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Dornan pressed the tip of his gun to Murphy’s forehead and applied pressure to the trigger.
‘Did he hurt you, Ana?’ Dornan asked, his voice dangerously calm. ‘Did he rape you?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘No. He punched me. He didn’t get to — I mean, you guys stopped him before . . . that.’
‘D, do not shoot that motherfucker,’ John urged. ‘I want to, you want to, we all want him dead. But killing a cop is gonna rain down a whole world of trouble on us. Think, brother.’
Dornan flexed his jaw angrily, every muscle in his body poised and ready to destroy the worthless piece of shit in front of him. And, scarily enough, part of me wanted him to shoot Murphy in the face.
John approached Dornan, his hand out. ‘Give me your gun,’ he said.
Dornan turned and looked at John as if to say, are you fucking kidding me? He raised his gun above Murphy’s head, bringing it down onto his skull with such force that he was knocked out cold. John huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
‘Tie him up,’ John said. ‘I’ll get Viper to pick his sorry ass up.’
John came back to stand by me, his eyes landing on the photograph. I snatched it up in my hand and curled my fist tightly shut, glancing over at Dornan, who was lost in a world of his own as he threw rope around Murphy’s limbs and pulled tight.
When John looked at me, his eyes were kind. He suddenly seemed so different from anyone else I’d encountered since the night I’d left my father’s house. His smile was genuine, and it reached all the way up to his hazel eyes.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. He glanced at Dornan, who was dragging Murphy out the front door by his bound feet. A moment later, I heard him yelling instructions at someone over the phone.
I nodded at John, swallowing again. I’d suddenly become a mute.
He took my balled fist gently and brought it up in between us, softly unfurling my fingers one by one. He took the photograph from me as if it were a precious thing and studied it.
‘Is this your baby?’ he asked quietly.
I dissolved. I put my hands to my mouth to stifle a scream, as tears rained down my face. I couldn’t stop shaking my head. I couldn’t stop crying.
John looked sympathetic. He held the photo out to me and I took it quickly, gratefully. He waited patiently as I wiped my cheeks and took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm myself.
‘Is this going to be a problem?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘No problem. I swear.’
‘You’d better find a better hiding spot for that,’ he said, pointing to the photo.
I nodded, looking around. I couldn’t find anywhere. John plucked it from my hand and shoved it in his top pocket, just as Dornan re-entered the room.
I could tell Dornan wanted to crush me in his embrace, judging by the way he held his arms, the way his fists were balled up tight. But he couldn’t; we were a secret so forbidden, he couldn’t even embrace me in front of his best friend.
And now that friend held an even darker secret in his pocket. A piece of my past. My son.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
MARIANA
John and Dornan had let me compose myself and then driven me to the Gypsy Brothers clubhouse, an impressive compound in the heart of Los Angeles. Six-foot fences topped with razor wire blocked the view from outside. The place looked like a goddamn prison, and I was terrified that once I went in, I might not get back out.
Suddenly, my little apartment on the beach seemed like the best thing that had ever happened to me.
John and Dornan walked me up to a small bedroom and left me alone, with the door locked from the outside.
I sat on a double bed that smelled like old sweat and sex and stared at the phone on the nightstand.
Mama. Papa. Karina. Pablo. Luis. Este.
I recited their names to the pounding of my heart.
