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Annie has never minded being the center of attention. In fact, where other people have squirmed, she’s rarely regretted the moments where she blurts something bold (and/or stupid, as Beth and Ruby would kindly point out) and everybody looks at her. It’s satisfying and, more importantly, it’s funny.
Though it’s worth mentioning that she enjoys people staring at her significantly less when those stares are pity stares. In fact, it sucks, especially when she’s earned those pity stares one hundo percent. Makes sense, since she’s currently leaning against her broken down car on the side of I-94 on an ugly Wednesday morning.
Cars blast past her, stirring up her hair with hot, tar-scented wind. Ahh, there’s nothing like the faint whiff of garbage and pollution. Wakes her up better than coffee would. Annie turns and slowly circles around her car as if staring hard enough at it will revive its depleted engine. Then she puts her hands on her hips, faces the guardrail, stares at a distant McDonald’s sign towering proudly over the color-starved landscape, and screams, “Son of a bitch god dammit fucking hell!” It’s a rainbow of curse words that once made Beth chastise her and say, “Sometimes I could mistake you for my fifth kid with the way you act.”
The moment the last word leaps off her lips with a pleasing bitterness, a passing car beeps its horn at her— or maybe at her behind, hell if she knows. Annie whirls around as the honk wails into oblivion, gone so fast that she can’t even tell who the culprit was.
Once it becomes clear that her little sedan, which wears a tuxedo of rust over its sky-blue paint and fondly remembers the Clinton administration, isn’t gonna wake back up to get her to her shift in time, Annie shoots her boss a text. He’s kind enough to get back to her in a timely manner: That’s your third strike, Anna. You’re fired. Come by next chance you get and turn in your vest.
Awesome! Now— through no fault of her own this time— she’s lost her most recent generic job at whatever generic drug-convenience-grocery store that’s been gnawing away at her will to live for the past few months. And the dude called her Anna, which makes her feel like he’s a creep reading off her birth certificate or something. Unlike her sister, Annie doesn’t get a lady boner when people use her full name.
Anyway, fuck him and fuck Walgreens. (Or is it Kroger?) Annie takes a second to fire back a nicely-formatted, super-fucking-professional response—
Brad,
My car literally broke down and my son will be having expired salsa on saltines for dinner tonight, but thanks for letting me know!
Best wishes,
*Annie
— and then calls Beth.
“I can’t. Emma has a thing.”
“A thing, huh?”
“Don’t be like that, Annie.” There’s a pause and some rustling in the background, which could mean she’s elbow deep in the minivan’s glove compartment or in gang friend’s pants, who knows. “Um, Danny has something too, actually, so I really can’t. I’m a shuttle bus today, sorry.” Sigh. If only Annie had a needy brood of kids to use as an excuse for everything.
She manages to bite her tongue— chomp down hard on it, really— before she spits venom she can’t take back. “Fine. I’ll just chill here on the side of the highway for a bit, hunt for shiny rocks and cigarette butts.”
Next she calls Ruby.
“... I just got fired because of this and I’m stuck here and Beth can’t come rescue me and—”
“And you need me to come get you.”
“Duh!”
“You could’ve led with that,” Ruby says. Annie loves her to death, but damn, she really doesn’t have to say it like that.
“I’ll remember that for next time!” Annie snaps. “Now, pretty please with a cherry on top could you—”
“You do remember that I’m at Stan’s parents’ house this week? The visit I have been complaining about for months?” Ruby says. Ohh, right. That thing. Annie gives a gloomy nod even though Ruby can’t see her, and in the silence Ruby goes, “So no, I can’t come rescue your ass.” Annie whimpers. She really, really does not want to stoop low enough to necessitate calling Gregg. Please, god, no. But then Ruby suggests, “Just call a tow truck, okay?”
At first the six-month-old bag of caramel M&Ms that’s been making itself at home in the bottom of her bag evades her, but Annie knows it’s in there somewhere. And since her Wednesday morning is going differently than planned and life decided to flick the sucky dial up a few extra notches, Annie thinks she deserves to throw some stale candy into her still-empty stomach and call it brunch. It’s not a caramel macchiato, but it’ll do.
When her hand finally closes around the bag, she lets out a hiss of relief and wastes no time tearing it open. Bored out of her mind, she idly inspects the bag while she munches. “‘Share size’? Pfff. That’s a bold statement,” she mutters to the amusement of nobody else in the car mechanic’s waiting room. And that’s probably just because there isn’t anybody else in the car mechanic’s waiting room.
She’s been parked here for an indeterminate amount of time, watching them work on her car through the window while she’s forced to listen to Katy Perry’s “Roar” as it’s faintly piped into the room from a local radio station that’s devastatingly trapped in 2013. It is mind-numbing, and that’s a compliment.
