Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series (20 page)

SIX

The girls are turfed unceremoniously out the front of the gate and I am ushered (okay, dragged) down the stairs and up the hallway by Dornan. It’s not clear if my own interrogation is over or is just moving locations, but at least the girls are out of the club and can run far, far away.

He practically throws me into his bedroom, following close behind me. He slams the door shut as I stumble on my feet, trying not to fall flat on my face.

“What the fuck happened last night?” he asks. “If I find out you had anything to do with Maxi…” he pauses, as the next word is reluctant to form on his lips.

“Dying,” he finally manages, “I’ll peel your flesh from your fucking bones while you watch.”

I squeeze out a tear for his benefit. “I promise you, I had nothing to do with it. Maxi was snorting so much, and even when his nose started bleeding he wouldn’t stop.”

Dornan growls. “Why didn’t you come and get me?”

I look at the floor.
Good question, asshole
.

“He wouldn’t let me leave,” I reply. “I was scared. I didn’t want to make him angry.”

He leans over me on the bed, his large frame overshadowing mine. I push away memories of being pinned beneath him as I screamed six years ago, but the fear is still a real and living thing within me that makes me tremble under his weight.

“I didn’t know what to do,” I plead, making my eyes as wide as they’ll go. He lets out a low growl as one hot hand wraps around my throat, squeezing with a slow intensity that gets tighter and tighter, until I can’t breathe and I see stars in my vision.

Something changes in his expression. Maybe it’s the fact that he can see I’m passing out, because he releases his grip on me and straightens, the frustration evident on his face as he paces the small room.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he says. “From the moment you got into his room until the moment you came out. And Sammi?”

His face is terrifying.

“If you lie to me? Next time I won’t let go. Next time I’ll squeeze until your fucking neck breaks in my hands.”

I don’t doubt him, and I’m reminded once more of the dangerous game I’m playing here. Like Russian roulette, but with more bullets in the gun, and I’m the girl holding the gun to my head, hoping desperately to hear an empty click each time I pull the trigger instead of my brains splattering on the wall behind me.

I tell him a story, and it is a story, because none of it is true. Sure, I add in the parts about the pills and the girls passing out, but that’s where my truth ends.

“Maxi was so angry when they both passed out,” I finish, after talking and talking while he paces and stalks the room. “He wanted me to stay because they wouldn’t wake up. He was yelling and his nose was bleeding and he made me snort the coke!” The words tumble out of my mouth, and I guess he must be buying my performance, because his hands aren’t around my neck again.

Yet.

“How does someone
make
you snort coke?” Dornan asks.

I gaze into his black eyes as emotions duel within me. Vengeful pride wars with fear inside me.

“They hold their hand over your mouth and make you inhale through your nose,” I say blankly, remembered sins of myself doing exactly that dancing in my mind.

“He was so strong,” I add, knowing that I must look weak and tired right now. “Not as strong as you, Dornan. But still too strong for me to stop him.”

Dornan turns and punches the full-length mirror that hangs on the wall beside the bed, the shattered glass raining down on the floor and making me flinch away.

“If these Colombian’s are really trying to start a war,” he says darkly, “they’ve waited a long fucking time to do it.”

I look down at the broken pieces of mirror and the blood dripping from his knuckles as I respond to him, “Why would they be starting anything?”

Dornan stops, runs a hand through his dark hair. He looks terrible. I try to think of what a caring girlfriend—okay, whore—would do in this situation. I don’t want to hug the motherfucker. I can fuck him any way he likes, but I can’t hug him.

He collapses into the high-backed leather chair in the corner of the room—a damned throne for a King who is rapidly losing control of his kingdom.

What will endear me to him right now?

The cigarettes.
Yes.

I spy the packet of cigarettes he’s dumped on the nightstand and reach for it, withdrawing a single cigarette and a black brass lighter with a dragon carved into the front. I light the cigarette between my teeth and take a drag, taking two steps to where he sits, dropping to my knees, my hands on his thighs.

“Here, baby,” I say, taking the cigarette and placing it between his lips.

He accepts the smoke, his black eyes watching me with a mixture of what looks like curiosity and thinly veiled rage. I take my shirt off so that I’m only wearing a bra, pressing the cotton shirt to his bleeding knuckle.

I look up at him through my eyelashes, my other hand on his zipper. I tug it carefully, snaking my hand into his pants, searching for his distraction. A few gentle tugs and he grows hard, his cock bursting forth from his pants. His face gives nothing away, impassive as he continues to draw heavily on his cigarette. I make my hand into a fist and start gliding his cock back and forth, his uncircumcised hood sliding up over to cover the tip and back down with each deliberate stroke.

I wet my lips and open my mouth wide, teasing the underside of his hardness with a flick of my tongue before taking him into my mouth. He tastes like salt and bitterness, and I have to give myself a mental pep talk to keep from stopping.

Come on. You can do this. What’s a little blowjob? You’re a killer, baby girl.

