“I would,” my dad pointed out.
“But you’re not the average bear, Cody,” my mom said. I couldn’t see them, but I imagined she was patting his chest proudly.
“I’m gonna need a list,” Lu said. “We need sleeping bags.”
“New burner phones,” Cam added.
“Groceries,” my mom and Eli said at the same time.
“Toilet paper,” Forrest drawled. “There’s a lot of people here.”
My dad chuckled. “You all figure it out. I’m gonna make some calls, let the boys know we’re stayin’ here for a bit.”
“That a good idea?” Forrest asked cautiously.
I could only imagine the look on my dad’s face.
“We’re not spreadin’ it around,” he said finally. “Only a few of us know what’s happenin’, and for now, we’re keepin’ it that way.”
The room grew quiet.
“Forrest has brass ones,” I finally heard Eli mutter. “Seriously. Can I see them?” I heard a thump and then Eli complaining and laughing at the same time. “Ow! You know you were all thinking it.”
My eyes grew heavy as I pulled Olive up to my shoulder to burp her. A few minutes later, just as I’d put her on the bed next to me and laid down, Mark came into the room.
“You want me to take her?” he asked quietly, resting his hand on my hip as he leaned over to look at Olive.
I shook my head. I wasn’t ready for her to be out of my reach yet. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be.
“Alright,” he said. He rounded the bed and gently climbed in behind her. “Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’m just going to lay with you guys for a while.”
Within minutes, I was out.
* * *
“What did Wilson say?” Lu asked as my mom passed out plates of pigs in a blanket and macaroni and cheese.
The sun was setting and the darkness was making me a little jumpy, but I was doing my best to hide it. The sun went down. It happened every day without fail. I needed to get a handle on my nerves.
“He’s been talking with Kaley Campbell for a couple of days. He said that at first she thought it was some sort of trap, but it sounds like she’s cooperative now,” Forrest replied, setting his plate on his knees. “She’s full of information. Turns out, if the rest of the militia knew it was Drake that took out his pop, the man wouldn’t have long to live.”
“The problem with that is they’re not gonna believe a word we say,” Cam said. He looked up as my mom handed him a plate. “Thanks, Ma. This looks great.”
I rolled my eyes. He was such a kiss-ass.
“And who knows how they’d feel about Olive,” Mark said. “Could want nothin’ to do with her, could see her as the princess and want her with them.”
“Is there any way we could get word to them and somehow leave Olive out of the equation?” Lu asked.
“Could be,” my dad said. “But makes it less believable since Olive’s birth was the kid’s motivation for offin’ his pop.”
“Even if we get this shit sorted and the Warren kid’s no longer a problem,” Eli said quietly, “the more we find out about these people, the less inclined I am to do nothing.”
“How do you mean?” my mom asked, sitting down between my dad’s feet, her back against the bottom of the couch.
“There’s whole families in there,” Eli said, looking down at his plate. “Women and children with no way out.”
“You’re talkin’ about war,” my dad replied flatly.
“Yes,” Eli said simply, lifting his head to meet my dad’s gaze.
“First, we make sure Cec and Olive are safe,” Mark said firmly. “That’s the mission.”
“Fuck—” Eli began to argue.
“I’m not sayin’ never,” Mark cut in. “I’m just sayin’ not yet. Our priority is Cecilia and the baby.”
“Patience,” Forrest said quietly, reaching out to thump Eli on the back.
“That’s not one of my strengths,” Eli mumbled.
“Yeah,” Lu said dryly. “We know.”
They continued throwing around ideas about how we could tell the Free America Militia that the prince had killed the king, but no one knew a fail proof way to do it. Even reaching out to them put me and Olive in danger, because as far as we knew, the group had no idea we existed. It was decided that Drake must have hired the men who were helping him. According to Wilson, the dead men he’d fingerprinted—ew—had no ties to FAM that he could find, and the woman he’d been talking to hadn’t recognized any of their photos. Apparently that was a good thing, because men who worked for money were far less likely to stick around when shit went south than men who felt loyalty to their leader.
I figured it didn’t really matter either way. Things hadn’t gone south for them. We were still being hunted.
I picked at my food, wondering how long we’d be able to stay at Poet’s little house. While it was a relief to be there, it was temporary. Soon, we’d be on the move again, racing toward Eugene and a whole group of people who would both fight to the death for me and didn’t want anything to do with me. I was anxious to be there, safe behind the walls of the clubhouse, but I also dreaded it.
I could only choke down a few bites of my food before I couldn’t make myself eat any more. Folding my plate in half to hide the leftovers, I got to my feet and carried it into the kitchen garbage.
“You have to eat more than that,” Mark said softly, his hands wrapping around my waist from behind. He was always gentle and avoided my stitches, but I still cringed until I realized that he hadn’t hurt me.
I nodded and sighed, gingerly leaning back against him. I was so angry with him, but I was so glad for his presence. Our conversation back in Sacramento had opened wounds that I’d thought were healed. It had been years since I’d let myself think about the way he’d left me, about the helpless rage and panic I’d felt, about the decisions that had come afterward.
I was also so grateful he was with me that I could’ve fallen to my knees and wept. He made me feel safe. Having my brother and dad around comforted me, too, but it was a different kind of safety with Mark. He knew me in a way they didn’t, even after all those years apart.
“I think we’re going to try to make contact,” Mark said, leaning forward a little so his cheek was against my temple. “Anonymously reach out to the highest men in the organization with what we know.”
I fought the tensing of my muscles as he spoke.
“If they aren’t receptive, we’ll do it another way,” he said, his thumb gently smoothing back and forth over my ribs. “But, best case scenario, they take care of it in-house and we don’t have to deal with any of it.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him that I’d never be safe that way. That even if Drake was dead, we didn’t know whether or not the militia would come after me and Olive anyway. If Drake was dead, all of the Warren money would be legally Olive’s, and while I never planned on going through the channels to get it, the fact that she was out there with that kind of power may be reason enough for the militia to hunt us down. I wanted to point out that telling them about Drake might not have the effect they were hoping for because Cane was financing them. If Drake was dead, that money flow would dry up instantly. It would be infinitely better for them to keep Drake alive.