Once she has scrolled through literally everything Twitter has to offer, Annie is startled by some minor commotion on the other side of the glass. She peers upward, popping another M&M in her mouth as she stands and approaches the window into the garage. She observes a giant, boxy black SUV pulling into the garage, grotesque in appearance yet desirable because of the emblem on its grille. This, of course, is a Mercedes G Wagon. It’s particularly unmistakable to Annie because she’s unwillingly been a passenger in one many times. But obviously there’s no way it’s the same—
The door to the waiting area swings open, and in walks Rio. Annie’s jaw meets the floor, and in an impressively embarrassing display, she stumbles backward onto her chair, unable to peel her eyes off of him the entire time.
“What the— what the hell are you doing here?” she squeaks. In the back of her mind, Annie has always assumed that the man must run the occasional mundane errand, because who doesn’t, even with his lifestyle? But it’s just so hard to picture him grocery shopping for something that isn’t bleach, or running to the hardware store for something other than tarp and a shovel. And now here he is at the car mechanic, making her two worlds collide with appalling intensity. The most shocking thing of all, if she’s being honest, is that this might be the first time she’s actually seen him enter a room. She never imagined he could actually use doors; she thought he just snapped his fingers and appeared somewhere.
Rio blinks at her for a moment, then makes his way across the room to lean against the far wall, verbalizing nothing because why would he.
“If you’re here for me, then that’s a bad idea!” Annie exclaims, fighting her weak better instinct that’s begging her to just stay quiet. “Beth won’t be happy if you go behind her back and—”
Eyes closed, he leans his head back and mutters, “Not here for you. I don’t go out of my way to chill with the side bitch.”
Skin prickling, Annie crosses her arms and folds her knees to her chest. “Jeez. You don’t have to go for the throat.” There’s a pause, then she mumbles, “So what’re you in for?”
All Rio gives her is “Carburetor’s shot.” She nods and chooses not to press the issue.
They pass a few minutes in the kind of tense silence that Annie knows he must savor. Still, she can’t help how often her eyes slide over to him while she tries to focus on flipping through an ancient issue of People from the waiting room’s sparse magazine rack (she didn’t check the year on it, but it’s telling her Brad Pitt is 45, so it’s a little outdated). Every single time she checks on him, Rio still hasn’t moved a muscle. He leans into the corner, head tilted back, four fingers hidden in a pocket while his thumb hangs out. Even his jaw is stiff, the sharp bone set in place like a blade poised between slices. The inked wings on his neck stretch over his skin, gripping his throat in a chokehold-like embrace that she’s never really seen it as before. Somehow he’s slightly— veeeery slightly— less frightening without the familiar cloak of Beth’s kitchen or the park surrounding him.
Anyway, Annie’s mostly content to coexist like this for a little while, because it can’t be much longer now until she’s out of here, right? But the next time she sneaks a peek in his direction, she’s greeted by a potent stare that nearly shoves her into next week. She recovers and bluntly asks, “What?”
“Just thought we was having a little staring contest,” he says innocently. She bristles and looks away for only a second before he adds, “So what’s the little sister been spending my money on?”
“Hmm.” Annie taps her chin, pretending to think. “Ah, that’s right! I’ve been spending it on beeswax that’s not yours, because it’s money that we earned ourselves, thank you very much.” She shrinks slightly under his icy gaze, but refuses to squirm while she’s pinned down.
He grunts in acknowledgement. “That sounds like the truth to you, huh?”
Just to make sure he knows how irritating he’s being, Annie sighs loudly and says, “If you must know, basically every cent is going towards my son’s school that he loves, ‘cause my ex is having problems paying for it now. There’s no room for fun stuff, barely even essentials. I’ve been using a bottle of watered-down conditioner for two months, FYI. I just refill it with water, shake it up a little, and it works.”
“Oh, so that’s why your hair looks like that.”
Annie frowns, subconsciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “... huh?”
The room gets quiet again, the only sounds being the terrible radio station, metal parts clanking out in the garage, and Annie’s heart repeatedly crashing against her ribs like ocean waves. It doesn’t take long for her to get bored again and try shooting another challenging glare at him, her hackles still raised. But he won’t take the bait. Shifting in her seat, Annie lets her feet drop back to the floor with an impatient smack. God, what a shitty day. And now she’s chilling here with the dude who plays with her, Beth, and Ruby like they’re his toys. But he’s no Geppetto, and Annie is no fan of being a money-laundering puppet.
This time when she looks at him, she sees he’s now typing something on his phone— a perfect opportunity to interrupt. But how? After a couple seconds, something occurs to her that she figures is worth a shot at asking; after all, it’s more than evident that Rio cares about what he drives, since it’s basically the only way he shows off his wealth. She highly doubts the place she’s reluctantly patronizing now would be his first choice for car care.
Annie sits up, clears her throat, and drops her voice to a lower volume than before. “So, don’t you have, like, a guy?” Rio slips his phone into a back pocket and stares at her, inviting her to flounder as she tries to elaborate. “Y’know, like, a gang-affiliated guy who fixes your Cadillacs and Benzes for you? A...” She reduces the last word to a whisper despite them clearly being the only ones present. “... guy?”