Ugh. Dornan’s nickname for me, in my own mind, in a pep talk I’m giving myself, is just wrong. I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry, but either would be out of place as the loyal club whore, so I suppress them as I suppress my gag reflex, taking him into my throat.

His free hand automatically fists my hair as I take him deeper, a satisfied grunt coming from him.

“Jesus Christ,” he moans, low and rough, gravel and rocks. “You suck dick like a porn star.”

I flutter my lashes up at him, continuing to work my mouth and my hand over his hardness, letting my mind wander.

I feel him relax, little by little, his knees dropping a little wider, his tension softening, slouching against the back of the chair as his blinks grow longer and more pleasured.

“You better not be lying to me about last night,” he says, and I can’t believe he can still talk through this. I take that as a personal challenge and suck harder, squeeze harder, try harder, to bring him to the edge of release.

His fingers tug painfully at my hair and I fight the urge to swat his hand away as countless hairs snap painfully free from my scalp.

“You’re talking about a full-scale war, Sammi.”

I lift my head up to utter an answer but he wrenches at my hair.

“Did I say you could stop, bitch?” he demands angrily, pulling my face forward on his cock so deep it makes me gag. When I do that he releases his hands, letting me pull back slightly as I cough.

“I’ve killed people for less,” he continues to speak as I take the hint and keep working my mouth on him. “Much less.”

I get no warning that he’s about to come only seconds after uttering these words, other than a pulsing in the underside of his cock as it stiffens even further, his fingers digging into my scalp at the same time. Cum hits my tongue and the back of my throat, several pulses filling my mouth until he’s spent.

I think of Michael, the innocent young man who was gunned down by Dornan in a fit of jealousy and lust, as I swallow down the load of semen he’s just spurted into my mouth. “I know,” I reply, wiping the back of my hand against my mouth as I rest back on my heels.

He sighs heavily, pushing his palm against my face as he stands. I take the hint and scramble out of his way as he makes his way into the en-suite bathroom and shuts the door behind him, rage at his casual dismissal suddenly wild and pumping in my veins.
Asshole
.

I want to gargle with mouthwash so badly, but I can hear the shower running and I know Dornan wouldn’t be impressed with that. I scan the room, looking for something, anything, to remove the gag-inducing taste from my mouth. My gaze lands upon the closet, where I know Dornan keeps a stash of his favorite expensive spirits.

I open the closet quietly and rummage around, leather jackets and riding boots stacked neatly.
The man is anal in more ways than one
. I laugh at my own stupid joke as I push boots and a duffel bag out of the way, finally feeling cold glass underneath my fingers. I grasp the bottle and yank, unearthing an untouched quart of forty-year-old aged whiskey.

The sentimental bastard. I remember exactly when he got this bottle, a couple weeks before everything went to shit and I almost died. It was a birthday gift to him from my father. Why he kept it after my dad’s betrayal is a mystery to me, but either way, it’s got to hold some painful memories for him.

Yep. That should do it.

I unscrew the lid, breaking the forty-year-old seal, and toss the cap on the ground, closing the closet and taking up a spot in the middle of the bed. I take a long, burning drink of the whiskey, spluttering as it goes down.

When Dornan emerges from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, I don’t even bother to try and hide the precious liquor in my hand.

Maybe I’m tired.

Or maybe, right now, I just don’t give a fuck.

SEVEN

He’s naked save for a white towel around his waist, the white against his skin too innocent for the blood he has shed over the years. It should be black, or crimson red, maybe. His eyes flash with anger as he sees the bottle in my hand.

“What the fuck?” he rages, stalking over and snatching the bottle from me mid-mouthful. Cool liquid sloshes onto my chest, seeping between my breasts and down my belly button. I fight the urge to smile, partly because it wouldn’t be appropriate, but also because I’m scared, He’s got that look in his eye, that murderous look that spells disaster for anyone in his path.

Silly me. I just can’t help myself with this man sometimes.

He takes a swig of the bottle and places it on the nightstand, his arms crossed tightly across his bare chest. Droplets of water still cling to his tattooed chest, and his wet hair drips every few seconds.

“Did I say you could open that?” he asks steadily.

I shake my head.

“So why’d you open it?”

I shrug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind. I’m so freaked about last night; I just wanted to take the edge off. ”

He takes another drink and this time slams the bottle back onto the nightstand so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t break.

“That bottle was special,” he says.

I don’t say anything.

“You think you’re something special?”

The thought that I’m just another whore to him hasn’t really occurred to me, especially not after he shot that poor kid just to impress me. I just assumed he saw Sammi as something unique, something that reminded him of past love and lust, something to mold and play with. It never occurred to me that he might not care at all.

“Well, you’re very special to me,” I say, scooting to the edge of the bed and running my fingers along his arm.

He looks down at my hand like it’s a dead cockroach and I withdraw it slowly, letting it fall at my side.

“Get on your knees,” he commands. “Face the fucking wall.”

I do as he says. He hitches my skirt up, gathering it around my hips. He pulls my panties to the side and slowly slides a finger inside me. I quiver underneath his rough, dominating touch.

