Page 22 of Cruelest Contract
In the five days since her name came up in the dining room, I’ve spent some time mulling over what to expect. Whenever Ihave a few minutes to kill, I find myself staring at my phone screen and studying the picture of her sitting alone.
The photo was taken without her knowledge. There was no chance for her to get self-conscious or rearrange her expression. Her profile is thoughtful and resolute as she sits there primly and scratches out unknown words on paper.
Intrigued enough to know more, I called in a favor from one of the best hackers in the country. He spat back results almost immediately.
Cecilia doesn’t have much of a digital footprint and the accounts she does use have vague, anonymous handles such as ‘The List Queen’. She keeps a low profile and avoids a connection to the Grimaldi name. Still, anyone who is determined to find her wouldn’t have much trouble.
This bothers the shit out of me, how she was all alone in Arizona with no protection. Totally vulnerable if some fucker with a grudge against her family decided to take revenge.
If I have my way, and I do plan on getting my way, Cecilia will never be vulnerable again.
The most valuable thing my hacker pal uncovered was her Pinterest account. Cecilia hasn’t added anything new in almost six months but she had plenty of boards saved, giving me loads of insight into what goes through her head.
She loves the color pink in all its many forms. She wears it today. Her soft pink dress is patterned with large flowers and the gauzy skirt ends a few inches above her ankles. The lightweight sweater worn over her dress is a dustier shade and I appreciate the fact that it’s been left unbuttoned. A narrow white headband neatly holds her long hair back.
In the looks department, Cecilia is exactly my type. Totally classy and effortlessly sexy at the same time. Now I just need to find out if she can keep up.
Over in the passenger seat, Cecilia’s posture is tense. Every now and then she rubs at her left knee. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that her left leg is the one badly injured in a childhood horseback riding accident. I wonder if she’s been in a saddle since then.
This train of thought shouldn’t lead to other places but it does.
My eyes remain on the stretch of road in front of me but my mind is busy with fantasies of Cecilia flushed and sweaty while bouncing around on a very different kind of ride. Now that she’s here, there’s nothing I want more than to watch her fall apart with the certainty that I fucking own her.
Cecilia’s hand leaves her knee. She briefly balls her fingers into a fist and then loosens them. She’s trying like hell to avoid appearing nervous.
Let’s see if she can stay on her toes at the ranch when there’s nowhere to run and we’re all watching her like hungry hawks.
In the backseat, Getty is singing along to the Luke Combs song on the radio. His voice isn’t half bad but he rarely uses it and now he belts out the lyrics at high volume. It’s tough to tell if he’s trying to impress Cecilia or scare her.
Cecilia suddenly swivels to look at the backseat. Her cat remains in its carrier, buckled into the empty place beside Getty. Behind us, Fort and Tye are keeping pace in the second truck and Fort keeps testing me by staying right on my rear bumper.
I glance in the rearview mirror in order to get Getty’s attention. He quits singing long enough to give me a Fuck You smirk. Gaetano is always the one most likely to push and push until he hears a crack. I’ll have another talk with him later to make sure he understands the assignment.
We don’t want to break this girl. We just need to see what she’s made of.
“I have an idea.” Getty flips the latch on the cat carrier. “Let’s release the prisoner.”
An unmistakable hissing noise from the contraption warns the ‘prisoner’ doesn’t care to be released.
“Don’t do that.” Cecilia practically lurches out of her seatbelt in an effort to stop him.
“Why not? You wouldn’t like to be kept in a plastic box all day.” He leans forward until he’s right in her face. “Or would you? Want to show me your freaky side, Cici?”
She’s close enough for me to smell her shampoo. Or maybe it’s her perfume. Light and floral, whatever it is. Her shoulder brushes mine. She doesn’t fire back at my brother right away. Instead, she calmly withdraws and settles back into her seat, adjusting her seatbelt.
Getty is unpredictable. A huge fan of mayhem. I’m expecting a newly freed and very angry cat to sink its claws into my scalp any second.
“I’d be grateful if you would leave my cat alone,” Cecilia says. “She’s already been frightened enough today. And Gaetano?”
“Yeah?”
“My name is Cecilia. Do not call me Cici anymore.”
She has a backbone and can get her point across. For once, Getty has nothing to say. Failing to rile Cecilia up has left him sulking in silence. He flops back into his seat and silently begins scheming new ways to torment everyone. I hold back a laugh.
Cecilia sweeps her long hair over her left shoulder and observes the scenery from the passenger window. “It’s pretty here,” she says softly.
“In fifteen miles we’ll be driving through the center of Vigilance,” I tell her. “It’s the closest town to the ranch.”