Rio sneers, tossing his head and turning to look through the window. “Why don’t you shut the hell up.”
He doesn’t say it like a question. Nevertheless, Annie replies, “Sorry, I’m not taking suggestions at this time.” She smiles sweetly and shakes her bag of candy at him like she’s facing a toddler. “M&M?”
His face rolls back toward her. “You think you can talk to me like that?”
“Well, I know for a fact”— Annie leans forward, eyes narrowing while her syrupy grin persists— “you’re not gonna kill me. Because then my sister won’t let you bump uglies with her anymore. And yes, I hated saying that as much as you hated hearing it.”
Rio chuckles, and it’s so shocking that for a moment Annie forgets where she is. “That’s cute, but I ain’t her husband, so you ain’t gonna undermine me.” He also makes use of the lean-forward tactic. “See, me and Elizabeth don’t find all the same shit important.”
Not willing to show she’s the tiniest bit intimidated, Annie sits back into the embrace of her creaky plastic chair. “Whatever, dude. I’ve had a crappy day, and that was before I ran into you, so. Let’s just go back to ignoring each other, ‘kay?”
Rio hums. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
They sit (or stand) in silence for a few more minutes, the weak sound of “Brave” by Sara Bareilles from the radio providing just the inane background noise Annie needs to officially mark her descent into madness. Right when she’s itching to pipe up again, however, the door from the garage groans open and the mechanic, who has a label stitched onto his grimy shirt that reads “Carl,” steps in. She springs up eagerly. “Good news, doc?”
Carl raises his brows and points at her like they’re in sync. “Nope. Bad news, actually.” Annie droops and, without missing a beat, Carl explains, “Very bad news. Your car is old”— no shit, Sherlock— “and not in great shape, miss. The problem seems to be...”— insert a bunch of mechanical mumbo-jumbo here— “... so the odds aren’t great, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Awesome, thanks!” Annie bites out.
The guy turns to Rio next and— ugh— says “Yo” like they’re old pals and does that dumb clap-each-other-on-the-back thing guys do. He gives him a similarly confusing report about his car, but with a much more hopeful outcome. Then, to her utter astonishment, Carl tells Rio that he has a vehicle he can borrow until the G Wagon is fixed. Annie throws her arms up in the air while the two men turn their backs on her and Carl points out the window at what Annie assumes will be Rio’s free ride. As she takes in the palpable rapport between the two, it hits her that the tow truck she called did indeed take her to Rio’s car guy. Out of every freakin’ mechanic in the Detroit area, it just had to be this one. Crap.
She never could have anticipated what comes next, though. Something on Rio’s face has shifted when he twists back towards her, and it clogs her insides with dread. “Hey, so.” His endlessly dark eyes slide from her to Carl and back. “This is my woman, Roxy. My bad, should’ve introduced you before.” Carl’s forehead wrinkles slightly, but he still gives her a friendly nod. “Yeah, it’s just our luck that both our cars ended up broke at the same time. She’s hard on them, aren’t you, darlin’?” He exchanges an infuriatingly knowing glance with Carl. “Women, huh? Always wantin’ to pump the brakes.”
Carl’s responding laugh is slimier than the bottom of an algae-filled pond. “Oh, I feel ya, bro!” He buries his hand in the pocket of his overalls and, with the turn Annie’s life has taken ever since she and the girls stormed Fine & Frugal, she’s half-expecting him to pull out a knife and take them hostage out of nowhere. Fortunately, he just fishes out a set of car keys and tosses them at Rio, who of course catches them midair without a flinch. “These are the only wheels I got for you today, so go easy on her, eh?” Carl directs the last part at Annie. Ew. She offers him an ingenuine chuckle, because what the hell else is she supposed to do besides go along with Rio’s plan? Apparently she’s some vapid chick named Roxy now, so that’s great. Double ew. Gang friend has always been sorely lacking in his ability to brief them before something happens, so Annie supposes she shouldn’t be all that offended. But still.
Then all of a sudden Rio’s hand is on her lower back, firmly nudging her toward the door. The pair only maintain their act for as long as it takes them to get outside the building; as soon as they’re safely out of Carl’s leering line of sight, Rio wipes his smirk clean off his face like he’s a human whiteboard. Meanwhile, Annie’s still here holding chalk and trying to connect the dots.
“Okay, so many things to address there,” she says, coming to a halt before he can drag her any farther. He tries to press her forward anyway, but since his hand isn’t a gun, she doesn’t budge. “First off, sexist!” Annie raises an insulted index finger at him. “Also, Roxy? Who the frick is that?” He looks down at her with nary a blink, his gaze like the deep end of a dark pool. “And I’m not your woman, by the way, you’re Beth’s, so—”
“I’m Elizabeth’s woman?” Rio interrupts, patting his own chest. When her scowl intensifies, he raises his palms in a display of innocence. “Just tryin’ to get your story straight.”
