Craving Cecilia

by Jacquelyn, Nicole

  I couldn’t help the loud bark of laughter that left my mouth. She’d sounded so scandalized and worried, so not like the Cecilia I’d known. Hell, we’d once had sex against the outside wall of the clubhouse while everyone—including her boyfriend at the time—partied inside.

  “Shut up,” she grumbled. “It’s just that my mom is already saying shit.”

  “Like what?” I asked curiously.

  “Nothing,” she replied. “Just little comments.”

  “Cec,” I said patiently, trying not to laugh, “I didn’t give a shit what your parents thought when we were kids, and I give less of a fuck now.”

  “Well, I give more fucks,” she said quietly.

  I thought it over for a moment. “Here’s the thing,” I said, leaning up on my elbow. “If somethin’ happens, someone needs to be in here with you. If you’d rather share a room with your parents, you can do that. Or Lu—she probably wouldn’t mind.”

  “No, it’s fine,” she said. “Do you think something will happen?”

  “Nope,” I lied. “It’s just a precaution.”

  I couldn’t know if they’d find us, not without knowing how they’d found Cecilia in the first place. The house was secure, with silent alarms and—if I knew Wilson—booby traps, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t show up. It just meant we’d have a little warning before they got in.

  As Cecilia got herself and the baby settled, I turned off the bedside lamp, leaving the room aglow from a light in the closet. I knew better than to pitch the room into darkness. Neither of us had ever discussed it, I hadn’t wanted to broach it, and she’d never offered the information, but I’d always known that Cecilia was afraid of the dark.

  It was just one more thing that she hid from everyone and hadn’t been able to hide from me.

  “My parents are going to want to take us home soon,” Cecilia said after I’d curled into her, the curve of her ass cradling my dick and her legs tangled with mine. “Do you think he’ll search for us in Oregon?”

  I couldn’t lie that time. “He’ll search until he finds you,” I said carefully. “No matter where you go.”

  Cecilia sniffled. “She doesn’t even have any legal tie to Cane’s money,” she said in frustration. “And we don’t fucking want it.”

  “It’s a lot of money.”

  “I have money,” she said. “More than we need.”

  “You cut a lot of hair?” I asked.

  “I’m damn good at it,” she replied, elbowing me in the gut. “But Cane and Liv also paid me for being a surrogate.”

  My head jerked in surprise. “They were buying Olive from you?”

  “No,” she said with a huff. “It was payment for a service, in this case, growing their child. It’s completely normal and not at all shady or weird.”

  “Sounds weird.”

  “Well, it wasn’t,” she said. “Surrogates get paid for their time and energy and trauma to their bodies, and emotional upheaval of having a child for someone.”

  “Okay,” I replied. “I get it.”

  “Though, I doubt most get paid as much as I was,” she mumbled.

  By the time I grew the balls to ask just how much she’d gotten paid for having Olive, she was already asleep. I laid there for a long time, listening to her breathe. The situation she was in was so extreme that we seemed to have fallen back into something that we’d lost years before. It was an easy camaraderie, but I knew it wouldn’t last. At some point, things were going to calm down and we were going to have to face the things we were choosing to ignore.

  I tightened my arm around her. Eventually, she was going to come to her senses and not let me anywhere near her. I could feel it coming like an axe being swung at my neck. Because, even though she trusted me to keep her safe—Cecilia was never going to forgive me for what I’d done.

  * * *

  The next few days passed pretty slow. Cecilia spent most of her time in bed with the baby, which, along with the antibiotics Forrest had picked up, was exactly what she’d needed. Wilson had even set her up with a laptop—warning her not to check any social media or search anything to do with the Warrens or herself—so she could stream movies. And she’d been telling the truth about falling asleep, whenever I checked on her, she’d passed out with Olive, whatever show she’d been watching still playing. The only time she was able to stay awake was when she was taking care of the baby.

