I scoffed.
“Don’t make that noise at me,” he said, reaching over to give my knee a squeeze. “You might be a porcupine, but you’ve got a soft underbelly.”
“Bite your tongue,” I joked.
“If you didn’t,” he pointed out, a small smile playing on his lips, “you wouldn’t forgive people so easily.”
“I don’t,” I replied stubbornly. “I hold grudges forever.”
“Bullshit,” he said with a laugh. “How many times did you make nice after hearing someone say shit about you at the club? A hundred? A million?”
“Making nice isn’t the same as forgiving.”
“Fine,” he said raising a hand in surrender. “You’re a monster and I don’t even want to sit by you.”
He stared at me expectantly.
“You can get up, then,” I said, pulling my feet up so I could curl my legs under me. “I’m comfortable here.”
He grinned wide. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“You dig it,” I replied drolly.
“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. “I do. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“You two done flirting?” my mom asked, strolling into the room. “Because that recliner is calling my name.”
“Is it?” I asked, watching her fall dramatically into the chair.
“Yes,” she replied, kicking her feet up. “Farrah,” she called breathily. “Farrah, come sit on me.”
“Is it just me, or does that sound faintly pornographic?” I asked Mark.
“I was trying to ignore it,” he whispered back.
“Whispers don’t make friends, Woody,” my mom called, her eyes closed. “Share with the class.”
“I need to piss,” he said, handing Olive to me.
“Coward,” I called after him as he practically ran out the front door.
“Why is it that men cannot pee inside?” my mom asked, her eyes still closed. “Are they like dogs, always needing to mark their territory?”
“Actually,” Eli said from the kitchen, “someone blew up the bathroom. I wouldn’t advise going in there.”
“New question,” my mom said with a sigh. “Why are men so disgusting?”
“Well—” Eli drew the word out.
“Shut it, Eli,” me and Mom both called at the same time.
She opened her eyes and grinned at me. “Mini-me.”
I snorted.
“I think this is going to work, you know,” my mom said, her voice growing serious. “But even if it doesn’t, that man will never get anywhere near you and Olive again.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” I replied.
“If I have to, I’ll kill that motherfucker myself,” she said with quiet intensity.
The chair protested with a loud screech as she abruptly sat forward, kicking the leg rest back into place.
“Dad would never let you anywhere near him,” I said, giving her a crooked smile. “But thank you.”
“I’ll always protect you with everything I have,” she said, holding my gaze. “And if ever there’s a time when one of us isn’t there to help you—you know what to do. Don’t hesitate, Cecilia. Not for a second.”
I swallowed hard. When I was a baby, Cam’s biological dad had kidnapped us and drove us into the mountains with some batshit crazy idea of making us his family. There was a whole lot of other things happening behind the scenes, but bottom line, he’d lost his mind. The pistol my mom kept in my diaper bag was the only thing that had saved us. Well, that and my big brother, who’d been the one to use it. My mom had grabbed Cam, picked me up, and walked miles back down the mountain until the police found us. From then on, Cam was a part of our family. Legend was that she’d thrown herself in front of my big brother when the cops had drawn their weapons, literally shielding him with her body while threatening the men with complete annihilation. I didn’t know if it had happened exactly like that, though. In deference to Cam and the impossible decision he’d had to make—my parents rarely spoke about it.
Afterward, my mom had never again went anywhere without a handgun in her purse, not even the grocery store—and she’d passed on that habit to me.
“Did you know that someday, I’d need to know how to shoot?” I asked curiously as Olive began to fuss.
“I prayed you wouldn’t,” my mom said. “What’s that saying? Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”
“I hate that saying.”
“Everyone hates that saying,” she said, kicking back in the chair again. “No one wants to prepare for something bad to happen.” She closed her eyes and made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go feed your child, she’s starving.”
“You’re not starving,” I mumbled to Olive as I carried her into the bedroom.
The next few hours passed so slow that it felt like days. On top of worrying that Drake Warren would find us, I now had the added worry that his group of skinhead pals were going to be searching for us, too. While we waited for news from Wilson, I watched everyone act like they weren’t trying to find things to pass the time. The almost two weeks we’d been in the house, my group of protectors had been vigilant, but I’d also noticed that they’d used the time to unwind a bit from their hectic lives. Lu did yoga every morning. Forrest read through Poet’s fully stocked bookshelf. Eli hung a portable hammock from the deck railings and laid in there for hours. My brother tinkered with his bike. My mom and dad went for walks along the beach—holding hands. And Mark kicked back in the recliner and held Olive, sometimes for hours.
Now, though, everyone was antsy. They paced around the house and checked their phones. No one stayed still for long, including me. The nervous energy was catching, and I was far from immune.
Finally, Forrest raised his hand for quiet, even though none of us were really talking, and answered his phone.
“You’re on speaker,” he said.
“Lovely,” Wilson said flatly. “I’ve spoken with someone who refused to give me his name, though I was unflaggingly polite. While he didn’t seem to be very receptive to the news that perhaps the assassination—his word, not mine—of their leader was an inside job, I do believe that I planted a seed of doubt in his very small brain.”
