Girls Night

This afternoon was a cluster fuck, but at least we know that William Center is in town. How do we know this? Rome showed up with flowers at Wags, where CeCe decided she’d call off the date they’d planned when he got back from their six days on the road. And she did so by cutting herself open wide and bleeding it all out, honestly expecting he’d take the out she was giving him by insisting she couldn’t focus on dating and everything else that was going on.

He didn’t take them out; the man stepped up his game. He came to Marks and my make-shift little office behind Wags and devised a plan to do something with her, Cora, us, and her friends. It would take some maneuvering, but CeCe deserved this.

Rome went to O’Donnell’s to ask Fawna to get the girls together and assist in his little surprise. She wasn’t there, but her father was. When Rome left O’Donnell’s and was getting in his truck, Abe pulled him back right before the driver of a white vehicle attempted to run him over.

We have yet to tell CeCe any of that, or about Rome and Abe chasing the car through downtown Trenton because he was dead set on giving her a fun night.

Mission accomplished, and bonus, Abe knows, which means more eyes.

Marks and I have hired more people to watch over Rome’s family, and CeCe’s wealthy friends’ families already have people on them because they thought we were a danger.

The girls all decided they were staying over, and CeCe, who’d kept her friends at arm’s length, had just finished telling them everything. You could visibly feel the weight lifting off her shoulders as they surrounded her and Cora, the way true friends do.

Standing at the sink to wash my hands before preparing a tray of leftover wraps for the girls to munch on, I see Rome and Locke on Rome’s back deck with Elle. I also see the reflection of a tall, stunning, model-like form standing behind me.

I turn and start preparing the tray. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” she admits. “Need some help?”

“I’m good.”

“I’m not after your guy,” she says, sitting on the stool on the opposite side of the island.

“My guy?” I ask.

She cocks her head to the side. “Locke and you clearly have something going on.”

“Had. A very long time ago. He’s free to be with anyone whom he chooses to be with. You two have a much more recent connection, so?—”

Dromida leans back and sighs loudly, stopping me. “I don’t play games. I don’t have time. So, when I tell you that we happen to be at a concert, me, my sister, and Francesca were trying to get CeCe to loosen up. Those four guys, one being Locke, happened to be there and were used in our little scheme, which totally worked. I didn’t fuck Locke in the middle of a concert with a hundred thousand people around, didn’t even exchange names or numbers, you can believe me.”

“And when I tell you I saw mutual interest between you two, and that I don’t even live in the state, that he’s not my guy, that you should go for it, you can believe me.”

“I believe that’s what you’re trying to convince—” She stops, and we both look toward the living room and spot two sets of eyes peeping around the corner.

“We’re not spying; we’re hungry.” Fawna pouts.

“Lies. All Lies.” Dromida shakes her head.

“Come eat.” I wave them over, glad for the interruption.

They all gather around, and Francesca states, “So, CeCe said you and Leland Locke were the ‘it’ couple in high school.”

Dromida raises her eyebrow.

“We dated.”

“Two years, voted class couple, the envy of Chloe and all the other girls.” Francesca rests her elbows on the island and her chin in her hands as she looks up at me like it’s story time.

What the fuck?

“Class couple, yeah. There were like fifty kids in our graduating class, most related to each other, so there was no one else.”

“Oh my God, how adorable,” Cora says, hurrying over.

“This was a decade and a half ago. We broke up, like, immediately.”

“Was it hard?” Cora asks.

“Everything is hard when you’re an eighteen-year-old kid. You get—” I snap my mouth shut and groan. “Sorry, no disrespect to your youth, but Locke was not the end-all-be-all. We were not meant to be. Mutual breakup. End of.”

“Was he your first?” Cora asks.

Honestly not trying to be a dick, but really?

“That pause means yes,” Dromida chides.

“I wish my first was meaningful.” Francesca grabs a wrap and takes a big bite. “Two minutes—two—and it was just to get rid of my V-card.”

“Do you regret it?” Cora asks.

“Don’t we all?” Fawna sighs.

“Sure do.” CeCe grabs a slice of cheese.

“Not all of us,” Dromida says, and we all look at her. They want the story. I want the focus off me. “Oh no, not me, Gwen.”

“Two minutes? Consider yourself lucky,” I joke. “Took us months to build to that.”

“He was a virgin, too?” CeCe asks.

And now all eyes are back on me.

I scowl at them. “Seriously? I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“That would be a yes,” Dromida says as her phone chimes. She stands, pulls it out of her pocket, and thumbs through the screen. “Well, I’m needed at Mercy.”

“Now?” Francesca asks.

“Emergencies aren’t scheduled. I’ll call a cab.”

“Marks will take you,” I insist and look at my phone for the time.

He went to get some sleep three hours ago. I hate to wake him, but no one is leaving without security.

