Craving Cecilia Read online

  Craving Cecilia

  The Aces’ Sons

  By Nicole Jacquelyn

  Craving Cecilia

  Copyright © ©2020 by Nicole Jacquelyn

  Kindle Edition

  All Rights Reserved

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  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Dedication

  To my kids,

  who make everything in life worth doing.

  Mom loves you.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Cecilia

  I’d been terrified before, the kind of fear that paralyzes your thought processes so completely that your body moves with pure muscle memory to keep you safe. So, I guess I was more prepared than most for the moment that gunshots erupted downstairs.

  It still took me a moment to comprehend what was happening, drawn out seconds where I sat there in disbelief, a million memories running through my head and my heartbeat pounding in my ears. It was only seconds, though, and then I was silently standing from the rocker, putting my hand on the arm to stop any movement, and racing toward the closet.

  The sound of my best friend Liv screaming made me pause in my mad dash, but only for a split second, when the scream was cut off with another gunshot. I couldn’t help her anymore, not that I could’ve in the first place. I had no idea how many people were shooting. Growing up in the company of outlaw bikers had taught me a lot of lessons, but one of the most important ones was, if you weren’t sure of your odds, lay low until you were. I looked down at the baby sleeping against my chest. I’d also been taught that protecting children always came first.

  Grabbing my purse and bag off the dresser, I glanced around the room, making sure that I hadn’t left any sign of my presence. I wasn’t even supposed to be there. I’d planned on staying home with a TV dinner and uninterrupted episodes of my favorite shows for Thanksgiving. I grit my teeth as the sound of more gunshots filtered up the stairs. I needed to get moving.

  I’d given Liv so much shit for using this closet as overflow for her main closet, but I was thankful as hell as I stepped inside and saw the rows and rows of clothing. Finding a particularly full rack, I pressed in between a large wool cape-looking thing and a floor length fur coat. Who wore fur anymore? Jesus. As soon as I’d put everything down along the wall, I turned off the light and climbed into the space, pulling the coats in front of me.

  It didn’t take long for someone to come into the bedroom. I’d known it wouldn’t. I’d assume that if you shot someone, you’d want to make sure you hadn’t left any witnesses. The person was trying to be quiet, but houses had a way of spilling their secrets, if you knew what to listen for. The soft squeak of the door hinges and the swish of steps on carpet made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Then, the closet door was open.

  I took a slow, steady breath and rested my hand on the pistol I kept in my purse. One second passed. Then another. The light came on and I stopped breathing.

  Then, with a click of the switch, the light was off again and the door shut.

  I closed my eyes and kissed the tiny head tucked beneath my chin. Thank God, she’d stayed asleep.

  We stayed curled in that closet for a while, but I knew at some point, I’d need to get us out of there. I couldn’t hear anyone in the house, but there was a good chance they were still around. We were secluded up here, and whoever had done the shooting probably thought they had plenty of time to do whatever it was they’d come to do.

  Pulling out my phone, I scrolled through the contacts. Most of the time, I loved that there was some distance between me and my family. This was not one of those times. I turned the volume on my phone down as low as it could go and listened to it ring and ring, finally going to voicemail.

  “Shit,” I breathed. Of course my mom didn’t have her phone with her. It was Thanksgiving. She was probably already half drunk and had set it down somewhere. She wouldn’t even notice I’d called until tomorrow when the cleanup started, and she found it sitting on the edge of the stove or something.

  Scrolling past my dad’s number—I was pretty sure he wasn’t using that throw-away anymore – I pressed send again.

  After one ring, my brother answered. Dependable Cam.

  “Who’s this?” he barked.

  “It’s me,” I replied, relief making the words come out a little shaky. Just hearing his voice bolstered me, even though I knew he was a thousand miles away, and no help whatsoever.

  “CeeCee?”

  “Yeah, is Mom with you?”

  “Everything okay?” he asked. I could hear the noise changing in the background as he moved.

  “Not even a little,” I replied quietly.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice lower than it had been before.

  Then, my mom’s voice filled the line. “Cecilia, what’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got a bit of a situation,” I said, downplaying it. I don’t know why I still did that. Habit, I guess. A lifetime of hiding my true thoughts and feelings, especially those that would worry my parents, didn’t disappear in one phone call.

  “What kind of a situation?” my mom asked worriedly.

  “Dad with you?”

  “He’s right here, hold on.” The sound changed when she put the phone on speaker.