“What does that mean?” I asked Mark. He shook his head.
“He has agreed to take the news to the rest of his terrorist group,” Wilson continued. “Though, I don’t know if that will help the situation.”
“So, we’re exactly where we started,” I said bluntly, looking around the room. “Great.”
“Not quite,” Wilson replied. “Hello, Cecilia. I hope you’re feeling better.”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. We’re not exactly where we started. Dialogue is important in negotiations.”
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” Cam spat.
“Correct,” Wilson replied. “However, they do believe they’re negotiating with us, which works in our favor.”
“Did you set up another time to make contact?” Mark asked.
“Tomorrow,” Wilson replied. “They prefer to call me.”
“They probably shit their pants when he called,” Eli said to Lu. “Bet he did that thing where he tells them all about something he shouldn’t know about, but somehow does.”
“And now they’re wondering how he found out,” Lu replied.
“And checking their security and locking their doors,” Eli said.
“I get results,” Wilson said, clearly annoyed.
“Keep doin’ what you’re doin’,” Forrest told Wilson.
“If I could make a suggestion?” Wilson said, the sentence posed as a question, but definitely not one. “Leave for Oregon. If I’m right, and I usually am, the Free America Militia will be calling Mr. Warren in for a meeting that he cannot refuse, in which case, he’ll be headed north in a matter of hours. Dependent upon what they decide once they’ve spoken to him, you could have a bigger problem on your hands than the son and his goon squad.”
“W
ill do,” Mark said, glancing at me. “We’ll keep you posted.”
“Do that,” Wilson replied before hanging up.
My heart started to thump and my skin felt hot. The time I’d had to get my shit together was over.
“Cecilia,” my dad called, looking at me from across the room. “Got no choice. I’m callin’ in the boys, just in case.”
“Have them meet us,” Forrest said as he got to his feet. “By the time they get here, we’ll be long gone.”
Dad ignored him, still looking at me.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Call the boys.”
Mark wrapped an arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze.
* * *
During the final leg of our trip to Eugene, we didn’t bother with stealth and subterfuge. Our main goal was speed. It barely took any time to pack up our things, and in less than an hour, we were headed north. Olive and I rode with Mark, but my mom insisted on riding with Eli. In her words, if we ran into trouble, he’d need someone riding shotgun. My dad hadn’t appreciated that comment at all.
“You ready to be home?” Mark asked.
I didn’t answer him right away because I was leaning over the seat to check on Olive in the back. It felt weird not riding beside her.
“Home is San Diego,” I said as I dropped back into my seat. “And no, I’m not ready.”
“It’s gonna be fine.”
“I’ll survive,” I said with a humorless laugh. “I mean, hopefully.”
“Not funny.”
“I’m always funny.”
Mark shot me a frustrated look.
“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “No, I’m not ready. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want the whole club in my business and discussing how I’ve brought hell and damnation home with me, or debating my motivation for literally every move I make. But I’ll handle it.”
“You’ve been gone a long time,” he replied. “I think you might be surprised by how this all plays out.”
“I was just home after my dad’s car accident,” I reminded him. “And not much had changed. I was still the – God, what do you call a person when everyone else are black sheep?”
“The white sheep?” he said with a chuckle.
“Definitely not that,” I said with a huff. “The llama.”
“Huh?”
“They’re the black sheep, and I’m the llama. I don’t fit…and I spit at people.”
“This metaphor has gone in a really weird direction,” he mused.
“You know what I mean. When I was there, Lily wanted nothing to do with me—even though I made a serious effort to make things right between us. Everyone stared, waiting for me to cause a scene or something. It was complete bullshit. I was there for my dad. What did they think I was going to do, start a brawl with my baby sister over a guy that I hadn’t wanted when I was 16, and still don’t want now? So ridiculous.”
“Just take it one day at a time,” he said, setting his hand on my thigh, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the seam of my sweats. “It’ll be fine.”
“At least I’ve got you with me,” I said, holding back a smile. “They’ll be so busy wondering if me and you are together that they won’t be taking bets on when me and Lily will get into a fistfight.”
“Puhlease,” he said, making me laugh. He paused. “Like Lily would ever get into a fistfight.”
“Hey!” I said, swatting at him.
“What? Have you ever met a sweeter person? She’s the least confrontational person I know.”
“To you, maybe,” I muttered. Though, I knew he wasn’t wrong. The idea of getting into a physical fight with my sister seemed as likely as being abducted by aliens. “Still, they’ll be waiting for some sort of drama that they can blame me for… beyond the drama I’m bringing with me, I mean.”
“I think they might surprise you,” he mused. “They’re dysfunctional as fuck, but when someone’s in trouble, they circle the fuckin’ wagons.”
I sighed. “I know. I just never wanted them to do that for me.”
“They already have,” he pointed out, glancing at me. “They didn’t cut me out back when I bailed on you, but not one person set me straight on you and Leo. They let me believe it.”
“I think they believed it,” I confessed, watching him drive. “At least for a while. They just assumed, and we didn’t correct them. Plus—” I swallowed hard. “I used it—you know? During arguments and shit. I used Leo as a shield to keep people from fucking with me.”
