

me to sit down. “I didn’t come here to

hurt you, Julie.” He throws the briefcase
onto the table that separates us and
shoves his hands in his pants pockets.
Pants that look ridiculous on him. He
might think he’s dressed for success, but
from where I’m standing he looks like a
gangster, the long suit sleeves and white
collared shirt underneath concealing
some of his tattoos, but not the ones on
his neck and hands. He’s got matching
tattoos on the fingers of both hands,
VITA and MORS. Life and death. I
remember them well. They were on his
hands six years ago.

I’m sure you didn’t come here to

hurt me, I think, pissed that he’s used the
element of surprise to get me while I’m
trapped.

Stuck

in

a

goddamned

interrogation room inside a US air base
with nowhere to go.

“What are you doing here, Donny?” I

ask, my heart thudding as I watch him
pace casually. As if he doesn’t have a
care in the world.

As if he hasn’t just lost five brothers

and a grandfather in the bloody battle
that we’re still stuck in the middle of.

“Just a little business trip,” he says

flippantly, his smile never reaching his
dead black eyes, eyes that match
Dornan’s perfectly. He’s just a younger
version of his father, really.

“Oh,” I reply, “I thought you’d be at

another funeral.” I throw him a fuck-you
smile, full of sweetness and hate.

He doesn’t reply.

“You’re dressed for it,” I continue,

acutely aware of both the pen in my
pocket and the empty Coke can near my
left hand. “Your family plot must be
overflowing,” I say. Press those
goddamn buttons. Come on, asshole, if
you’re here to dance, let’s fucking
dance.

“I hear cremation is much more

efficient,”

Donny

says

somberly,

clicking

the

briefcase

open

and

removing something.

A box.
A box full of ashes.
My daughter.
I can’t help it. I buckle at the sight of

my daughter’s remains in his hands, my
hand over my mouth to stifle the scream

that tries to escape me. I back up against
the far wall as he places the box beside
his briefcase and snaps it shut again.

I can’t even rush over and try to grab

it, because I can’t risk him spilling one
precious bit of those ashes. Can’t fathom
what he’s going to do to them. Please,
please, don’t hurt them. That box and a
set of footprints on paper are all I have
left of the baby who held on through
every horrid bit of torment Dornan
inflicted upon my body during the
months I was his captive.

“I came for what you owe my father,”

he murmurs. “And instead, I found this.”
He runs one finger along the top of the
box, and I can’t see or hear anything else
except him, except this here and now.

Everything I’ve managed to suppress

for the past couple of hours comes
crashing back into me with an intensity
that physically hurts me. It’s like I’m
dying, one painful moment at a time.

“You lost his baby?” he asks, patting

the box. “Daddy will be so angry.”

Kill him. I have got to kill him. He

cannot live.

“She was never his baby,” I seethe,

composing myself somewhat as the
sadness engulfing me is temporarily
drowned by the rage that rattles inside
my chest. The rage that I need to finish
this. To finish him.

“She?” Donny asks, tilting his head to

the side. “Hmph. Dornan always wanted
a daughter. I mean, he had you, but look

what you went and did.”

Goddamnit! Why did I tell him that?
“Not his daughter,” I argue, shaking

with anger and terror. “I was already
pregnant.”

“Daughter, granddaughter,” he shrugs,

waving his hand in a noncommittal
gesture. “It’s all the same, really. She
came from Dornan. She belonged to him.
And you lost her, you pathetic, fucking
junkie.”

He lets his hand drop from the box,

and it’s a visceral relief for his hand to
be off that box that contains the burnt
remains of all of my hopes and dreams.
He doesn’t have the right to even touch
her, to be anywhere near her.

“I told him to be careful with you.

That you’d end up like your fucking
mother,” he says, stalking around the
table and towards me. Shit! He comes at
me like a snake, so quick and without
warning that I don’t have time to react.
Not that it’d matter. I never was able to
fight him off, not physically. Not six
years ago, not now.

I back away, but there’s nowhere to

go. We’re in a square box with a table
and a chair, and there’s nowhere left to
go.

I scream as a hand closes around my

neck. He squeezes hard, cutting off my
air supply, crowding me with his body
so there is nothing else but him.

How did he get in here? That bitch

agent must really be in with the Cartel.

And I don’t believe for a moment what
she said about the Cartel working for the
CIA. Nope. I think she’s on his payroll.

I claw at his death grip, feeling

Donny’s warm blood underneath my
fingernails as I gouge at his flesh, but he
doesn’t even flinch. He laughs as he
squeezes harder, and white dots start to
float lazily in my vision.

He’s going to kill me.
I go limp for a moment, tired and just

completely over this relentless war that
has consumed my entire existence, until I
think of Jase.

He can’t have Jase. No. He can’t take

Jase from me. I love him too much to let
that happen to my precious boy.

I kick and punch and gouge, but it’s

no use. It’s like trying to fight off a brick
wall. Nothing happens when I hit him.

I am going to die here, and I didn’t

even fight back. I am pathetic, just like
he said.

My lungs burn with emptiness. I need

air. But I am smothering within his grip.

My eyelids are drooping when I hear

the door burst open. The two agents
hurry in, and Donny drops me like I’m
made of fire.

“What did I say!” Agent Dunn

screams at him. I imagine his smirk, but I
can’t see it, because I’m on the ground,
and Agent Dumbass is shaking me
awake.

“You said don’t kill her,” Donny

scoffs. “I was just playing.”

“Time for a recess,” Dunn says to

him. He starts to protest but she isn’t
having any of it.

I see Agent Bitch escort Donny from

the room, the door slamming in their
wake. The male agent brushes hair from
my face and pats me on the cheek.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”
I feel really, really bad for what I’m

about to do. I mean, no doubt the guy is
working for the Cartel, but he seems like
a stupid oaf, harmless really. I remind
myself that he’s the enemy as I whisper
something unintelligible to him.

“What?” he asks, coming closer and

putting his ear near my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, as I bring up

the pen and drive it into the meaty

hollow of his throat, cringing as I strike
gold and hit his windpipe. He gasps —
or, he tries to gasp, but nothing happens.
Shit, I hope I haven’t killed him. Both of
his hands come up to his throat and he
attempts to pull the pen out. I use this
opportunity to shove him to the side and
reach over him, unclipping the holster at
his hip and sliding the gun out. He takes
one hand from his throat and swings his
arm around, but the shock of being
stabbed in the throat makes him clumsy
and foolish. I parry his blow easily,
bringing the gun up and aiming it at him
as I rise to my feet.

“Get up,” I hiss.
He glances up at me with wet eyes, a

sickening rasp coming from the pen in

his throat. He’s trying to pull it out.

“Don’t pull it out,” I caution. “If you

pull it out, you won’t be able to breathe.
It’s keeping you from bleeding out.”

He stops trying to pull at the pen and

nods minutely, his movement hampered
by the Bic ballpoint in his throat. Poor
guy. That’s got to hurt like a bitch.

I look at his wound, suddenly

deflated. I was planning on taking him as
a hostage, but the guy won’t be
conscious much longer.

“Are you afraid of blood?” I ask

incredulously. He’s as white as a sheet
and shaking. I mean, I did just stab him
in his neck, but that’s no reason to pass
out on me.

If I’d done the same thing to Dornan,

he probably wouldn’t even flinch.

“Hey!” I urge, snapping my fingers in

front of his face. “Stay with me, dude.
I’m not going to kill you. Christ.”

He’s really struggling. But I don’t

have time to think about him right now.
Jase. I have got to get to Jase, and get out
of here, and get to Elliot, and get Elliot’s
ex-girlfriend and daughter back. And
then kill Dornan. And then bury my
daughter properly.

And then go on a fucking vacation.
My eyes fall on the briefcase Donny

left on the table. My poor baby’s ashes
are in there. I won’t let him take them
back.

“Give me your cell phone,” I hiss at

the agent. In the end, I have to crouch

down again and dig around in his
pockets, because the guy isn’t hearing a
word I say. He’s deep in the throes of
panic, breathing heavily — or at least,
trying to breathe. Guilt stabs me again as
I watch blood trickle down his neck and
beneath his white shirt, soaking the
material.

I yank his cell phone out and flip it

open. I almost dial Elliot’s cell number,
until I remember that’s how Dornan
called us just before we were arrested.
Dornan has Elliot’s phone. But does
Dornan have Elliot? Fuck.

I stare at the phone for several

seconds, my pulse crashing in my ears,
and then I remember.

Grandma. If anyone knows where

Elliot is, if anyone’s heard from him –
it’s Grandma. He calls her every single
day to check on her.

I can only pray that she picks up.
I know the number better than any

other number I’ve had to remember in
my entire life. When I worked at the
diner, I’d call Elliot every afternoon at
her house to come pick me up.

I dial the number with shaking

fingers,my breathing so quick I’m almost
hyperventilating.

Please be okay, El. You have to be

okay.

“Yes?” Elliot answers, before I’ve

even heard the line ring.

“Elliot?!” I cry. What’s he doing

there?

“Julz!” he says urgently. “Where are

you? Are you with them?”

My heart sinks. “No,” I say quietly.

“Jase and I are in some kind of air base.
We were taken from the house. I don’t
know where Luis is. And Elliot,” I
glance down at the agent on the floor,
“these people are CIA.”

Elliot lets out a long breath. “He has

my baby, Julz. My girls. He has my
girls.”

My eyes well up with tears, my gaze

falling on the briefcase again. Dornan
killed my baby. I won’t let him take
Elliot’s too.

I’d rather die than anything happen to

her. Especially because, whatever
happens to her would be a sick gesture

to send a message to me.

“What happened?” I breathe.
Elliot clears his throat; it sounds

painful. “We were going to check on
Grandma,” he says. “We forgot to grab
her stuffed bear from Amy’s house.
Kayla was crying in the backseat so I
promised her I’d buy her a new one. I
stopped at a gas station for a minute. The
girls stayed in the car.” His voice
wavers. “I saw them take my girls,
Juliette. I watched through the window.
Gypsy Brothers took them.”

Oh my God.
“Elliot, I’m sorry,” I choke.
“I’m waiting for that fucker to call

me,” he says, his voice sounding odd.
“We’re supposed to do a trade.”

My blood runs cold. “A trade?”
“A trade,” he repeats. “Dornan says

he’ll let the girls go if I go with him.”

I lean against the wall, suddenly

terrified all over again. This new terror
snakes around my heart and squeezes,
until it feels like little bits of my soul
start to break off and splinter.

For the first time, I start to think that

Dornan is going to win this war. And
that

thought,

that

notion,

is

unrecognizable. He can’t win, not after
everything he’s done to all of us. Not
after the sins he has committed. Not after
the lives he has destroyed.

“Don’t go,” I say softly. “It’s a trick.

He won’t let them go. He’ll kill you, but
he won’t let them go.”

“Juliette,” he grinds out, and his

words are tinged with what sounds like
grief and anger, “I don’t know what else
to do. I’ve played all my cards. I’ve got
nothing left to fight him with. Either way,
I’m going to lose.”

“No,” I protest.
“I have to keep this line open,” he

says, his voice abruptly changing to
guarded, closed off.

“We’re coming to you,” I say

urgently, and I don’t know how, but
somehow, I have to get there and help
Elliot get his ex and daughter out of
Dornan’s grip before he decides to use
them to teach us all a lesson.

“Juliette?” Elliot says.
“No,” I whisper. “Don’t you dare say

goodbye. I am coming to help you. I am
coming to kill him.”

The line goes dead.

As I’m pocketing the cellphone I hear

the door open and crouch behind Agent
Dumbass, who is crawling around on the
floor and still grasping at the pen in his
throat. I press the tip of his gun into his
back. “Stand up!” I order. He does, and I
stand at the same time, always staying
behind him, using the big oaf as a human
shield.

Agent

Dunn

looks

momentarily

shocked, but she recovers quickly, I’ll
give her that. She draws her gun and
takes aim. Or, tries to take aim. I make

her task impossible by hovering behind
her partner, always in his shadow, no
major part of me exposed and ready for
her bullets.

I

respond

by

pressing

Agent

Dumbass’s gun to the back of his head
and keeping my finger on the trigger.

“Put your gun down,” I say. “Now.

You try to raise any alarm, and I’ll shoot
your partner faster than he can cry for his
mommy.”

I peek out from behind the cover that

the large male agent affords me, even as
he’s bent forward a little and gasping
around the pen in his throat. I see the
look of resignation on Agent Bitch’s face
as she lowers her weapon to the table.

“Step away from the table,” I say,

pressing Dumbass forward. As soon as
Agent Dunn is out of reach, I shove
Dumbass to the side and grab her gun,
flicking the safety on and stuffing it into
the back of my jeans.

Dumbass doesn’t look so good. He’s

gasping and crying like a little bitch.
Which is silly, because he’s not even
going to die.

Men. They just can’t handle pain.
Well, most men, anyway.
“On your belly,” I order, tapping the

barrel of Dumbass’s gun against the side
of his head. He looks relieved, slumping
down onto the floor. I wince as I see his
face fall towards the hard concrete floor,
hoping he turns his head to the side
before the pen ends up wedged even

further into his neck. Thankfully, at the
last minute, he does.

“You’re surrounded by CIA agents

and air force personnel,” she says,
raising her palms as if to placate me.
“You’re not walking out of here,
Juliette.”

I smirk. “That’s where you’re

wrong,” I say, keeping the gun trained on
her as I rip Dumbass’s cap from his head
and stick it on mine. It’s too big, but my
hair takes up some of the spare space. I
lift the blue jacket with CIA written on it
that’s draped over the seat Dumbass was
sitting in, but it’s huge.

“Give me your jacket,” I order Agent

Dunn.

She looks affronted, but slowly takes

her jacket off, giving it to me without a
fight.

I shrug it on one arm at a time,

transferring the gun between hands as I
do so to make sure she’s covered at all
times, and zip up the jacket with a
triumphant smile. It fits like a glove. I
shove the gun into the large jacket
pocket, keeping it aimed at her. With my
free hand, I gesture to the briefcase and
the white box beside it.

“Open that,” I say. “Put that box in

there.”

She blanches, drawing back. “What is

that?”

That feeling again, the hot flush in my

chest that creeps up my neck.

“None of your fucking business,” I

say. “Do it.”

With great reluctance, she snaps the

briefcase open and places the white box
of ashes inside before closing it again.
“Bring it,” I say.

“It’s not a bomb, is it?” she asks,

eyeing the case with great trepidation.

I roll my eyes. “It’s not a bomb.”
She doesn’t seem convinced.
“Now,” I say, a victorious grin

speeding across my face as I grab the
larger jacket that belongs to Dumbass,
“Take me to him.”

She looks confused. “Who …

Donovan Ross?”

“No,” I sigh. “Take me to Jason. And

then get me the hell out of here before I
start shooting people.”

She eyes me dubiously. “You won’t

get away with this.”

Never show fear. Never back down.

Two things Dornan Ross, of all people,
taught me when I was just a girl.

I shrug. “I’m pretty sure I will. But if

you try anything? You won’t live long
enough to see if I do or not.”

She swallows thickly, her brown

eyes drowning in fear.

“Where is Jason?” I ask pointedly.
She gestures to the door. “This way,”

she says.

I glance back at Dumbass. “Don’t

come out of here until I get back,” I say
to him, but he’s already passed out,
wheezing as his blood gurgles around
the hole in his throat.

The cops didn’t give a fuck about the

fact that there was no extradition treaty
between the US and Colombia.

They just barged in, grabbed us, and

took us away in their stream of identical
black SUVs. Split Jase and I up. I
haven’t seen him since we were at the
house, and we were on the road for
hours after that. I have to believe that
he’s here as well, and that Agent Dunn
isn’t just leading me into a trap.

And I assume Jase is close by. I

mean, if they were interrogating me,

surely they were interrogating him, too?

I walk beside Dunn, my gun pointed

at her as I grip it in my jacket pocket. If
she tries anything, I will shoot her, no
hesitation. She’s working for the Cartel,
so I have to assume that she isn’t going
to do me any favors.

For

a

moment,

my

casual

determination to shoot her if needed
frightens me. But only for a moment, and
then it’s gone, buried underneath years
of suffering and hurt. She works for
Dornan. And I have no doubt that if the
tables were turned, she’d do the same
thing to me.

The place we’re at looks temporary

at best. It definitely doesn’t look official,
and that makes me think we’re at some

private air base as opposed to a US
station. Especially because, as we walk
in unison down a long hallway, there’s
not a single other soul to be seen.

“Surrounded, huh?” I ask her, my

voice dripping with sarcasm. “Funny, it
seems like we’re all alone in here,
Agent.”

She glares at me. I step in front of her

path, forcing her to stop. With my free
hand I snatch up her wrist and turn it
over. “Cartel tattoo. This isn’t a CIA
base. This is a fucking Cartel base.”

This place, it’s got to be Cartel

territory. It’s the only explanation I can
come up with for the rotting facade, the
stained cinder blocks, the smell of damp
that invades my nostrils and holds on

tight. It’s humid as hell here, and
coupled with the damp and the last six
hours in captivity, I feel like I need to
scream.

“Nothing about this was official,” I

realize aloud. All along, I knew the
Cartel was involved, but I thought the
CIA must have been working with them
in some capacity. But why the
questioning? Why the need to make this
look above board, official?

“What the hell was that in there?” I

hiss, gesturing back to where we’ve
come from. “What’s with the twenty
questions, Agent? You get off on
showing people pictures of dead
motherfuckers?”

She appears to compose herself,

leveling her gaze at me. “Mr Ross
wanted answers about the deaths of his
sons. I’m just doing my job.”

“Your job,” I repeat. “Is that your job

with the United Stated Government, or
your job with the illegal drug Cartel
you’re moonlighting for?”

She just stares at me. I step to the side

and start to pull her along impatiently.

“You’re going to regret this,” Agent

Dunn mutters as we walk down the
hallway. I shoot my free hand out,
stopping her in her tracks.

“Hey,” I say sharply. “Shut up, and

do as you’re told. Did you see those
photos? Want to be my next science
experiment?”

Her face falls. “So it was you.”

I laugh. “Of course it was me. Who

else would it be?”

She shakes her head slowly. “You’re

a monster. You’re crazy.”

I tilt my head, raising my eyebrows at

her. “I assure you, I’m not the monster in
this fucked-up fairytale. But whatever
helps you sleep at night.” I grab her
elbow roughly, and this time, I’m not
screwing around. “You’ve got one
minute, Agent. Take me to Jason or I
will end you.”

She glares at me, horrified, before

returning her gaze to the cracked
linoleum beneath our feet. “This way,”
she snaps.

I follow her lead, never once moving

my aim from her.

You can never be too careful.

***

“Jesus,” I say a few moments later.

“This place is a mess.”

Dunn has stopped answering me now,

her gaze to the floor.

“Are we nearly there?” I ask, wiping

sweat from my forehead. I’m still weak
from all the blood I lost when I lost our
baby only weeks ago, and I haven’t eaten
all day. I’m usually used to these things,
but I’m nowhere near as strong as
normal.

Losing

my

daughter

has

weakened me, punched a hole in the
steely disposition I carried with me like
body armor.

I can only hope to end this before

Dornan or his only remaining son find

the chink in my armor and worm their
way inside to my weak spot.

Speaking of weak spots.

“He’s in there,” Dunn says quietly. She
points towards a thick steel door
recessed in the flaking wall, and I’m
surprised to see her hand is violently
shaking.

“Not so brave when the shoe’s on the

other foot, huh?” I ask her. “Open the
door.”

She fumbles with a set of keys,

dropping them several times. In the end,
I push her aside and locate the correct
key myself, turning it in the lock with a
heavy clunk.

I step back. “You first,” I say. This

could be a trap, after all. I could be

walking into gunfire, an ambush, or god
knows what. Better if I send the agent in
first.

She leans against the door with her

shoulder, holding it open for me. I catch
it, pushing heavy steel as I enter the
room behind her.

“Shit,” I mutter.
Jase is in the room, but he’s not

alone. He’s facing off against Donny,
and it looks like they’re evenly matched
for the most part. One throws a punch,
the other matches the blow, and they
repeat. Even in the few seconds I’m
observing, I can see it’s only a matter of
time before one of them tires and the
other gains the upper hand. Donny’s
probably well rested, well fed, and

fucking angry. Jase, on the other hand, is
probably just as starving and thirsty as
me, though he seems to be cornering
Donny. He’s the more skilled fighter.

Donny is just throwing wild punches

and hoping they connect with his younger
brother.

“Julie!” Donny grins. Jase twists to

look at me, and Donny takes the chance
to charge him.

I don’t hesitate. I pull the gun from my

pocket, aim, and let off two loud shots
that send Donny to his knees.

I smile as he screams in agony.

“Donny!” I answer, walking up to him
and placing my foot in the middle of his
chest. The slightest pressure of my foot
on his chest causes him to fall

backwards, his head smashing into the
unforgiving floor as blood gushes from
his left knee.

“You shot me in the fucking

kneecap!” he howls.

I laugh, bearing down on him. “And

isn’t it ironic that your daddy was the
one who taught me to shoot a gun?”

I feel a hand touch my shoulder, but

I’m not startled. I’d know his touch
anywhere. I melt into his touch, turning
towards Jase as he reaches for me
urgently.

I bite back tears. “Are you okay?” I

whisper. He nods. “You?” He sees the
blood on my shirt and his eyes grow
wider.