  “I’m here,” my dad said. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m at a friend’s house,” I replied, rocking a little as the baby started to stir. “And I’m pretty sure they’re dead.”

  “Say what?” he snapped.

  “I was up in their daughter’s room, rocking her to sleep, and I heard gunshots downstairs,” I whispered. “Then my friend was screaming, more gunshots, then quiet.”

  “Oh, shit,” my mom mumbled.

  “Wh
ere are you now?” my dad asked, his tone changing to the unnatural calm that always presented itself when one of us was in danger or hurt. I’d heard it countless times growing up, but it had never comforted me as much as it did right then.

  “I’m hiding in the closet.”

  “You think it’s a good spot to stay?”

  “Well, I’m behind a massive fur coat,” I said, pushing it back from my face a little. “And they’ve already come in here looking and didn’t find me.”

  “Christ,” he hissed.

  “But I’ve got a week-old baby with me,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. “So, this isn’t a long-term solution.”

  “Yeah, no shit.”

  “Holy hell,” my mom said. “That poor baby.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I replied, rubbing my cheek over the top of her head. Her world had changed in an instant. I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat.

  “I’ll send someone to get you,” my dad said, ignoring the side conversation between my mom and I. “Text me the address.”

  “I don’t know the address. I’ll drop a pin and send it.”

  “I’ve got no fuckin’ clue what that means,” he snapped.

  “Cam can help you,” I said with a sigh. “Please don’t tell anyone else about this, okay?”

  “What?” my mom asked. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t need everyone all up in my shit,” I replied, trying to keep my voice low and calm. It was a familiar argument, even though the circumstances were far from normal. I’d escaped from that life for a lot of reasons, but leaving behind the people who’d talked shit about me both to my face and behind my back was one of the main factors.

  Did I think the whole club would come down, guns blazing? Absolutely. I was one of theirs. A club member’s kid, who’d grown up before their eyes. Did I want them to come down here with their snide comments and dirty looks? Not even a little bit.

  “Do you have someone close that can come?” I asked my dad, leaning against the wool coat behind me, then jerking back upright when the hanger squeaked along the rod it was hanging on. “Because I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to stay in here.”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “I’ve got some people that owe me favors. You got a piece on you?”

  “Always,” I replied. “But I have no idea how many people are in the house.”

  “You know of a safer place you can hide?”

  “I could probably find one,” I said, reaching up to wipe at the sweat on my face. Jesus, it was warm in there. “But this house has cameras everywhere. If they’re in the office, they’d see me moving around.”

  “They got cameras, they can go back through them and see that you’re in the motherfucking house,” my dad replied. “Fuck.”

  I closed my eyes in defeat. He was right. After a couple silent seconds, he spoke again.

  “We’re gonna assume that they aren’t doin’ that because they haven’t found you yet,” he said, his voice grim. “They decide to do that, you stay put. Take ’em out one by one as they come through the door. Don’t fuckin’ miss, Cecilia.”

  “I won’t,” I replied around the frog in my throat. I was so fucked.

  “Your mom’s got our shit packed and we’ll be on the road as soon as I can line up someone to come get you out. I’ll keep this shit quiet for now because there’s nothin’ the boys can do at this point, but if I have to pull the others in, I’ll do it. Don’t care if that pisses you off.”

  “Okay,” I said through gritted teeth, trying hard not to cry. Crying wouldn’t help the situation. Crying would only upset my mom more than she already was. Crying would make me lose focus. It would make noise. And frankly, it was a waste of fucking time.

  “We’re coming, baby,” my mom said, her voice firm. “You stay safe until we get there.”

  “Send me those coordinates,” my dad ordered. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” I whispered.

  “Love you more than your dad does!” my mom called right before the call disconnected.

  I rolled my eyes and sniffed as quietly as I could as I sent location pin to my brother Cameron’s phone. After he replied with a thumbs up, I set it down next to my thigh and shifted, trying to get comfortable. It wasn’t easy in the confined space.

  There weren’t any cameras in this closet, I knew that much, but I still couldn’t move anything to make the space more accommodating. If the gunman came back, I couldn’t take the chance that they’d notice if something was out of place. God, how did I get myself into messes like this?

  I was a barber. I owned a condo. I liked to eat white cheddar popcorn and binge watch entire seasons of television shows on my time off. I hadn’t been laid in… longer than I wanted to contemplate. I paid my taxes and drove like an old lady. So, how in the hell did I end up hiding from a fucking shooter in the closet of a house that I could never in a million years afford, or even want to live in?