Sometimes I forgot how much I owed Leo. He’d come through for me in a way that defied comprehension. There was nothing in it for him at that point. I’d already completely screwed him over. He should have hated me. A familiar memory hit me, and my lips twitched as I tried to hold back a laugh.
“You’re being surprisingly cool about this,” I said, failing to keep the surprise out of my voice.
“I look like the jealous type?” Leo asked. If I was being honest, yeah. Yeah, he did. When the right woman came along, I had a feeling that Leo would be jealous and possessive as hell. He just wasn’t that way with me.
Leo hadn’t held a grudge when I’d started screwing around with Mark and inevitably left him behind, and I’d never really understood it until years later, when I’d seen him with my little sister. Me and Leo just hadn’t fit, and we’d both known it. Ironically, he’d fit with my baby sister—who was my complete opposite.
I started to stretch to look over the back of the seat again, but Mark held me still with the hand on my leg.
“Stay put, yeah?” he said, glancing in his rearview mirror.
Alarm thrummed through me.
“Why?” I looked in my own rearview mirror, but couldn’t see anything.
“Just noticed a pickup that’s been with us for a while,” he said, giving my leg a squeeze. “Could be nothin,’ but no reason to highlight exactly where Olive is, yeah?”
“Fuck,” I breathed, clenching my fists on my lap.
“Should be meeting up with the boys in the next hour,” he said, switching lanes. He gave a chin lift to Forrest as we passed his SUV. “They’re probably freezing their asses off in this weather.”
“I know. Just another reason for everyone to be pissed at me,” I said dryly. “Hooray.”
“Nah,” he said, smiling. “They’re probably happy to ride, even in the shit.”
“Until one of them goes down because it’s fucking snowing.”
He leaned forward to look at the sky above us. “I think we’ll make it through before it gets bad,” he argued. “Rain’s nothing. They’re used to it.”
“I’m going to miss the sun,” I said wistfully. “But it’ll be nice to have actual seasons again if we stay that long.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s one of the things I missed most. The fall when it starts getting cooler and everything smells like wet leaves. You never really get that in San Diego.”
“And Christmas trees,” I said, looking in the rearview mirror again. Mark seemed calm, but I was still on high alert. “They’re so expensive in San Diego.”
“I know, right?” he replied. “Nothing like paying twenty bucks to some roadside stand for a seven-foot tree.”
“In San Diego, I always paid at least a hundred for a small one for my condo,” I confessed. “The fake ones just don’t do it for me.”
“They don’t smell,” we both said at the same time. Mark laughed.
“What’s the point of a Christmas tree if it doesn’t make the house smell like Christmas?”
“Agreed,” he replied.
We lapsed into an easy silence, and long before I was ready, we took an exit that led to a rest stop right off the freeway. Sitting up straight, I stared through the front windshield trying to see something beyond the rain. Suddenly, a whole row of headlights flashed on, and I felt tears clog my throat.
I hadn’t wanted them there. I still didn’t want them involved. But, Jesus, it felt good to know
that they were.
“Say hello to the cavalry,” Mark mumbled.
Though he’d never say so, and would probably deny it, I could tell he was bracing himself for whatever came next. He was on good terms with the club, he always had been, but he also wasn’t one of them. It had been his decision, but I imagined it still probably stung a little.
“We’re not stopping long,” he said as I grabbed my purse from the floorboard. “Quick hello and we’re back on the road again.”
“Got it,” I said, throwing open my door. “But I’m not going anywhere without a weapon.”
Mark grinned. “Smart girl.”
“Woman,” I corrected.
“My girl,” he argued. He turned and hopped out of his side of the truck, leaving me there with my face slack and a warm feeling burning up my chest. Dammit. I threw the hood of my sweatshirt up and stepped out into the rain.
“These are Woody’s people,” my dad was saying as I rounded the hood of the pickup.
“Hell,” my Uncle Grease said, reaching out to shake Mark’s hand and slap him hard on the shoulder. “I thought we were your people.”
“Always,” Mark replied with a smile. “This is my team—Forrest, Eli and Lu. The others will meet up with us in Eugene.”
“There she is,” my cousin Tommy said happily, throwing his arm around my shoulder. “Long time, no see, cousin.”
“Jesus, Tommy,” I complained. “You’re soaked.”
“Is that a problem?” he asked as he held me tighter, wrapping his other arm around me. “I’m not getting you wet, am I?”
I could feel the water soaking through my sweatshirt, and I squirmed to get free.
“She’s been sick,” Mark said, his tone far from amused. “Not a good idea.”
“How’s it goin’, Mouth?” Tommy asked. I pinched him hard in the side. He knew Mark had never liked that nickname. He was being an ass on purpose, but he let me go, anyway.
I looked around the group. My Uncle Grease, cousins Will and Tommy, the Aces’ president Dragon and his son, my ex, Leo, had all ridden down to meet us. I was surprised that they hadn’t brought more men until my dad spoke.
“Kept this quiet?” he asked Dragon.
“Just like you asked,” Dragon confirmed. “Any problems?”
Craving Cecilia Page 21