I shake my head. “Not mine,” I

whisper. I pull him to me, my lips
searching for his, and then they burn as
we connect. It’s a desperate kiss, full of
love and relief and all the things we’ll
say to each other later, when we’re
alone. I can barely hear Donny’s
animalistic groans, don’t even care that
Agent Dunn is hovering awkwardly in
the background. I can’t bear to be away
from this man, not even for the six hours
we’ve been separated, let alone the six
years we endured apart.

He pulls away, but I can tell he

doesn’t want to. Neither do I; I want to
push him against the wall and kiss him
frantically until I see stars behind my
eyelids from the lack of oxygen. But we
can’t.

Because Elliot.
The thought of him, of the situation

he’s in, of his poor girls, stabs at my gut
like an icepick digging into my flesh.
Jase must see the look on my face,
because his smile vanishes, replaced by
a deep frown.

“We have to get out of here,” he says

urgently. I nod.

“How?”
He looks to Agent Dunn, an asshole

smile spreading across his face. “With
our hostage here.”

She looks horrified, backing towards

the door. I cut her off, leveling the gun at
her. “Should’ve got me that lawyer,” I
say. “You’re going to regret that.”

The look on her face says that she’s

already regretting a lot of things.

“Get the fuck up,” Jase says to

Donny, nudging him with his sneaker.
Donny wails. “I said, get up!”

Donny reels back, still clutching his

ruined knee. “I can’t walk, man,” he
pleads. “Look at what that bitch did to
my leg.”

Jase responds by smashing his fist

into Donny’s knee. Donny screams like a
little bitch, leaning over and vomiting
beside himself from the pain. I make a
face at the acrid smell of vomit in this
enclosed space.

“She’s not a bitch,” Jase says,

offering his hand to his brother. “Now
get up before she shoots you in the other
knee.”

Donny awkwardly climbs to his feet,

leaning against the wall for support. “I
can’t walk anywhere, man,” he says.
He’s

so

pathetic

that

I

briefly

contemplate shooting him in the face and
leaving him here. But I need him for
leverage against Dornan, a valuable
pawn in this sick game of chess we’re
playing, a life for a life, a chance to
offer a trade on Elliot’s behalf so we
can get his ex-girlfriend and their
daughter back from Dornan’s clutches.

God, I hope we can get there in time.
“You,” I say, pointing at Agent Dunn.

“Give me that.” I click my fingers,
gesturing for the briefcase. She hands it
to me slowly, and her eyes are glassy,
almost as if she’s in shock.

“I have a daughter,” she says softly,

her voice wavering.

I have a daughter.
I had a daughter.
I snatch the briefcase from her. “Help

him walk,” I command, tilting my head
towards Donny.

Her movements are robotic as she

walks towards Donny. He’s shaking, his
blood all over the floor, and he looks as
white as the dry-erase board on the wall
behind him.

“Bandage him up,” I say. “I don’t

want him dead. Yet.”

Donny and the agent both snap their

gazes to me when I say yet, and I smirk
at them, the power high I’m on right now
so satisfying it’s almost scary.

“What, you think you’re getting out of

this alive, Donny boy?” Jase asks. I
glance at him, something squeezing
inside my chest. My dear boy. My Jase.
We might just make it out of this yet.

“Fuck you,” Donny grunts, sweat

dripping from his forehead. His suit
doesn’t look so crash hot now, drenched
in blood.

“I don’t have any bandages,” Agent

Dunn says.

“Use his shirt,” I respond. “And

hurry.”

While she’s helping Donny out of his

suit jacket and shirt, I take the phone
from my pocket, handing the briefcase
and gun to Jase. “Don’t lose that,” I say.
He gives me a quizzical look, but I don’t

elaborate. I don’t want to mention
what’s in the briefcase right now. Our
baby’s ashes. Because if I did, if I told
Jase the way Donny had touched the box
that housed all of our hope and sorrow,
he would surely kick his brother to death
here and now, in this tiny room of
horrors.

“You know your dad’s phone

number?” I ask Jase. He shakes his head,
and we both look to Donny.

“Donny!” I say loudly. “What’s your

dad’s number?”

He spits on the floor beside him,

watching in horror as Agent Dunn kneels
before him, trying to stem the flow of
blood from his mangled knee. “Fuck you,
bitch.”

Jase steps forward, grabbing his

brother’s face in one hand and squeezing
so his mouth opens awkwardly. Donny’s
too far gone to put up much of a fight,
especially when Jase shoves the barrel
of the gun into his mouth as far as he can.

“The number,” Jase says, his eyes

wild. “Come on, bro. You were always
good with numbers.”

Donny’s shaking, trying to pull his

head back, but there’s nowhere to go
past the wall behind him. He starts
choking, more sweat pouring down his
face. He’s pointing to his pocket and
garbling something around the gun that I
can’t understand.

Ohh. He’s got his own phone in his

pocket. I leap forward, digging my hand

into the pocket and withdrawing a small
silver flip phone that looks about ten
years old.

“Jesus, Donny,” I say, opening the

phone and scrolling to Dornan’s number.
“You really need to step into the smart
age. This phone is almost obsolete.”

I step back, hitting dial and waiting

for the line to connect. After a few beeps
— an international connection, I assume
— the line starts ringing and my heart
starts beating wildly.

“Donny,” Dornan barks down the

line.

I clear my throat. “Donny’s a little

busy right now,” I murmur, in the
bitchiest voice I can summon. “But I can
talk.”

The line goes quiet for several

seconds. I’ve actually rendered Dornan
Ross speechless, if only for a moment.

“My favorite cunt,” he sneers down

the line.

“I’m standing with your sons,

Dornan,” I reply. “Your two remaining
sons. I gotta tell you, it’s pretty
exciting.”

“Listen—” Dornan begins.
“No, you listen,” I cut him off

abruptly. “Here’s the deal, Daddy-O. I
bring Donny back to you, unharmed,”

Donny takes the opportunity to emit a
death wail of agony that makes me
recoil, “okay, mostly unharmed, and you
give me those girls in return.”

Dornan laughs. “Two for one? That’s

hardly fair.”

Bastard. “You don’t exactly have a

choice, do you?” I ask. “You’ve got two
sons left, Dornan. One of them hates you,
the other one … well, he’s too stupid to
understand why he should.”

“No deal,” Dornan breathes down the

line. “One for one. Two for two. You
better up your end of the deal,
sweetheart, or this fine piece of flesh
gets really acquainted with the pointy
end of my knife.” I hear a scream in the
background.

“That’s Amy. You know Amy, right?”
Fuck.
“You’re

bluffing,”

I

reply

desperately.

“Oh, baby girl,” Dornan says with a

chuckle. “You know me so much better
than that. You know I do not bluff.”

Jase is giving me a strange look.
“What do you want?” I ask through

gritted teeth.

I hear him sigh on the other end, and I

have no doubt that he’s taking great
pleasure in this. “What do I want,” he
repeats, and I imagine him pacing, knife
in hand, as he contemplates my question.
“What do I want …”

“Hurry up,” I snap, “before your son

bleeds to death.”

“If he dies,” Dornan says, deathly

calm, “I will kill this woman. I will fuck
her to death with this knife, I will tear
her apart, and I will make her child
watch, do you understand? Elliot’s child
will have to watch her mother die at my
hand. Then I’ll sell his daughter on the
black

market

for

her

FUCKING

ORGANS!”

I have to pull the phone away from

my ear when he yells that last part. An
icy pit of dread begins to spread in my
stomach.

The thing about bargaining with a

madman is that you never know just how
far he’ll go. I’m responsible for the
deaths of five of his sons and his morally
corrupt father, Emilio. I doubt he’s

bluffing about anything at this point.

“What do you want?” I repeat.
“I want you,” he growls. “You bring

yourself here, you and Donny, and I will
let these girls live. I will let your Elliot
live. I will let Jason live. I will let your
mother live.”

Sadness wraps around my neck and

squeezes, harsh and tight.

“And then what?” I whisper. Jase is

shrugging at me, as if to say, what’s
going on, so I raise my palm towards
him, mouthing hang on.

“Oh, Juliette,” Dornan says, in a

voice that almost seeps out of the
receiver and climbs down my own
throat, choking me. “You’re not really
that naive, are you? You know what

comes next.”

Of course I do. There’s only one way

things will end if I surrender to Dornan
Ross. Just thinking about it makes me
want to throw up, especially when I’m
breathing in the acrid stench of Donny’s
vomit in this tiny room.

“How do I know you’re telling the

truth?” I ask him, feeling so lightheaded I
could float away. I am going to die.

I.Am.Going.To.Die.
“Baby girl,” Dornan replies, “have I

ever lied to you?”

I can’t answer; if I try to talk, I’ll cry.
“When you were a little girl, we had

secrets, Juliette. You remember?”

“Yes,” I breathe, trying not to pass

out. Jase is staring pointedly at me.

“This can be our secret,” he

whispers. “Our last fucking secret. I
won’t tell if you don’t. And Julie? No
fucking cops. I get one sniff of them and I
chop this kid up. You’ll be finding
pieces of her for years.”

And with that, the line goes dead.
“Fuck!” I yell. I resist the urge to

throw the phone at the wall.

“What did he say?” Jase asks,

looking at the phone suspiciously. I
shake my head, holding a hand to my
stomach. “He wants to make the trade,” I
reply.

“And the rest?” Jase prods.
I have no intention of keeping this

from him, no matter how tempted I am to
shield him from the painful truth. I will

tell him. But I’ll be damned if I voice
Dornan’s demands in front of Donny and
Agent Dunn. They don’t get to know.

“Just being his usual asshole self,” I

say.

Jase knows there’s more. Later, I

mouth to him, tilting my head towards
our untrustworthy hostages.

He seems to accept that for the

moment. “Right,” he says, pulling the
agent up by her arm. “That’s good
enough. Help him walk. We’re getting
out of here.”

“Where are we going?” the agent

asks. “I’m supposed to pick my daughter
up at five.”

Jase raises his eyebrows. “I guess

you’re gonna be a little late,” he replies,

opening the door and gesturing for them
to get out.

Outside, it’s hot as hell. Humid and

overcast. Even the sky is pissed off at
the latest turn of events. It’ll be our last
fucking secret. Dornan’s words are on
constant loop in my head. I hate him.
IhatehimIhatehimIhatehim.

I glance around the yard, taking in my

surroundings. I barely had a chance to
see anything on my way in. We’re in a
large dirt parking lot surrounded by
barbed-wire fences, an old air strip to
one side, overgrown with weeds.

Yeah, pretty sure this “air base” isn’t

on the US government’s map.

I look at Jase. “What now?”
He looks around, before his gaze

comes to rest on one of the cars that
brought us here. There’s not a soul to be
seen, which is bizarre, because when we
were arrested there were at least twenty
CIA agents, if not more.

“We take that car,” he says, pointing.
“And go where?” I ask, squinting in

the glare.

He shrugs. “Anywhere that isn’t

here?”

I nod. “Sounds like a plan.”

***

Luis calls Agent Brennan’s cell while

we’re driving. Jase is behind the wheel,
and I’ve got the gun trained on Dunn and
Donny in the backseat. Not that Donny
needs too much guarding. He’s as white
as a sheet, his eyes rolling around in his

head. Sucks to be you right now, I think
to myself. Agent Dunn is extra quiet,
occasionally taking in a shaky breath but
otherwise looking resigned to whatever
fate we choose for her.

“Hello?” I say, answering the phone

on the first ring.

“Bebé,” a thick accent sounds down

the line.

“Luis?”
“Where you at, girl?”
I glance around. We’re on a desolate

stretch of road, speeding away from the
decrepit airbase as fast as this SUV will
let us. “I have no idea,” I reply.

“No matter,” he replies. “I got you on

GPS. You need me to save you again,
Giulietta?”

Again. Christ. “How’d you get this

number, anyway?” Suspicion burns
inside me momentarily.

“Your pal Elliot called me, said you

might need a lift out of my fair country,”
he responds, and I exhale a sigh of
relief.

“All right,” I say, “so where do we

go? Because we’re just driving, and
we’ve got two hostages in the back
seat.”

Luis chuckles. “Good work, eh? Two

hostages. You got those agents that took
you?”

I smile. “One agent. One Ross

brother.”

“The fuck?”
I stare at Donny. “Donny decided to

pay me a visit. I decided to blow his
kneecap off.”

Donny shifts in his seat, grunting in

pain as his dark eyes glance at me.
“Fuck you, bitch,” he sneers, clutching
his knee.

I roll my eyes at him as Luis whistles

down the line. “I’m impressed,” he says.
“So, you gonna use him as a trade?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Something like that.

We just need a way out of here.”

There’s a crackling over the line for a

few seconds before Luis responds.

“Give me ten minutes,” he says, and

the line goes dead.

Jase looks at me pointedly. I shrug.

“He says ten minutes,” I respond.

We keep driving.

Ten minutes later, Luis calls back.

And what he has for us — well, I think
I’m going to owe him a LOT of money
once this is all done.

If I’m alive, that is.

Luis directs us to a spot not too far

from where we’re driving aimlessly. It’s
a stark feeling of relief that washes over
me as he relays the directions — I hate
being at a loose end. It doesn’t take long
to get to the place he’s sent us to, which
is good, because my wrist is getting sore
from aiming at these assholes in the back
seat. I open the window to try and get
some wind on my face to keep me alert,
but the moist, muggy air only makes me
sleepier. In the end I crank the aircon
until the inside of the car is like a

refrigerator.

I’ve seen Pulp Fiction. I don’t want

to micro nap and accidentally blow one
of their heads off, Travolta-style. No. I
need these two alive to use as bargaining
chips.

Soon, we pull down a concealed dirt

road, flanked by dense jungle on both
sides. About ten minutes in, when the
road is more like an obstacle course, it
leads to a clearing.

A field.
With a helicopter parked in the

middle. A fucking helicopter.

I feel my mouth fall open as I look at

Jase, then at the helicopter in front of us,
then back to Jase.

Jase looks just as shocked as I feel.

“Home boy did good,” he grins.

I call Luis again.
“Is this for us?” I ask, peering out at

the helicopter.

“That depends,” he answers. “Is it a

chopper?”

“It’s

a

chopper,”

I

reply

incredulously. “You got us a chopper in
ten minutes? Who does that?”

He laughs. “I do. I got connections,

bebé. Now get your fine ass on that
helicopter, and try not to shoot anyone
on there. I don’t need you crashing.”

“Thank you,” I say softly.
“I’ll add it to your bill,” he snickers.
That’s got to be one long goddamn

bill by now.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I

ask.

“The chopper will take you to a safe

house,” he answers. “We rest for a few
hours, then we get to your man Elliot.”

Relief floods through me. “Thank

you,” I repeat quietly. And then, “Why
are you helping us?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment.
“Luis?”
“My mama would have wanted it this

way,” he finally replies.

“Oh,” I say, and then he’s gone.

***

Donny starts wailing again and

calling me a whore when Jase and Agent
Dunn transfer him into the chopper. I
have a brief fantasy of pushing him into
the rotor blades and watching him

explode into a gory mess, but reality is
much less exciting.

I need him. He’s my bargaining chip.
It’ll be our last secret.
I’m angry when I think about

Dornan’s words. So fucking angry. I
can’t wait to watch him burn along with
Donny.

Agent Dunn is pale and quiet again as

Jase and I don ear muffs. He’s sitting
next to his brother in the back seat, far
away from the controls. It was really a
no-brainer putting him in back. He
would totally cause a crash and sacrifice
himself just to spite us. I’m up front with
Agent Dunn, who I know won’t dare to
touch anything. I don’t offer ear
protection to Donny or the agent. I want

them as disoriented as possible by the
time we get where we’re going.

The pilot looks like a shady dude,

judging by the gang tattoos on his arms.
Anxiety spikes in my chest as I have to
wonder who we’re selling our souls to
in order to get ourselves out of this
sticky mess.

I don’t really want to know, but I do

know that I’m going to owe somebody
everything if we make it out of this alive.

And that’s a mighty big IF.
The chopper ride is brief and

uneventful. I’ve never been in a
helicopter before, but I’m not exactly
paying attention to the scenery. No, I’ve
got a white-knuckled grip on Agent
Dunn’s gun, making sure I don’t look

away from her. In the back, Jase is doing
the same with Donny, with Agent
Dumbass’s gun trained on his older
brother.

I wonder if someone has helped the

poor guy by now. It’s going to be a bitch
for him to swallow anything for the near
future.

Oops.

We’re in the air for maybe thirty

minutes when the helicopter starts
descending sharply.

I peer out of the window, taking in

our surroundings. We’re about to land on
the rooftop of a large building. Looking
closer, I see a skull painted on the
concrete helipad, surrounded by a ring
of bright red paint, in place of the
standard H. It’s not a regular skull,
though. It’s a skull with the letter Z
crossed through the middle, a spray of
blood-spattered roses woven around the

skull.

My stomach drops. Luis has brought

us to a fucking Skullz compound.

I almost take my own head off

spinning around to look at Jase. “Are
you seeing this?” I ask him.

He looks pale. Donny peers out of the

window, and when he sees the Skullz
insignia, he starts to giggle maniacally.

“Oh, you assholes are screwed,” he

laughs. Jase responds my grabbing his
brother’s neck and squeezing as hard as
he

can

without

busting

Donny’s

windpipe. Donny’s eyes bulge out of his
head as he scrabbles to get Jase’s grip
off his neck, but pretty soon his eyes
flutter shut and he slumps to the side,
completely knocked out.

I lock eyes with Jase and raise my

eyebrows. “What do you think?” I ask
quietly.

He shrugs, his dark eyes clouded with

something — concern, anger? The way
his fists are tightly coiled suggests he’s
stressing the fuck out, but of course he’d
never come out and say that.

“I think we need to watch our backs,”

he finally replies.

“Do you trust Luis?” I murmur, as

quietly as I can.

Jase appears to snap back to the

moment, whatever troubled thoughts he
had pushed down for the sake of being
alert. “Do I trust Luis?” he repeats. “I
did trust Luis.”

The nervous pit in my stomach starts

to churn anew.

Agent Dunn watches on as Donny

remains slumped in the back corner of
our five-seater chopper, her face a
mixture of fear and apprehension. I turn
back to her and smile sweetly. “You got
anything to say?” I ask her. She shakes
her head quickly, dipping her eyes to her
lap.

I jump in my seat as a dude clad in

black fatigues and holding an AK
approaches my door. I’m pulling out the
pistol I swiped from Agent Dunn when
his face comes into focus and I see that
it’s Luis. I relax slightly, but I don’t take
my hand off the gun. He slings the AK
over his back by the strap and opens my
door, letting in the deafening noise of the

chopper blades’ rhythmic wop-wop and
the overwhelming humidity that exists
beyond the cabin’s air-conditioning.

The damp heat hits me in the face like

a slap, and warm, suffocating air fills my
lungs. Luis smiles and offers a hand up
for Agent Dunn to get out. When she
doesn’t move, I give her a gentle shove
towards the open door and she half
steps, half falls into Luis’s open arms,
all awkward with her cuffed hands. I
cannot imagine her being out in the field
very much. I glance at Jase once again
before taking Luis’s hand and jumping
down onto the hot concrete roof beside
him, the briefcase firmly clutched in my
hand.

I’m so amped up I almost walk the

wrong way, into the tail rotor. So much
for chopping Donny into bloody pieces. I
almost do that to myself before Luis
shoots out a hand and steadies me.

The chopper is powering down, but

the noise it puts out is still deafening.

“You brought us to a fucking Skullz

compound?” I scream at him, above the
noise.

He shrugs. “You got a better idea?”

he yells.

I look around me, nervous as hell.

The Skullz Cartel is bad news, always
has been. Bitterly detested by the Gypsy
Brothers, they’re a Colombian Cartel at
odds with Emilio’s Il Sangue business
interests. Unlike Il Sangue, the Skullz
haven’t branched into bikers yet. Gypsy

Brothers members and Skullz Cartel
members have been picking each other
off for decades.

I sure as shit don’t want to be in the

crossfire if they decide to go to war
again.

Luis directs us to the front of the

helicopter. I take Agent Dunn’s elbow
and steer her away from the chopper.

“Sometimes, it’s better the devil you

know,” I snap loudly, never taking my
death-grip from her elbow or my eyes
from Jase.

She actually holds my gaze this time,

instead of looking back to the ground. “Is
that why you’re sleeping with Dornan
Ross?” she asks. “Better the devil you
know?”

I raise my eyebrows at her; the

bitterness in her voice is resolute.
“What?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“You heard me,” she shouts above the

noise.

I shake my head incredulously. “I’m

going to kill him,” I yell in her face.
“And if you keep using that tone with
me, I’ll kill you too, blondie.”

My veins feel like they’re sizzling

again, that rage inside me a beast that
cannot be long contained. “You fucking
work for the man!” I add. “And you’re
giving me a hard time?”

She just stares at me. I decide I’m not

getting an answer from her and turn back
to the chopper in time to see Jase kick
Donny’s

unconscious

form

unceremoniously to the ground before
disembarking from the aircraft himself.
Luis and Jase exchange terse words that
I can’t make out, before they each grab
an arm and start to drag Donny’s sorry
ass towards us.

Once we’re clear, the chopper takes

off sharply, blowing dust and hot air in
its wake.

I watch it fade into a tiny spot in the

cloud-streaked blue sky, and then it’s
gone.

“What the hell are we doing here?” I

ask Luis, my ears ringing.

“Hiding. Finding sanctuary,” he

answers back, swinging the AK around
into his grip again and holding it down
the length of his torso with his free hand.