  Wilson was making progress on the FAM, but it was slow going. Every thread he pulled connected to five others that he’d have to follow. Most of them were dead ends, but we’d found a few land mines. One of Richard Campbell’s daughters had shown up at a police station the year before, reporting that she and her mother and younger siblings had been held hostage on her father’s property for years. Unfortunately, when the police had gone to follow up on her claims, all they’d found was a saccharinely happy family with stories about how unstable the oldest daughter was. Even if she hadn’t gotten the outcome she’d hoped for, the daughter, Kaley, had at least put herself on the state’s radar, which meant that she’d been able to escape the FAM’s hold with little repercussions, and was now living somewhere in Eastern Oregon.

  Because she had insider knowledge of the workings inside the FAM, Wilson had started immediately trying to contact her, but hadn’t had any success so far.

  Things were pretty quiet for the most part, with everyone researching and calling contacts for information—but we hadn’t found much. Warren’s group was surprisingly quiet for a bunch of white supremacists, which I was pretty sure worried all of us.

  We were sitting around the kitchen table Monday afternoon, eating some sort of chicken bake Eli had concocted, when Forrest’s chair dropped down onto all four legs. The noise got my notice, and when my head snapped up, I realized why he’d come to attention.

  Casper had stepped just inside the back door with his phone clenched in his fist, tension radiating from him in waves. “Cam, Farrah,” he called. “Need a word.”

  They were up and out of their seats immediately, and even though he hadn’t asked us, Cecilia and I followed.

  “Rose and Mack are missing,” he said without preamble once I’d closed the door behind us.

  “What?” Farrah replied, gaping. “Together?”

  “That’s what it looks like,” Casper responded. “Went outside during one of Rose’s breaks at the bar and never came back in.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Cam snapped.

  “What do they know?” I asked.

  “Nothin,’” Casper growled. “Haven’t heard a fuckin’ whisper.”

  “We need to get home,” Farrah said, looking from her man to Cecilia. “Are you ready to make the drive?”

  “As long as I’m not the one driving,” Cecilia replied. “I can sleep most of the way.”

  “We can follow you up,” I said, my stomach twisting. “More eyes and ears, just to be safe.”

  “Appreciate that,” Casper replied. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

  “We’re waiting?” Cam asked, surprise and frustration making the question sound more like a pissed off statement.

  “Your sister is sick as fuck and she’s got a newborn,” Casper told him. “And we’re gonna have to stop a fuckin’ million times on the way up. I’m gettin’ some sleep before we head out.”

  Casper and Farrah walked back into the house and Cecilia turned to Cam, who had walked to the end of the patio and was staring out at the sandy yard.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh. “I know you’d rather be up there helping.”

  I bristled as Cam turned, his scowl so nasty I was surprised when Cecilia held her ground. Before I could say anything, his face softened.

  “I’m right where I’m supposed to be, little sister,” he said quietly. “Takin’ care of you. We’ll all head up tomorrow, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Cecilia replied.

  Cam threw his arm over her shoulder and led her into the house.

  Jesus, sometimes I w
as glad to be an only child. By the way Cam bitched about Cecilia, it was easy to assume he couldn’t stand her—but I guess the truth was never that simple. The bond they had, even when they didn’t get along, was still solid. He’d known just what to say to her.

  It made me wonder why for so many years, he’d never realized that there was something wrong.

  “All good?” Lu asked as I came back into the kitchen.

  “Change of plans,” I said, sitting back down. Casper, Farrah, Cam and Cecilia must have gone upstairs. None of them had even bothered to clear their plates. “We leave for Oregon in the morning.”

  “Somethin’ happen?” Forrest asked.

  “Cecilia’s cousin went missing,” I replied.

  “Shit,” Eli said, drawing out the word. “That family has a lot of drama.”

  “They’re part of an outlaw motorcycle club,” Wilson said, striding into the room. “It’s not a lifestyle that promotes stability.”

