“I didn’t eat the fucking dirt.” Fort punches Tye in the chest, hard enough to hear the impact.
“Watch it, kid,” Tye says, so unfazed he didn’t even flinch. “You’ll find it tougher to find a date tonight with two black eyes and no teeth.”
Cecilia never seems especially bothered when my brothers knock each other around. I have to remind myself she grew up with three brothers so sibling violence is probably no big deal to her. She faces forward as the geniuses in the back continue to argue about whether or not Fortunato ate playground dirt. (He did.)
“What about the enforcer entourage?” Cecilia asks. “Did you give them the night off?”
“It’s my call whether the security team comes along or not,” I say. “They’re not needed tonight.”
“Would your father agree? He strikes me as extremely cautious.”
She gets points for being perceptive. I don’t like to call my father paranoid, not after the way he’s suffered. His suspicion of the world was earned.
“My father trusts my judgment,” I tell her, noting that the backseat arguments have halted as my brothers listen in.
“Don’t worry about anything, sweetheart,” Tye says. “We’ll protect you.”
I freeze when there’s an exaggerated, highly recognizable sound of a pistol being cocked. I know who is responsible even before I hear Getty’s terrifyingly amused voice say, “You’re safe with us, Cecilia.”
He takes note of my glare in the rearview mirror and smirks. I’m confident the gun is pointed down and unloaded because he’s notthatfucking insane. And anyway Fort, seated beside him and a stickler for firearm safety, would have blown a fuse.
Cecilia rubs at her bad knee, a signal that she’s troubled. “My grandfather keeps a man on staff to test his food. He always makes the guy try the first bite in front of him before he eats. The vineyard isn’t much of a vineyard anymore and the house has enough security to qualify as a prison. It wasn’t always the case. Everything changed…that day.”
The crack in her voice gets me all knotted up inside. I wish for the impossible, to reach back into the past and undo the brutal twilight massacre that crushed Cecilia’s world.
A radio commercial for a local ambulance chasing lawyer is the only sound in the truck. Even Getty responds with respectful silence and we pass a handful of dark miles in peace.
Cecilia inhales and exhales deeply a few times. It’s clearly a calming exercise and I don’t believe she realizes we can hear her. Her left hand remains balled up on top of her knee.
My hand leaves the steering wheel and briefly rests on top of her fist. Her fingers relax. If I make a move to thread our fingers together, she’ll let me hold her hand.
The headlights catch the shape of a coyote standing in the road up ahead and feasting on some roadkill. I take my hand from Cecilia’s and blast the horn. The animal dashes into the darkness.
“So that’s Laramie,” Cecilia says as we pass the city limits.
“You’ve seen it before,” I remind her. “The airport you flew into is less than five miles from here.”
“I was a little distracted that day,” she says with a touch of sarcasm. “There wasn’t much chance to appreciate the scenery.”
This town is far from a big city but compared to Vigilance it’s a sophisticated metropolis. The first two bars we pass look pretty dead and the boys balk at stopping but the third place has live music and a healthy crowd.
When we get to the door, one of the bouncers does a double take. We’ve been here before. His jaw tenses and a flash of agitation stirs in his beady eyes. He’s bulky and thick-chested and looks capable of taking down an army of belligerent drunks with one hand.
Since he remembers us, he’ll also remember that we’re generous. In my pocket there’s a roll of twenties adding up to three hundred bucks and kept handy for situations like this. I shove it into his palm. All he needs to do is overlook the ‘No Firearms’ rule posted on the door. Just like he did last time.
After all, there’s always a possibility of running into some trouble in a place where men are pounding shots and hunting for women. I won’t be walking inside with nothing but my dick in my pants. The sloppy, untucked shirt look isn’t my favorite but it’s necessary to hide the holstered pistol on my hip.
The bouncer waves us in and my brothers surge inside first. Cecilia stays close to me and I keep my hand on her lower back as we wade through the crowd. No need to risk any confusion about whether or not she’s spoken for.
Cecilia doesn’t appear to mind when I touch her like this, as if she’s already agreed to be mine. In fact, I’d say she enjoys it.
This place is the size of three regular bars combined, with room enough for a shallow stage and a dance floor. The band sounds decent and is currently belting out a cover ofShould’ve Been A Cowboywhile some braver customers attempt a bad imitation of line dancing on the floor.
A group of young women are clustered around the bar. All of them are pretty and they nudge each other with giggles when they spot our group. If there was a dictionary entry entitled College Girls, their picture would probably be under the caption.
Naturally, my brothers make a beeline for the girls. Satisfied that they’ll stay occupied for a while, I steer Cecilia away from the area. Sitting at a bar is the worst place to be if you want to keep an eye on the whole room. Besides, now that I’m out with Cecilia I want her all to myself.
We luck out when a table pushed against the wall opens up. From here I have a clear view of the bar and the door. Behind my back there’s only one other table where a quartet of fortyish women are enjoying drinks and laughter. No one will be able to catch me by surprise.