“Dad’s sending someone. Let the man sleep,” she says, holding up her phone. “Marks single?”

“He is.”

“Perfect.”

“He lives in Walton,” CeCe points out.

“Even better.” Dromida wags her brows.

* * *

After Abe personally picked Dromida up, the girls retired to the living room to watch whatever serial killer documentary CeCe was deeply invested in.

I open my laptop and sign in on all of Cora’s social media accounts to dig deeper into those following her, her followers, and yes, to read her messages.

It is insane the amount of information anyone will give to a new “friend,” making it much easier for the depraved and deviants to do whatever deplorable acts they may have planned.

With some of the software I have installed, I am able to use algorithms, which I still know little about, to sort location updates in specific words.

Knowing nothing about this “Janice” that Cora’s father is traveling with has us unsettled enough to send a man to watch over him, but now, knowing the financial issues they’re facing, specifically seeing the large sums of money that have been withdrawn, my gut tells me that we are missing something, and that something is huge.

While the program runs, I get up and make my way to the window, seeing that Rome and Leland are no longer on the back deck. My insides clench at the thought of what I could be doing right now if the lives of the people I care for were not in utter chaos. But damn, do I sleep like a champ after I have an orgasm “locked down.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. Focus.

I blame Dromida and her prying. Yeah, that’s it.

After grabbing a bottle of water, I sit down at the table, stroke a few keys, and see that Cora has been in contact with an eighteen-year-old in California for months, under the guise of also being interested in Rutgers College.

The girl, Eleanor—her fucking name is Eleanor.

Eleanor and Allison Center were Chloe and Cecilia Shaw’s birth names. This motherfucker, I think as I quickly click on a profile, copy the link, and send it to Alice—aka EchoFury—with the message: Do your thing. See how she could be connected with Cora’s father, Joseph Parker’s girlfriend, Janice.

I send another message to Wren, who’s in the Dominican: Janice is now highly suspect.

This is the part I hate—the sit and wait, especially after today when who we believe is Center is going after Roman Hart. There is no time to let our guards down.

It’s almost midnight when I hear, “What the fuck!”

I jump up and hurry to the living room, where CeCe jumps up and storms toward me, shoving a phone in my face.

“What’s this?”

Marks slides across the hardwood floor and into the room, in boxer briefs, hand on his gun that’s holstered at his back. “What’s going on?”

“That’s some Risky Business action right there. I am so pissed Dromida called dibs on that,” Fawna sighs, and Francesca and Cora giggle.

I look away from a furious Cecilia Shaw. “Some wanna-be reporter took a video of Roman’s little incident. It’s posted on IG.”

“Hey!” CeCe snaps. “Explain this—now.”

“Best you ask him tomorrow. We weren’t there,” Marks answers.

“Tomorrow doesn’t work for me.” She stomps past me and toward the door.

“CeCe, you’re not?—”

“Sure as shit am,” she barks back.

“Fuck,” I grumble.

After following her across the yard and ensuring she got there safely, I stomped back, and Marks is on the porch, dressed.

“I told the girls she’d be there a while. They’re heading to bed. You need to get some sleep, too.”

I tell him about the information I found, and he tells me that he and Danny thought it would be best for the girls to head to Texas in the morning. We decide that I’ll play the role of CeCe and one of our contacts, Gypsie, can easily toss on a wig and become Cora. I couldn’t agree more.

* * *

My phone vibrates, waking me from yet another nightmare. I grab my glasses and check it.

Marks

911, get your ass down here.

I fly out of bed, down the stairs, and run into the kitchen. “Where the fuck are you?”

I hurry to the kitchen window, and I see smoke, a lot of fucking smoke, and immediately dial 911. As I run out the back door, I realize my first thought wasn’t of CeCe; it was Locke.

Heart racing, I run to the back porch and see Marks banging on doors, waking up the boys, as Rome scurries CeCe to me with the pup.

I get her inside, and we both rush to the window as I send Abe O’Donnell a message.

Me

There is a fire next door. The girls are safe. I hate asking for help, but do you know anyone with a plane?

Abe

OMW, and consider it done.

“Come on, Rome,” CeCe whispers against Elle’s little face. “Come on, come on, come on.”

Blaze, AJ, Nour, and Locke run through the smoke, all heading this way.

Marks, I think as my chest tightens.

“Come on, Rome. Marks, come on,” CeCe whispers as the faint sound of sirens comes closer and closer.

She and I both exhale our held breaths when Rome and Marks are finally visible and heading our way.

The boys walk into the house, and CeCe asks, “Are you all okay?”

Locke’s eyes grab a hold of mine, and I pray I’m hiding everything I’m feeling right now as I see him in his stupid yet adorable pajama pants, his hair sticking up, and soot on his ridiculous perfect nose.

I force myself to look away and hone in on the others.