A frustrated sigh claws its way through Annie’s lungs. She’s known this guy for over a year now and he still finds the worst possible way to grate at her sanity until it’s a pile of sawdust. She watches as he turns and resumes walking toward the parking lot without a care in the world, making her follow in his wake with some kind of magnetic pull, though he better bet she’s going to complain and stomp the entire way. “Hey, I’m still talking to you, dude!” she calls after him. What are they even doing here? Why doesn’t she just go back inside? Maybe it’s because of the soul-draining reality that Rio actually makes better company than Carl the car guy.
He doesn’t break his stride. “Don’t care.” Rio tosses the words over his shoulder like a balled-up wrapper: trash, an afterthought, barely worth the breath it takes to speak them. It makes her blood simmer even more.
“Listen, I don’t know what you’ve got up your sleeve besides, like, probably a million more cool tattoos, but...” Finally it sinks in that any effort to talk to him is pointless, and she trails off with a whine.
Unsure what else to do, Annie shuts up and continues following him like his much shorter— and very reluctant— shadow. They go all the way across the garage’s small lot to where a little hatchback is parked. It would be pretty generic looking if it weren’t for its bright, electric green paint color. Next to a dude like Rio, it practically looks like a clown car.
He’s stone-faced as he raises one hand and presses on the clicker his guy gave him. Sure enough, the oversized neon roller skate comes to life with a chirp, its lights flicking on. Oh, wow. It takes Annie all of her strength not to guffaw herself right into an early grave. She’s already dug herself deep enough just by befriending— no, wait, that’s not right... let’s go with knowing— him.
She subtly starts to back away, hands raised in a placating gesture in case he sniffs out the trace of laughter in her voice. “Well, you have fun driving that. I’m gonna stick around here and wait until Beth can come by and—”
Rio turns around abruptly, tilting his head in a way that unbalances her inner scale of logic just a little bit more. “No you’re not.”
Annie stands stiffly with her hands clasped, hovering between her urge to take off sprinting and her desire to not get kidnapped or killed. They stare at each other, her eyebrows scrunching in concentration while he draws in a noticeably deep breath. She risks another backward shuffle and mumbles, “Yeah, so I’m gonna go—”
He takes another step forward, effectively freezing her in place. “Thing is,” he says, “I wouldn’t be caught alive or dead drivin’ this shit.” He jerks his head toward the lime on wheels. The faintest grin teases the corners of his lips. “But you would.”
“Uh, I’m not doing that.”
“Funny. I don’t remember asking if you would.” Any semblance of a smile neatly retreats from his features, hardening him into concrete once again. It’s like throwing a switch. “I’m telling you you’re gonna drive me in this pussy-mobile to where I’m goin’. This shit’s exactly your size, and you know how to drive, yeah?” She gives a feeble nod. “I know you don’t have nothing better to do.”
Annie considers it. It is true that she doesn’t have anything better to do, though she’d hate to admit it. Ben’s safely in school right now, and she’s jobless at the moment, and her car’s going to be on the operating table indefinitely, so... what does she have to lose here, really? Her patience is already gone. And, well, it’s not like she really has a choice. Might as well make her day interesting.
“Fine,” she says. “Only if I get a cut from whatever”— she waves one hand aimlessly, as if she can build words out of air— “deal thingy you’re going to. Since you’re treating me like an Uber driver, I think I deserve a tip.”
Rio’s laugh is so harsh it sounds like a bark. “Uh-huh.” He eyes her up and down, then goes, “Five percent.”
“Ten.” She’s not as skilled at neat and tidy negotiation as Beth is, but in the past year Annie would say she’s learned how to pick her way carefully around the art of “business.” She keeps steady eye contact even though holding his gaze feels like supporting a five hundred pound weight. Jesus, she’s been through childbirth— never mind that she was drugged up for most of it— so you’d think dealing with this guy would be a piece of cake in comparison. Nope.
She watches him tense up. The slightest of adjustments to his posture, but she notices. So she stiffens as well, drawing herself into the tallest and toughest appearance that her vertically deficient stature can manage. She has a safety net to fall back on if he lashes out— You don’t want to hurt Elizabeth’s little sister, do you? She’ll never forgive you. Sure, he could kidnap, threaten, or maim Annie. But he’ll never finish the job.
Just as discreetly as he tensed up, he now relaxes, his shoulders dropping a millimeter as he moves his head back. He’s caving. As he should, because he’s forced her into this situation. “Ten, then.” With a single bob of his head, he tosses the keys at her. They hit her in the chest and fall all the way to her knees before she’s able to catch them. She straightens and gets the satisfaction of pinning a fresh glare on him while he circles around to the backseat. Her satisfaction fades when he grunts, “Bra strap’s showin’.” An affronted gasp seizes her throat, preventing her from spitting out “Creep” or something else in that vein. He ignores the look on her face and pulls open one of the car’s tiny doors.