  “He’s not wrong,” I mumbled into my food.

  “I will not be traveling to Oregon in the morning,” Wilson said as he grabbed a plate of food. “I assume you all can make it without me.”

  “What’s up?” Forrest asked him.

  “I believe that I’ve found Richard Campbell’s daughter, Kaley,” Wilson replied. “I’ll continue trying to make contact and follow up on leads from here.”

  “Sounds good,” Eli said.

  “So glad you approve,” Wilson replied emotionlessly.

  I wolfed down the rest of my food and went searching for Cecilia. When I found her, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her phone in her hand.

  “Whatcha doin’?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

  “I was trying to work up the courage to call Lily,” she said with a self-conscious huff. She flicked at the charger connecting the phone to the wall. “My phone was dead, so I plugged it in, but then I chickened out.”

  “I bet she’d be glad to hear from you,” I said, sitting next to her.

  “No, she wouldn’t,” she said simply. “Did you know she’s with Leo now?”

  “No shit?” Cecilia and Leo had been a thing when we were kids. He’d been the one to look the other way while Cecilia ran around with me.

  “No shit,” she confirmed. “I always kind of saw it coming.”

  “Really?” Lily was around five years younger than us, and had been just a kid when I’d left.

  “Not when she was little. Gross.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “But later, yeah. They just always had a connection.”

  “Huh,” I said, trying to wrap my head around it. “Still, you’re her sister. She’d want to know you’re thinking about her.”

  “She was always closer with Rose,” Cecilia argued with no heat. She set the phone on the bedside table. “She’s probably really freaked out. I’m not going to bother her.”

  She twisted on the bed and laid down with her back to me, pulling the covers up to her shoulder.

  “You want me to take Olive so you can get some rest?” I asked, glancing at the squirming baby. Olive was busy kicking her legs and waving her arms in front of her face.

  “If you don’t mind, yeah,” Cecilia said from beneath the covers.

  I stared at Cecilia’s back for a while, wondering if I should crawl in behind her. Cecilia and Lily’s relationship was complicated, and I knew that was mostly because of the woman curled into a ball in front of me—but I also knew that she didn’t want it to be that way. Sometimes, people just fell into patterns that were nearly impossible to get out of. I hated that she didn’t even feel welcome to call Lily when her family was going through something so terrifying.

  Olive started to fuss and when Cecilia didn’t even reach for her, I made my decision. I picked up the baby and left the room, closing the door behind me so her mother could rest.

  “You want a tour?” I asked Olive quietly as I strode toward the stairs. Her little body felt good against my chest, and for the first time in a couple days, it felt like I could exhale.

  Later, I’d be grateful for that little piece of calm before the storm.

  Chapter 9

  Cecilia

  I stared at a small drip of paint on the windowsill, millimeters away from where it met the wall. It was almost perfectly formed, like it had been caught mid-roll and was now stuck in that same position forever, marring the nearly pristine paintwork. A mistake that was now permanently part of the room.

  How fitting.

  It had always been amazing to me how a word of praise can be forgotten in an instant, but a harsh word is remembered forever. I’m not sure if it’s a defense mechanism protecting someone from being hurt again, or if we as humans just choose to remember the shitty parts of someone rather than the good ones. Whatever the reason, I felt like I’d been dealing with it my entire life.

  I was the family fuck up. Mean. Wild. Selfish. Liar.

  For a long time, I’d owned it. I’d played into the role that I’d been cast because honestly, there hadn’t been a different role to play. My older brother Cam was the child my parents had chosen. They’d adopted him after his entire first family had died, and he’d been fully formed when they added him to our family, his personality already set. He was a leader. Before he became my brother, he’d already been the oldest child, the oldest sibling. He was patient and helpful and he adored my mom, which meant he always went out of his way to make her happy.