“Shit way to wake up,” AJ grumbles.

Blaze pats himself down. “Fucking keys are in my place.”

“Why do you need your keys?” Nour asks.

“We have a game tonight. I need sleep.” He glares at him.

“How the hell are you going to fall asleep after waking up like that?” AJ asks.

“I have a strict schedule,” he sneers. “Fire at four a.m. wasn’t on it.”

“Blaze, there are a couple of rooms upstairs. Go get some sleep if you can,” CeCe offers.

“Where?”

“Up the stairs, take a left. The front room has two beds,” I answer then look at CeCe. “Fawna and Francesca are in the other.”

“Shit, right.” She nods. “My room is at the top on the right; you can take that or?—”

“I’m in the first room on the left, past the bathroom. It’s open, too. Blaze is right; you guys need to sleep. We’ll wake you up when we get an all-clear.”

“Gwendolyn,” Locke sighs.

Needing a fucking life vest, I turn to CeCe. “I’m not dealing with him.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, but let’s not kid ourselves here. We’re not getting back in there before we need to be at the game. So, if any of us happens to fall asleep with all that noise outside, we need to be up by eleven.”

“Eleven. Got it.” CeCe nods.

Locke looks at AJ and Nour. “You two should take the double room. Blaze, take CeCe’s.” He turns and smirks at me.

“Oh, fuck no. You’re not getting?—”

“CeCe,” he interrupts, “tell Gwendolyn I’m not speaking to her.”

“You bastard.” I scowl.

“I’ll take Marks’ bed.” He turns and follows the others out of the kitchen.

I turn and see CeCe looking down, horrified that she’s wearing a Jersey Jags shirt that hangs to her knees. “It’s a good thing it fits you like a dress.”

“I need clothes. He needs this shirt.” She hands me Elle. “You need a puppy to squish. It’s very calming.”

I hold the little thing as I watch out the window, no longer sick to my stomach about this situation.

I’m fucking pissed.

This ends this weekend.

* * *

Asking for help was never my strong suit. I always saw it as being a burden, showing signs of weakness, or worse—fearing I could drag someone else into my drama and get them in a shit situation. I don’t need a shrink to tell me it’s because of what happened when Mom came to get me after that bitch slapped me. She lost everything and had to leave everyone whom she was close to. Then all she did was work to rebuild her life, our life. And me? I totally peeked in high school.

But in asking for help, Abe O’Donnell and Francesca’s father, Franco Protettore, had all the girls up in the air and safe at a breakneck speed. We’d be sticking with my plan to play CeCe, but Gypsie would no longer be needed, as Cora would be with Francesca and Fawna in Miami, living it up all across their social media platforms to sway William from going after Cora and ensuring he focused on CeCe—me.

CeCe was not on board, but she really didn’t have a choice, as another plane would be taking her and Cora to Texas for the weekend.

“CeCe” went to work today at Wags, responding to the dozens of social media posts the three already active girls are posting.

My first posted response is: @cee.2: Going to miss you at the game, but I have 13 reasons to go solo. #gojags

Fucking genius. “My guy” being number 13 and all.

I then attended the Jags game as CeCe, sat next to Whit, who is looped in and knows what’s up, posted a nice pic of Hart’s ass in my story, and now, on Jags’ property, sitting on the bank of the Delaware, romantic picnic all set up, I post a picture captioned: Postgame party for 2 #newtradition.

I hear a loud whistle, stand, and turn around to see Rome walking toward me.

“I’m gonna hug you.”

“I understand the assignment.” He opens his arms. “Bring it in.”

“And now, we sit and wait.” And that’s just what we do.

“Now I know what a duck feels like,” he jokes then adds, “I want this piece of shit to go down.”

“He will.” I open the picnic basket. “Don’t expect much; the wraps are leftovers from last night. Congrats on the win.”

“Tough game. The boys are tired. AJ wanted to go out.” He shakes his head. “They’re heading home, to CeCe’s.”

“Marks is tailing them. They’re good.”

“You sure CeCe’s good?” he asks, jaw tightening.

I pulled out my phone and show him the pictures of the three of them, all teary-eyed and smiling.

“Two blondes and my Red,” he says softly.

“Yours?”

He shakes his head. “My bad. She hasn’t claimed me yet, but she knows I’m already hers.”

“This right here, this is going to allow her to finally be free of all the shit weighing her down. It won’t be easy, though.”

He leans forward, resting his biceps on his knees and looking out over the river. “Question?”

“Of course.”

He turns and looks at me. “When you gonna start shoveling out of the hole you’ve buried yourself in and let Locke?—”

I make a buzzer sound. “Nope. Not happening.”

“Why?” he asks simply.

“Because he and I have never wanted the same thing.”

“Compromise.”

I shake my head as I make a louder and longer buzzing sound.