Annie huffs and fixes herself before yanking open the driver’s door. “Really?” she demands, observing as he carefully folds himself into the decidedly not roomy backseat. “You’d rather cram yourself back there than be seen sitting shotgun next to me?”
His stare is ice. “Kinda, yeah.”
Annie drops down into her seat and fiddles with the adjustments. “At least I can comfort myself with the knowledge that you simply can’t resist spending more time with me.” In the rearview mirror, she sees his head loll back against the headrest, eyes shut. Cool, maybe he’ll just nap the whole way there. Beth always says getting the kids to sleep is the golden ticket to a bearable road trip. Before Annie can get too excited about it, he rattles off an address and orders without lifting an eyelid, “Let’s get movin’. Wanna beat traffic.”
She turns away and silently mocks him as she scrambles to plug the street name into her phone’s GPS. “Okay, was the number six-oh-nine or eight—”
“Drive.”
“Alright, we’re gonna go with a guess then. Aaand it’s a few hours away. Awesome.” She places the device in a vent holder that’s already conveniently there— wait. Annie glances around the pint-size cabin and reaches a startling conclusion: this is somebody’s car. Somebody’s car that’s about to be stolen. By them. Personal possessions are scattered around, clogging the cupholders and stuffing the center console. Somebody else’s dust lines the dashboard. That explains the “Crazy Cat Lady” bumper magnet Annie swore she glimpsed on the rear. She picks up a crumpled ten-mile-long CVS receipt stuck to a straw wrapper, then drops it limply. This realization shouldn’t disturb her as much as it does. She recalls that Jeep she, Beth, and Ruby stole from Dean’s dealership and subsequently sank. She’s got a history of car thievery and, uh, car drown-ery. So what’s the big deal?
“Hey.” A hand lands on her shoulder, instantly making unpleasant flames lick up her neck. God, how does her sister ever play tonsil hockey with him? “If we don’t get goin’—”
Without thinking (ha, like she ever does), Annie guns it out of the parking lot, narrowly avoiding a passing motorist as she forcibly merges onto the adjacent road. Huh, this thing has a surprising amount of power. The little engine roars as she lays on the gas pedal some more, and the GPS struggles to recalibrate. “This might be the nicest thing I’ve driven since I had that Porsche for a day,” she remarks. Her brain catches up to her mouth a second later. “That I... totally did not buy with your grocery store money. Ha.”
She abruptly darts to the neighboring lane, and he swears under his breath. “You drive like this with your kid in the car?”
Yeah, she’s not going to answer that. With a shrug, Annie merely replies, “Hey, you’re the one who wanted me here!”
They sink into silence for a few minutes, leaving room for Annie to wonder. She doesn’t get it; why in the world would he willingly relinquish control to her? Sure, he’s the one who could hold a gun to her head, but she also has the power to careen this motorized green gumball straight off a cliff.
... only she doesn’t. Not really. She has her family to worry about. That’s exactly what it is. She has a family, so he knows she won’t commit vehicular murder-suicide. At least, not on purpose.
She doesn’t actually have any control here.
They coast past another string of fast food places while her phone instructs them to get on the highway up ahead. “Last chance to grab food here in town,” she mumbles, figuring she’s talking more to herself than anything. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that, you know. A hot breakfast. Wouldn’t that be nice.” She raises her voice now, checking on the rearview mirror to see him sprawled in the backseat. “You ever heard of broke cinnamon rolls? It’s my speciality, Ben loves them. You just get some white bread, put a little butter on there, a sprinkle of cinnamon, throw it on the stove for a couple minutes... life changing.” She glances back to see that his eyes are once again closed. “And you’re not listening. Cool.”
Actually, Rio is listening. He doesn’t have much of a fuckin’ choice, because Elizabeth’s little sister has never been told to shut up once in her entire life.
“I’d just put sugar on it,” he says, propping an elbow by the window. He’d have to roll down the one at his feet and stick his legs out of it in order to stretch comfortably in the backseat of this miserable fuckin’ hamster ball. “Roll that shit up. Eat it room temp if you have to. Hits different.”
“Ooh, yes!” Annie gushes from the front. “You— you get it.” There’s a pause, then she sighs, “We’re not stopping for food, are we?”
“Nah, I ate already.”
“Must be nice.”
Rio snorts and scratches behind his head. “Yeah, I saw them M&Ms you were eating, though.”
Annie makes a noise that could only be described as a defensive bird call. Rio isn’t sure how anyone can stand her— yeah, she’s a looker, pretty eyes and nice smile and all that, but not his type— and he’s more than aware that if Annie wasn’t who she is, he would have zipped her lips by way of bullet a long fuckin’ time ago. “... and that’s not breakfast!” she’s going on when he tunes back in. “You’re a parent too, you should know better. We’re not supposed to have sugary crap in the morning. It’s, like, probably against the law or something, I dunno.”
“Against the law, huh?” he repeats. “That’s a shame.”
“Right?” Annie scoffs.
