Page 28 of Felonies are Forever

There is still a distinct change in Thorne’s manner. The calm, relaxed vibe that radiated off of him as we walked in to meet my father is gone. What’s changed, I don’t know, but I know my rightful place is by his side, come what may.

“Is that so?” Dad chuckles. “Cecelia—”

“CeeCee. She likes to be called CeeCee.” Thorne steps in front of me, grows three inches and crosses his arms. I’m not sure what’s happening here, but my instincts have me stepping behind Thorne and ready to turn tail and run.

My father laughs toward the ceiling and rolls his chair toward us. His demeanor never changes, and it’s that cold indifference where he lives that clutches a hand in my gut. “Cecelia.” He enunciates my name slowly with his eyes on Thorne. “Get me a drink, Cecelia, there’s a good girl.” Even knowing my father’s drinking is killing him faster, I’ve never said no to him.

I’m frozen, half hidden behind Thorne as my father’s dead eyes stare at me. I step sideways toward the bar but Thorne’s arm shoots out and holds me in place. His hand is around the back of my neck now. Squeezing, just ever so slightly, and freezing me in my tracks.

When Thorne speaks my heart stops. “Dry vodka martini. Two orange twists.” Thorne’s voice is split with his own dark chuckle and I step away when I hear his words. How the hell does he know what my father drinks? “In a rocks glass.”

“Good guess?” I ask as Thorne releases my neck and steps toward the bar.

“Good observation.” Thorne tips his head toward my father’s desk. “There is an empty glass there with two orange twists, and the vodka bottle sitting next to the shaker. I pay attention to the details.”

Thorne’s eyes settle on my father who is staring back with his stupid grin. I’m not sure what is going on here, but it’s about more than just my father’s favorite drink.

“Cecelia.” My father breaks my trance. I look toward him but he’s still got his eyes on Thorne. “I will need you shortly. I have a meeting later and will require your assistance in getting ready. One hour. Meet me in my room. Are you listening?” He finally looks my way as I shift from one foot to the other, crossing my arms, my hands gripping each opposite elbow.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be there.”

“Good.” My father’s voice is charged with forced warmth and humor. “Now, why don’t you and your friend go sit for breakfast? I’ll meet you shortly.”

THIRTEEN

THORNE

“Sorry, we already ate.”I let go my grip of CeeCee and move to the desk. As I hoped, the old man’s eyes follow me, not her. “Nice to meet you, sir. Hate to leave so soon, but we have things to do today.” Picking up the glass and the bottle, I begin to pour, keeping watch over CeeCee out of the corner of my eyes. She’s my priority here, not my own ego. Make sure she’s safe, then deal with him when I get the chance.

We’re both smiling, but I think we both realize that the other isn’t genuine.

Handing him the glass, sans orange twists, I move back to cover CeeCee, then lean down and whisper in her ear. “We’re leaving.” I pull her toward the door, my hand gripping the back of her neck.

“One hour, Cecelia, remember. I need you in my room. One hour.”

No fucking way, old man.

I don’t stop moving us forward, up the stairs and down the hall. “Listen to me. Your dad…he’s not who you think he is. I mean, I know you think he’s been cold with you, but that’s not even half of it.” I pause outside her room, hold her steady, andlook in her eyes. “CeeCee, I’m sorry, but I have to tell you…it’s about your brother.”

“My brother?” Her eyes are wet, but the tears haven’t started to fall. Not yet. I know they will and I hate that I have to tell her.

“Yes, look, I know——”

“I don’t understand. You knew my dad’s drink, didn’t you? What the fuck is going on here, Thorne?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I know your father.”

“What? No, that doesn’t make any sense. How? I mean, he’s not…This isn’t making any sense!”

I try to put an arm around her shoulder, but she pushes it away.

“No! Thorne, what is this? What do you know about my brother?”

Her voice is starting to rise, starting to get hysterical. Her father is going to hear. Or someone else. Who knows who else he has stationed in this place, looking after his interests? He’s probably been having her watched every minute since she arrived here.

“Come on,” I whisper, opening the bedroom door and trying to usher her inside.

“No, I don’t want to. I want to hear what you have to say.”

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