It doesn’t look easy, balancing Donny
and a machine gun, but he manages. His
finger hovers over the trigger. Ready to
fire. Great.

“This way,” he says, heading for a set

of stairs at the far edge of the roof.

I look at Jase one more time. “What

the hell?” I hiss as he carries Donny past
me. He shakes his head tersely.

“Just don’t speak once we get in

there, all right?”

I roll my eyes at him.
As if I’d ever be able to keep my big

mouth shut.

We walk into a room, and what a

greeting the Skullz Cartel members give
us.

We’re on a large, stuffy patio dotted

with wicker pool furniture that looks
like it’s seen better days. To our left, a
large rectangular pool shimmers in the
bright light, a refreshing oasis that I’d
give my left arm to be able to jump into
right now.

Except, you know, the guys with the

guns.

I see at least twenty sub-machine guns

aimed at us before I decide to stop
counting. Fuck. Behind the sea of gun
power are members of the Skullz. Some
are young and muscled, some are old
and chubby, and all of them are heavily
tattooed. Some are dressed in jeans and
shirts, others in their bathing suits, drops
of water still clinging to their skin.

Apparently, we’re interrupting their

afternoon swim.

I pull Agent Dunn towards me, using

her as a human shield of sorts. I don’t
particularly want anyone to shoot her,
but I want them to shoot me even less.
Luis and Jase let go of Donny at the
same time, and he crashes to the floor in
an undignified heap. Luis puts his palms
up in a show of surrender, and a gang

member steps forward to relieve him of
the gun strapped over his back. Once
he’s rid of the gun, he points slowly
towards his back.

He’s wearing a slimline black

backpack I didn’t notice earlier. The
same guy who took his gun also removes
his backpack and tosses it towards the
center of the crowd of Skullz members.

One guy lowers his gun and steps

closer to us, his swagger and composure
suggesting he’s the boss. You can
always spot the boss in a crowd like
this. He’s usually the one who looks the
smartest. The stupid ones always get
themselves killed before too long.

He holsters his gun — an impressive-

looking gold-plated revolver — before

picking up the backpack and walking
right up to me, his gold-brown eyes
burning into me as he approaches. He
comes so close I can smell the tobacco
on his breath. He looks to be Colombian,
around

forty,

his

face

relatively

unmarred. A couple light scars across
his forehead, but nothing to suggest he’s
a serious fighter. Hell, I’ve probably got
more battle scars than him. He’s sporting
a neatly trimmed beard that looks like it
gets a thousand brush strokes every
morning and night. Seriously, this guy’s
facial hair looks like it’s spun out of
fucking black diamonds or something.
And above that, his skin! It’s caramel
colored, and the softest skin I’ve ever
seen on a man.

I bet people give him shit for being so

pretty.

I bet he shoots them when they do.
As he studies my face, I see another

guy take Jase’s pistol and pat him down.
I let go of Agent Dunn and raise my
hands as he hands off the backpack to
another dude and cracks his knuckles
loudly.

“Pepito,” Luis says, addressing the

guy who looks like he’s about to either
molest me or knock me out. “Friend,
we’re not looking for trouble. We just
need a place to hide out for a few hours
until our ride gets here.”

Pepito largely ignores Luis, focusing

on me. Of course.

“You got a weapon, girl?” he asks,

his English clear despite his thick
accent.

“Sure,” I reply.
He smiles slyly. “You sure don’t look

like a CIA agent,” he says, skimming his
fingers over my shoulders and down my
sides. At the rate he’s going, this is
going to be the most drawn-out pat-down
search in history.

I glance over at Jase, who looks like

he’s about to kill every man in the room
with the psychic force of his indignation
and rage. “I’m not,” I reply. “I just liked
her jacket.” I glance at Agent Dunn, who
cowers at my words.

He sniggers, continuing to run his

hands all over me. I resist the urge to tell
him where my gun is. Better for him to

think I’m not affronted by his roving
hands. Which are not that bad, tell the
truth. At least he’s being gentle while he
feels me up.

“It’s in her pocket,” Jase says

caustically, “so you can get your fucking
hands off her ass.”

Shit, Jase! Not cool. Not cool.
I glance down at Pepito. He seems

amused by Jase’s outburst.

“I’m looking for a wire,” he replies

cheerily, removing his hands. “You must
understand, landing on our roof in the
middle of our afternoon swim is highly
uncouth, si?” But at the same time, he
reaches a hand into each jacket pocket,
locating the gun and removing it from my
person.

Jase doesn’t answer him.
“Si,” I interject hurriedly. It was

highly fucking reckless and dangerous, to
be fair. If someone landed a chopper on
my roof, I’d probably shoot first and ask
questions later. So, in a way, these guys
are doing us a massive favor by not
killing us on sight.

“But, you’re right. I shouldn’t touch

your little girlfriend here.”

Jase relaxes a fraction.
Pepito steps back, a twisted grin on

his face that tells me he’s got something
worse in store.

“You don’t want me to touch her,

fine.” He looks at me. “Strip.”

My arms are so tired from being held

up in the air, and now he wants me to

strip? In front of all these dudes?

For fuck’s sake. I’m tired, I’m hungry,

and I need to mainline some coffee to
keep me going. There are at least twenty
dudes crammed under this pavilion, and
now Pepito wants me to strip.

I think the universe delights in

tormenting me.

“Is that entirely necessary?” I ask

tiredly. “I mean, I was fine for you to
keep fondling me.”

“Strip,” he repeats, and this time, the

grin is gone. Vanished. Oh. He’s one of
those types. A Jekyll and Hyde. A
Dornan. Happy and amused one minute,
baying for your blood the next.

Delightful.
“All of you, fucking strip,” he

demands, waving my gun at the lineup of
us. I roll my eyes and start shrugging out
of the CIA jacket I swiped from Agent
Dunn. I look to her to see she’s in shock,
her mouth hanging half open, her entire
body unmoving except for the little sips
of air she’s taking in.

She’d better not pass out. I wouldn’t

want to be an unconscious, pretty female
in a roomful of Skullz.

“You want me to shoot your pretty

little hostage?” Pepito says, gesturing at
Dunn. I glance down at her wrists and
my stomach drops. Oh, holy fucking
fuck. She’s got a Cartel tattoo on her
wrist, for shit’s sake. Il Sangue.
Emilio’s Cartel.

The rival Cartel.

If these guys see her tattoo, they’ll

shoot her without a second thought. Or
worse. They’ll probably rip her skin off
and sew it into their clothes. Gross.

“Get her fucking clothes off, now!”

Pepito yells. “She’s probably got a
fucking wire under all that.”

I abandon my own undressing and

step over to Dunn. She’s shaking like a
leaf. I step right in front of her and start
to unbutton her shirt.

“Keep them together,” I hiss, looking

down at her wrists. She nods, almost
imperceptibly, bowing her head forward
as I pull her shirt apart to expose her bra
and midriff.

“No wire,” I say, stepping to the side

so he can see her.

I glance across to Luis and Jase, and

an overwhelming apprehension squeezes
at my throat as I watch them slowly take
off their t-shirts and reveal their
enormous

back

tattoos.

GYPSY

BROTHERS. We’re screwed. We are
so screwed.

Oh, hell. If they don’t shoot them right

now, it’s a fucking Christmas miracle.

One of the guys behind Jase starts

pointing excitedly at his back and neck.
“Pepito!” I remember the Ross family
crest on Jase’s neck and cringe
inwardly.

Pepito forgets me for the moment, so I

stop unbuttoning my dress. It’s half open,
and you can see the scalloped edges of
my black lace bra, but hopefully not

much else. Pepito focuses his attention
on Jase and Luis, and my hand aches
without a gun in it to provide some kind
of defense.

“You two, turn around,” he says.
I see Jase’s face fall with defeat as he

turns around slowly, the tattoo on his
back a blinking fucking beacon of doom.
A sick feeling twists in my gut as I
remember the day his brothers held him
down and forced him to receive the
large tattoo. Even when you’re willing,
ink that big and cumbersome is brutal.
When you’re fighting to get loose the
entire time, your body ends up going into
a kind of shock that’s similar to the
after-effects of being tortured for a
prolonged period of time.

I know, because it was the same night

I met him, covered in his dead mother’s
blood and fighting Dornan every step of
the way as he dragged his newfound son
into the clubhouse. I still remember
wiping the blood from his skin once they
were finally finished with branding him
as a Gypsy Brother seven years ago.

That was the night I decided I wanted

him to be mine.

“It’s not what you think, amigo,” Luis

says desperately. “Check the backpack.
There’s cash, plenty of cash. We just
need cover for a few hours, then we’ll
be out of your hair.”

“I’m not your amigo,” Pepito says

darkly. “And I don’t need fucking
Gypsies coming into my house uninvited

and shooting their mouths at me!”

Just when I think they’ve forgotten

about it, Pepito plucks the briefcase up
from its spot on the floor between myself
and Agent Dunn. “What’s in the
briefcase?” he asks, fixing me with a
steely stare.

“Nothing for you,” I answer.
He appears to think that over for a

moment before jabbing me in the ribs
with my own gun. Well, with Agent
Dunn’s gun, if we’re being specific.
“Did I say you could stop? Get that
fucking dress off, bitch.”

Reluctantly, I start undoing the rest of

my buttons as Pepito watches me.

“What about you?” he says. “You got

a Gypsy tramp stamp like your boys

here?”

I shrug out of my dress and toss it to

him, reduced to a bra and panties as I
spread my palms in a concerted shrug.
“Used to,” I say, watching his eyes with
a morbid satisfaction as they take in the
horrid scarring along the side of my
torso. He’s shocked, and that somehow
gives me the validation I need. “Dornan
Ross cut it off before he killed my
daughter. After he killed my father. He’s
taken almost everyone I’ve ever loved.”

Pepito backs up a step, still holding

tightly to my dress in one hand, Agent
Dunn’s gun in the other.

“That hijo de puta killed your kid?

He did this to you?”

Sorrow rips through me like wildfire,

but I keep my face poker straight. “Yes.
And worse.”

“We’re not with the Gypsies,” Luis

says. “Pepito, I told you, we’re against
the Gypsies!”

“Shut up,” he says, returning his

attention to me. He steps closer again,
the briefcase still in hand.

“You don’t cry when you talk about

it, so why should I believe you? Mothers
should cry. You’re not a mother.”

His words are brutal, but he can’t

stop looking down at the scarring that
adorns my hip and waist, the eternal
reminder of Dornan Ross’s power over
me and my existence. Marred flesh that
should be rounded and full, stretched
with a growing baby.

Flesh that sits flat, no life within,

nothing inside except a memory of what
used to be.

“I don’t know you,” I reply quietly. “I

only give my tears to people I trust.”

“What’s in the briefcase?” he repeats.
“I’m on my way to kill Dornan,” I say

resolutely.

“What’s in the briefcase?” he asks a

third time.

“My daughter,” I reply finally,

wishing that I didn’t have to share this.
Share her. “Or, what’s left of her.”

Pepito drops the briefcase on the

floor like it’s made of fire, where it
bursts open, a small white box bouncing
onto the tiles unharmed. I don’t care that
twenty guns are trained on me, or that

I’m almost naked. I don’t care about
anything other than that box. I dive for it,
scooping it up and clutching it to my
chest, and not one person tries to stop
me.

Pepito, as it turns out, is an amiable

kind of guy once he gets to know you.
Once he figures out you aren’t dropping
by to kill him. Yeah, turns out he’s
actually a decent motherfucker.

He gives me my dress back and

clicks his fingers, gesturing to the rest of
the group to lower their weapons.

“These people are our allies!” he

declares. “We will give them sanctuary
for the night. Everyone¸ leave us. I must
talk to these young ones and discover the
rest of their story. Any enemy of Dornan

Ross is a friend of mine.”

The relief on my face must be

palpable; Pepito laughs and slaps me on
the back. “Come!” he says loudly,
talking to all of us. “Into the air
conditioning.”

“What should we do with him?” Luis

asks Jase, who shrugs.

Pepito glances down at Donny,

forgotten until now. “He one of yours?”
he asks Jase, looking from Donny’s
family crest to Jase’s and back again.

Jase shakes his head emphatically.

“He’s one of Dornan’s. He’s our
hostage.”

“As is she,” I chime in, jabbing a

thumb in Agent Dunn’s direction.

“Well, she was kind of obvious,”

Pepito says, his eyes roving over Agent
Dunn. “You need us to secure them for
the night for you?”

“No, thank you.” I shake my head

emphatically. I mightn’t like Agent Dunn,
but I don’t want to throw her to the
wolves. She’s been well behaved, and I
don’t intend on letting her out of my sight
in this compound of angry, gun-slinging
men.

And I’d love them to take Donny for a

couple of hours, but they’ll probably kill
him, and we need him alive.

Pepito shrugs and walks through the

parted throng of Cartel members to a set
of arched double doors that leads into
his impressive fortress. I gather up the
briefcase and slip the little white box

inside, clicking it shut as I follow along
wearing nothing but my Victoria’s Secret
underwear, my dress bunched up under
my arm. They’ve all seen everything
already. I’m much more concerned with
protecting the briefcase and its contents
than recovering my modesty.

We file into the house behind Pepito

and around a sharp turn that leads us to a
large, cavernous space fitted with
crystal chandeliers and leopard skin
rugs, filled with sleek, lowline leather
sofas and a curved coffee table made
entirely of clear glass.

“Please, sit,” Pepito says, gesturing

to the couches. I wait for Jase to sit and
choose a spot beside him, tugging Dunn
down on my other side. Luis dumps

Donny on the floor before sitting on the
coffee table in front of him. Pepito calls
something unintelligible out the door
before coming to sit to my left, our crazy
cacophony of characters gathered before
him.

I shrug back into my dress and start

buttoning up as a maid bustles into the
room, carrying a tray of ice-filled
glasses and a bottle of tequila. She sets
the tray in the middle of the glass coffee
table and leaves. Pepito pours himself a
tequila on the rocks before gesturing for
us to do the same. None of us move.

“Now,” Pepito says, nursing his

tequila. “I would like to hear more of
these injustices you speak of. Please, tell
me what the Gypsy Brothers have done

to each of you.” He points at Luis. “You
start.”

“Dornan Ross took our parents from

us, all of us,” he says darkly. “My
mother, his mother,” he points to Jase,
“her father,” he points at me. “Their
bebé,” he adds, looking at Jase and I
with a pained expression.

Pepito takes that in, swirling the clear

fluid in his glass as he ponders our
losses. I stare at my hands and will them
not to shake while I think of the phantom
movements low in my belly that still hit
me randomly, the moments when I forget
that I am empty and not carrying a child
anymore.

“A little bird tells me you were the

one to kill Emilio Ross,” Pepito says to

Luis, any trace of casual gone from his
expression. “Is this true?”

Luis nods. “Yes.”
“But not his crazy cholo son, no?”
Luis shakes his head. “No. Not yet.”
Pepito sits back, resting his glass on

the arm of his seat. “You realize, having
Dornan in charge of Il Sangue has fucked
things up for me. Emilio was a ruthless
motherfucker, but we had an agreement
of sorts. A truce. Dornan comes in and
starts killing off my men before his
father’s body is even cold. This has
caused me much trouble.”

“He won’t be a problem anymore,” I

interrupt. “We’re on our way to kill
him.”

Donny chooses that exact moment to

open his eyes and sit up. He spits a
mouthful of blood out on the tiles before
fixing me with a crazed grin.

“You’re not gonna kill him,” he

sneers, shaking his head. “He’s gonna
kill you, you little cunt.”

“Is that the only swear word you guys

know?” I respond stiffly. “Because
really, there are so many more things you
could call me.”

“Cunt’s the first word that comes to

mind,” Donny huffs, wiping blood from
his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Especially since I’ll never forget
breaking your sweet virgin cunt while
you screamed underneath me.” He spits
more blood from his mouth, and some
dribbles down onto his white dress shirt,

now stained and disheveled, while
inside my chest, I hurt. I ache. I thought
their words couldn’t hurt me anymore,
but today, for some reason, his snide
remark has burrowed through my armor
and stabbed itself straight into my heart.
The part of me that’s still that fifteen-
year-old girl screams inside as he makes
jokes about the most terrifying thing I’ve
ever experienced, the night when seven
men I called family almost killed me
with their hate and their rage.

I remain still, watching on in

detachment as Jase stands up and flies at
Donny, kicking him hard enough in the
ribs to make him sprawl out on his back.
He begins to cough as Jase steps next to
him and places a black boot over his

older brother’s throat, pressing down
enough to make Donny squirm.

“Don’t talk,” Jase says, “Don’t say

one more fucking word. I will end you,
do you understand?”

Donny chuckles and chokes at the

same time. “She took me to her junior
prom,” he wheezes. “Remember that,
Julie? You were so ready for me. And
then this fucker came along and stole
you.”

I raise my eyebrows; that’s not the

way it happened. Donny and Chad were
posted on the door of the hall by my
father to make sure nothing untoward
happened at the dance. They were there
to spy on me, not fucking date me.

“That’s not the way I remember it,” I

respond dully.

“Oh, come on, Julie!” he protests.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t like it when it
was my turn to fuck you! I know you
wanted me.”

Jase presses his boot down further

and Donny starts struggling wildly, no
longer able to breathe. My cheeks burn
as I remember how much I categorically
did not want the scars they gave me that
day.

Pepito looks at me pointedly. “This

man raped you?”

I nod.
“And others?”
I nod again.
“When was this?”
I take in a shaky breath. Stay calm,

stay composed, do not let them see your
weakness. I steel myself and meet
Pepito’s inquisitive stare.

“I was fifteen,” I respond, my voice

only wavering a little. “There were
seven of them. Dornan Ross and his
sons. It was payback for my father
falling in love with the wrong woman.”

Pepito’s jaw clenches; he looks like

he’s about to break his own jaw with the
force of his bite-down. I don’t look
away; I hold his gaze, because I will not
show weakness.

“My mama was raped,” Pepito says.

“She had me nine months later. She
could have cast me into the street but she
kept me. Loved me. I found my father
when I was eighteen and slit his throat

while he slept.”

I don’t trust Pepito, but I like him

even more now.

“So tell me,” Pepito says. “What do

you think is a fitting punishment for a
dirty fucker who rapes kids?”

I can’t help it; I smile. “I can think of

a few things.”

In the end, I don’t need to think about

anything. Pepito shows us to two
adjoined guest rooms deeper inside the
mansion and has a maid fetch us water
and clean clothes. I know he’s looking
forward to the other half of the money
Luis promised him, but I have a feeling
him helping us has more to it than just
financial gain. I can tell just by the way
he speaks that he detests the Ross family.
They’re at the helm of a rival cartel,
after all, and no doubt he can see how
aligning with us might help his own
cause.

Jase and I are shown a room and left

to ourselves. I’m exhausted. The first
thing I do is place the briefcase on the
four-poster bed and collapse face first
beside it, not caring that I’m probably
getting the ivory-colored duvet all dirty.

Jase places a hand on the small of my

back, his touch gentle but firm.

“You okay?” he murmurs, leaning

down so his lips are at my ear. I turn my
head to the side so I can see his face,
smiling tiredly as I run a hand through
his dark hair. He normally keeps it cut
quite short, but it’s started to grow out
during the time we’ve been holed up in
Colombia.

“Yeah,” I whisper, reaching for his

lips and tracing them lightly with my

finger. “You think Luis will be all right
with Donny and Agent Dunn?”

Jase shrugs. “He’ll be fine.”
I feel my smile fade. “I wonder what

Elliot’s doing right now,” I say, grief
squeezing at my throat.

“We’ll be there soon,” Jase replies,

taking my hand and pressing his lips to
the inside of my wrist.

“I’m scared,” I whisper, looking into

Jase’s dark eyes.

He brushes loose hair from my face

and tucks it behind my ear, running his
fingers along my jaw.

“You gonna tell me what he said on

the phone?”

I’d almost forgotten that Jase didn’t

hear that portion of the warped

conversation I shared with Dornan.

“He said one for two wasn’t a fair

trade,” I tell Jase. “He says if we want
him to let go of Amy and Kayla, he
wants Donny and me in return. He said it
would be our last secret.”

Jase looks deeply troubled by this.

He pulls my head down slightly and
kisses me on the forehead, but I can tell
his thoughts are elsewhere.

“I don’t want to die,” I say softly. “I

wanted to die for so long, but I don’t
want to die anymore. I don’t want to go
back to him.”

Jase’s jaw clenches. “You’re not

going to die, you hear me? I couldn’t
save you six years ago, but I’m not
letting anything happen to you. Not now,

not ever. You hear me?”

I lick my chapped lips and roll onto

my back, pulling Jase’s hand as I stretch
out on one side of the bed. He scoots
closer, also on his back, so we’re both
staring up at the ceiling.

Someone put those glow-in-the-dark

stars up on the ceiling a long time ago.
It’s

late

afternoon,

but

in

this

windowless room, the stars shine
weakly in the dim light. It’s such an
innocent thing amongst the brutality of
our everyday existence, that it stirs
something inside me, and I begin to cry. I
don’t sob. I weep, tears spilling from my
eyes and tracking down my temples
before being absorbed into my hair.
Some cling to my neck and earlobes, and

others pool in the inside corners of my
eyes until I blink them away.

“I don’t want to die,” I say quietly.

“But if it’s me or those girls, I’ll die
without another thought. Elliot’s already
given up everything for me. Everything.
His whole life, Jase. I can’t let a little
girl and her mother die because I lived.”