For a while nothing is said. Rio shifts again, scooting so that he’s sitting up more fully. When he glances up, his eyes snag on hers in the rearview mirror. Not pleased that she’s caught him in a moment of awkward discomfort, he stares coolly until her attention darts elsewhere. It doesn’t take long, because as he’s noticed over the past year, the sister’s fixation on shit never lasts. She always flits around like a fruit fly, sucking the juice out of things until they’re no good anymore. At least when it comes to Elizabeth, Annie isn’t even close to matching the husband’s level of utterly draining uselessness. She’s proved herself enough— just barely scratched the surface of worthiness, really— but that’s her one saving grace.
“Hey, I kinda have to pee, could we stop?”
“Drive.”
She whimpers like a kicked puppy and mutters something under her breath, but Rio decides against pursuing that avenue. He already has her backed into a corner here, and he knows the sister is never as confident as she portrays herself to be. Her face is an open book, her eyes crystal-clear windows. She’s as aware as he is that he’s got a piece tucked in the seat pocket behind her. It would take less than a second for him to take the gun and press it through the flimsy cloth and foam separating them and make her aware of the metal kissing her spine. Two seconds to pull the trigger too.
He’s taken from his thoughts by a text arriving incognito on his silenced phone. He unlocks the device and swipes to the conversation. It’s—
“Who you textin’? If it’s my sister, can you ask her if she’s free to come by my place tonight? Because have I got a hell of a story to tell her: ‘Hey, sis, ya won’t believe who I ran into at the sketchy mechanic’s shop!’”
“This ain’t your phone. Text her yourself,” Rio growls.
“Well, that wouldn’t be very safe, would it?” The sister’s got some fuckin’ nerve today. What was in those M&Ms?
He decides he feels like dangling some bait in front of the treadmill he’s got her jogging on. “‘m not texting Elizabeth.”
“Who else could it possibly be, if not Elizabeth?” she asks, purring her sister’s full name mockingly. Then she dares to blindly thrust an arm into the backseat, acting as if she’s trying to steal his phone.
“Where’s your own damn phone?” he snaps.
“Up your butt and around the corner, my friend,” Annie preens like she’s just thought of the insult of the century.
“Hm. In that case, then...” Before she can retract her flailing arm, Rio grabs the gun— safety on, not that she’d know— from the seat pocket and places it in her hand. “There you go.”
Her fingers only close around the weapon for a half-second, then she squeaks and flings it back at him. “Jesus, dude! Not funny!” He doesn’t let himself smile about it, but it is pretty fuckin’ funny.
“What you get for being so stubborn.”
“No, you’re stubborn,” she gripes.
His phone lights up again: So what’s it going to be, just a drop? Or dinner too?
Rio considers annoying Annie about how needy her sister is. Then he thinks better of it. This business ain’t any of her business. He types a response—
Guess I’ll make it a surprise. You’d like that.
— then puts his phone on do not disturb. He can only deal with so many Marks princesses at a time.
At that moment, the car radio is turned on by the driver, who immediately joins Rihanna in belting out “Shut Up And Drive.” Weirdly enough, Annie isn’t half-bad, and if she actually tried she could even be a good singer. Still, that doesn’t mean this isn’t giving him a fuckin’ headache.
“Turn it off,” he orders.
“Aw, come on, please? I’m driving you to some creepy mysterious location a couple hours away. At least let me entertain myself if you’re not gonna do any more magic tricks back there.”
Rio’s mouth flattens into a thin line, but he says no more, lounging spread eagle in the backseat. The Rihanna song ends and turns into some kind of sappy guitar tune, and now he’s cursing his existence. He leans forward in the small space and presses the off button. “Not gonna listen to that basic shit.”
Annie groans and does an angry little drum on the steering wheel. “Hey, you do know who you’re calling basic, right?”
Rio stares evenly through the windshield. Maybe if he stares hard enough, the glass will melt and he could launch himself the fuck outta here. “Who.”
“Uh, Taylor? The Taylor Swift? I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of a Swiftie.” Annie flips the radio back on, dropping them in the middle of the first chorus. “It’s a love story, baby just say yes— I mean, where were you in the late 2000s when this came out? I was working at a Golden Corral with a screaming baby on my hip and I still found time to listen to this masterpiece. You gotta know who she is.” Annie briefly glances over her shoulder at him. “I think you’d be super into her reputation era. You give off those vibes.” In a sing-song voice, she adds, “Fun fact, that’s Elizabeth’s favorite album!”
Without a word, he again stretches out an arm to switch the station. “Ew, please not Train,” Annie complains, so he goes to the next one. Then the next one, and the next one, until finally he settles on an old Selena Gomez hit he can fuck with. Annie swats his hand away so she can turn up the volume a little. “Wow, so Selena’s fine, but Taylor is where you draw the line?”
Rio clasps his hands, still staring straight ahead at the passing road signs and cars. The sister drives fast, but not as fast as he would like. Then again, this hunk of scrap metal probably can’t go much over eighty. Carl ought to choke for giving him this piece of shit.