  Liv was the one who wanted more, who liked exciting shit and was always reaching. She’s the one who had grabbed the attention of the guy who owned this place and somehow married him. And, yeah, Cane seemed like an okay guy. He was into some shady shit, I was sure, because he never seemed to work, but always seemed to have endless supplies of cash, but he was good to Liv. He freaking worshipped her, and because of that, he’d always treated me like family. So, even if he wasn’t my favorite person and something about him always rubbed me the wrong way—who was I to judge? I lived the straight and narrow myself, but I hadn’t grown up that way. My entire family, who I loved and respected, lived a life that kept them perpetually on the FBI’s radar.

  As the baby started to stir, I pulled a little green pacifier out of the bag next to me and popped it in her mouth. She was wet, I could tell by how squishy her diaper was, but changing her was going to be a problem. She hated being undressed and made that known in a variety of ways, not the least of which was screaming at the top of her lungs. I laid her on the floor between my legs and ran my finger over my bottom lip, a nervous habit that I’d never been able to break. If I left her in the wet diaper, she was going to scream anyway.

  I was just going to have to move as fast as humanly possible and hope I could have her dressed again before she got loud. Pressing the button on my phone screen, I used the little bit of light to see what I was doing. Even with everything happening around us, I couldn’t help the way my lips twitched when her little hands shot up to her face to hold the pacifier in her mouth, her fists completely uncoordinated and awkward as they pushed at her chin and nose. She was going to be hungry soon.

  Grabbing a diaper out of the bag, I unfolded it and pressed the tabs out so they’d be ready when I needed them. It was kind of funny. When I’d first seen the newborn diapers, I hadn’t been able to imagine them actually fitting on a baby, but she practically swam in the things. If the tabs didn’t overlap at her belly, her legs were so skinny that she’d pee right out of the leg holes.

  “Let’s do this,” I whispered as I unwrapped her.

  Thankfully, the little gown she was wearing meant easy access to her diaper, and I shoved it up and put the clean diaper under her quickly. Then, as fast as I could, I unwrapped the wet diaper, slid it out from under her and closed the clean diaper around her. Before she could let out a whimper, I pulled the gown back down and rewrapped her blanket.

  I let out a long breath while I wrapped the dirty diaper into a little ball and stashed it behind me. I’d conquered one small mountain, at least. The phone screen went dark again as I picked her up and snuggled her back against my chest, turning so that my back was against the wall. It was hot in there, but at least we had a little space to move, and I’d remembered to grab her bag off the dresser. It could’ve been worse. We could’ve been trying to hide outside in the cold. That really would’ve sucked. Or we could’ve been stuck in a crawlspace, like my aunt when my grandparents were killed when she was a teenager, waiting for a man she’d just met to come rescue her.
I felt a new respect for her as I curled my legs under me. The waiting was excruciating, and I wasn’t sixteen years old like she had been.

  “We’ll be okay,” I whispered as she jerked her legs inside the blanket. “My dad is taking care of things, and he’s a good guy to have on our side.”

  My phone lit up beside me and I opened it to a text message from an unknown number.

  It’s me, Bumblebee. Got someone headed your way. Stay put until they get there.

  I will, I texted back.

  I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, relief hitting me hard. My dad was the only person in the world who’d ever called me that, and it had been years since he had. He’d sent in the cavalry and I just had to wait it out. God, I hoped they got here before things went to hell.

  It was pretty telling that I’d called my dad and not the police. I grimaced. I’d left the club behind, but I guess the lessons I’d learned hadn’t been so easy to forget. It was instinctive to take care of things in-house, to keep the government—and more importantly, the police—in the dark. Maybe if I’d been at home, or a public place, I would’ve called 911. But I knew in my gut that Cane was into some shit that I didn’t want any part of, and calling in the police would put me right in the middle of it. In the eyes of the law, I’d be tied to him, and so would the tiny human that was currently scratching her razor sharp nails against my collarbone.

  No, it was better if I could just get the fuck out of there before anyone knew what had happened. If we could disappear without anyone the wiser, we’d be in the clear. We could leave all of this shit behind us.

  I hated the idea of starting over somewhere new, but I’d do it. I could work anywhere. Most of my business was military, but I could find a different place to set up shop. The east coast had a ton of bases, and I could probably find somewhere cheaper to live than San Diego anyway. North Carolina was on the coast, and I was pretty sure that I could find a place there for a lot less than I was spending to live here. I had plenty of cash, and I could easily sell my condo.