“You’re not going to die,” Jase says

resolutely, squeezing my hand almost
painfully. “I refuse to believe that you
could just die after you’ve already
cheated death once. More than once.”

I don’t say anything, just swallow

back more tears and stare at the crudely
stickered ceiling.

Jase lets go of my hand and rolls onto

his stomach, his side now touching mine.

He scoops a hand behind my head and
pulls my face up to meet his, and I see
the terror and sadness in my soul
mirrored in his own dark eyes.

“Can you forgive me?” I blurt out.
He closes his eyes, resting his

forehead on mine for a moment.

“For what?” he breathes.
“For everything. For keeping things

from you. For not coming back for you
all those years ago.” I think of our baby
in his hands, how she was much too
small. How she fit into one of his palms.
How it isn’t fair.

How, had I played things differently,

we might still have her here with us,
waiting to be born, healthy and alive.

But instead, she’s gone, the only thing

left a box of ashes in a briefcase at the
foot of the bed.

“For losing our baby.”
A strangled sound comes from Jase’s

throat, and he lifts his head, pressing his
lips against my eyelids.

“You can’t torture yourself with these

fairytales of how things might have been,
baby. If you hadn’t gone back to him?”
He swallows thickly. “If you’d realized
you were pregnant, if we’d just gone
away … we’d be hiding. We’d be
waiting, every minute, for him to knock
on our door and take her away from us.
It would be living a lifetime of days
hiding in the dark, waiting until he came
and killed us.”

I take in a ragged breath. “We might

die anyway.”

He nods; the resignation on his face is

oddly comforting. He knows that death
might be a possibility. I can’t do what I
need to do if Jase is trying to stop me.

I can’t save those girls if I’m being

held back by the man who loves me.

“We might.”
“I refuse to die without taking him

down with me,” I say, wiping my tear-
streaked face and sniffing loudly.

“We’re in this together,” Jase says

urgently, pressing his hands to my cheeks
so I can’t look anywhere but at him. Not
that I’d want to. I could look into those
eyes for a lifetime, however long or
short that lifetime might be. I nod my
head, more tears falling. I love him. I

love him so goddamn much, it feels like
I’m being crushed in a fucking vice.

“Tell me,” he says softly, stroking my

hair. “Tell me what’s going on in this
head of yours. Stop trying to carry
everything by yourself, baby.”

I’m so overcome by emotion that I

almost choke. Love and pain and longing
all smashed together in a violent poison
that courses through me.

“Tell me what you feel,” Jase

whispers urgently.

A sob hitches in my throat. How do I

feel? “I feel … empty.”

I screw my face up, letting one hand

trail down and press into the hollow
between my hips where hope and new
life used to live.

“I didn’t want her at first,” I confess,

no longer able to see through the tears. “I
didn’t want her, not in that place, not in
that existence. I thought she was
Dornan’s, and I just wanted her to go
away.” This truth has existed in me, but
it’s been buried beneath more urgent,
more obvious things, until now. I’m
almost shocked by my own admission as
I cover my mouth with my other hand. “I
didn’t mean it, though,” I whimper,
taking the hand from my mouth and
pressing it to Jase’s chest as he watches
me, his expression pained. “I wanted
her. I wanted her so much, Jase, and now
she’s just gone.”

Now she’s just ash.
“Baby,” Jase whispers, his own eyes

full of tears, “she didn’t die because you
didn’t want her.”

I wipe my cheek on my shoulder.

“Everybody dies because of me,” I cry.
“People suffer when I’m in their life. I’m
like this poison. And I’ve infected every
single person I’ve touched.”

“Shut up,” Jase says urgently. “He

did this to you. You were a kid, and he
did this to you. You didn’t do anything
wrong.”

“I shouldn’t have gotten into that car,”

I sob brokenly, remembering the
afternoon Dornan knocked on our front
door and stole me away to my death. “I
should’ve tried harder. He told me to
hurry along. I knew something was
wrong. And I just walked away with

them.”

“You were a victim, baby.”
I shake my head. My body’s

trembling, every nerve vibrating with
fear and grief. And try as I might, I don’t
know how to stop it.

“What do you need?” Jase whispers,

pressing his lips to my throat.

I close my eyes. What do I need?
“I just need to feel something,” I

finally whisper. “Something else. Just
for a moment.”

I feel Jase’s lips leave my neck, and

then they’re on my mouth. I wrap my
arms around him, pulling him closer,
kissing him like it might be the last time
we touch each other.

Because it might very well be.

He kisses me with a reckless urgency

that makes my heart beat wildly, like
he’s going to devour me, like we’re
going to become one. His hands are
everywhere, firm and insistent as I melt
into him.

I reach my hand out and find his,

linking my fingers with his and
squeezing tight. I’m suddenly a girl
again, walking along the pier with the
first boy I ever loved, our hands melded
together as our eyes spoke a secret
language that nobody else understood. I
don’t deserve him, but he’s here, and he
loves me, and he’s mine. I reach my
other hand between us and start tugging
at his belt buckle, needing him, needing
more, but he pulls away, shaking his

head.

“Wait,” he says. He sits up so he’s

got a knee on either side of my body,
reaching down and undoing my dress
buttons one by one until it falls away to
my sides, exposing my scarred torso
framed by black lace bra and panties. I
try to pull the dress back over my side to
cover the horror of what Dornan did to
me, but Jase stops me, taking my hand
firmly and placing it back at my side.

He holds my gaze, and in it I see my

salvation. The one person in the world
who understands me. Who gets me.

“You are beautiful,” he says, running

his fingers down my marred flesh. “All
of you.”

I bite back tears as he lowers his

mouth to my stomach and starts kissing
me. He should hate me, he should find
me the ugliest thing in the world, but he
doesn’t.

“What do you feel?” he asks me again

between kisses.

I’m crying again.
“I feel empty,” I sob. “I feel like I

don’t deserve you.”

He trails his kisses down lower, to

my hip, to my thigh. I gasp when he
places his mouth on my panties, over the
most sensitive part of me and sucks
gently.

It’s been weeks upon weeks and we

haven’t so much as touched. It’s been too
raw, too horrid in the aftermath of losing
a child to even think about going there.

But I need him, and I need this, and he
knows it.

I pull in a strangled breath as Jase

moves my panties to the side and places
his mouth directly on my sensitive nub.
It’s so fucking good, I feel like I could
come with just a few more seconds of
his tongue. I grip my hands in his hair,
pulling gently as he continues to work
his tongue over me.

“Jesus,” I whisper, my hips moving

involuntarily as my entire body starts to
feel hot and restless. Jase takes his
mouth away long enough to rid me of my
panties, sliding them down my legs and
throwing them on the ground as he
resumes his worship of my body. Now
there’s no material hindering his access,

he uses both hands to push my thighs as
wide as they’ll go, burying his head
between them once more.

I’m panting now, so fucking close to

the edge I can hardly bear his tongue on
my clit. It feels so good it hurts.

And, I realize, I’m still crying.

Weeping,

so

overwhelmed

with

everything that’s happening inside me.
The grief and the fear and the pleasure,
all wound tight together waiting to crest
off that cliff and shatter below until
they’re indecipherable from each other.

Yes.
Maybe he senses I’m close, because

he moves his tongue faster, a hand on
each of my ass cheeks squeezing hard,
pleasantly painful.

Yes.
It all crashes into me at once, every

beautiful thing unleashed in a torrent of
endorphins, a wave that slams into me so
hard I lose my breath as I see white and
stars. I squeeze my eyes shut, my body
shaking, my breathing ragged but the
feeling in my chest most welcome. It
feels like lightness. Like pure, stark,
unadulterated relief. It’ll probably only
last a moment before everything else
weighs me back down, but it’s exactly
what I needed.

I open my wet eyes and he’s there,

waiting, watching me. I smile through my
tears, pulling Jase down so his body
covers mine, kissing him and tasting
myself.

“What do you want now?” he asks

between feverish kisses. I feel the
unmistakable hardness of him pressed
into my stomach, ready for me if I want
it.

And I want it.
“I want you,” I murmur, reaching my

hands down to unbutton his pants again.
This time, he doesn’t stop me, holding
himself above me as I unzip his jeans
and push them down with my hands and
heels, taking his silk boxers along with
them. I take his hard length in my hand
and pull him down between my thighs, to
my wet heat.

He hovers at my entrance, one hand at

the base of my throat. “I love you,” he
whispers, pushing into me, filling me so

it almost hurts. I cry out against his
mouth as we kiss again, a fiery exchange
between two lovers who might be joined
together for the last time.

I don’t want to die.
Fresh tears prick at my eyes as I think

of what we’ve lost. As I birthed our
baby too soon, as she came into the
world dead before she’d taken her first
breath. Grief tears at me as I remember
how she was the last thing inside of me,
and how much it still aches that she’s
gone.

I’m sobbing. Jase stops, wipes tears

from my cheek. “You want me to stop?”
he murmurs.

I shake my head emphatically.

“Please, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

His eyes are heavy, a mixture of lust

and concern within them. “Tell me,” he
says, resuming slow strokes, the action
of our skin on skin almost making me
come again.

“I wanted to be that person for you,” I

whisper, as he presses his forehead to
mine. “The wife. The mother of your
kids. Not … this.”

“Julz,” he murmurs against my skin,

still moving in slow strokes. “When this
is over, I’m going to marry you. We’re
going to have lots of babies, and I’m
buying you a fucking minivan. Okay?”

I laugh, even though I’m crying.
“Okay?” Jase repeats.
“Okay,” I reply, pulling him deeper,

pulling him down to meet my mouth

again.

In the late afternoon that remains after

we’ve exhausted ourselves, I shower
briefly, dressing in the clean clothes
Pepito organized for us.

I’ve got a dark purple shift dress that

zips up at the back, no sleeves, and Jase
was generously gifted with a pair of
stonewash jeans and a Hawaiian shirt.
He opts to keep his old clothes on; my
dress is so dirty, I need to accept my
new fate as a fashion-challenged cubicle
dweller. “You should wear the shirt,” I
say sarcastically, standing on tiptoes to
kiss his forehead as I press the shirt to

his chest. “We’d be like Pumpkin and
Honeybunny.”

Jase makes a face, pushing the shirt

away. “You’ve watched that movie way
too many times,” he says.

I toss the shirt on the bed. “I’m going

to check in with Luis,” I say, heading for
the door in bare feet. Jase practically
bowls me over in his haste to follow me.
“I’ll join you.”

I unlock the door and tiptoe out into

the hallway. Everything is quiet … a
little too quiet. I look into the bedroom
next to ours, the door ajar, to find a maid
placing fresh towels at the foot of the
bed.

“Excuse me,” I say. She seems

startled. “Do you know where everyone

is?”

She points down the hallway,

speaking rapid Spanish. “Thank you,” I
say, backing out into the hallway again.
Jase raises an eyebrow in question and I
shrug. “This way, somewhere,” I say,
pointing down the hallway.

We walk through the house, passing

the kitchen and the living area where we
first spoke with Pepito. I’m growing
steadily more anxious, worrying about
the fate of both our hostages and our
friend, when I turn a corner and see Luis
standing with Agent Dunn in front of a
closed door. Beyond, I can hear muted
screams filtering underneath the door,
where they reach my ears and fill my
stomach with dread.

“Where’s

Donny?!”

I

demand,

rushing towards the door and Luis on
bare feet.

My heart in my throat, suddenly I’m

hyper-aware of everything. How cold
the floor feels against the soles of my
feet. The humid air that clings to my
skin, a constant reminder of where we
are that the air-conditioning can’t ever
completely erase.

Luis steps in front of me, closing off

my access to the door.

“Where is he?” I repeat, ready to rip

him in half to get past him. I mean, not
that I could. But I’d try.

“Giulietta,” Luis says, his blue eyes

flashing with something — amusement?
Yeah, he’s amused, the side of his mouth

twitching up into a lopsided grin. “He’s
fine. He’s … well, take a look for
yourself.”

He steps aside, motioning to the door

handle. I look back at Jase, who appears
concerned, his jaw bunched up and his
fists ready to smash the first person who
upsets him.

Jase shoulders his way in front of me,

and I don’t try to stop him. He wants to
go first? He can go first. From the wails
coming under the door, I’m pretty sure
we’re both about to be eye-raped by
some sick shit anyway.

Jase takes my hand, opening the door

and stopping short for a moment before
he tugs me into the room behind him.

And what a sight we’re greeted with.

“Oh, Donny,” I breathe, shaking my

head. “You poor, pathetic fuck.”

I look at Jase. He takes his hand from

mine and covers his mouth to stop the
laughter from erupting. I don’t care about
minding my manners. I open my mouth
and giggle like a fucking schoolgirl at
what’s in front of me.

Donny’s eyes are practically bulging

out of his ugly head, a bright orange ball
gag in his mouth masking most of his
screams. He’s bent forward over a long
wooden table, and he’s being fucked.

In the ass.
By a big Colombian dude with a

massive dick.

Pepito is in the corner, one foot

against the wall, studying his phone

screen. He notices us and puts it away,
sauntering over like it’s just another day
in the office for him.

“You like?” he asks, gesturing to the

ass-raping taking place in front of us.
Jase composes himself long enough to
wipe tears from his eyes.

“We like,” I reply, unable to form any

more words to adequately describe the
satisfaction I’m feeling right now. At the
edge of my consciousness this little thing
called a conscience is screaming at me
to see some sense, but all I’m seeing is a
thin trickle of blood running from
Donny’s asshole down his bare leg and
into a small puddle on the floor at his
foot.

Pepito’s phone rings and he wanders

off to answer it, leaving Jase and I open-
mouthed and staring in delighted horror
at the scene of Donny’s ass rape.

“Wait,” Jase says to me. “So, if

we’re Pumpkin and Honeybunny, that
makes him the Gimp, right?”

I look up at Jase, something heavy

moving off my chest. Revenge. I haven’t
felt it in a long while, and it feels so
goddamn good.

“That’s why I love you,” I say,

squeezing his hand as Donny tries to kill
us both with the power of his eyes alone.
“Because I know you’ve watched that
movie as many times as me.”

He laughs.
I laugh.
Behind the ball-gag, Donny screams.

And it’s fucking beautiful.
“We should leave them to it,” I say,

tugging at Jase’s hand. Donny shakes his
head, screaming louder as the dude
reaming his ass picks up his pace,
slamming into him fast and hard.

I raise my eyebrows at Donny. “You

think that’s bad?” I ask him. “Try being
passed around seven guys until you’ve
been fucked almost to death. Then
scream, you little bitch.”

He lunges forward like he wants to

kill me, but it’s useless. All he does is
give his rapist more traction to pull him
back, impaling him.

Jase laughs again as we leave the

room, stepping into the refuge of the
hallway where Luis and a dejected-

looking Agent Dunn wait.

As Jase closes the door behind us,

Agent Dunn narrows her eyes at me.
“You two are fucking crazy,” she says,
shifting her gaze to Jase. “Fucking
crazy.”

“Oh, lady,” I reply, “you have no

idea.”

Shortly after, Luis gets a call. We’ve

got a plane waiting, at an airstrip ten
minutes’ drive away.

It’s time to roll.
It’s time to get Elliot’s girls back.
Even if it kills me.

Luis injects something into Donny’s

ass cheek before we leave, and waits
until he’s slumped unconscious over the
table in the rape dungeon before re-
dressing him and hauling him outside
between himself and Jase. It’s night,
something that startles me since I didn’t
even notice the change. The temperature
has dropped significantly, and I feel
goose bumps spring up on my arms as I
walk behind Agent Dunn, ready to
pounce on her if she tries anything. She’s
been cooperative … a little too

cooperative, if anything. She’s been
turning paler and paler during this entire
ordeal, and I feel like soon she’s going
to be solid white.

I think of Elliot as Pepito personally

drives us to the air strip. Seems he and
Luis have history, which is possibly why
the guy has been so accommodating. I’m
still suspicious, but surely if he were
going to try something on us, he’d have
tried by now? Whatever his true motive
is, I don’t let him out of my sight. We’ve
been told we can have our weapons
back when we get to the plane, and I’m
really hoping he’s not lying to us.

Elliot. I wonder what he’s doing. He

must be going mad, pacing the house.
Maybe Grandma is trying to placate him

in her gentle way. Or maybe she’s
cleared out. Maybe he’s sent her
somewhere safer.

We’ll see soon enough.
True to his word, Pepito tosses our

guns and clips in the grass as he
screeches off, leaving us in the dark.
Jase and I both scramble for our guns,
weapons that don’t even belong to us but
to two CIA agents who made a grave
mistake thinking they could contain us.

The flight in the small, plush private

jet is maybe six hours. Jase and I take
turns to doze, sitting next to each other in
the back of the plane. Donny’s out for the
count and heavily restrained in his own
seat. Luis is up front with Agent Dunn,
and of course there’s some dude flying

the plane in the cockpit.

The entire journey, I keep wondering

how many hours I have left on this earth.

It makes me sad to think there might

not be too many.

The sun is rising as we land, and

unbearably bright by the time we make
the short car trip from the small airport
to Elliot’s grandmother’s house. My
stomach lurches as I remember traveling
this same road six years ago, a
passenger who should never have left
her hospital bed alive.

And now I’m here, again, and Dornan

Ross is still controlling us all like
goddamn marionettes.

When I finally walk into Grandma’s

house, it’s to the sight of a broken man.

“Elliot,” I say, rushing towards him. I

drop my CIA-issue jacket on the floor,
stumbling past furniture to get to him.

His expression is wild. He obviously

hasn’t slept in days, his eyes bloodshot
and puffy. I wrap my arms around him,
but for the first time, he doesn’t
reciprocate.

No. He stiffens.
He pushes me away.
My heart breaks. I take a step back.

Of course he’s going to hate me. I’m the
source of his eternal despair.

I don’t like that I’m that person.
I scan the empty kitchen. “Where’s

Grandma?” I ask, dread and suspicion
rising inside my chest like a sharp,
painful bubble.

He just stares at me, his jaw

clenched.

“Elliot,” I implore him, hearing my

voice wavering. No, no, NO.

He shakes his head minutely.

“Don’t.”

I look down and see the blood on his

hands. It looks like he’s tried washing it
off. It looks fresh.

Fuck.
“What happened?” I whisper.
This can’t be happening.
“You’re a smart girl,” he says coldly.

“What do you think happened to her?”

“No,” I moan, and it’s the low groan

of a distraught animal faced with the
death of her family member. Something
inexplicable breaks inside my chest — I

feel myself crumbling in the wake of this
latest blow.

My father. Mariana. My daughter.

Grandma.

He

has

taken

almost

everyone, and I know he plans to finish
the rest of us off. I just know it.

“Just tell me,” I beg, my hands

wringing together, my face slicked wet
with my tears. So many tears.

He launches at me with a rage I’ve

never seen before. “Don’t you fucking
cry!” he screams, grabbing me by the
shoulders. For a moment I’m taken off
guard, hands up to push him back. But I
go limp when I see the devastation on
his face.

He’s lost everything because of me.
And I hate myself for it.

I can’t help it, I’m bawling. “I’m

sorry,” I sob, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m
sorry.”

“Shut up!” he roars. “You’re sorry?

I’ll show you sorry.” He takes my hand
roughly, tugging me towards the back
door. I know what he’s going to show
me.

“No,” I protest. I can’t, not now. I

can’t see what he did to her.

Elliot lets go of me, but he’s not done

with me yet. He charges me, picking me
up in a stronghold so my arms are
trapped within his bear grip. “Let me
show you the price of vengeance,” he
grinds out, dragging me out through the
back door and down the stairs to the
backyard.

I blink in the harsh sunlight, at first

not sure what I’m looking at.

Oh, yes. A pile of fresh dirt. Three

identical holes dug into the unwieldy
Nebraskan dirt, edges rough but defined,
and they’re deep. It would have taken
hours to dig them.

“Go!” Elliot yells, dropping me

suddenly. I land on the ground, my ears
buzzing, a hot, dizzy feeling creeping up
the back of my neck.

“Hey!” Jase yells from the porch.

“What the fuck?”

Elliot pushes me again, closer to the

edge of one of the three holes in the
ground. I’m crawling on my hands and
knees now, my palms burning against the
hot sand beneath them. “Look!” he

demands, and I do look.

The winds are fierce today, and they

have taken the stench of death away. But
when Elliot shoves my face down into
the makeshift grave, I gag on the smell of
rotting flesh.

Oh, God.
The smell invades my nostrils, putrid

and sweet. I can taste the decay on my
tongue. And the sight isn’t much better
than the smell — flies, so many flies,
crawling upon what remains of the poor
woman who took me in all those years
ago. The woman who held me when I
cried, the woman who let me mope
around and feel sorry for myself for
years upon years. The woman who hid
me away from the world even after her

grandson gave up on me and left.

I’m going to be sick.
I retch violently, and Elliot lets go of

me. I crawl back just in time to be sick
next to the hole where Dornan has
dumped Grandma’s body. I retch and
retch until I’m throwing up clear bile,
liquid that burns my throat.

It’s almost a welcome relief, though. I

would rather taste the acid from my
stomach than the smell of a decomposing
corpse on my tongue.

Jase is suddenly next to me. “What

the fuck is wrong with you?!” he yells at
Elliot. Elliot laughs, an empty sound so
terribly devoid of anything that it makes
me shiver.

“Me?” he yells. “What’s wrong with

me? What’s wrong with you? After
everything she’s done, you’re still
defending her?”