As if she read his mind, Annie sighs and, to his relief, tries to test the car’s endurance at a slightly higher speed. Rio watches the speedometer’s needle waver around eighty-five, only to dip lower when she opens her mouth again. Fuck.
“They used to play this song all the time in Fine & Frugal,” she says, evidently more out of a need to just talk than to speak about anything of substance. “Is it weird that there are some things I actually miss about that job?” Annie starts to twist around to check on him again, but he stops her by jabbing a thumb into her cheek and making her face forward again. Unfazed, she resumes, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t miss Boomer. So glad you guys did, uh, whatever you did with him. His grandma was cool, though. We were pretty close for a while. It’s dumb now, looking back.”
Rio clears his throat. “Nah,” he says. “Bet she felt like a mother to you.”
Annie swallows heavily and dodges his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Sure. She turned out to be mostly shitty in the end, so... I guess that did make her just like my real mom.” There’s a thoughtful pause. “And just like me. I’m a mess! What do you want me to say? I’m an awful mom. Terrible role model. Great friend, though. I’m super fun.” Her grin is bitter, and it stirs something in him. Leave it to the sister to stir shit up.
“Hard to feel like you’re enough for your kid,” he says. He thinks of his family, the way he was raised alongside Nick, and how it didn’t matter if he was a brother or a cousin. He’s always been under the impression that Elizabeth and Annie have a similar type of bond in that they fill more than one kind of familial role for each other. Mother, sister, daughter. Maybe he can see why Elizabeth keeps her around.
“No kidding. And I know you don’t kid, so.” The GPS announces their upcoming exit, and she switches lanes in preparation for it. “It’s just funny how some people can pull off looking like a good parent while actually being bad at it. I mean, you know Beth, basically every other sentence out of her mouth is ‘I’m a mom’ or ‘I have kids.’ But she’s not perfect, you know! She doesn’t have it all together.” Annie’s hands fasten tighter around the wheel as they glide into the exit lane. “Isn’t it hilarious that I thought I’d have my life together by the time I turned thirty? I dunno, maybe it’s overrated—”
“Quiet,” he rumbles, peering out the window at their surroundings as they come to a stop at a red light.
She obeys for a short minute. Then she whisper-shouts, “Did I hit a nerve? Was it the whole shitty parent thing? What even happened to your kid, by the way?” The light turns green, but Annie doesn’t notice right away and the person behind them taps their horn. The sister won’t ever be a getaway driver, that’s for damn sure. Barely alarmed, she lurches through the intersection and runs her mouth in a way that really should get her hurt. “I mean, we both sing the split custody blues, so I get it, but I feel like you never mention him—”
“My boy is fine,” Rio interrupts. “Now shut up and focus on getting us there, yeah?” With that, he reaches forward and silences the radio, dunking them into the sweet, refreshing bliss of silence.
Annie half-heartedly elbows his hand away. “I hate how small this car is,” she mumbles.
From there, it doesn’t take long to finally reach their— or rather, his— destination. The giant pea they’ve been riding in turns off the road, squeezing through a gap in a chain-link fence and creeping cautiously across the massive lot, tires crunching over stray bits of gravel. Eventually they come to a halt a stone’s throw from a large, low warehouse-type structure, and Annie shifts into park. “Arrived,” she says dully, in perfect unison with her phone.
Rio shoves the gun in his back pocket and kicks open his door. “Stay here,” he grunts.
“Unbelievable,” he hears her bitch as he lifts himself out of the car. “We came all this way and now I don’t even get to see the action? And I still have to pee—” He shuts the door, blocking out the rest of what she says. Hallelujah.
To his dismay, Rio doesn’t make it all the way inside the building in time to prevent the men from noticing his ride.
“Where’s the party at, amigo?” the guy in front jeers. Rio blinks at him, brow heavy over a frigid stare. What he wouldn’t do to make that motherfucker regret curling his lip at him. “You pull up in that Ford Fiesta-looking thing, I should expect a fiesta, eh?”
Rio maintains his stance, keeping his face neutral like he’s at a funeral. Hell, this’ll turn into a funeral if he feels like making it one. “We gonna talk or not, fellas?”
“Yeah, we’ll talk. We’re talkin’ now.”
Five minutes into discussing business, however, one of the men startles and raises his gun, aiming it at something over Rio’s shoulder. “What the fuck are you playing at?” Rio snarls, his fingers grazing his own weapon.
The guy indicates something with his gun. “That the mama you’ve been fuckin’?”
Rio knows they’re messing with him. Elizabeth’s showed her face plenty; they all know what she looks like by now. Fuming, he draws his pistol and keeps it in view as he slowly spins around so he can see what they’re seeing. Sure as shit, there’s Annie in plain view, waddling away from the car with her hands raised.
“Huh? Who the fuck’s that?” the asshole prompts.
