I was doing a pretty fantastic job not thinking of anything beyond keeping her safe, but eventually, I knew that I was going to have to deal with the fact that her mother was dead. My best friend, who’d wanted her so badly, would never get to watch her grow up. She’d never get to dress her in all the frilly outfits she’d bought, or go for mother-daughter pedicures, or help her pick out her outfit for the first day of school, or all the other things Liv had told me she was excited for.
“Did you eat?” my mom asked as we walked into the kitchen.
“Yeah.” I let her pull the baby out of my arms.
I hoped that at some point I’d take to motherhood as well as my mom had. I don’t know if it had been the fact that she’d helped out with my cousin Will before any of us kids were born, or if she was just a natural, but she’d always seemed at ease with us. Like she knew exactly what to do, no matter the situation we found ourselves in.
“Round table,” Mark announced to the room. “We’ve got shit to go over. Where’s Cam?”
“He went outside to call Trix,” my mom replied, her cheek resting on the top of the baby’s head while she swayed from side to side. “He’ll be back in a minute.”
“You name that baby yet?” Eli asked as he sat down at the kitchen table.
“I still say you name her Cecilia,” Lu said as she hopped up on the island.
“Ooh, after you,” my mom pointed out, raising her eyebrows.
“That’s the idea,” I replied, my mouth twitching. “I’m not naming her that.”
“Why?” she said. “It’s a beautiful name. You can carry on the tradition.”
“Tradition?” Lu asked.
“Cecilia was named after me,” my mom said proudly.
“Not exactly,” I argued.
“I thought your name was Farrah?” Eli asked. “Shit, have I been callin’ you the wrong name?”
My dad chuckled.
“No, Farrah is my name,” my mom clarified. “But my dad and step-mom actually named me Cecilia. I was raised by my mom, and she named me Farrah.” She shrugged.
“See?” Lu said just as Cam came through the door.
“Everything all right?” my dad asked.
“Yep,” Cam replied. He made his way over and slung an arm over my shoulder.
“Wilson,” Mark called over his shoulder. “Get your ass in here.”
We waited.
“You know he ain’t comin’ in here until he’s damn well ready,” Forrest said with a grin, leaning his chair back on two legs. “You wanna get started, I’ll fill him in later.”
“He’s a serious pain in the ass,” Mark muttered.
“But he gets the job done,” Forrest replied.
“We need to lay out everythin’ we know and everythin’ we don’t know,” Mark said. He looked at me and paused. “You need to sit down before you fall down.”
“What?” I looked at him in confusion.
“You okay?” my mom asked. “He’s right. You look like you’re going to tip over.”
“I’m fine,” I replied.
Mark didn’t continue speaking, he just stood there staring patiently at me.
With a huff, I pulled away from my brother and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs.
“So,” Mark continued, “we know that the couple in the house were named Cane and Lavinia Warren—”
“Hold up,” my dad said, raising his hand in a stop signal. “Cane Warren?”
“That name mean somethin’ to you?” Mark asked.
My dad met my brother’s eyes across the room and my stomach sank.
“You could say that,” Dad said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “He’s the head of the Free America Militia. Shit, I’d forgotten those fuckers even existed.” I recognized the look in his eyes. Something was clicking into place, like he’d just put the final piece in a puzzle.
“You gonna fill the rest of the class in?” Mark asked.
My dad didn’t answer.
“Right,” Mark spat, clearly frustrated. “Okay, is there anything else you can tell me?”
“They’re a bunch of skinhead white supremacists,” my dad replied darkly. He looked at me. “I’m guessin’ he had no idea that you were part Mexican.”
“It never came up,” I said softly, the realization making my stomach churn.
What the fuck? What. The. Fuck? Cane was a white supremacist? I’d willingly eaten at his table and hung out with him and carried his baby. My mouth started to water as bile burned the back of my throat. Had Liv known? Had she married the guy knowing that he believed in some master race bullshit? The world spun.
“She’s going down,” Lu barked.
Within seconds, someone pressed my head between my knees, the hand on the back of my neck cool and comforting.
“Shit,” my brother said from somewhere above me. “She’s definitely got a fever.” Ah, it was Cam’s hand on my neck.
“A fever?” my mom asked. “What? She’s sick?”
“Come here, baby,” Mark said into my ear as he lifted me into his arms. “Why don’t you lay down for a while?”
“We’re having a meeting,” I argued weakly. If I was being honest, I didn’t give a shit about the meeting. I did just want to lay down for a little while.
“Wilson didn’t show up, either,” Mark said as he carried me up the stairs. “We’ll brief you both later.”
“I’m sorry,” I sighed as he laid me on the bed. “I feel like shit.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. He strode over to the closet and pulled out a pillow wrapped in plastic and a blanket. “Just get some rest.”
As he unwrapped the pillow and put it under my head, I groaned. It felt like it had been days since I’d gotten any rest instead of just hours. After covering me with the blanket, he left the room, leaving the door cracked open.
I stared at it for a long time, my mind racing, and when I finally closed my eyes, all I could see was Cane, laughing at something I’d said.
He hadn’t looked like a monster.
Chapter 8
Mark
“Is she okay?” Farrah asked as soon as I got back to the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I replied, scratching at the whiskers on my cheek. “She’s laying down.”
“Well, let’s get this over with so I can go up there,” she ordered.
“Okay, so Cane’s the head of the… what?”
“Free America Militia,” Casper supplied.
“Alright. We know anything about them?”
“Not much,” he grumbled.
“I’ll get Wilson on that, pronto,” Forrest chimed it.
“Right. So, we can probably assume that his kid is a member, too.”
“Fair to assume his kid is leadin’ it now,” Casper corrected. “I’m bettin’ it’s run like a monarchy.”
“Put’s a different spin on things,” I mumbled.
“Spin on what?” Lu asked.