I tilt my watery gaze up at Jase. He

looks torn. I can tell part of him wants to
comfort me, and the other part wants to
smash Elliot into the dirt. Which isn’t
fair.

Everything Elliot is saying is right.

This is my fault.

Everything is my fault.
Jase straightens beside me, his fists

squeezed tight at his sides. I grab hold of
one arm and pull myself up, tugging on
him insistently.

“Don’t,” I whimper. “Don’t do it.

Don’t touch him.”

He gives me an incredulous look and

wrenches his arm out of my grip,
charging towards Elliot.

They’re going to kill each other.
A gunshot rings out into the clear

morning, all of us turning simultaneously
to see where it came from.

Luis,

the

fucking

gunslinger

extraordinaire, is standing on the porch,
an unconscious Donny at his feet, still
hog-tied from the plane ride. Agent Dunn
sits at his feet, mute as always.

“You trying to attract attention?” Jase

yells, forgetting Elliot and charging up to
the porch.

“Enough,” Luis barks. “We need to

leave. Now.”

Elliot ignores him, turning back to me

with a face full of hatred.

“I signed her death warrant the minute

I brought you here. It was always just a
matter of time, right Julz?”

I can’t breathe. I can’t talk. And that

smell … I’m never going to be able to
stop breathing it in.

Luis clambers down the stairs,

rushing over to the edge of the hole in
the ground where flies buzz over
Grandma.

“We need to go,” Luis urges again.
“Go where?!” Elliot yells. “I’ve been

waiting here for two days for Dornan to
fucking call me and tell me where my
girls are!” He kicks at the dirt, and I
can’t help but notice his Converse
sneakers spattered with blood. “With my
dead fucking grandmother!” he howls.

He turns back to the hastily dug grave,
sinking to his knees in front of it.

“Why didn’t you cover her up?” I ask.
He tears his eyes away from the

ground to meet mine. “And miss the
phone call?” he asks.

The phone chirps loudly inside.
“Fuck,” he says, scrambling to his

feet and running inside, as fast as I’ve
ever seen anyone run. He disappears
inside and the phone stops chirping.

Jesus, I hope he didn’t miss that

goddamn call.

I follow him inside, rushing past Jase

and Luis. Agent Dunn is sitting on the
stairs, looking dejected. Donny is
unconscious.

And then there’s Elliot.

He’s on the phone at the kitchen

counter. It’s one of the old-school
phones that’s mounted to the wall. From
where he’s standing, over the sink, he
can see the three holes Dornan has dug
to taunt him.

I move closer to him, stepping loudly

enough to let him know I’m here, but not
so loud that the person on the other end
of the line might hear me. I stop at the far
end of the bench, staring painfully at the
space beside the kitchen table where
Elliot and I shared our first kiss all those
years ago. If things seemed bad then …
holy mother of god, they’re so, so much
worse now.

Elliot turns and clicks his fingers.

“Pen,” he hisses. I scan the room, my

eyes settling on the battered notebook
and pen that Grandma always kept on the
refrigerator when I lived here.

Nothing’s changed.
Except that, you know, she’s dead.

Murdered. Laying in a hole in the
ground outside.

I rush to the pen and notepad, ripping

them from their magnetic holder on the
front of the refrigerator and practically
throwing them at Elliot. He scribbles
something down, staring at me vacantly
after he’s finished.

I peek at the piece of paper he’s

written on, at first not recognizing the
pattern behind the string of letters and
numbers. And then I see. They’re GPS
coordinates.

“How do I know they’re still alive?”

he says suddenly. My skin bristles
uncomfortably at the anguish behind his
words. I edge closer, so I’m standing
beside him, our eyes locked as the
unmistakable sound of a child’s voice
filters down the line.

“Daa-ddy,” she says, her little voice

painfully sweet. “Daddy, where are
you?”

Then, static.
“Kayla?” he says urgently into the

receiver. “Kayla!”

But she’s gone.
He turns to face the sink again,

smashing the receiver back into its hook.
An incredible, searing pain begins in my
chest and spreads outwards as I place a

tentative hand on Elliot’s arm. He looks
down at my hand and I wonder if he’s
going to push me away.

“We’re getting them back,” I say

quietly. He looks at my hand on his arm
for one beat, two, and then he sinks to
his knees beside me, wrapping his arms
around me tightly. Shocked by his
sudden change in attitude towards me, I
hesitate slightly, unsure of what to do.
Love him, a voice inside my head urges.
Be there for him like he was there for
you all these years.

His face pressed into my stomach, I

wrap my arms around the man who
saved my life and pull him closer to me,
welcoming the pain of his fingers
clinging to me, pressing into my flesh. I

stroke my hands through his hair, some
small attempt at comforting him as I feel
his tears bleed through the thin material
of my dress and into my skin.

Jase and Luis cover Grandma’s body

up with blankets before piling dirt over
her. I’m on the porch, sheltered from the
hot sun, a gun in one hand in case Donny
or Agent Dunn decide to move and my
other arm curled around Elliot’s waist.
He won’t speak. He just stares off into
space, his eyes red, his stance rigid, his
expression dream-like. He looks a little
mad.

At this stage, I think we all do.
Once she’s buried, there’s nothing

else to do but leave. I still can’t
reconcile the fact that the faceless body
in the dirt is Grandma, but it is. Dornan
killed her. And then he dug three graves.
The message is pretty fucking clear.
Behave or the other two graves will be
filled with the bodies of Elliot’s
daughter and her mother. When I think
about it like that, I want to be sick all
over again.

Before they started hefting dirt over

Grandma’s still corpse, Luis plugged the
string of GPS coordinates into his phone
and came up with a hit.

Dornan’s directed Elliot, and us by

default, into a section of Death Valley
called Furnace Creek.

Death Valley. Because that’s not

foreboding or anything.

Fuck.
We reconvene in the living room

briefly. Gather ourselves, get our
bearings — oh, yeah, and grab plenty of
weapons. Elliot’s got a small artillery in
the garage, and we’re each bestowed
with a loaded pistol and plenty of ammo.
I’ve managed to score a more
appropriate outfit from one of my
storage boxes in the garage – a white tee
and jeans with black boots. I’ve kept the
CIA jacket as part of my outfit. I don’t
know why, but for some reason, it makes
me feel like a badass to wear it. The
purple dress I throw in Elliot’s rag box.
If we make it out of this alive, he can
polish his fucking mustang with it.

It’s while we’re checking our clips

and dispersing extra ammo into our
pockets that I hear the cars. They’re
driving fast. And, before I can even
finish turning towards the large bay
window that overlooks the front yard,
there are three unmarked police cruisers
on the front lawn.

“We got company!” Jase yells,

pulling Agent Dunn down to the ground
beside him. I hit the deck as well,
looking up to see Elliot and Luis have
done the same. Donny is still largely
unconscious, making a few grunted
noises now and then, but nothing I care
to waste effort on trying to decipher.

“We have to get out of here,” Elliot

says, his eyes ablaze. We’re all lying on

our stomachs on the floor, heads up just
enough to see each other, when there’s a
knock on the door.

“Police, open up!” a low voice

booms.

CIA? I mouth. Jase shrugs, but Elliot

shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “Whoever

it is, I can’t let them hold me up. I have
to get to the girls.”

“Go out the back way,” Jase urges

Elliot. He glances at me. “You too, Julz.
We’ll hold them off as long as we can.
You gotta get to the airstrip. We’ll meet
you there.”

I can tell it kills him to say it, but he’s

being smart. If we all get held up by the
heat at the door, we’re screwed and

Elliot’s girls are as good as dead.

“Go,” I say to Elliot, who nods and

starts army-crawling through the living
room to the kitchen. I follow him on my
hands and knees, ducking low in case the
cops out front decide to start peppering
the house with bullets. We both reach the
back door, and Elliot leans against it
briefly.

“If there’s someone out there,” he

says quietly, “you fucking shoot them.
Do not shoot me. You understand?”

I want to tell him this isn’t my first

rodeo, but I bite my tongue. In the end, I
just nod.

He glances around one last time

before reaching up and yanking the door
open. There’s nobody there, and we both

crawl onto the deck out back, guns
ready.

Things are moving so fast, I don’t

even have time to acknowledge how
terrified I am. There’s a good chance
these people want us dead.

And then, we’re made.
Three cops sprint around the side of

the house, guns pointed at us. We’re not
just outnumbered, we’re also at a
distinct disadvantage, having no cover,
unlike the cops who are sheltering
behind the base of the deck, their guns
pointed up at us.

Two of them are dressed in dark blue

fatigues and carrying heavy artillery.
The third, however, is dressed in jeans
and a leather jacket, a plain black

baseball cap on his head, a standard
police issue revolver in his grip.

I recognize this guy. I fucking know

him.

“Drop your guns,” he says. “Both of

you.”

My face falls as I lower my gun.

Beside me, I see Elliot battle with
himself before lowering his gun to his
side.

“Drop them and kick them over to

me,” the guy says.

“Tommy?” I ask incredulously.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Tommy, son of one of the most

notorious Gypsy Brothers in the history
of the club, lowers his gun slightly. “It’s
not what you think,” he says.

“You’re here for Donny,” I say, my

heart sinking. I refuse to let go of my
gun. I glance over to Elliot to see he’s
doing the same, gripping his pistol
tightly at his side as I see him mentally
calculate how many rounds he can get
off before he’s shot dead.

Tommy, son of Viper, was Donny’s

best friend growing up. He shakes his
head emphatically. “I’m not here for
Donny,” he says. “I’m here for you.”

Jase appears on the deck, hands on

his head. He’s being pushed from behind
by an agent wearing a clearly marked
DEA jacket.

“I didn’t know you were with the

CIA,” Tommy says to me.

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t know you

were with the DEA.”

Tommy, five-eleven and wiry, smiles

tightly at me, his boyish dimples still
there despite the fact that he’s almost
thirty years old. “You’re not supposed
to,” he responds. His brown eyes appear
troubled, especially when they look to
Jase.

“Tommy?” Jase exclaims, taking his

hands off his head and going to rush
down the stairs. The unmistakable sound
of guns being leveled at him makes him
stop mid-stride, and he slowly puts his
hands back on his head.

“Tommy, what the hell’s going on,

man?”

“I thought you got busted for

attempted murder,” I say, confused.

He tilts his head. “And I thought you

were dead, Julie. Looks like neither of
those things are true.”

Elliot clears his throat. “What the

fuck’s going on right now?”

“Relax, Officer McRae,” Tommy

says, a glint of something in his eye.
Familiarity?

Jase and I look from Tommy to Elliot.

“Wait …” I say slowly. “Do you two
know each other?”
“No!” Elliot retorts. “I’ve never seen
this punk in my life.”

Tommy grins, holstering his gun and

motioning for the two cops beside him to
lower theirs. “Oh, but I know you. Who
do you think called the cops to go get
your ass out of that hospital six years

ago?” He looks pointedly at Elliot, who
seems to be battling within himself to
keep things straight.

“Wait you’re the inside source who

called my Captain?” Elliot asks.

Something breaks loose inside of me,

a small memory, six years dormant, of
worried brown eyes that watched as I
was wheeled past Gypsy Brothers and
into emergency. Worried eyes that
peered through a window as I was
shocked back to life, paddles sending
electricity into my body that made me
think I was on fire.

“Wasn’t right, what they did to you,”

Tommy says to me, the smile gone now.
“I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t
try and do something. So yeah, I called it

in. Stayed at the hospital until this guys
showed up.” He glances at Elliot.

Tommy. After Elliot had taken me

away to Nebraska, I’d never given him a
second thought. He was — is — Viper’s
son. Viper was Dornan’s right-hand
man, especially when he and my father
stopped seeing eye to eye. And Viper’s a
bad man.

But, it seems his son must be made

from something different.

“That was you?” Elliot asks. “You’re

DEA?”

Tommy shrugs. “Wasn’t back then.

Things change.”

“You’re the rat,” Elliot surmises.
Tommy raises his eyebrows, amused.

“I prefer undercover agent. But sure.

Whatever takes your fancy.”

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper.
“You can pick up your jaw now,”

Tommy says to me.

“Oh, well, now that everyone’s best

fucking friends,” I manage to say,
feeling slightly annoyed that I’m the odd
one out, yet relieved at the same time.
Then I remember Luis.

“So, how does Luis fit?” I ask. “You

all been friends with him your whole
lives, too?”

Luis looks amused.
Jase raises his eyebrows. “Luis is a

fucking wildcard,” he replies. “If we
make it out of this I’ll tell you all about
motherfucking Luis.”

Elliot shifts impatiently from foot to

foot. “On that note,” he says. “It’s really
fucking great that you’re all having a
reunion and everything, but we gotta go.”

Tommy smiles. “Why do you think

we’re here?”

Elliot eyes him warily. “Why are you

here?”

Tommy shrugs his shoulders. “We’re

here for the same reason you are. To
take down Dornan Ross.”

Well.
I frown. “And by take down, you

mean …”

“I mean, put him in prison for the rest

of his life,” Tommy says.

Elliot goes all angry dude again.

“That fucker’s got my kid!” he yells,
storming Tommy.

“Hey!” I yell, getting in front of Elliot

and pushing my palms against his chest.
“Don’t do it, El,” I implore him. “Calm
down.”

“He’ll never see the inside of a jail

cell,” Elliot fumes, “because I’m going
in there, and I’m fucking EXECUTING
him!”

I turn, putting Elliot behind me as I

address Tommy. “First thing,” I say,
crossing my arms over my chest, “is how
do we know we can trust you?”

Tommy grins, looking at the ground

as he licks his lips. “Well, you can trust
me because you’d be dead if it weren’t
for me.”

“Hmph,” I reply. “And why do we

need you to help us, again?”

Tommy nods, taking a deep breath.

“How many of you are there? Four? I
mean, she’s the hostage, right?”

I look over at Dunn, silent as always.

“Maybe,” I concede.

He chuckles. “Sugar, you got any idea

how many people are in that bunker?
Because I do.”

I look at Elliot and Jase, puzzled.

“Wait, it’s a bunker?”

“You know the floorplan of this

bunker? Because I do.”

“You could be bluffing,” I say. “You

could be trapping us. You’re Viper’s
son, Tommy. What kind of man goes
against his own father?”

Tommy tilts his head, his smile

vanishing slightly. “I don’t know,” he

says. “What kind of man goes against his
own father?” And looks at Jase
pointedly.

“Are you kidding me?” I respond.

“Dornan murdered his mother. Kept him
in a fucking dungeon for three years.” I
don’t even want to mention what he did
to me. I’m tired of talking about it.

I just want him to be dead.
I just want this to be over.
I just want some fucking sleep.
Tommy doesn’t answer. I remember

his dad beating him up from time to time,
but as far as I know his mom’s still
alive, and he hasn’t done any dungeon
time.

“What kind of man goes against his

own father?” Tommy repeats woodenly.

“Well, the type of man who sees his
father try and kill a teenage girl in her
hospital bed, that’s who. Loyalty only
takes you so far.”

“Oh,” I reply.
Tommy raises his eyebrows at me.

“Yeah.”

Donny stirs as Jase and Luis are

hauling his ass to Elliot’s Mustang to
drive back to the airstrip. He starts
muttering something unintelligible as
he’s being dragged by his arms, but he
doesn’t get very far. Luis hefts him onto
the ground beside the car and takes a
large syringe out of his pocket, ripping
the lid off with his teeth and planting that
bad boy into Donny’s neck faster than he

can draw breath. Almost immediately,
he stops struggling again, going limp in
the dirt.

“What’d you give him?” I ask.
“Something that’ll knock him out for a

long while,” Luis replies. I frown. “Not
too long, I hope,” I reply. “What’s the
flight time out to Furnace Creek? Two,
three hours?”

Luis caps the syringe and grips it

between his teeth, fishing a second
impressive-looking needle from his
pocket. Unlike the first one, which has a
red cap, this one has a green cap. “Red
for stop, green for go,” he says, smiling
wide around the capped syringe between
his teeth.

“Is that like —” I’m thinking of the

crap Dornan injected into me when I
was his prisoner, the cold and heat, the
uppers and downers that he injected into
my body again and again, until I didn’t
know if I was asleep or awake.

Luis nods, still grinning, and I can’t

help but shake my head in amusement.

The flight takes us two hours and

thirty-seven minutes.

I know, because I can’t stop looking

at Agent Dunn’s phone the entire time.
Counting down every minute, every
second, until we’re there and I’ve got
those girls in my grasp and I can stop
wondering whether this is going to work
or not.

Two hours and thirty-seven minutes,

and they might be some of the last
minutes I’ll spend on this earth. I should
be telling Jase how much I love him, or

something, but I can’t form words. I just
sit, gun in my lap, staring at the phone.

“You don’t have to give yourself up

to him,” a voice pipes up from next to
me.

Agent Dunn. Great.
Six pairs of eyes, including mine, turn

to the source of the noise. Six. Yeah,
Tommy and one of his DEA dudes
hitched a ride with us. I’m still not sure
how I feel about that, but they didn’t
exactly give us a choice. And, true to
their word, they’ve been showing us
detailed floorplans of this place. It’s
huge.

“Oh,” Jase says to Agent Dunn in

disgust, “I guess you’re awake, huh?”

Agent Dunn — looking worse for

wear, her hair all mussed up and her
mascara clumping — coughs into her
hand, her cuffs clinking as she does so.

“What a surprise,” I say slowly.

“You’ve got a resistance to sleeping
pills. Find it hard to sleep at night,
Agent?”

We dosed her with some sleeping

pills before we boarded the flight in
case she tried anything. Figured it would
make her more compliant once we got to
Furnace Creek, but now I’m starting to
wonder. She looks pretty awake.

She gives me a petulant stare. “I’m

just trying to help you,” she mutters.

I snort. “Oh, really? And why would

you help me?”

“Because you said you’re going to

kill him. And now the DEA are telling
you that you can’t kill him.” She glares
at Tommy. “And I really need you to kill
him.”

I glance back at Jase and Elliot, who

are looking just as alarmed as me at her
sudden change of tone.

“My badge,” she says. “It’s inside my

jacket.”

Instinctively, I reach into her jacket

— I’m still wearing it — and fish out a
leather wallet from the left pocket. I
open it, finding nothing other than a
badge and her identification. Jase, Elliot
and Luis get out of their seats across the
plane and gather around us.

“Behind the ID,” Agent Dunn says.
I lift up the plastic sleeve that

protects her ID card. There’s a folded
piece of card behind it, pressed flat
against the back of her ID. You’d never
find it unless you were looking. I slide
two fingers into the wallet and pinch the
piece of card, prising it out of the tight
space.

It’s folded. I open it, realizing as I do

that it’s not a piece of card but a
photograph. Before I can tear my eyes
away, they’re taking in details. A young
girl, maybe five, sitting on her mother’s
lap. I know it’s her mother because they
both have the same, identical smile.
Their lips are the same, the way their
cheeks crease up in the same spots. Even
their teeth look the same.

I toss the photo on the table that folds

down in the space that separates Jase
and I from Elliot and Luis. “This is your
kid, huh?” Jase asks, studying the photo.

“Yeah,” she says.
“And?” I ask. There’s always an and

with things like this.

“And, I don’t get her back until

you’re secured. I thought I was walking
out today to pick her up when I found my
colleague drowning in his own blood.”
She looks pointedly at me.

“And you waited this long to tell us?”

I ask. “Sounds like you’ve been using the
time since then to think of a good sob
story, lady.”

Her face crumples. “Please,” she

whispers, holding her palms together in
a begging gesture. “He was always

listening.” She glances worriedly at
Donny, who’s lucky to still be breathing
with the amount of dope currently in his
system. He’s not hearing anything right
now except maybe the sound of his own
heart beating slower and slower.

“So you got a kid,” Luis says with a

shrug. “Big deal.”

“They’re going to kill her if I don’t

do what they say!” she cries, lunging
forward until the chain looped around
her cuffs tightens and pulls her back
violently.

I raise my eyebrows at her sudden

outburst. “So, what do you propose we
do?” I ask out of interest.

She licks her lips; they look like dry

sandpaper, and I remember we haven’t

given her any water today.

Oh well.
“You don’t need to give yourself up

to him,” she says. “You just need to
make it seem like you are. Make him
think he’s won. Make him think you’re
weak. Then fucking execute him!”

It’s the first time I’ve heard the agent

swear. She’s impressive. Still, I don’t
like being told what to do.

“What if it’s a trap?” I ask.
She shrugs. “You want Amy and

Kayla back, don’t you? Isn’t it worth the
risk?”

I turn back to Elliot, whose face is

making that weird expression again. He
looks like he’s about to trip out and
strangle a bitch.

“How the fuck does she know their

names?” he mutters, bewildered. I put a
hand up to him as if to say, calm down.

“She has a point,” I say, running my

hands through my loose hair and
scratching at my scalp. I’m so tired, it’s
going to take digging my fingernails into
my own flesh to keep me awake until we
find some coffee. Or cocaine. I’d almost
take either at this point.

“You’re not going in there,” Jase says

pointedly, pinning me with his stare.
“It’s not up for discussion.”

Elliot leaps to his feet. “Elliot,” I say

quietly, as I jump up out of my seat and
follow him. He shakes his head,
charging to the back end of the plane. I
follow a few steps behind, coming to an

abrupt stop when he does at the small
kitchen

that’s

tucked

behind

the

bathroom stall in the back.

He turns, leaning against the counter

as we study each other.

“I haven’t even asked you if you’re

okay,” he says, rubbing his hand back
and forth across his stubbled jaw
anxiously. His eyes drop to my stomach,
and I know he’s thinking about the baby.

