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Neither of us said anything for a moment. I glanced at the screen in front of us again. Dornan hadn’t moved. Maybe he was dead. That would solve some of my problems.
‘I’m tired of the pain,’ I answered finally. ‘I don’t want it anymore.’
I was only too aware that Dornan would stir if I was gone much longer.
‘You testify against Emilio, against Dornan, and the rest of his club, and you get immunity. You get your son back.’
Fuck him for using my son as blackmail material. ‘I’m not saying one word for you unless you can guarantee John’s safety. We both get immunity.’
Lindsay lifted his eyebrows. ‘No can do. He goes down with his club.’
‘I love him,’ I said quietly. ‘I can’t let him go down with them.’
‘You loved Dornan once, too. And see how that turned out?’
I closed my eyes and tried not to have a total meltdown. I had to agree to whatever Lindsay was saying or he’d never let me out of his sight again. I couldn’t very well slip away into the night if I was being tracked by the FBI.
‘You say you’re tired of the pain,’ Lindsay added. ‘Let me help you. Let me take it away. All you have to do is say yes.’
I rested my forehead on the back of the seat in front of me. Everything, it seemed, hinged on the next thing that came out of my mouth. Three letters or two.
‘Yes,’ I lied. Without Lindsay agreeing to give John immunity, I wasn’t testifying. I was running. We were running. I just had to get back to John and formulate a get the fuck out of town plan. I sucked in a breath as a wave of dizziness slammed into me. I had to get out of the car before I passed out. I stuffed the gun back into my bag, searching for the door handle. I heard a click as the doors unlocked and I opened the door, gulping in the hot Nevada air as the same dude on the outside of the car held out a hand to help me down.
I slid out of the SUV, turning back to face him as my feet hit the ground. The last image I had of Lindsay Price was his serious expression as he watched me silently. He almost seemed . . . relieved.
I slammed the door so hard, I swear the car moved. My wrist throbbed from the sudden exertion, and I rushed back into the hotel lobby, parting a sea of tourists with the force of my heels against the polished floor.
Soon. Something was going to happen soon.
How was I going to tell John?
We had to leave Vegas now.
I rode the lift back to the hotel suite with one hand against the mirrored wall. I was tired.
I was so fucking tired of this life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JOHN
Two days.
Two whole days and he hadn’t been able to contact Mariana. Something was amiss, but he had no fucking idea what it was or how to find out.
Oh, and they were driving to San fucking Diego, on Emilio’s orders. Caroline, who for once was straight and sober, was driving down with Juliette, for some event Emilio had insisted the entire club attend. And John was riding his motorcycle with the rest of the Gypsy Brothers, because presidential duties demanded he lead the pack. For the moment, at least. After the shit that went down at the strip club with Dornan, he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be presiding over his club much longer. An invested man would have cared. A man who wanted to pull the trigger and run had no time to care about such things.
John had been at home when he’d received a call about an urgent club meet. ‘Stay away from that boy, you hear me?’ he had said to his daughter, as he grabbed his leather jacket and the keys to his motorcycle.
Juliette rolled her eyes at him, barely looking away from the television. ‘Daddy, I don’t even like him. I just feel sorry for him.’ Stretching her long legs out on the sofa, she finally turned her gaze to John. Her expression grew troubled. ‘His brothers are so horrible. They’re always hurting him.’
John shrugged. ‘Boys can be rough, baby. Especially those boys.’ He thought of Dornan’s sons, pack of wildlings that they were. They’d never had a sister to soften them, to teach them that sometimes you had to be gentle. They were loud and brash and they communicated with their fists. Dornan’s oldest sons were in their twenties now, patch-wearing Gypsy Brothers with little kids of their own, and they were still animals.
‘Why did Uncle Dornan do that to Jase’s mom?’ Juliette asked quietly. ‘He’s part of our family. He’s always been good, Dad.’
John rubbed his hand across his stubbled chin, contemplating how to answer that question. His daughter was his only child, his world, and how was he supposed to explain to her what his best friend had done to his own son? How was he supposed to explain to his teenage daughter that dear Uncle Dornan had murdered his son’s mother in cold blood and left her in a bathtub full of blood for him to find?
He couldn’t. He refused to put that mental image inside Juliette’s precious mind. He prayed that the young boy had been vague on the details of the visceral horror he had endured upon seeing his slain mother.
