Seven Sons

Eleven

The clubhouse has few windows and a lot of soundproofing, a dream for a girl who is terrified of thunder and lightning.

The minute we get to the top of the stairwell and Jase opens the fire escape, I am cringing at the bright flashes of light and the menacing thunder that rips through every fiber of my being.

Once the door is open, the noise of the wind and thunder becomes deafening, and I cower at the prospect of going out into it.

“Come on,” Jase yells above the din, pulling my hand. “Trust me!”

Trust him? Of course I trust him. He risked his goddamn life to try and save mine all those years ago.

But does Sammi trust him? Should she?

“Fuck it,” I breathe, unplanting my stubborn feet and following him outside into the howling wind and neon flashes. It’s got to be better that being stuck downstairs with my mother.

I squint my eyes, cringing against the sudden assault of stinging, sharp raindrops that are almost solid enough to be considered hail. They bite at my skin like tiny bullets, baying for my blood.

“Why the hell do you want to be out here?” I yell at Jase. He tugs my hand and we keep running. The visibility is terrible and I can barely see what’s in front of me, apart from thick sheets of icy rain.

Lightning strikes uncomfortably close and I scream, practically jumping on Jase. He laughs, pointing at something in front of us. At first, I don’t realize what it is – it’s a room without walls, and it’s not wet inside.

It’s not magic, it’s a room made entirely of glass. A greenhouse.

How odd, I think, and squeal again when another bolt of lightning strikes less than a hundred feet away. I am practically glued to Jase like a spider monkey stuck to his back.

I breathe a sigh of relief as he opens a door in the glass and pulls me inside, closing it behind us. The storm still rages around us, but at least I feel a little more protected. The room is pretty big, at least twenty feet across and with a stunning view of the Venice Beach coastline.

“What is this place?” I ask. “A marijuana farm?”

Jase smiles. “Used to be. Until the cops started doing aerial surveillance. Now it’s my hangout when I get sick of being down there with my idiot brothers.”

“Do you bring all your father’s whores up here?” I ask him, wringing the extra moisture out of my long brown hair.

Jase chuckles. “Did you just call yourself a whore?”

I smile wickedly. “Let’s keep ourselves firmly planted in reality, shall we? I’m sleeping with your father so he’ll let me stay here in his club. What else would you call me?”

Jase raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know. A girl who had to make some hard decisions to protect herself?”

I shrug, shivering. “That’s a much nicer way of saying it,” I concede.

“Here.” Jase shrugs out of his long-sleeved leather jacket and puts it around my shoulders. I can’t help but notice that the jacket is plain, devoid of any patches or club insignia. That must piss Dornan right off.

“Thanks,” I say, a thrill coursing through me as his fingertips brush my shoulder.

I am amazed. Even after six years, even with him oblivious to who I actually am, there is a chemistry between us that cracks and fizzes like the storm that rages all around us.

“Take a seat,” Jase says, pulling out a couple of upended milk crates. He sits on one and produces a half-empty bag of pretzels to go with the bottle of Jack at his feet. He munches on a pretzel before offering me the bag.

I take it, eating a pretzel and watching as he unscrews the whiskey and takes a long, deep drink. I imagine how it must burn his throat, his tongue, his lips.

His lips.

“Do you always start drinking at ten in the morning?” I ask him.

He grins cheekily and looks at me from underneath his thick black eyelashes. He has his mother’s dimpled smile, and for that I am eternally grateful.

“Only when I’m babysitting whores,” he jokes, offering me the bottle. I take a swig and the liquid burns all the way down to my stomach.

“You don’t even know me,” I say, popping another pretzel in my mouth. “I don’t even think you like me. Why bother bringing me up here?”

Jase takes the bottle back and takes a swig, gulping the burning liquid down. He studies me for a moment, giving me an uneasy feeling in my belly.

Because he looks at me like he does know me.

“You remind me of a girl I used to know,” he says quietly, looking away.

“Oh, really?” I ask casually, a river of pent-up tears burning a hole in my fucking heart. “Where is she now?”

He looks at the ground for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “She died.”

I swallow back the enormous lump in my throat. I can’t cry. If I cry, this is all over. And it can’t be over, not yet.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my carefully laid plans threatening to shatter to pieces like the flimsy glass building we are sheltered within.

“It’s fine,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “It was a long time ago.”

We sit there in silence for awhile, munching on pretzels and sharing the Jack. After awhile I start to feel relaxed.

Stop drinking. You need to keep your wits about you.

“Your dad’s a little… full on,” I say finally, piercing the silence.

Jase looks at me with an expression devoid of laughter or light. “He’s one of a kind,” he says, and I can hear the bitterness in his voice.

“You two aren’t close?” Please say no, please say no.

“Huh!” Jase chuckles, but there is no joy in the sound. It is more like a strangled cry of desperation.

“No. We’re not close.” There is so much more behind those words, a story I can tell he wants to share, but he’s smart not to. He doesn’t know me. I could go and blab everything he’s telling me to Dornan.

“He’s kind of scary, isn’t he?” I say gingerly, not sure how much he’ll reveal.

He just stares at me with his watery blue eyes until I want to blush under the power of his gaze. “What?” I say. “Did I say too much? I’m sorry.” I shift uncomfortably as he continues to watch me.

“You’re kind of freaking me out,” I say finally, looking away.

“Sorry,” he says, the tension broken. “I just–”

“You just what?”

He leans closer to me and looks around nervously. “You need to be careful,” he says, the worry in his voice clear. “You seem like a nice girl. My father meets girls like you and gets a little obsessed.”

“I’ve noticed,” I say, no humor left in my voice now either. I shake my head. “I just wanted a job,” I whisper. “Now he’s got me here, I feel like he won’t let me leave.”

“He won’t,” Jason says flatly. “My father’s fucking intense. He wants you, he’ll have you.”

I look at him, horrified. I remember Dornan being obsessive and calculating when I was a child, but not like this.

Although, he did organize for his sons to take turns raping a fifteen year old girl who called him Uncle. So, its not terribly surprising, I suppose.

“You’ll be fine,” he says quickly, seeing my face. “Just don’t piss him off. He’ll get a new obsession in a month or two, and then you can breathe easy.”

I nod, suddenly overwhelmed and claustrophobic despite being in a room with see-through walls. I take the bottle from Jase and have a long, deep drink from it. Screw staying sober. I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to deal with being Dornan’s prisoner when all I came here for was to dance at the burlesque club and get close to the clubhouse. This close wasn’t part of the plan. Although, at the same time, it’s deliciously convenient and will no doubt speed things up considerably.

“What happened to his last obsession?”

Jase takes the bottle back but doesn’t drink. He is thinking.

“Maybe I don’t want to know,” I say reluctantly.

“I can’t talk about it,” Jase says finally. “I just met you. He’s my father.”

I nod, but inside I’m deflated. Jase is protecting him. He’s protecting Dornan, who held his high school sweetheart down and raped her. While he made Jase watch.

“I get it,” I say flatly. “He’s your father. Of course you want to be loyal to him.”

Jase appears pained. “Want to? Have to. You think you’re the only one trapped here with no way out?”

I swallow thickly and sit there, my heart pounding in my chest.

Not protecting him.

Being held hostage by him.

It all makes perfect sense now.

We stay in the glass house for hours, eventually talking of lighter things, only leaving when the sun decides to slip below the horizon. By the time we do, something has definitely shifted between Jase and Sammi. Which is a wonderful thing to cling to amongst the madness I am drowning in.

When I finally collapse into Dornan’s king-sized bed at midnight, tipsy and exhausted, I can only hope that he stays away another day.