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about

me, Elliot. Don’t even think about me.
Think about the girls. If we make it out
of this mess? You can ask me if I’m
okay.”

I don’t add, if he makes it out, I’ll

probably be dead, because he’s got
enough to worry about right now.

He nods, giving my arm a squeeze.
“Elliot,” I say, stopping him. I just

want him to know — to know that I get
it, that I understand.

“I know I don’t have a child like you

do,” I say hesitantly. “But I was
somebody’s mother, just for a moment.”
My throat starts to close up painfully.
“All I’m trying to say is, I know what it
feels like. To want to protect your child
more than anything. From anything.
Everything else is nothing when it
comes to your daughter.”

His eyes widen, and he brings one

fist up, pressing it against his lips. We
don’t say anything else. He just looks at
me, and I know it’s taking every ounce
of strength he possesses not to break

down and cry for his girls.

Before we land, Tommy and his DEA

partner spread a large set of floorplans
on the back wall of the plane, each
holding a side to stop it from rolling
back up at the edges. Luis, Elliot, Jase
and I stand before them, as they explain
the different entry points.

“This place used to be a bunker and

artillery store during the war,” Tommy
says. “Some of it’s been mined, as well.
Emilio’s Cartel’s been using it since the
eighties to coordinate drug drops and
store heavy arms.”

I nod, something troubling me. “This

place is huge,” I say. “How the hell are
we supposed to find the girls in all
that?”

“We go in teams of two,” Tommy

replies. “There is one main entry point,
and that’s where Juliette, Elliot and
Donny will enter. We’ll take the south
fire escape,” he says, referring to
himself and his partner. “Luis, Jase, you
can take north or east.”

Jase shakes his head tightly. “I’m

going with her,” he says, pointing at me.

Tommy shrugs. “Fine. Luis, you

happy to go in solo?”

Luis nods. “Sure thing.”
“What about me?” Agent Dunn pipes

up. “Who do I go with?”

Everyone turns and looks at Agent

Dunn, still cuffed and in her seat.

“You come with me,” Luis says.
“Well, that’s settled. And let’s make

one thing clear, people. You do not
shoot Dornan Ross. We need him alive,
or we’re all screwed.”

“You mean, you’ll be screwed,”

Elliot says pointedly. “I think the rest of
us’ll be just fine.”

Tommy drops his grip on the

floorplan, and it springs back to the
other agent in a neat roll.

“Everything

has

a

price,

Mr.

McRae,” Tommy says. “This doesn’t
end when you get your girls back.
There’ll be a court case. You’ll all have
to testify. Protective custody. This is
only the beginning. You really think
we’re going to be able to dismantle the
largest drug cartel in Central America in
one afternoon?”

Elliot snorts. “You think I give a fuck

about dismantling a drug cartel?”

Tommy steps closer, shorter than

Elliot but just as imposing.

“You really think you’re going to be

able to stay one step ahead of hundreds
of Dornan’s associates, the rest of the
Gypsy Brothers, and Emilio’s entire
extended family?”

Elliot doesn’t respond. Inside my

stomach, panic is building, and it doesn’t
feel good. Shit. What were we thinking?
That once we finished Donny and
Dornan, that things would be done? That
we’d be able to set up house and spend
the money Dornan is still looking for, to
this very day?

We’re going to be hiding for a very

long time, and that makes me sadder than
I could’ve imagined.

“Be smart,” Tommy finishes, looking

at all of us. “Six years ago, I got in with
the DEA and betrayed every person in
my family and my club. It was always
going to come down to this eventually.
Juliette’s managed to speed things up
considerably,” he gives me an amused
glance, which I return with a wry smile,
“but essentially, we are looking at years
and years of trying to smash this
syndicate.

It’s

international.

It’s

powerful. And trust me when I say —
you want somebody like the DEA on
your side after today, when you need
new identities and somewhere safe to
run to.”

Nobody responds.
“Okay?” Tommy urges.
A collection of grunts and yeses are

muttered as the pilot starts speaking over
the intercom, telling us we’re about to
start descending and that we should take
our seats and buckle up.

I can’t stop thinking about Tommy’s

words as we’re descending. You want
somebody like the DEA on your side. I
wish I didn’t need anyone on my side,
but deep down, sickening as it is, I know
he’s probably right.

Lucky Dornan picked a place with an

airstrip. Our landing is bumpy, and it’s a
miracle the pilot doesn’t overshoot the
runway and send us into the desert sand
beyond.

An omen of what’s in store for us,

perhaps? I don’t want to think about it.

Outside, it’s hot as hell. Literally.

The sun is beating down on us, and I’m
so relieved I decided to change into
jeans and a t-shirt. In that purple dress I
would’ve been burned to a crisp in ten
minutes. At least in my white tee and

jeans I’ve got a little protection from the
sun.

And somewhere to shove my gun.
We assemble on the ground beside

the plane, each holding a water bottle.
Elliot dumps Donny in the sand and
pours a bottle of water over his head,
but the fucker doesn’t even stir.

“That way,” Luis says, but Tommy

shakes his head. “This is where we split
up, kids. We’ve got each other’s cell
numbers, if they work at all. Keep the
sound off and check your messages.”

“And then what?” I ask dumbly. “You

can’t tell me the DEA has sent exactly
two agents to take Dornan down.”

Tommy flashes a smile. “Our people

are all over this place,” he says. “Hell,

half of the team’s probably already
down in the bunker, waiting for my
okay.”

“Oh,” I reply. “Right.” I sound like a

fucking moron.

“We’ll get those girls out, man,”

Tommy says to Elliot. “It’s the top
priority. The team knows, and they’ll
extract them if they reach them before
you do.”

Elliot nods. “Thanks, man.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Tommy says.

“Thank me when everyone makes it out
of this alive.”

He gives me a pointed look. Maybe

he can tell I’ve got death on speed dial, I
don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s deeply
unsettling.

Dornan is here. I’m going to see

Dornan Ross. And one of us is going to
die.

I want to throw up.
“Wait,” Luis says, taking the green-

topped syringe from his pocket and
uncapping it. He stabs it right into
Donny’s forearm, and the effect is
almost instantaneous. Donny roars to
life, kicking and punching at the air as he
gasps for air.

“How’s your ass, bro?” Jase asks, his

gun aimed at Donny. Donny growls at
him as he makes his way to his feet,
apparently unable to speak with real
words.

“Watch him,” Luis murmurs to me,

tossing the syringe on the ground. “If he

gets too much, give him some more of
this stuff.” He hands me another, much
smaller red-capped syringe. Red means
stop. I smile tightly, pocketing the meds.

We all do a final check before we

split up. Luis and Agent Dunn head off in
one direction, Tommy and his partner in
the other. Which leaves Jase, Elliot and I
to lead crazy, amped-up Donny to the
original

GPS

coordinates,

straight

through the middle of the valley.

We walk for maybe an hour, the

midday sun pounding mercilessly as we
trek across hot sand and hard clay. A
few times, Donny starts running flat out,
the drugs in his system no doubt making
him feel like he’s having a heart attack
and needs to burn off some of the

anxious energy. Both times, Elliot and
Jase drag him down and knock him
around a bit until he settles.

Homeboy Donny is like a wild

fucking bull. I think getting nailed in the
ass has reduced him to some kind of
animal state, because he’s looking
seriously like a rabid dog you’d shoot to
stop it from attacking you.

He looks … terrifying.
Eventually, just when I think I’m

going to drown in my own sweat, we
halt, Jase’s cell (well, Agent Dunn’s
cell) telling us we’re at the spot Dornan
fed to Elliot over the phone earlier.

“What the fuck is this?” Elliot says,

scanning the empty, flat sand that
surrounds us. “There’s nothing here.”

Then the ground begins to vibrate

beneath us.

I jump as the ground below us starts

to open up. We all back up until we’re
on unmoving soil, watching as a ramp
appears that leads underground. It
eventually stops, leaving a space big
enough for a large SUV to fit through. I
can’t see anything downstairs, and I look
around nervously, brushing my palms on
my jeans as I suddenly feel very
claustrophobic.

This is the moment. This is it.
Five down. Well, six, if you count

Emilio.

Two.To.Go.
Elliot leads the way, Donny behind

him. His hands are tied behind him

again, since he carried on so many times
during the walk from the airstrip. I mean,
the guy’s missing most of one kneecap
— he should NOT be able to run. Which
makes me wonder what the hell is in the
drug Luis pumped him with. I take the
small red-capped needle from my pocket
and grip it in my fingers, ready to
deliver it if Donny starts getting out of
hand and needs to be sedated again. In
my other hand my gun is clenched tightly
as I follow Elliot, Donny and Jase down
into the seeming nothingness.

At that moment, as we’re descending

into pitch blackness, the ramp starts to
oscillate upwards again. Shit! We’ve got
to get in there before it closes, and
we’re still only halfway down this ramp.

Jase kicks Donny forcefully, so he falls
to his knees and then onto his stomach,
rolling with force into the blackness.
The three of us follow him as he
tumbles, running down the ramp and
scooting through before the gap closes
and it becomes level with the earth
again.

I land awkwardly, taking my finger

off the trigger of my gun so I don’t
accidentally shoot myself or one of the
guys in the dark. I land hard, on my
knees, and it hurts like a bastard.
There’s a large screeching sound as the
ramp folds back completely, leaving us
trapped down here until we find another
way out.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I

can make out some shapes. There are
several cars parked down here, in what
looks like a large, circular space with a
dirt floor and no windows. The scant
light comes from a couple of weak LED
lamps that flank the doorway to several
passages.

Great. How the hell are we going to

figure out which one to take?

Just then, Elliot’s cell phone vibrates.

It’s so quiet in here, I jump at the sudden
noise.

Elliot gives me a look before reading

the message that lights up his screen.
North passage, Amy and Kayla spotted
from aircon vent. No Dornan.

“We should go together,” Jase says.
Elliot looks at both of us like we’re

mad. “You guys need to stay here, cover
me. I’m gonna need help getting them up
to the surface.”

Jase looks reluctant to let him go off

by himself. “You call us if anything
happens,” he says, pointing at Elliot with
urgency.

“Yeah, man,” he says, “same with

you.” He looks at me. “Don’t do
anything stupid,” he says to me finally.

I just nod, so scared I can’t speak.
I can’t help but think that this could

be goodbye. And I don’t want it to be —
but what the hell am I supposed to say
right now?

I open my mouth, and Elliot just

shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says. “I
know you, sweetheart, and I know what

you’re about to say. I will be back.”

He turns and takes three steps before

stopping. I glance at Jase, who shrugs,
taking a step back and motioning to
Donny with his gun.

“Wait,” I whisper, following Elliot.

He turns as I’m upon him, wrapping his
arms around me so tight I can’t breathe.

I don’t care. I’m crying, and he’s

squeezing me, and I don’t want him to
go.

He pulls away, cupping my face in

his hands. “You be safe, okay?” he says,
his voice wavering. “You let him protect
you. You let him take a bullet for you.
He can handle it.”

I smile sadly underneath my tears, my

fingers grasped tightly around Elliot’s

wrists.

“Julz,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“My arms.”
“Oh,” I say, releasing my grip. I step

back.

“You be safe,” I whisper. “Don’t you

take a bullet for anyone, you hear me?”

He nods reluctantly, then turns and

jogs down the middle passageway,
fading into a blur and then disappearing
altogether.

And then there were three. I turn back

to Jase, still reeling from the exchange
from Elliot. Donny suddenly dives
between us, scrambling towards the
mine shaft that goes to the right of the
passage Elliot just took. “Hey!” Jase

yells, firing at his moving form. He
doesn’t seem to hit anything, though, and
before I can even raise my gun level and
aim, Donny’s gone.

“Fuck!” Jase yells, running after him.

I follow, or at least I start to follow.

Something hot smacks at my neck,

something angry that makes a snapping,
buzzing sound. A Taser. I’m thrown
forwards, onto my hands and knees, my
gun bouncing from my paralyzed grip
and skidding away. As I fall, the Taser
loses contact with my skin, a small
mercy among a clusterfuck of events.
How did this happen? How stupid are
we? In less than five minutes we’ve split
up and are now divided.

After a few agonizing seconds where

I can’t move, my jello-limbs start to
come back to life. My entire body
buzzing, I manage to push myself from
my hands and knees back to my feet,
trembling as I turn to face my attacker.

I’m expecting Dornan, but there’s no

Dornan.

It’s ... a woman? About my height,

maybe a bit shorter. Pretty face, wild
blonde curls, crazy eyes.

Ohhhhh. Yes. Of course.
It’s Chad’s wife.
I never did catch her name.
She smiles at me. “Hello, cunt,” she

says, lunging for me. I roll my eyes,
putting my palms up and bracing for her
attack. She’s strong for her size, but she
packs all her energy into charging me,

and all I have to do is sidestep her and
she goes flying. I turn with her, letting
her go before her momentum can carry
me with her. I smirk as I watch her
smash down into a pile of empty pallets
on her hands and knees.

“You people really don’t have any

other words, do you?” I tease her,
emboldened by the fact that I’m not
being pummeled to death by Dornan
himself. I resume my defensive stance as
she charges me again. This time, she’s
holding a broken piece of the wood up
like a stake.

“You’re the cunt who killed my

husband,” she spits, stabbing the jagged
piece of wood at me. I back up, barely
deflecting her erratic slashes and jabs.

There’s something to say about fighting
crazy people, and this bitch might just be
crazier than me. She continues to strike
blindly, and finally I decide I need to
stop her before she actually injures me.

“Use your words, blondie,” I say,

smashing the heel of my palm into her
nose. Blood explodes from her face as
she staggers backwards, and I’m
impressed that she manages to keep her
balance. Still, she’s the one backing
away from me now. I don’t let her get
too far, matching her step for step as I
back her into a corner.

“Bitch,” I say, throwing a left hook

that connects with her cheek, sending her
reeling to the side. “Slut,” I grab a fistful
of her ridiculously beautiful curls and

pull, lifting my knee up and guiding her
face into it with a loud crack. That’ll be
sore tomorrow, assuming I’m not laid
out cold on a morgue gurney tomorrow.
“See? All words you can use to describe
me. Get creative!” I lash out with my
foot, my boot connecting with her shin,
sending her to her knees again.

“Oh, come on,” I pant, “we haven’t

even made it to the good words yet!”

She’s doubled over, clutching her

stomach and wheezing. She tilts her head
up, staring at me through all the blood on
her pretty face. “I loved him,” she sobs.
“He was a good man!”

I’m baffled. She thinks Chad was a

good man? Jesus, she’s got more issues
than just a lack of brainpower. She’s

insane. I decide to go on the offensive
while she’s down, lunging for her and
getting her in a headlock with my right
arm.

“Your husband was a no-good

fucking rapist,” I grind out, my lips
brushing against her ear as I tighten my
lock around her neck. “Your children are
better off with him dead.”

“Fuck you!” she screams against my

arm.

“Where’s

Dornan?”

I

demand,

throttling her a little.

“He’s gonna kill you, you murdering

bitch!”

“Well, all right then,” I mutter, rolling

my eyes. I squeeze as hard as I can
without crushing her windpipe, counting

in my head. She stops struggling at ten,
and by fifteen she’s slumped forward in
my arms.

I’m about to let her go when

something punches dully into the side of
me, knocking the wind out of me. I fall
forward, suddenly unable to react,
crashing into blondie as her face hits the
floor with a sharp thwack. I roll off her
and onto my back, gasping as my hands
reach for the source of the pain that’s
radiating from my side.

My hands come away wet. Fuck. I

know what that means. I raise one palm
to the light. It’s red.

But that’s not the worst thing. No, the

worst thing is Donny, standing over me
with a large butcher’s knife in his hand.

He’s sporting a maniacal grin, his eyes
gleaming as the uppers no doubt
supercharge his system.

“You missed a few words,” he says,

cackling.

Oh God. If Donny’s back here,

where’s Jase?

“Do enlighten me,” I croak, clutching

my side as I attempt to roll onto my side
and up. I fail miserably in my attempt,
the movement just making the red-hot
poker in my side even more intense. I
gasp for air as I hold myself, making a
pathetic attempt to drag myself away
from him. It’s too hard, and finally I just
lay back down. I don’t want Donny to
stab me to death while I’m trying to get
to my feet.

Still holding the knife, he starts

undoing his pants.

“Whore,” he says, tilting his head to

the side as he sizes me up greedily. He
pulls his zip down, exposing his bush
and the top of his dick. Guess Luis forgot
to give him his briefs back after he got
fucked.

Go on, I think, lay on me. Try and

fuck me, you useless piece of shit. I’ll
take that knife and jam it so far into your
neck —

I’m still mentally planning my next

defense against Donny when suddenly,
Donny’s not there. He’s been crash-
tackled to the ground, somebody
straddling his chest.

Jase. My relief is almost palpable,

it’s so sudden and so expansive.

“Put it down, little bro,” Donny

laughs. “You don’t have the balls to
plant that knife in me.”

“You know all those times you told

me I wasn’t your real brother?” Jase
asks, knife poised in the air. I watch on
in fascination as Donny laughs. “Sure.”

Jase smiles triumphantly. “I never

thanked you for that,” he says, bringing
down the blade into Donny’s shoulder.

Donny screams. Jase yanks the knife

out with a meaty slurp, before plunging it
into his other shoulder.

I can’t watch, but I can’t look away.

Again, the knife is wrenched from
Donny’s body with a sickening noise.
This time, though, Jase lowers the knife

agonizingly close to Donny’s eye.
Donny’s entire body is shaking, and I
smile as I realize he can’t move his
arms. Whatever Jase did to his shoulders
must have severed the tendons that made
his arms work.

Sucked in, asshole.
At first, I don’t think he’s going to do

it. Jase hovers the knife right above
Donny’s pupil, breathing heavily.

“Please, don’t,” Donny pleads.
Jase laughs bitterly. “Remember

when she begged?” he spits. “Did you
stop?”

He presses the tip of the blade into

Donny’s eye.

Donny screams.
Still clutching my stab wound, I

manage to haul myself up to a half-sitting
position, my knees drawn up in front of
me and my back up against the wall. My
hands are covered in my own blood, and
I’m staring down at it in wonder when
something wet hits my cheek.

Alarmed, I snap my gaze back to

what’s unfolding in front of me.

Jase is raining down on Donny, one

stab after another. Most of the stabs are
concentrated on Donny’s chest and neck,
and at least one must have hit an artery,
because Donny’s a gusher. Blood sprays
in a rough circular pattern around Donny
and Jase, coating me in a fine sheen of
red mist. I’m transfixed, unmoving, as I
watch the knife in Jase’s hand rise and
fall, rise and fall, a frenzy of well-aimed

downward strikes into his brother’s
ruined flesh.

“Jase,” I choke.
He doesn’t hear me. He’s stabbing so

fast I can’t even see the action clearly
anymore — hatred and suffering
channeled into retribution at the end of a
sharp blade.

“Jason,” I say, louder this time. He

seems to hear me this time, stopping
mid-stab. Donny’s a mess. Jase has done
an impressive hack-job on him, so that
he’s unrecognizable. Jase’s eyes meet
with mine before he drops them to where
I’m holding my side.

“Julz,” he breathes, dropping the

knife with a clattering sound and
crawling over his brother’s mutilated

body to me. He studies my face for a
moment before placing a hand ever so
gently on mine.

“I need to look,” he murmurs.

Reluctantly, I pull my hand from my
stomach, where it’s stuck to my skin
with drying blood. He peers down at my
wound. “We’ll find you a doctor as
soon as we’re out of here,” he says
gently.

“I’m fine,” I protest. “It hurts, but it’s

not going to kill me. Here, help me up.”

He doesn’t help me up. He leans in

and presses his mouth to mine, a feverish
action that I can’t help but return. He
kisses me, even though we’re both
covered in Donny’s blood, and I kiss
him back. It’s not pretty, and it’s not

nice, but that’s okay. Because, in our
world, it takes the taste of death in your
mouth, bloody and warm, to truly
understand what it means to be alive.

We creep along the hallway Elliot

took, heading further into the rabbit
warren. I’ve completely lost track of
time or how we got into this passage,
and if I do survive the night, I’ll
probably be living the rest of my life
wandering these halls, trying to find an
escape vent to the surface. For now, I’m
just focused on the task at hand, the one
that I know isn’t over. Elliot. Kayla.
Amy. I’m not leaving this place until all
three of them are safe. After the attack by
crazy bitch and Donny, Jase and I are

extra keen to regroup with Elliot.
Strength in numbers, and all that.

I really hope Dornan doesn’t ask to

see Donny. Stupid, dead Donny, hacked
and slashed, the only thing he’d be useful
for at this point perhaps being wrapped
into dog food packaging.

On the bright side, I found my gun.
I’m slowing Jase down considerably,

not least because I refuse to let him carry
me. It’s not a pride thing. It’s because
he’s already tried to pick me up a few
times, and no matter which way we try
it, the pressure on my stab wound is
almost unbearable. I’d much rather
stumble along beside him, using the wall
as a support on my other side.

There’s a popping noise up ahead,

and Jase grabs my arm, stopping me in
my tracks. “Stay here,” he hisses,
holding his gun out in front of him. I
raise my own gun, nodding as he
advances down the hallway and around
a corner. I’ll stay here. He’s not very far
away, maybe a few steps, and I can still
make out his shadow as he positions
himself around the corner, probably to
get a better view.

