Seeing the urgency in her, Marlin sighs, shoulders sagging. “Damn puppy dog eyes.‘aight. I’ll take you over there. But don’t get your pretty little hopes up; I don’t think they’re going to give him up easy. They came here for a reason, the pigs-”
Minnie blinks at him, and Marlin rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Shit. Old habits die hard. I meant the police.”
Pigs? Isn’t that what criminals tend to call the police? She’s seen that in a movie somewhere. Minnie finally gets it and looks down in understanding. “Oh.”
Is Marlin an ex-con, too?
“We’ll go, let me get my shit,” Marlin says, making to get the keys to his truck.
She can’t stop trembling, feeling cold as she grabs her purse. She doesn’t feel safe; she feels unwound and exposed. It’s alltoo much like what happened to her in the past; too much uncertainty and unwarranted violence.
When she’s ready to go, she makes her way to the front entryway, finding herself met by Red, all lanky and awful in his boxers. A sight shedoes notneed to see. He gives her the worst stink eye imaginable. “Having fun yet, Champagne Princess?”
Marlin gives him a look. “It’s a pity the pigs didn’t come for you. I’m sick of your bitching.” He catches sight of Minnie again and seems to wince. “Ah, the police. The police shoulda taken you, Red.”
She ignores the glower that Red is leveling at her. She’s not interested in conflict with a man who hates her for seemingly no reason other than that she was born in a well-to-do family. Not that Minnie is interested in any sort of conflict, but that’s not the point.
She doesn’t like to think of herself as a coward, but she probably is one. Oh, gosh darn it, she is a coward, too afraid to stand up for herself-
“Ready to go, girlie?” Marlin asks her gently, shoving Red away with one large hand. The thinner man trips over his own feet and falls into the messy living room with a squawk.
Even if her heart is racing with fear and it feels like she’s been breathing out of a straw, Minnie nods her head sharply. “Yes. Let’s go save Gage.”
Chapter 8
The drive over to the station is tense. Minnie can feel her heart still pounding out of her chest, skin cold and clammy. It seems even Marlin is ill at ease, his large hands tight on the steering wheel. He’s got a large, flatbed truck, and he drives it like he means business.
Every turn, sharp. Every light, a race off the starting line. Minnie finds herself hanging onto the ‘oh no’ handle more often than not. He should have had the decency to at least warn her that he drove like a madman before offering to take her to the station!
What, would you have preferred to ride with Red?Minnie grimaces.
Her breathing is sharp and jagged as she tries not to focus on how this car ride feels like that dreadful day, so long ago, being dragged around town in her father’s stolen car with a crew of wicked men. The speed, the chaotic driving style. It all brings back memories in shades of ominous unease.
She tries to slow her breathing, but her calming techniques aren’t working.
“You’re awful quiet over there,” Marlin utters, his voice like deep thunder cracking over the silence of a peaceful field. “You ‘aight?”
Minnie takes a deep breath and rubs her nose, looking down at her purse dejectedly. Why is she such a pathetic mess? “…I’ve been better.” Another sharp turn has her squeaking, flailing in her seat.Time to speak up, Mouse.“Must we drive so…haphazardly?”
A low chuckle emits from his chest. “Ah, it’s my driving that’s got you pale as milk, is it? Shiiiid. Sorry girlie, old habits diehard.” He attempts to slow down to a more normal style of driving. “I’ll bring out my Driving Miss Daisy side, just for you.”
As they sit at another stoplight, Minnie asks, “What do you mean, old habits die hard? You’ve said that before.”
For a moment, he says nothing, staring straight ahead. The color of the light changing from red to green casts a halo of neon across his features. After the odd pause, he replies softly, “A bit of driving got me in trouble in the past, that’s all.”
Minnie bites her lip and frowns, looking out her window into the darkness of the night. Her mind is bursting with questions, which helps her focus on anything other than whatjust happenedto Gage. “Were you in prison as well? Like Gage?”
He gives her a sharp look before taking another turn, nice and slow. His big hands seem to dwarf the steering wheel. “For a shy little thing, you sure like to ask the tough questions, don’t you?”
She feels horrible. Minnie supposes asking someone if they’re a felon could be seen as insulting. The words come out in a rush. “I can be nosey. I get it from my mother; she always pries. I shouldn’t have asked that, I’m sorry-”
They aren’t far from the station now. Minnie’s heart pounds as she tries not to think about what comes next.
“You can ask whatever you want, girl.” Marlin’s tone is calm and straightforward as he relays his piece. “I was in prison. So was Chase. And Red. I’d like to say we’re all perfect stand-up citizens, but we aren’t. We did time. Wedeservedthat time. I’m old enough to accept that, but it took a stretch for me to come to terms with it. Now, we gotta fix ourselves.” He gives her a small smile. “I’d say Gage is doing a stellar job if someone like you would even give him the time of day.”
Someone like her. Minnie bites her lower lip. She knows exactly what he means; an Uptown Gold girl. She’s someone who would normally never cross paths with someone like Gage. She’s supposed to be someone who would cross the street to avoidhim. At least, she assumes that’s what he means…what else could he mean?
“Just because I grew up on the fancy side of town doesn’t mean I can’t like someone who didn’t,” she says defensively. “Gage is more than his past, and I’ve chosen to see beyond it. He’s driven, street-smart, and handy. I’ve seen him fix things in my house that my father would scratch his head at! Not to mention how good Gage is with cars.” Shoot, that reminds her; he needs to give her an oil change soon so she can avoid the mechanic. She sits up straighter. “He treats me better thanmostof theguys who date my sister. You’d think that would count for something…”
