Lili Germain - Six Brothers

Some people would call me a whore. A girl who sold her soul to the devil. Who let him inside her, with no remorse. Who danced with the monster who destroyed everything.

To those people, I say only this: I didn’t have to sell Dornan Ross my soul. He already owned it. And once I’ve killed him, maybe I can get it back.

When I think about life before Juliette Portland supposedly died, I think of the midday sun, and the way it caught the water, making a million tiny diamonds glisten in the Venice Beach waves. I think of laughter and first kisses, of ice cream, stolen beer, and Ferris wheels.

I think of how much I loved Jason Ross, and how valiantly he fought to protect me when the rest of his family were beating and fucking me to within an inch of my life.

I think about my father, and how whenever he was near, I felt safe, no matter what.

I think about my mother, and how indifferent she was to my existence, to the point where my father was going to take me away from everything, including her, so that we could have a life free of the constant danger that a club like the Gypsy Brothers meant.

I think of how, if he had succeeded, what a wonderful life that would have been.

It’s true what they say—keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Only, they forgot to add: Don’t keep your enemies so close that they can strike without warning. That was my father’s mistake. That was our fatal undoing.

When I was planning my revenge, I vowed not to make the same mistakes he did. Allowing the enemy too close—Dornan was VP of the club, my father had been the President, but he had been quickly losing control as Dornan and his sons outnumbered him.

I remember my final moments, before I blacked out, when Chad and Maxi were loading me into the back of a van to get me to the hospital.

“ Why don’t we just finish her and be done with it?” Chad asked his father as he struggled with my nearly dead weight.

Dornan smacked the back of his eldest son’s head and pointed to me, beaten, covered in blood, one of my eyes swollen shut and the other cracked open enough to see where they were taking me.

“We can’t fucking kill her,” Dornan spat. “She knows where the money is.”

“What money?” Maxi asked.

Dornan sighed. “Don’t you boys fucking listen? The mil her daddy embezzled from this club while I was busy with you boys and your fucking mothers these past years.”

Chad whistled, dropping me into the back of a van like a sack of soggy potatoes. “That’s a lot of money.”

I whimpered as my head connected with a hard floor.

“It is, son,” Dornan agreed. “But it’s not about the amount. It’s about the principle, you understand?”

Chad nodded. “You don’t steal from your own club.”

“That’s right. Now get this bitch to the hospital so we can find out what the fuck they did with my money.”

“And then?”

I shivered, watching them from my spot on the dirty floor of the van.

Dornan sighed. “And then we finish her.”

I vowed not to make the same mistakes my father did. But here, now, laying pinned beneath Dornan as he fills me with his rage and grief, his eldest son dead by my hand and the funeral in just a few hours, I have to wonder if I’m heading down the exact path that led to our destruction all those years ago.

The morning is cold, the wind coming straight from the frigid sea, forcing strands loose from my messy ponytail. I jog in the street, a free woman for now, my new found exit a fire escape in the very back of the clubhouse, probably forgotten long ago.

My bright pink Nikes pound the pavement in stark contrast to my tanned legs as I sprint away from the clubhouse. My destination is just a few blocks away, in the opposite direction from Va Va Voom.

I take the scenic route, even though it takes longer and is out of my way, because I haven’t lived near the ocean for so long, and I can’t get enough of it.

About ten minutes later, I am puffed, strands from my ponytail sticking to my neck. I used to be a lot more fit than I am now, but the only exercise I’ve been getting lately involves sucking Dornan’s dick, which doesn’t exactly burn the calories.

The abandoned shipping yard in front of me is surrounded by a high fence topped with razor wire, but I find a hole torn in the chain links and shimmy in. The yard is messy and unattractive, with high weeds, a derelict building in the middle of the block complete with broken windows. Just the way I like it for an incognito meet up.

We’re supposed to meet on the far side of the building, a brick complex that once housed an open-plan office. It now sits empty, home to stray birds who can get in through smashed windows to make their nests in the wooden rafters.

As I turn the corner at the far end of the building, I see him.

“Elliot,” I say, breaking into a smile. He grins, and my stomach does a flip. It’s been a week since I’ve seen him. Amongst all of the crazy shit that went down after Chad died, I haven’t been able to leave the club by myself for more than five minutes, much less get across town to Elliot’s tattoo studio or a pay phone.

He’s drinking coffee, bleary eyed, and dressed in jeans and a hoodie. “Hey,” he says, a slight pause after he says the word, as if he can’t decide what to call me. Good. He’s learning.

As I get closer, he opens his arms, pulling me into a bear hug. I flinch at first, not used to the sudden display of genuine affection, before I melt into his chest.

He gives me a brotherly peck on the forehead and steps back, surveying my ordinary clothes. “Where’s your slutty costume today?” he asks, putting his hands up when I go to punch him.

“Shut up,” I say, stealing his coffee and taking a swig. The liquid is black and bitter, without a trace of sugar or milk. I make a face and hand it back to him. “Dude, that is disgusting.”

He smiles and winks at me before his face turns serious.

“I heard about Chad,” he says, a deep frown etched into his forehead. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Elliot crosses his arms against the bracing wind, looking at me apprehensively. “Gee, I’m not sure…maybe because you’re the one who killed him?”

“Elliot!” I protest. “Jesus Christ.”

He shrugs and sips his coffee. “Well, what should we talk about? The weather?”

“It’s fucking freezing.”

“You never used to curse when we were together,” he says. “It’s sexy.”

“A lot’s happened since you left me,” I say, placing emphasis on left and me .

“Why’d you want to meet in this place, anyway?” Elliot asks, apparently ignoring my not-so-subtle jibe at him breaking up with me. He cranes his neck to look around. “Surely there are nicer spots for our rendezvous .”

I roll my eyes. “Did you bring the stuff I asked you to pick up?”

He sighs. “I’m still not sure how I feel about delivering this shit to you, Ju-“ he stops mid sentence, peering at me. “What was your stripper name again?”