But then I hear it.
I hear crying.
A little girl is crying.
“Jase!” I whisper.
I have to find her, before Dornan

hurts her. Maybe he already has.

“Jase!” I repeat urgently. I can’t make

out his shadow anymore, and my heart

leaps into my throat.

What do I do? Stay here, listen to the

increasingly loud wailing of a child who
needs to be saved? Or go, towards her
voice, with my gun and my bullets and
hope to hell I can get her out of here?

God, I really wish Jase was here.

Still clinging to the sound of the little
girl’s crying, I creep up the hall in the
direction Jase went. I round the corner.

He’s not there.
Fuck!
I make a split-second decision. Jase

has disappeared. I can hear the little
girl’s crying get more panicked.

I choose the intersecting hallway, the

one we haven’t ventured down yet.

I hope like hell I’m not making the

wrong decision, but Jase is gone, and
what other choice do I have?

I use the wall for support, clinging to

it with one hand; my other hand is
holding my gun, my wrist pressed tight to
my bleeding stab wound. Fucking
Donny. I’m glad he’s dead, and I’m even
happier that Jase killed him. It was about
his turn for some bloody retribution.

The girl’s voice gets clearer. She’s

not just crying. She’s saying something.

She’s saying, “Daddy.”
Oh my God. Elliot.
I walk faster, limping along the wall.

Several times I have to stop and wipe
my blood from my hand and the gun, it
gets so slippery in my grasp. I really
wish I had five minutes to bandage

myself up right now, but that’s a luxury
for afterwards.

For now, I’ll just hope that I don’t

pass out before I have a chance to finish
this. Donny’s dead, Blondie’s out for the
count, and if I can just get to Dornan, I’ll
have my chance at taking him out.

I can’t say I’m not terrified. But I’ve

been waiting for my chance at destroying
him for over six years, and that moment
just arrived with a bang.

I clutch my stab wound as I make my

way down the hall, stopping several
times when the pain threatens to turn the
lights out on me and send me into
unconsciousness. I cling to the damp
wall with torn fingernails, trying
desperately to stem the steady flow of

blood with my other hand.

A sob dies in my throat when I

glimpse her through an open door.
Elliot’s little girl. She’s only three, and
she’s covered in blood as she stands in
the middle of an empty room, sobbing.

I inch cautiously into the room; the

first thing greeting me as I step inside is
Elliot’s unconscious form, slumped on
the ground.

Shit!
And beside him, Kayla’s sobbing her

little heart out. She’s such a beautiful
child; her dark blonde ringlets are more
knotted than the last time I saw her, and
her

pink

capped-sleeve

dress

is

spattered with what I assume is her
daddy’s blood. I’m reaching for her

when suddenly, I’m stopped cold by the
click of a gun’s hammer being cocked.

I raise my eyes slowly, unwilling to

back away from Elliot and his daughter,
but also powerless to go any closer
without scoping out the threat.

And threat he is, standing at the far

end of the room, his white shirt torn in
places and untucked over black pants.
He’s wearing a suit and tie to his death.

Or to mine.
“I knew you’d come,” Dornan taunts,

a little behind Kayla and to the right, his
gun firmly pressed to Amy’s head. No
wonder I didn’t hear Amy’s cries —
she’s gagged with enough duct tape to
wrap about fifty Christmas presents. Her
hands are taped behind her, and she’s

freaking out, her eyes bulging with the
exertion of hyperventilating through her
blood-caked nose. She’s breathing
rapidly, shallow little pants, her
sleeveless top damp in a V at the middle
with her own nervous sweat, her denim
skirt covered in dirt and blood.

And Elliot. Jesus fucking Christ. We

got so close, and now he’s on the floor
in front of me, unmoving, a puddle of his
blood slowly moving across the
concrete floor.

No. He can’t be dead. If he’s dead,

I’m going to shoot myself after I’m done
with Dornan.

“You didn’t give me much choice,” I

say finally, shifting my attention from
Elliot.

“My daddy won’t wake up,” Kayla

sobs, looking up at me. My heart breaks
into a million fucking pieces as I
swallow a scream rising in my own
throat. I can’t lose it, not now.

I need to get these girls out of here.
“Gun,” Dornan says. “Drop it, and

I’ll let these girls go.”

I clench my jaw, tasting blood in my

mouth. “I don’t believe you.”

He shakes Amy forcefully. “Gun.

Now. Or I blow her fuckin’ brains out.”

With great reluctance, I toss my gun.

It lands at Dornan’s feet with a loud
clatter.

Jase, where are you, where the fuck

are you?

Much to my disbelief, Dornan pulls a

switchblade from his jeans with his free
hand and cuts through Amy’s wrist tape.
She pulls the rest of the tape from her
wrists and then her mouth, rushing down
to Kayla and scooping her up. She
stands, looking to Dornan for further
instruction. I get that. I wouldn’t be able
to turn my back and run from a man like
Dornan if he had a gun in his hand.

Especially if I was carrying my child

in my arms.

“Take her,” Dornan says, stepping

over Elliot and pressing his gun to my
head. I sway on my feet a little, but
Dornan wraps an arm around my waist,
pulling me into him so my face is
pressed into his shoulder, holding me
strong. A wave of revulsion passes over

me

at

his

possessive

embrace,

especially when he grins down at me.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he

murmurs, his voice rough and ominous,
and in his eyes I see my own death.

I crane my head to the side, not daring

to struggle until these girls are far away
from this room, and see Amy looking
down at Elliot on the ground.

“Not him,” Dornan snaps, motioning

her out. “Go now, before I change my
mind.”

She grips Kayla tighter and runs. I

hear her footsteps pounding the concrete
floor as she runs away to safety.

I breathe a sigh of relief for her as I

look down at Elliot.

“Let him go,” I say, even though he’s

out of it and couldn’t leave the room
himself. “He’s not part of this.”

“He helped you kill my sons,”

Dornan grinds out, digging his gun into
my throat. “He stays.”

“You said you’d let him go!” I cry.

“You lied!”

He looks furious. “I didn’t fuckin’ lie.

I said two for two. Where the fuck is
Donny?”

He throws me and I fall to my knees,

the concrete hard and unforgiving under
my broken body. I yelp as I roll onto my
side, my knife wound smacking against
the floor. Pain ricochets through my
body and I swear I can feel the blood
pumping faster from my stomach at the
sudden exertion.

“Don’t fucking touch her, old man,”

Jase says as he enters the room,
brandishing the knife he used to kill
Donny, his face covered in his dead
brother’s blood.

Dornan’s eyes go wide for a moment

as he takes in his son. He looks from me
to Jase, his mouth twisted into a frown.

“You got a gun, son?” he taunts, his

voice smoke and gravel. “Cause I do,
and it’s full of fucking bullets. You think
you can cut me with that knife quicker
than I can fill this bitch full of lead?”

Jase takes another step towards us.

“Let her go, Dornan. You don’t want to
hurt her.”

Dornan chuckles. “Oh, I want to hurt

her. I wanna hear her scream as I’m

fucking killing her, piece by piece.”

Lovely.
“Dad,” Jase says, and the word

sounds so unnatural coming from him.

Dornan takes the gun from my throat

and aims it at Jase. “Don’t you ever
fucking call me that. You don’t get to
call me that.”

Jase drops the knife to his side. “All

these years you tried to get me to be your
son, and now you don’t want me to call
you dad? Seems pretty ironic, don’t you
think?”

Dornan grimaces. “Where’s your

brother?” he says. And in his eyes, he
already knows.

Jase smiles darkly, pulling something

from his pocket, the knife still loose at

his other side. He tosses something
small at Dornan’s feet, where it rolls
before coming to a stop next to Dornan’s
shiny black shoe.

It’s Donny’s eye.
His bloody fucking eyeball.
Dornan baulks, making a choking

sound as he looks from the eyeball at his
feet back to Jase.

“Didn’t you hear him screaming,

dad?” Jase riles him. “Didn’t you hear
him beg?”

“You motherfucker,” Dornan spits,

shaking the gun at him. “I’m gonna
fucking kill you, you little bastard.”

Oh God, Oh God. He can’t shoot

Jase. He won’t shoot Jase, will he?
“I’m your only living son,” Jase says, his

words mirroring my panicked thoughts.
“You won’t shoot me, will you Pop?”

He steps closer again, his grip

tightening around the knife.

Dornan shoots him.
I scream at the same time Jase’s chest

explodes in a burst of red.

Jase flies backwards, crashing to the

ground. He isn’t moving. His eyes are
closed. There’s so much blood.

I drop to my knees, instinctively

crawling towards him.

“No,” I whimper, “no no no!”
A hand fists in my hair and yanks me

backwards, making me scream again.

“Get up,” Dornan grates, his voice

low and barely controlled. “I’m not
finished with you yet.”

Jase. Elliot. They’re both on the

ground, neither of them are moving, and
this is the worst possible way this could
have gone down.

They’re going to die. I’m going to

die.

It’s all been for nothing.
I stagger to my feet, my side hurting

so, so badly. Without thinking, I put my
hand over my stab wound, trying to stem
the flow of bleeding

Big mistake.
Dornan’s dark eyes light up as he

takes hold of my wrists and slams me
against the wall. I see stars as the back
of my head cracks against hard concrete,
pinned as I continue to bleed.

“What’s this, then?” he asks, his

voice almost gentle as he takes both
wrists in one hand and uses the other to
lift the hem of my t-shirt, exposing the
inch-long wound in my side. Another
scar to add to the collection. He
caresses the spot where my blood is still
steadily leaking out, and then he takes
two fingers and pushes them inside the
hole the knife left behind.

I scream, sagging to the side as I retch

violently. He lets go of me and I slide
down the wall, meeting the ground with
a thud.

I’m getting back to a sitting position

when he stands above me, one foot on
either side of me. Beyond, I can see
Elliot, who hasn’t moved a muscle. He’s
out for the count. He’s bleeding.

He’s dying.
Jase, too, a few feet to Elliot’s left.
I have to do something, or both of

them are going to die. We are all going
to die.

And if we all die and Dornan lives,

everyone else we love is going to suffer.

I spot my gun a few feet away and

look back to Dornan. He smiles at me,
baring his teeth like he’s going to rip
into me with them, tear my flesh from my
bones and devour me alive. He holds my
gaze as he takes the blood-soaked
fingers he just had inside my stab wound
and puts them in his mouth, sucking them
slowly.

“Your blood’s even better than your

fuckin’ tears, baby girl,” he grins,

watching me with interest as I back
away on my hands and heels. It hurts so
much I want to scream, but I force
myself back, my hand itching it’s so
close to the gun I earlier tossed at
Dornan’s feet.

“You want a taste,” he says, getting

down on his knees so he’s straddling my
hips. He takes his licked-clean fingers
and pushes them back into my wound a
second time. I groan loudly, every nerve
in my body screaming at the sudden
invasion. He digs around more this time,
getting his fingers as deep as he can
before withdrawing them.

He reaches up to my face with his

clean hand, squeezing my jaw hard so I
open my mouth. He slides his fingers,

soaked with my blood, into my mouth as
far as they’ll go. I choke as my own
blood drips down the back of my throat,
and that makes him laugh.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“Should we taste his blood next?” He’s
talking about Elliot. “You can get on
your knees and lick it up off the fuckin’
floor.”

He’s distracted by the thought of me

lapping Elliot’s blood up off the dirty
floor? Whatever. He’s distracted , and
that makes him loosen his grip that’s
forcing my jaw open. I bite down on his
fingers as hard as I possibly can, my
stomach lurching as blood gushes down
my throat and I feel hard bone between
my teeth.

Dornan roars, pulling his fingers from

my mouth as he uses his other hand to
smack me a backhander that almost
knocks me out. I fly to the side, landing
heavily. Thank you. He dives for me,
grabbing hold of my ankle as I close my
fingers around my gun and spin to face
him.

He crash-tackles me at the same time

that I blindly pull the trigger, aware only
that the gun is pointed in his general
direction but nothing more. The gun
kicks back in my hands, Dornan jerks
back slightly, but gravity ensures that his
tackle is completed. His full weight
smashes into me, knocking the gun from
my hands and me flat on my back, with
his weight suffocating me.

He groans. “You shot me. You

fuckin’ shot me, you stupid bitch.”

He’s bleeding. I try to shove him off

me, but he head-butts me, driving his
forehead into my mouth. I see stars, my
jaw aching and my teeth loose as Dornan
rolls to the side, black-red blood
blossoming from a hole in his shirt just
below his ribs.

It’s like a target. I ball my hand up

into a fist and smash it into where I’ve
shot him, as hard as I possibly can. He
lets out a guttural howl, snaking his
fingers into my hair and yanking my head
up before slamming it back down into
the ground.

“You.Fucking.Cunt.,”

he

growls,

slamming my head into the ground with

each word.

If he keeps smashing my head into the

ground I’m going to pass out, and if I
pass out, I’m going to die.

And I refuse to die.
I reach for Dornan’s bullet wound

and punch my fist into it again. He
howls, rolling away, and I take that split
second to roll the opposite way, getting
to my knees and crawling away towards
Elliot. The room spins around me as I
reach up to the back of my head and find
fresh blood seeping from my scalp.

As I’m reaching Elliot I hear the slow

click of a gun being cocked and I turn my
attention back to Dornan. He’s in
terrible shape. His face is pale and he,
too, looks like he’s had the life sucked

out of him. He looks as bad as I feel:
bleeding, broken, ready to pass out. It’s
only now that I realize he’s limping,
dragging his left leg. I look closer,
seeing the wet patch above his knee,
almost impossible to see on the black
fabric of his pants.

I smile. “He shot you, didn’t he?” I

say.

Dornan grimaces, turning his head to

the side as he aims at me.

“Don’t move, bitch,” he says.
I force myself to breathe, tiny,

shallow breaths, as I drag myself closer
to Elliot. With one hand over my
stomach I manage to get to a kneeling
position next to him.

“You won’t shoot me,” I say, rolling

Elliot over with great difficulty. Oh,
Jesus. He’s been shot in the chest. It
looks bad. Really bad. His blood is
everywhere, making my knees slip as I
try to wriggle closer.

“Yes, I fucking will,” he says,

shaking the gun.

“You won’t,” I say, looking down at

Elliot’s pale face. “You’re not finished
with me yet, are you, Dornan? You’re
not going to shoot me.”

He makes a choking noise, blood

appearing at his lip. I look at him,
fascinated. The bullet I fired must have
hit his lung if he’s coughing up blood
right now.

“Are you sorry?” I ask suddenly. I’m

so close to passing out. So close. The

room spins for a second. I don’t have
long. Jase and Elliot have even less
time, if they’re even still alive.

They have to be alive.
“Sorry for what?” Dornan asks,

coughing as he spits more blood on the
floor beside him. His shirt is a mess.
He’s bleeding, and he’s bleeding good.

I level my eyes at him and really look

at him. Just me and him. Juliette Portland
and Dornan Ross, in one spectacular
face-off. Only one of us is going to leave
this room alive, I know this now, and I
hope to fuck that it’s going to be me that
leaves without the aid of a body bag.

“Are you sorry for killing my father?”

I ask him. I want to know. I need to
know.

He sneers. “You think you can trust

the man you grew up with. The man who
you would bet everything on. Your best
friend in the goddamn world. And then
he goes and fucks you over. Steals your
woman. Steals your money. Steals your
son.” His hand shakes as he holds his
chest, and he makes a choking noise
deep in his throat as he glances at Jase.
Blood. Dornan’s drowning slowly in his
own blood, judging by the way he’s
coughing it up and the neat bullet hole in
his shirt that’s now soaking red.

I might not even have to kill him. He

might just lie down and die.

But I know Dornan Ross. He is not a

man who would ever just lie down and
die.

A sob rises in my throat, and I feel

tears in my eyes. I have to know. If he
regrets it.

“How many hours do you think it

took?” I ask, tears blurring my vision
until I blink them away. “Five? Eight?
How many hours did you make them
rape me, over and over and over?”

“The tape cuts off at three hours,” he

rasps.

“How do you know?” I whisper.

“Been watching it lately?”

He flinches. “Maybe.”
“You killed your own grandchild,

Dornan,” I say sadly. “Are you sorry for
that?”

He doesn’t answer, his nostrils

flaring as he breathes heavily.

“Are you sorry,” I whisper, “for what

you did to me?”

They say a man is never more honest

than in his hour of death, and now I see
that this is true. Dornan’s eyes are red
and glassy, and suddenly, he doesn’t
look like the evil psychopath who killed
my father and destroyed my life. The
monster who inexplicably caused me to
lose my daughter before she’d even
taken her first breath. No, for a split
second in time, this creature in front of
me is a broken man, a dying man, a man
who is burdened down with the weight
of his own terrible existence.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I am.”
That acknowledgement, that regret, is

something I thought I would never hear. I

thought hearing it would make me feel
like a weight was lifted from my
shoulder somehow. Like a vindication.

You were innocent, and I was wrong.

But it doesn’t make me feel any better. It
just makes me feel so fucking sad that
any of this ever happened.

“Then why?” I whisper. “Why did

you do that?”

He’s struggling now. I can almost see

the life leaving him, the way his skin has
turned the color of ash, gray and sickly.

He coughs again, more blood spat on

the floor beside him. I watch him in
horror as I realize that this might be it.
We could both die here, on the dirty
ground, and it will all have been for
nothing. What is the use in him dying if I

don’t get to live to see a life without the
ever-present reality of Dornan Ross
forever lurking in the shadows?

“Dornan,” I say, and he looks at me.

Really looks at me.

“You were his entire universe,”

Dornan says, his words rattling in my
chest. “You were everything to him. And
Mariana, she was everything to me. She
was the one thing in this world that I
knew I could count on, and it was all a
lie.” He laughs bitterly, maybe at the
irony, shaking his head. “He took the one
single thing in this world that I cared
about, and he destroyed it.”

“And so you destroyed me,” I

murmur.

He coughs forcefully, a gurgling

sound in his chest. As he leans over to
spit up fresh blood, I make my move,
sliding my hand in front of where
Elliot’s face lies, wrapping my hand
around the butt of his gun. Jesus, I hope
you still have bullets in this, I think to
myself.

“How does it feel to die?” I ask him.

I want to know that he suffers. I want to
know that he is afraid of death. “To
know that nobody will mourn you.
Nobody will miss you. There will only
be relief when you are gone.”

He chuckles, the act sending him into

a coughing fit that sprays more blood
from his mouth and onto his already
blood-soaked shirt. “This?” he says.
“This isn’t death. This is a paper cut,

baby girl.” But his words are hollow,
and I can tell he doesn’t mean them.
False bravado. I think he knows he’s
going to die.

We look at each other for a very long

time, my hands clasped around the butt
of Elliot’s gun. Finally. I pull it out
without breaking our stare-off, aiming it
at Dornan’s face with one hand while I
desperately try to stem the flow of blood
from my stomach with the other.

“I loved you once,” I say softly. “You

were like a father to me. I would have
done anything for you.”

He coughs again. “Ditto, baby girl.”
I’m crying. Why am I crying? Why do

I care?

“You killed my daughter,” I say, my

voice wavering.

He gnashes his teeth, his dark eyes

blazing.

“You.Killed.My.Sons.,”

he

grinds out.

“They deserved it,” I whisper. “How

does it feel, knowing they died because
of something you made them do to me?”

He doesn’t respond. Perhaps he’s

never thought of it like that before.
Either way, it’s time.

“You’re going to die now, Dornan.”
I’m stalling. Why am I stalling? The

feeling of Elliot’s blood on my fingers,
thick and syrupy, jolts me back to the
present.

“We all die,” Dornan says, speaking

with difficulty.

I see movement in the corner of my

eye and follow it. My heart sinks as I see
Tommy standing in the doorway, his gun
drawn, wearing a DEA bulletproof vest.
He looks at the gun in my hand, and
follows its aim to Dornan, who can
barely hold his gun, he’s so completely
fucked.

Dornan smirks, coughing. “Well, look

what the fuckin’ cat dragged in. My rat.”

Tommy looks from Dornan to me.

He’s going to jail for the rest of his
life, I hear in my head, and I beg Tommy
silently. Just go, just go.

He stares at me for a long moment,

something passing between us. “You got
about fifteen seconds. Make it count,” he
hisses under his breath.

“Clear!” he yells, closing the door

and leaving us to finish what we started.
Thank Christ for small favors. He’ll
probably lose his job for that stunt, but I
can’t worry about that now. I’ve got a
mission to complete.

I know I’m almost out of time at this

point, that Tommy or other agents could
reappear at any time and save Dornan’s
sorry ass, but I can’t shoot him yet. I’m
not

finished.

I

lower

the

gun

momentarily. “You killed Dad because
Mariana fell in love with him. Weren’t
you the one who told me when I was a
little girl, if you love something, set it
free? You didn’t have to do that to me.
You didn’t have to kill them. You
could’ve been a good man, Dornan, if
you’d just let them leave.”

Something flashes in his eyes, and he

leans forward, opening his mouth as if
he’s about to say something.

I don’t give him the chance. I pull the

trigger, the gun blast deafening, the kick
reverberating painfully up my arm. I
might be bleeding and on the verge of
passing out, but my aim is true — right
between the eyes. Dornan slumps back
against the wall, blood streaming from
his forehead just above his nose. He
slowly sags to the side, until he’s lying
on the floor, his dark brown eyes still
frozen open.

I can’t move for a second, still

looking at his eyes. I wish he’d closed
them. I wonder if he’s still dying in
there, if he can still see me for a few

seconds as his heart and brain fade away
to nothing.

