Three Years(33)

I inhale sharply. “So what happened?”

He shrugs. “I made them believe I was brainwashed. That I was one of them. I got the tattoos, I rode the bike, I—” he hesitates painfully, “—killed enough people to prove myself worthy to them.”

I glance at the door worriedly as more gunshots ring out, closer this time.

“If you knew what I’d done—” he says brokenly.

“Stop,” I say. “I killed four of your brothers. I know what it means to have to kill somebody. But I’m confused. You say you were out for three years, Jase. Why not kill them? Why take your place as Dornan’s son?”

He grits his teeth. “I almost killed them all, once. But then I met a man who offered to help me give them something worse than death.”

My eyebrows shoot up in anticipation and disbelief.

“Julz,” he says. “I’m working with the DEA. And can I just say; they’re pretty fucking pissed that a girl came in and started killing off Gypsy Brothers and ruining their massive case.”

I swallow thickly. Of course. I knew there had to be a reason why he was so eager to stay with the club after everything that happened. Relief spreads through my limbs, joining the panic and fear that already resides there.

“Jason!” I hear a voice roar, far away that we might still have a few moments together.

“Jesus,” Jase says. “Julz, I promise, we’re getting out of here tonight. But first, I have to make Dornan believe I’m on his side. I have to hurt you. Do you understand?”

I nod excitedly.

He draws his fist back and holds it there. “Fuck,” he mutters, letting his hand drop. “I can’t hurt you!” His eyes dip to my mouth, and before I know it, his lips are on mine, a fleeting, fiery kiss that sets my heart alight.

He pulls away reluctantly as Dornan’s voice booms at the other end of the hallway.

“He’s coming,” I whisper desperately. “He’ll kill us both if you don’t punch me.” I grit my teeth. “Do it.” He hesitates. “If you love me, fucking do it!” I hiss, slapping him across the face. That’s enough encouragement for him.

Hope and fear spike in my chest as his fist connects with my face and I feel blood gush from my nose.

I hit the wall behind me and slide down to the floor, lying on my side. There’s blood in my mouth and nose, sweet and cloying. I roll onto my back, choking as blood slides down the back of my throat.

“Jase?” I whisper, feeling wet blood on my lips.

He turns back to me heartbreak and rage written on his face. He raises his eyebrows in question.

I’m selfish, I know. So fucking selfish as I tell him the news that will probably distract him enough to get him killed. But if we do die, I want him to at least know what was what. That I was his. That he was loved.

I cough on more of my blood as I try to speak. “The baby,” I choke, through the haze of blood and gunshots and utter fucking despair. “It’s yours.”

His eyes widen and he freezes for a second. I think I see his eyes turn watery, when suddenly there are footsteps behind him. He swipes at his red eyes, storming back into the room. He drags me up by my throat, and my cry is more of a pained gurgle.

Dornan stands in the doorway, his eyes alight with worry and anger. “Jason!” he yells.

Jase’s eyes are so sad, I think my heart is going to break into two pieces right here and now. It hurts so much.

“Let go!” I beg, struggling against his death grip on my neck. He fumbles with something in his pocket, producing a knotted-up rag in one hand. The look on his face is absolutely fucking terrifying.

I think that maybe I’ve been wrong about him, now, as he stuffs the rag in my mouth.

“Shut up, bitch!” he yells, delivering one final hit to the side of my head. My head rings as I slump to the ground and he laughs.

“Sweet dreams, you fucking whore,” he spits, nudging me with his boot.

The door slams, the gunshots become slightly muted thanks to the thick door, and I hear Dornan and Jase’s footsteps retreat down the hallway as I try to stop my sobs. I feign unconsciousness, lying there awkwardly until my bones scream and my muscles begin to quiver in pain. When I finally think there’s nobody close by, I sit up slowly. I’m bruised and sore, but thankfully nothing seems broken.

I dry retch as the piece of rag stuffed into my mouth brushes against the back of my throat. I pull the rag out of my mouth, coughing in the process, and it’s then that I feel something small and hard amongst the cloth.

I squeeze my fingers around the hand spot, my heart hardly believing that this is what I suspect it is. I stare at the door, listening again for any noise, as I tear at the rag, trying to locate what’s amongst it. Finally, I unearth a small piece of metal, but it’s so much more than that.