die.
When he is good and dead, I smile. Because it feels good. It feels even better than I thought it would.
One motherfucker down. Six to go. I wipe my fingerprints off the can, place it back on the bench, and step over Chad’s motionless body. Making my way out of the garage with the tenacity of a stealthy cat, I head to the roof unseen. Along the way, I grab a beer from the fridge and knock the lid against the timber bench to pry it loose. Taking the stairs quickly and quietly, I burst onto the roof. Jase is sitting in a beanbag he has dug up from somewhere, watching the sun set over Venice Beach. I stand behind him, admiring the view.
“Hey,” he says. “I just came out to watch the sunset before I go to work.”
I sit cross-legged on the enormous beanbag beside him, sinking into the beans, my body so tired, so spent.
“You even brought me a beer,” he jokes, gesturing to my full Corona. I smile and take a sip, holding it in front of him. “Here,” I say. “I only wanted a taste.”
His hand brushes mine as he takes the bottle from me, and I wait a second too long before I let go. Our eyes lock together, a dark worry settling over his features as he, too, must feel the spark that alights between us.
“Samantha–” he says.
I shake my head. “Don’t.”
He frowns and takes a swig of beer. “Don’t what?”
I stare at my hands. “Don’t say it.”
He takes a long, deep breath and lets it out in a whoosh. “How do you know what I was going to say?”
I put my hand back over his, both of us gripping the bottle. “I just do,” I reply, squeezing his hand tight.
I think about how much I love him, how much I have always loved him, and it is enough to make me sob. But I don’t. I can’t.
I’m not finished yet.
There are still so many things I have to do.
“To be wronged is nothing, unless you continue to remember it.”
- Confucius
I would never forget.
And so, for me, being wronged was everything.
ONE
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,
When he is good and dead, I smile. Because it feels good. It feels even better than I thought it would.
One motherfucker down. Six to go. I wipe my fingerprints off the can, place it back on the bench, and step over Chad’s motionless body. Making my way out of the garage with the tenacity of a stealthy cat, I head to the roof unseen. Along the way, I grab a beer from the fridge and knock the lid against the timber bench to pry it loose. Taking the stairs quickly and quietly, I burst onto the roof. Jase is sitting in a beanbag he has dug up from somewhere, watching the sun set over Venice Beach. I stand behind him, admiring the view.
“Hey,” he says. “I just came out to watch the sunset before I go to work.”
I sit cross-legged on the enormous beanbag beside him, sinking into the beans, my body so tired, so spent.
“You even brought me a beer,” he jokes, gesturing to my full Corona. I smile and take a sip, holding it in front of him. “Here,” I say. “I only wanted a taste.”
His hand brushes mine as he takes the bottle from me, and I wait a second too long before I let go. Our eyes lock together, a dark worry settling over his features as he, too, must feel the spark that alights between us.
“Samantha–” he says.
I shake my head. “Don’t.”
He frowns and takes a swig of beer. “Don’t what?”
I stare at my hands. “Don’t say it.”
He takes a long, deep breath and lets it out in a whoosh. “How do you know what I was going to say?”
I put my hand back over his, both of us gripping the bottle. “I just do,” I reply, squeezing his hand tight.
I think about how much I love him, how much I have always loved him, and it is enough to make me sob. But I don’t. I can’t.
I’m not finished yet.
There are still so many things I have to do.
“To be wronged is nothing, unless you continue to remember it.”
- Confucius
I would never forget.
And so, for me, being wronged was everything.
ONE
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,
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