  My little sister Lily was different. Where Cam was a natural born leader, Lily was a follower. She was easy, because she was so damn sweet. From the minute she was born, it was like our world revolved around her. And I understood it, I really did. She was brilliant, really and truly brilliant, like my dad. Her intelligence was intimidating, but she never held it over anyone. It was like she didn’t even realize how much smarter she was than nearly everyone around her. She was just sweet, in a way that wasn’t grating or annoying. So when she lost her sight at eleven years old? It rocked our family to the very foundation and what little attention hadn’t been focused on her before, became hyper-focused on her afterward.

  I also had another little sister, Charlie, who came after Lily became blind.

  Rubbing my fingers over my lips, I fought against the urge to cry.

  I didn’t know Charlie very well. She was born when I was nearly out of the house, and most of my memories with her were when she was still called swimming, fimming, because she couldn’t make the s sound. She was a really cool kid, I knew that much, but we hadn’t spent much time together since I’d moved away. It was my fault. I hadn’t made an effort.

  I’d escaped Oregon because I’d been the fuck up. Because I had put so much importance on getting my parents’ attention—on getting anyone’s attention—that it was suffocating me.

  I was the middle child and because of that, I’d naturally found myself doing anything and everything to get my parents’ attention and affection. Hell, even their anger had been better than feeling ignored. And when I was young, it hadn’t been terrible. I’d been bratty, sure. But it wasn’t until the early summer day when our family had been attacked, and I’d found myself stumbling through the carnage, that things had changed.

  No one came to me. No one asked if I was okay. No one held me.

  Because I wasn’t bleeding, they’d just assumed that they didn’t need to console me. Not then, and not afterward, when everything had settled back into a new normal. I’d been overlooked, again, but it was so much worse that time because I’d needed them so badly.

  Mark, who’d been in the hospital for weeks with gunshot and knife wounds, had been the only one who’d asked if I was okay. He’d been the only one who’d held me as I cried. The only person I’d confided in about those moments when I’d thought I was going to die.

  Everyone around me had assumed I was jealous. I’d heard the things they said—that I was a self-centered brat, that I didn’t care about anyone but myself, that I couldn’t stand the fact that Lily got all of my parents’ atte
ntion. And I’d fed into the bullshit for a long time, believing all of it, because it was easier than facing the truth.

  It had actually been the opposite.

  I’d been terrified for my little sister. I’d adored her. But I’d also been doing anything I could to get my parents to look at me and see that I was drowning.

  “Hey,” Mark called, startling me as he put a hand on my hip. “I’ve got a hungry baby here.”

  Internally shrugging off the memories, I turned to him.

  “Thanks for taking her for a while,” I said, lifting my arms for Olive. “Is she getting cranky?”

  “Cranky, no,” he said with a weird look on his face. “But she started trying to suck on my neck.”

  I huffed out a surprised laugh.

  “I might have a hickey,” he said, leaning his head to the side to show me.

  “You don’t have a hickey,” I replied, pushing myself up.

  “Thank God.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I usually make them buy me dinner first.”

  I was surprised at the small twinge of jealousy that flared in my belly. I didn’t want to think of Mark with anyone else, even if he was joking.

  “So,” he said uncomfortably, “your parents are pretty much set to leave, but we need to pack up your stuff tonight so we can hit the road early.”

  “We?” I asked as Olive started to nurse. “You’re coming with us?”

  “We’re all going,” Mark said. He laid down on his side and propped up his head with his hand. “Just because there’s shit happening in Eugene doesn’t mean that fuckwad is going to stop messin’ with you. If you guys need to head north, we’re headed north.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said quietly. “Once we’re there, you know I’ll be safe.”

  “Can’t take the chance,” he said, his expression grim. “Not willing to.”

  As I stared at him, I remembered all the different ways he’d made me feel safe when we were young. The way he’d always been so attuned to me that he would notice when I was upset from across a crowded room. How intently he used to watch me when I talked, like nothing was more important than what I had to say. And then, like a blow to the windpipe, I remembered when he’d torn that all away.