I don’t want to take any chances. I

aim again, at his chest this time, and fire
off four more rounds, pulling the trigger
until I’ve emptied the clip into him.

Six and a half years after he betrayed

me so viciously, we’ve come full circle.

Dornan Ross is dead.
But I don’t feel relieved, or happy.
I feel … nothing.

“Elliot,” I whisper.
He’s cold to the touch, and so pale he

looks like a translucent version of
himself,

superimposed

over

a

background of bright red blood and a
dead man who caused us all of this in the
first place.

I can’t lose him. I can’t lose Elliot,

not after we’ve finally destroyed Dornan
and the last of his deadly legacy.

“Elliot,” I say softly, tears pricking at

my eyes. One hand on my stab wound, I
use the other to shake him. He won’t
respond. I crawl over to Jase, horrified

when I see the way he’s bleeding from
his chest. I need to stop the bleeding. I
take my CIA jacket off, wincing at the
shooting pain in my side that results from
my movement, and press it to Jase’s
chest, both hands weighing down on the
place where Dornan’s bullet ripped into
him. He’s so pale, and I don’t think he’s
breathing.

“Jase!” I scream.
The door bursts open, DEA agents

and a pair of paramedics with a stretcher
streaming in. Tommy’s looking sheepish
as some guy in a suit, I presume his boss,
glares at him. “I thought you said this
room was clear?”

The paramedics move at lightning

speed, transferring Elliot onto the

stretcher and wheeling him away. I need
to go with him. But I need to stay with
Jase. I’m so fucking torn right now, I
don’t know what I’m doing. And
Dornan, fucking Dornan, the source of
all this misery, is mocking me from his
spot on the ground. He’s dead, but I
don’t feel any better off. I just feel cold,
and dizzy, and like I need to cry.

“He shot him,” I say to Tommy, who

bends down beside me. “Shit,” he says
when he sees the blood on Jase. “We
need another paramedic in here!” he
calls out the door.

“We have to save him,” I say. “We

have to fucking do something!”

Tommy’s face falls, and that makes

me really fucking angry.

“Tommy!” I yell. “Help me!”
“This is bad,” Tommy says, horrified

as he presses his fingers against Jase’s
throat, searching for a pulse.

Another male paramedic enters the

room with a stretcher and Tommy
motions him over. They snap into action,
hauling Jase onto the narrow stretcher.
Another agent helps the paramedic as
they wheel him away. Too fast.

“I have to go with him!” I protest,

trying to stand. The paramedic pushing
Jase away glances down at my shirt.
“We need another stretcher in here,” he
says into the small radio attached to his
shoulder. “Priority.”

“I can walk,” I protest, taking one

step before my knees buckle. Tommy

catches my arm, steadying me.

“Let them help you,” he says. “I’ll

make sure you ride with Jase, okay?”

“Thanks,” I mutter.
As the third stretcher is brought in for

me, I take one last look at Dornan, just to
make sure.

Yep. Dead. A small ache of relief

throbs inside my chest.

Outside, it’s unbearable. I’d almost

convinced myself it was night in the dark
confines of the underground tunnels, so
being stretchered back out into daylight
sucks. I sit up as soon as we’re above
surface, much to the annoyance of the
paramedic.

Sure enough, I get to ride with Jase.

For a moment, I feel conflicted, my heart

demanding that Elliot not be alone,
either. But then I see Amy and Kayla in
his ambulance as the doors are shut, and
I feel stark relief.

He’s got his girls. He’s not alone.
I insist on sitting up in the ambulance

while the paramedics treat Jase. Luis
sits beside me, holding my hand the
entire time. We don’t talk. There’s
nothing left to say, after he tells me
Agent Dunn is alive and her daughter is
safe. What else could he say that would
make me feel better? I’m watching the
man I love die before my eyes. The
paramedics want me to lie down so they
can treat me, but I push them away. His
heart stops beating twice on the way
there. I watch on in shock, not willing to

entertain the possibility that I might lose
the man I love, the man I’ve only just
managed to find my way back to after all
these years apart. He can’t die.

I won’t survive without him.

Elliot opens his eyes and groans.
“Don’t try to move,” I say, placing a

hand on his chest. “You were shot.”

He winces. “Am I dead? Is this

heaven?”

I laugh, despite the seriousness of the

situation. I’m running on no sleep and
I’m starting to go slightly mad, I think.

“If you were dead, and I was here,

you’d call that hell,” I reply.

He jolts suddenly. “Kayla!” he says,

trying to sit up. Which is really stupid
when you’ve got a big ol’ bullet hole in
the middle of your stomach.

“They’re fine, Kayla and Amy are

both perfectly fine,” I reply, pressing
him back down. He reluctantly drops his
head back into his pillow. “Where are
they?” he asks.

“Kayla fell asleep on Amy’s lap, so

she decided to try and get some sleep as
well. The nurses let them take one of the
beds in the staff lounge. They’re fine, El.
Kayla’s upset about her daddy being
sick, but she’s fine. Amy’s a little beaten
up, a couple bruises, but she’s okay.”

The relief on Elliot’s face makes me

relieved. He’s awake. He’s alive. One
up, one to go. Now I just need Jase to get
through the surgery and wake up and
never, ever leave my sight again.

“Jase?”

He must see my face fall.
“Julz,” he says, reaching a hand out.
“He’s in surgery,” I say thickly. “He

got shot. Bullet nicked his heart.”

“Fuck,” Elliot says. “Dornan shot

him, too?”

I nod. And then, much to my horror, I

burst into tears.

“Oh, Julz,” Elliot says, pulling my

face under his chin and stroking my hair.
“He’s gonna make it. He is. And you’re
finally going to have your life together.”

His remark stabs deep; we’re finally

going to have our life together.

“El—” I say.
“I love you, Julz,” Elliot says, and I

have to wonder if it’s him talking or the
morphine they’re pumping into him for

the pain. “I always have. But you two
belong together. All those years, I hated
him, but he’s the best thing for you. He
just looks at you like you’re the most
precious thing in the entire world, and
you deserve that.”

I smile through my tears. “Thanks,

El,” I say.

His smile fades. “And Dornan?” he

asks somberly.

I nod. “Dead.”
“Like dead dead?”
“Like, extremely fucking dead, bullet

in the head and the rest of the clip in his
chest, dead,” I reply.

He smiles dreamily. “Thank you.”
“How’d you know it was me?” I ask.
Elliot raises his eyebrows. “Oh,

come on,” he says. “You gotta have
some serious hate for someone to shoot a
whole clip into them.”

I smile sadly, turning when I hear my

name.

It’s Luis.
“He’s in recovery,” Luis says, his

expression unreadable.

I rush to Jase, running through a maze

of hallways. My side hurts, but I don’t
care. I have to see him. He’s been taken
to a different floor to Elliot, in the ICU.

When I reach him, I gasp. He’s

unrecognizable, tubes and wires all over
his bare chest. They’re at complete odds
with the tattoos adorning his skin. I reach
out a hand tentatively, resting it on his
arm. His chest is covered in bandages

that are already turning red, his blood
seeping up from his skin and soaking the
gauze.

I sit in the chair beside him, leaning

over the bed and resting my head on his
shoulder. The only noise in here is the
steady hiss of the machine breathing for
him, and the constant, slow beep of his
heart on the monitor. His skin is cold,
and I wish I could cover him with a
blanket and wrap my arms around him.

I cling to him, crying into his

shoulder, one thought going over and
over in my mind.

Wake up. Wake up. Please, wake up.
It takes two days, but eventually, Jase

hears my prayers.

He wakes up.

He lives.
And finally, I start to feel something

again.

ONE MONTH LATER

“You gonna watch it?” Tommy asks.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
I take the tape Tommy found in

Dornan’s safe and drop it on top of his
grave, crushing it beneath my boot. It
cracks in several places, exposing the
fragile ribbon of black tape that is
imprinted with things so horrific, I
cannot bear to look in case I see a
captured fragment of that afternoon.

The afternoon that Dornan Ross and

his sons thought they destroyed me.

But they didn’t destroy me. I’m here,

standing on top of the place where

Dornan is buried, and they’re all dead,
and I can finally get on with my life.

I crouch down and wriggle my finger

into the cracked casing, getting a hold on
the ribbon of tape inside and pulling.
Reams fall out in haphazard loops, and
my stomach lurches nervously.

This is it. My final moment, my act of

retribution coming to an end.

And I’m so, so ready.
I reach my hand out as Jase hands me

a box of matches. I watch, transfixed, as
he douses his father’s grave in petrol
before tossing the jerry can beside it.

I strike a match; it glows bright in the

darkness of night, a tiny flame that I toss
onto the petrol-soaked tape. It catches
instantly, roaring to life as the flames

devour everything beneath it.

SIX MONTHS LATER

I brush the snow from my daughter’s

gravestone, marveling at the weather as I
thread a fresh bunch of flowers into the
vase attached to her headstone. It’s been
weeks of sub-freezing temperatures, and
my body isn’t used to the bitter Colorado
cold.

I can feel eyes watching me. They’ve

been here for a while, observing me, but
I’m not alarmed. I carry a gun with me
wherever I go. If anyone were to try
something, I’m fully prepared to do what
I have to.

Beside our daughter’s grave, Jase’s

mother’s grave needs new flowers as
well. I take the old ones out, replacing

them with fresh-cut flowers from the
market. This week I’ve gone with
yellow tulips. They were expensive, but
I don’t care.

I turn and see my secret admirer duck

behind a tree. Emboldened, I stand,
making my way right over to the person
who thinks I’m too ignorant to notice
they’ve been following me all morning.

I round the corner, shocking my

follower.

“Agent Dunn,” I say, smiling warmly.

“How are you?”

She looks around. “I — uh …”
“You’ve been following me all

morning,” I say. “Was there something
you were looking for? If you’re here to
kill me, you should probably be more

discreet about being here in the first
place.”

“I’m not here to kill you,” she replies,

shocked.

“Good,” I say. “That must mean

you’re here for answers. Answers, I can
give you.”

At home — our home, the place

Jase’s mother raised him — I make a pot
of tea for Agent Dunn, leaving her to add
her sugar and milk as I excuse myself for
a moment. I go to the bedroom and open
the safe, pulling from it a box of horrors
so tragic, I can hardly bear to keep them
instead of burn them.

But I was waiting for this exact

moment with her, and so I have held onto
them, stark remnants of my past.

I take my box of horrors to the kitchen

and place it down between us, noticing
she hasn’t touched her tea. I take the tea
from her and sip it myself. “It’s not
poisoned,” I say to her. “Happy?”

She nods dubiously. “I’m not really

thirsty.”

I take each photograph out gently and

place it in front of her. One, two, three.
A fifteen-year-old girl with a face so
swollen, she’s unrecognizable. Her
blood loss so severe, her skin is
practically translucent. The whites of her
eyes solid red, her arm dislocated and
hanging from its socket. Fresh bruises
swelling and bursting in a sick oil
painting of horror and death. One eye
swollen shut. And when I get further

down the pile, to the close-up photos
they took for the rape kit, I watch as
Agent Dunn’s hands begin to shake.

“Seven men,” I say softly, arranging

the photos neatly, just as she would. Just
as she did. “Seven men against one little
girl. Seven grown men who nearly killed
that girl as payback because her father
loved the wrong woman. Because he
wanted a better life for his daughter.
Seven men who took turns holding her
down until she was pretty much dead.”

She coughs awkwardly, pushing the

photos away and holding a hand to her
mouth.

“Now, do you understand?” I ask her

quietly, calmly.

She nods, her eyes glossy and wet.

“I don’t need your tears,” I say

blankly, “or your pity.”

She nods.
“What do you need?” she asks, her

voice trembling.

I smile sadly. “I need you to get in

your car, drive away, and forget any of
this ever happened.”

Agent Dunn doesn’t answer, but her

eyes are filled with tears.

“The Cartel are after you,” she says

softly. “I don’t know if Tommy already
told you, but they’re closing in, Juliette.
Killing the Gypsy Brothers started
something. I don’t know how much
longer I can keep them off the scent.”

“You’re working with Tommy?” I

ask. “A double agent? No, wait, you’re

with the Cartel as well. A triple agent.” I
raise my eyebrows. “You’re a busy
lady.”

She nods. “I took a deal with the

DEA after what went down in Furnace
Creek. I had to send my daughter away
in case the Cartel finds out I’m double-
crossing them.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply.
She shakes her head. “I don’t need

your pity, either.”

I look at her for a long moment. Her

eyes are tired, her hair lank. She looks
awful. The lies of her existence must be
weighing heavily on her.

“You took a risk coming here to let

me know,” I say finally. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she replies. “Just

watch your back. They’re going to find
you sooner, not later.”

Afterwards, she gets into her car, and

she drives away. I watch from the large
bay window in the living room to make
sure she actually goes. I watch the car
fade into the road beyond, until it’s like
watching a matchbox car being pushed
around on rough carpet, and then she’s
gone. I imagine her driving faster than
the limit, gripped by a horror that I have
only just begun to shed since Dornan
died. I imagine her going back to her
life, back to her job.

I know the photographs I just showed

her will haunt her for the rest of her life.

More importantly: I know I will

never see her again.

After I am sure she’s gone, I take the

pile of photographs outside, stopping in
the garage for lighter fluid. I find an old,
empty paint tin and shove the photos in,
making sure they’re far down enough to
be sheltered from the freezing wind
that’s sweeping across Colorado.

I place the tin on the portable

barbecue on the deck, fishing a box of
matches out of my pocket. I squirt the
lighter fluid on the photos, making sure
they’re coated, and then I strike a match.

I watch silently as the lit match drops

into the tin, immediately catching fire. It
doesn’t take long before the photographs
are completely consumed by fire.

Once the photographs are reduced to

ash, I find Jase outside, on the lake. At

this time of year, it’s frozen solid, but
that doesn’t stop Jase from sitting out on
the small wooden pier and watching the
water not move. I know he used to spend
a lot of time out here with his mom, and
being here brings him great peace and
comfort. It’s stunning, this place. It feels
... like a home.

It’s so cold here, especially at this

time of year. Colorado is like a bitch
with bipolar, throwing out random days
of snow, punctured with days on either
side of sunshine and flip-flop weather.

“Elliot called,” he says, looking

adorable in his button-down coat and
knitted hat as he opens his arms. He suits
the winter. He definitely doesn’t look
like a biker anymore. His tattoos are the

only things that would hint at the life
he’s come from, and luckily, here, he can
cover up the worst ones.

“What’d he say?”
Jase shrugs. “Asked me if I’d help

him fix his piece of shit car.”

“It’s not a piece of shit,” I protest.

“It’s an American classic.”

He looks at me, amused. “It doesn’t

have seatbelts, babe. He has a kid.
How’s he supposed to drive her to
school?”

I shrug. “I guess Amy’s got a regular

car.”

He snorts. “How did Agent Dunn

go?” he asks.

“She says the Cartel’s looking for us.

That they’re going to find us,” I say

calmly, looking out across the frozen
water. I’m not afraid. After what we’ve
been through, we can face anything. I
know this now.

Jase nods. “We knew that would

happen eventually. What else did she
do?”

“She got what she needed, and she

went,” I say, shrugging as I step into his
embrace, pressing the side of my face to
his chest in search of more warmth. My
cheeks are so cold I can barely feel
them.

“I’m surprised you didn’t shoot her

on sight,” Jase says, smiling when he
sees me pulling a face.

“I am not that bad,” I protest, pulling

back to give him a stern look. “Besides,

I’ve been expecting her to turn up here
since we arrived.”

“You still sleep with a gun under

your pillow,” Jase teases, his arms
wrapped around me. “You are that bad.”

I smile, melting back into his chest. I

love this man. I love him more than
anything else in the entire universe.

“Yeah,” I answer. “But these days I

keep the safety on.”

I feel him laugh softly into my neck.
It feels positively sublime.
While he’s pressing his lips to my

neck, I wonder what’s going to happen
to us next. We’ll probably have to leave.
Get new names. Shift our funds. It’s
funny, I thought this fight was over when
I killed Dornan Ross.

But I was wrong. This fight? It’s only

just begun.

But right now, I don’t care.
Everything I have done, every life I

have taken, every drop of blood I have
spilled.

It was all for this moment right here.
We are broken, the two of us.
He builds me back up, piece by

piece.

I will never be whole again.
But I am okay.
I am happy.
I am loved.

she destroyed herself.

too many little thoughts.

she fell apart.

too many little pieces.

she wrote herself.

too many little words.

she lost herself.

too many little places.

she fell in love.

too many little feelings.

she discovered herself.

she believed.

too many little moments.

and in the end,
she was home.

-

RM Drake

,

Beautiful Chaos

Firstly, a note about One Love and

the way I left Jase and Julz.

One year. 230,000 words, and

Juliette’s story – and her quest for
vengeance against Dornan Ross and his
sons – is complete.

When I was writing the ending, some

of my beta readers were upset with the
brief scene Jase and Julz share at the
end. They wanted more. They wanted to

see the new life Jason and Juliette have
now that Dornan is gone.

And here’s the thing. This story

wasn’t a love story. This was a story
about love, yes, but it wasn’t a love
story. It was a story about vengeance,
about redemption, about retribution.

That story was the battle between

Juliette and Dornan. Their story is done.

Jase and Julz? Their story is not

done. In fact, it’s only just beginning. I
know, some of you wanted this to end
differently. For Juliette and Jase to get
married, to have a baby, to live happily
ever after. But in their world there is no
real fairytale ending. They’re cut off one
of Medusa’s heads by killing Dornan
and his sons, but the threat of the rest of

the Gypsy Brothers, and the Cartel, is
still very real. This wasn’t a story that
could be wrapped up neatly with a pretty
bow. This story is ugly, and violent, and
dark.

But from that comes the good news.

Juliette and Jase are getting their own
book. Yes, as I struggled and cried
writing the ending scenes, I fought a
battle within myself. To end them here?
Impossible. To double the length of One
Love and show you what happens next?
That felt like a cop-out, because the
natural conclusion for this series is and
always has been Dornan’s death. Juliette
has done what she set out to do. She’s
killed the men who wronged her so
brutally six years ago.

Here’s why I didn’t just give Juliete

and Jase a happy ever after: Because
they’re not ready for that. They love
each other, but they don’t know each
other. They’re lovers and strangers,
separated by Dornan’s devastating act,
brought back together by Juliette’s thirst
for vengeance, and now they need time
to get to know each other again. To just
exist together in a world that isn’t
constantly overshadowed by Dornan’s
presence. I am so excited to be able to
share the rest of their story with you in
2015, and I hope you’ll come along for
the ride.

Secondly, a note of thanks to YOU.
I want to thank each and every one of

you who picked up Seven Sons and gave
an unknown author a chance. You are the
reason I write this. You have made my
dreams come true. When I started
writing Seven Sons, I could never have
seen what would happen. You all
embraced Juliette, Jase, Elliot and even
Dornan, read their stories and demanded
more, and I can only hope that I have
given you a satisfactory ending. It’s not a
cliffhanger, and that scares the crap out
of me. Cliffhangers mean there’s more to
come. In this case, I can tell you you’ll
definitely see these characters again, but
Juliette’s quest is complete. Her revenge
has been realized, and she is finally, in
her own inexplicable way, at peace. For
a character who has suffered so much, I

couldn’t be happier that she finally gets
to be with the man she loves. And,
though I doubt I will ever get over the
death of the greatest anti-hero I have
ever had to pleasure of putting onto
paper, I am happy (yet devastated) with
the way Dornan met his end. It was
fitting, it was justified, and in the end, I
think even he knew there was no other
way things could have gone down.

Thank you, from the bottom of my

heart, for loving these characters. Even –
no, especially – the fucked-up ones.

(GYPSY BROTHERS

PREQUEL TRILOGY)

The first full length Gypsy Brothers

novel from the smash hit author Lili St
Germain.

How much is a life worth?
I grew up in Colombia, the daughter

of a drug lord. Until one day a drug run
went horribly wrong and everything
came crashing down around me.

I was given away. A payment for a

debt. A transaction.

A slave.
The Gypsy Brothers Motorcycle Club

became my new owners, and I did
everything I could to survive.

But falling in love with the man who

owned me wasn't part of the plan…

Coming January 27, 2015

PRE-ORDER HERE

PROLOGUE

Of all the things in life, love is the

most confusing. The most all-consuming.
The reason we breathe, the light in our
darkness.

At sixteen, love devastated me, his

perfect button nose and sweet-baby
smell overwhelming as my father took
him from my arms and into the night. At
nineteen, love saved me, a dangerous

man with a heart that was determined to
own mine. At twenty-nine love almost
freed me … but in the end, love broke
me.

I wish I could tell you that things

ended differently — but I’d be lying. I
don’t know if he regrets what he did, or
if he’s happy, but it doesn’t matter,
really.

It doesn’t change the fact that the man

who loved me ended up being the same
man who would destroy me.

Lili writes dark romance. Her debut

serial novel, Seven Sons, was released
in early 2014, with the following books
in the series coming out in quick
succession. Lili quit corporate life to
focus on writing and is loving every
minute of it.

Her other loves in life include her

gorgeous husband, beautiful daughter,
watching Tarantino movies and drinking
good wine. She loves to read almost as
much as she loves to write.

If you want to get an automatic email

when Lili’s next book is released, sign
up

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author to succeed. If you enjoyed the
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Even if it’s only a sentence of two, it
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very much appreciated.

Lili always loves hearing from readers.

You can find her in the following places:

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