Gypsy Brothers: The Complete Series by Lili St Germain

headlights.
    She is only forty but looks closer to fifty, a life of excess and violence written in each deep line that draws out from underneath her huge green eyes. Her dark blonde hair sits atop her head in a messy French bun, peppered with fine slivers of grey.
    “Hello, Sammi,” Carol says, extending her hand. “You must be new here. I can fix you anything – eggs? Toast?”
    “Cereal is fine,” I squeak as I shake my mother’s hand.

TEN
    My mother sold me out for a bag of blow.
    There.
    I said it.
    She was a terrible mother, a liar and a whore and a thief. Falling pregnant with me was an accident – she was barely seventeen and had just met my father.
    Growing up, my father was like a mother to me as well. And my mother, when she was around, was like a distant older sister who lashed out at me when I did something wrong, and yelled at me whenever I cried. I learned from a very early age never to cry. I perfected my poker face at three years old, the same age I learned how to climb out of my own cot, how to pull up a chair and fix myself breakfast how to call 911 when my mother overdosed on heroin in the bath.
    She was a horrid mother, but she was still my mother, and I loved her more than anything.
    The day Dornan took me – the day I “died” – was like any other day. My father was still at work at the factory; my mother was tearing at her skin, out of cash and out of meth.
    Then Uncle Dornan knocked at the door, flanked by Chad and Maxi. I was a streetwise kid. I’d grown up in the life, in the club. I could see the guns bulging at their waistbands, concealed under thin shirts and patched leather jackets.
    My mother answered the door. I was in the kitchen, and heard voices. They were looking for my father, was he home?
    When my mother told him that my father was still at work, Dornan burst in, apparently unsatisfied with her answer.
    Then his eyes landed on me, and a shit-eating grin grew on his beard-stubbled face.
    “You’d better come with us, Juliette,” he said, his voice like sharp gravel scraping against my bare skin.
    I looked at my mother, alarmed. Something wasn’t right.
    “Why?” my mother asked, picking at her arm like she did when she was hanging for a fix.
    Dornan withdrew a knotted baggie of light brown powder from inside his jacket and held it in front of her. Heroin.
    “Relax, darlin’,” he said, grinning. I felt my skin prickle as my heart thudded faster. “We’ll have you back here in a few hours.”
    My mother looked uncertain. “Why do you need Julie?” she asked. She always called me Julie. Everyone else called me Julz.
    Except Dornan. He liked to use my full name.
    Dornan shook the baggie. “We just need her to help us find something, Carol. It’s a quick in-and-out job. Nothing untoward.”
    My mother bit her lip and looked from Dornan, to me, to the baggie.
    “I don’t feel well,” I said to my mother, backing away. “I don’t want to go.”
    Dornan stepped closer to me, towering over my five-feet-tall frame. “It’s important, Juliette,” he said, his smile vanishing. “Jason’s waiting for you.”
    He grabbed my elbow, steering me towards the front door.
    “Mom,” I protested.
    Dornan dropped the bag into her open palm and smiled victoriously. “You’re a good woman, Carol. I knew you’d help us.”
    “Have her home for dinner,” my mother said, turning and fleeing to the kitchen with her drugs.
    Dornan tugged me more forcefully. “Mom!” I yelled. She didn’t answer. She ignored my pleading as three men dragged me out of my house and ordered me into the backseat of their car, the engine still running.
    “Where are we going?” I asked them, annoyed and upset.
    Nobody answered. Dornan didn’t make eye contact with me, just glanced up and down our street before slamming my door shut. A moment later, he was in the driver’s seat, and activated the central locking. I was trapped.
    I rested my head against my window and stared at my house for