“She’s unarmed, don’t point that shit at her,” Rio responds. Of course they don’t believe him, so he turns his full attention back onto them and explains, “Had to take an Uber. She doesn’t know shit. Leave her alone.”
Still on edge, they lower their weapons. It ends up being a decent chat; they reach an understanding and Rio goes on his way with a deal struck and some advance cash in his pocket. He returns to the car and— fuck it— chooses to sit in the front passenger seat this time. (It’s much better, not that he’d ever tell her.) Lucky for her, Annie has enough of a brain to be back from her little trip by now. “Drive,” he tells her.
She sighs, but starts the car and circles back toward the distant gate. “So how’d it go?”
“Not all my business has to do with you bitches,” he says, though it’s not as venomous as he wanted it to be.
“Jeez. Didn’t wanna know anyway.” Annie rolls her eyes. “Also, I had to squat behind a bush next to a rusty soup can, so I hope you’re happy.”
“Overjoyed,” he fires back. “So that’s what you were fuckin’ around doing?”
“I had to pee, dude! For over two hours!” She lowers her defenses slightly to smirk over at him. “What did you tell them, that I’m your sister-in-law? Or was I Mick’s girlfriend this time? Or both?”
“Yeah, they didn’t ask about you,” Rio lies.
Annie snorts. “Bull. Shit. But whatever.” She hesitates, then softens her tone to ask, “So, um, about my cut...” He tosses a single Benjamin at her. “A hundred bucks? What about the rest?”
“Oh, that’s all,” he tells her. “And it doesn’t have to be washed or nothin’, so you’re welcome.”
She clicks her tongue, but shoves the cash into her jeans pocket nonetheless. “I don’t like you.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” He’s not surprised by the creative way she flips him off, which is using her middle finger to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. What catches him off-guard, though, is that it makes the corner of his mouth twitch. Yeah, this chauffeuring crap is definitely not going to be a regular thing.
Halfway through the trip back, they switch drivers when Rio finally accepts that he’d rather drive this joke on wheels than be subjected to her poorly-timed lane changes. Before they get back on the freeway, though, he decides to make a quick stop.
“... and I’m sick of your backseat driving anyway,” Annie’s saying as he turns into a McDonald’s drive-thru. “Uh, what are we doing here?”
“What d’you want?” Rio asks. Now it’s Annie’s turn to just stare at him, dumbfounded. “Thought it’s ‘bout time for lunch. My treat.” He tilts his head at her. “And you can’t talk if you’ve got food in your mouth, yeah?”
“Clearly you don’t know me.” Pause. “Oh, you— you’re serious?” Annie smiles, looks down, then looks back up with raised, hopeful eyebrows. “Is it cool if we get a little something for my son, too? Pretty please?”
When they arrive at the nondescript apartment building Annie directs him to, Rio doesn’t plan on accompanying her inside. But she doesn’t invite him, and he kind of likes showing up in places uninvited, so he goes with.
“I don’t know why you’re following me,” Annie says while they’re marching up the steps. “And I’m definitely uncomfortable, but, like, I think I at least deserve to know how you’re gonna kill me. Execution style? That could be quick n’ dirty. Or you could smother me with a—”
She unlocks the door to her apartment and they’re met by who Rio assumes is her son, standing over the stove in the cluttered kitchen wrestling with a pizza cutter. “Oh, hey, Mom!” he calls out without turning around. “So as it turns out, I can’t slice frozen pizza at all. And yes, it is cooked, so that’s not the problem. Can you—” He freezes mid-question when he looks over his shoulder and takes notice of his mother’s companion. “Uh...”
“Aw, Ben,” Annie effuses as if nothing’s amiss. “You’re starting to sound just like me, you know that?” She drops the bags of food on the counter and goes to give him a hug.
Ben absently returns the embrace, but fixes an unnerving stare on Rio. “Who is that?” He frowns up at her, and it’s an expression Rio suspects Annie is more than familiar with. “New boyfriend?”
“Actually, he’s a friend of mine and Ruby and Aunt Beth’s, who was just on his way out.” Annie tips her head in Rio’s direction, eyes narrowed in a subtle display of mischief. “Isn’t that right?”
“Okay,” Ben processes slowly. His eyes dart back and forth between the two adults for another couple seconds. “So... really, who’s boyfriend is he?”
Annie opens her mouth to reply, but at that moment her phone rings. She glances at it, then picks up the call and puts it on speaker. It’s been established that her face is as readable as a stop sign, and that’s no different now— in fact, when she looks at him, Rio can tell exactly what she wants him to do. A little prank never hurt nobody.
“Where the hell are you, Annie? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours now. For all I know, you tried to hitchhike and got yourself killed!”
Rio and Annie stare knowingly at each other, reaching their own unspoken agreement. While Ben’s face grows increasingly more bewildered, Rio twirls the little green hatchback’s keys around one finger, steps closer to the phone sitting on the counter, leans down, and says, “Yo, Elizabeth.”