“You know you’re just here for me to use you, right?” He continues to slide his finger in and out, adding two and then three fingers so that I am stretched and full with him.

When I don’t answer fast enough, he reaches around with his free hand and pinches my clit hard, sending threads of pain shooting through me.

“Right?”

“Y-yes,” I whimper, gasping at the sudden change from pleasure to pain. I should be used to it by now—it’s Dornan’s signature move—but I’m still woefully unprepared for his level of depravity.

“And when I’m done with you, I’ll toss you aside like a piece of fucking garbage.” He resumes finger-fucking me, rougher now, his other hand twisting one of my nipples. I shiver in anticipation as he withdraws his fingers, only to moan loudly when he replaces them with his cock, slamming it into me as hard and as forceful as he can. He perches his wet hand, the one that was inside me, on my hip.

On my hip
.

It’s like a switch is flipped inside me. I’ve been numb for so long, broken and resigned to what he will use me for, biding my time until he gets what’s coming. But now, with his hand firmly pressed against those seven scars, disguised with ink, a fresh rage is reborn within me.

“Maybe you should fuck me as hard as you can,” I say through gritted teeth, “Maybe it’ll get me out of your system.”

He laughs, grabbing a fistful of my loose hair, pulling me up forcefully and toward him. My back against his chest, he whispers in my ear, “You sure you can handle that, Sammi?”

I can feel a bitter smirk tug at my mouth. “You sure
you
can, Dornan?”

My question appears to spark something primal in him; his fingers dig into my flesh so hard, I feel his fingernails break my skin open like paper. He’s taking my words as a challenge. Who can fuck the other one more, figuratively.

And literally.

He slides his cock all the way out of me, hovering the tip of his shaft at my entrance, teasing. Taunting.

I stay perfectly still, waiting for him to make his move.

And he doesn’t disappoint. He rears back and slams himself forward, his impressive size felt in every inch of my core as he painfully bruises the entrance to my womb. I grip the stiff bed sheets harder, focusing on my knuckles as they go white and turn numb.

He doesn’t hold back. With agonizing strength and speed, over and over, he pulls out, only to drive back in, as violent and cruel as ever. I want to tell him to stop, but at the same time,
I don’t
. I want him to fuck me and hurt me and make me bleed, make me feel
something
, because I’m stubborn and twisted as fuck, and I want to be able to say he tried his best to destroy me and failed.

I want him to make me suffer so that I may make him suffer in the end.

Raw pain rips at my lower abdomen and I can’t suppress the scream that exits my mouth.

Dornan pauses momentarily and laughs, a cruel and chilling laugh as low and gravelly as I’ve ever heard him.

I look down at the mattress to see droplets of blood on the sheets.

Dornan sees them too, and the sight makes him chuckle.

“See?” he says, as he continues to slam into me. “Told you I’d make you bleed.”

I nod my head. He pulls out of me, and my heart sinks as his cock nudges against my back passage.

He places his thumb against my ass. “What about now?” he taunts. “Still want me to fuck you as hard as I can?”

Oh god, no. Please
. My stomach is cramping violently and I feel like I’m about to pass out. My knees buckle under me and I fall to the side, rolling into a ball and clutching my arms protectively around my stomach.

He looks over me with an expression of total arrogance and dominance plastered across his face.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters. He grips my chin, forcing me to look at him.

“Next time,” he breathes against my clammy face, “I won’t stop with your pussy, baby girl.” With that, he dips his head to my breast—the one not pressed into the mattress—and takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking greedily. At first it is kind of pleasant, a welcome relief from the pain inside me.

Until he bites down, hard, sending spasms of pain throughout my already pulsating body.

He pulls away and grins, blood smeared across his front teeth and lips. In this moment right now, he could be the Devil.

I bring a hand up to my injured nipple and cover it protectively, whimpering as this fresh pain joins the painful ache in my womb.

I’m on fire.

I want to throw up.

I feel like I’m going to die.

He shifts and is gone, the light from the bulb overhead harsh and unforgiving. I squeeze my eyes shut.

Don’t cry. It’s only pain
.

A few tears manage to make their way loose before I swallow the horror back down, berating myself silently for being so stupid. For going against him. Why the hell did I do that? What’s wrong with me?

And then he’s back, dressed this time, smirking as he studies me, his folded arms resting against the mattress.

To my absolute disgust, he snakes a hand out, catching one of the tears rolling down my cheek on the tip of his finger. He brings his finger to his lips and sucks, his finger making a wet popping noise as it exits his mouth.

“Salty,” he rasps, cocking his head so that his head is on the bed next to mine. “But sweet, too.” He reaches out again and swipes his finger across my cheek, bringing it to my lips this time.

“See?”

He forces his finger into my mouth, only withdrawing it after I lick my own tears from the tip. He’s wrong. It’s salty, but unlike his tears, there’s no sweetness here for me.

It’s bitter as hell.

He pats me on the head roughly, like I’m a dog or something, before he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

I can hear him whistling was he walks down the hallway.

Asshole.