Craving Cecilia (The Aces' Sons 6)

Chapter 23

Cecilia

Taking a deep breath, I sat back in my seat, shifting a little as the vest I was wearing pressed uncomfortably against my waist. Its presence was more terrifying than comforting, because it reminded me of the large expanse of my body that it didn’t cover. It also told me that Mark’s team fully believed that what we were doing was going to work. I was about to be thrown into a situation that I felt fully unprepared for. I felt like a sacrificial lamb.

As we drove the familiar road between the club and my parents’ house, I glanced at Mark’s profile and got a feeling of déjà vu. How many times had we driven this particular stretch of road, racing to my house to be alone when I knew the house was empty?

“If I get in a wreck, your knees are gonna smash right into your face,” Mark said, nodding at my feet on his dashboard.

“Then don’t get in a wreck,” I shot back, grinning as I wiggled my toes, the sunlight pouring through the trees around us speckling the skin and polish with rapidly changing shadows.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he said, reaching out to push gently on my thighs until I’d dropped my feet to the floorboard. “It’s everyone else.”

“You can’t protect me from everything,” I teased, turning in my seat to put my feet in his lap. “This better?”

“Not really,” he said glancing at me with a small smile.

He turned back to the road and I sighed, leaning my head back against the window so the sunlight warmed my face.

“I’ll do my best,” Mark said quietly, wrapping his hand around one of my bare feet.

“Do your best at what?”

“Protecting you,” he said with a squeeze.

“Give me a shot, first,” I said with a laugh, digging my toes into his belly, making him squirm. “If you see things going south, that’s when you can step in.”

Mark laughed. “Fine,” he grumbled jokingly. “Quit ticklin’ me, I’m trying to drive here.”

The memory was gone in an instant as soon as I felt the truck move from the smooth asphalt to the gravel of my parent’s long driveway. Without conscious thought, I reached for him, my hand gripping his thigh.

“Showtime,” he said, his eyes only leaving the road ahead of us to scan the surrounding trees. “Straight in the house, baby.”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my expression relaxed.

We were only unloading my belongings into my parents’ garage to be stored—nothing more, nothing less.

The men who’d ridden to meet us were already parked in front of my parents’ house, and I watched in awe as they milled around, laughing and joking. Tommy made a rude gesture toward my brother Cam, and then laughed like a hyena. My Uncle Grease slapped the back of his head good-naturedly and said something that made Cam grin. My dad lifted his chin at us in welcome from his spot leaning casually against the porch rails.

Mark rolled down the window as we got close. “Should I back it in?” he called.

“Nah,” my dad shook his head. “Grass is soggy as fuck, and you’d probably get stuck. We can carry shit an extra twenty feet.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Tommy complained. “I still think we shoulda brought one of those flatbeds that tilt—back up and pour her shit into the garage.”

Cam laughed and nodded.

“This is the fucking Twilight Zone,” I breathed.

“Seatbelt and scoot,” Mark said as he rolled forward and parked in front of the garage.

I followed his order to the letter, knowing exactly what to do. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I scooted across the seat, pulling his bag onto my lap. As he stepped out of the truck, I set the bag to my right and scooted it into the driver’s seat as I climbed down behind him.

“Be right back,” I called to my dad.

“Hey,” Tommy said. “Where you going, this is your shit.”

“I have to pee,” I shot back, never pausing as I strode toward the house.

My hands were shaking as I opened the front door and slid it closed behind me.

“Atta girl,” Dragon said.

“Jesus Christ,” I spat, my entire body jerking with surprise. “I wondered where you were.”

“Wouldn’t make sense for me to be here,” he said from his place beside one of the windows facing the front of the house. “I’m the president, you know.” He grinned and it completely transformed his face. “I’m not expected to help anyone move.”

“Did you see anything?” I asked, glancing toward the window. “Are they out there?”

“Didn’t see anythin’, no,” he replied, his eyes back on what was happening outside. “But instinct says they’re close. Haven’t been wrong yet.”

I sat down on the floor and wrapped my arms around my knees. My dad had been very specific when he told me where to place myself once I was inside the house. My spot between the windows was impossible to see from outside no matter the angle. When I’d offered to hide in the bathroom, he’d shaken his head at me. Apparently, I needed to stay right where I was in case we had to leave in a rush.