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"Both capital offenses in your law book."
"Exactly." Though, I doubted he was the shoes-off kind of guy, given his general rough and tough and often work-dirty appearance. The chewing thing, yeah, that would be an immediate turnoff.
"You have your cell, right?" Kingston asked, always paranoid about my safety. "And your pepper spray?"
"Gee, you know, I might have left that on my dresser, right next to my chastity belt." At his unamused brow raise, I laughed. "Relax. You know I can handle myself."
Thanks to the five years of various self-defense classes he had forcibly enrolled me in, claiming it would save him from having to follow me when I went out at night to make sure nothing happened to me. I might have been pissed at first, but there was no better feeling in the world than knowing I could safely walk down the street at night and literally murder anyone who tried to touch me with my bare hands.
I about zoned back in when I actually heard Rush utter the words, "And when do you think you will have her home?"
"Okay, okay," I said, pushing off the wall with a smile. They might have been nut jobs, but they were my nut jobs, and I loved them. "I think that is enough interrogation."
"You know," Mark said, letting his hand slide from my hip to settle at my lower back despite the looks my brothers were giving him about touching me in their presence, "if the whole armed robbery thing doesn't pan out longterm, I think you guys might be able to get a gig in counter-intelligence." With that, he pressed a little harder into my back. "Ready?"
"Depends," I said, shrugging.
"On?"
"If you're going to make me take off my shoes before I get in your car."
"First, it's a truck. As in a work truck. So the floor has a quarter inch of concrete dust, sand, dirt, sawdust, grass, and any other number of crap. If you want your feet in that, be my fucking guest. But I think you'd prefer keeping your shoes on."
I shouldn't have, but absolutely did get mildly turned on by the words concrete dust, sand, dirt, sawdust, and grass. What can I say, I'm a freak.
"Alright. Let's go then."
"Seriously," Kingston called, making me look over my shoulder at him. "The pepper spray?"
To that, Mark chuckled, turning to face my oldest brother. "She won't need it. Damn near broke my fucking foot at the store when I met her." Then, his face went a little more serious, likely picking up on how important this was to him and respecting that. "Your sister is safe with me, Kingston. I know you will, but you don't have to worry about her."
Then with that, and the warm, squishy feeling I had inside from it, he led me outside and around the building.
"I know they can be a little... much," I offered as we rounded on his work truck which looked new, but a little busted-up already.
"It's good they care, baby. I'm not going to fault them for that."
"Kingston likes you," I blurted out as he opened the door for me, completely unsure why the urge was even there to say it in the first place.
"And I'll do everything in my power to not fuck that up," Mark said, face serious for a second before a smirk started pulling at his lips. "You gonna hop that pretty ass up, or do you need help?"
I looked up into the truck, then back down at him.
"First, I want to know where we are going."
"The food store," he informed me, casual as can be. And before I could even untwist my tongue and ask what, I felt his strong hands sinking into my hipbones and yanking upward, lifting me clear off my feet, and depositing me inside the truck. The door slammed, and I was alone in the cab for a moment.
I'd been to a lot of strange places with men before: pool halls, bowling alleys, shooting ranges, the back ten of a farm.
But this was a new one.
Why the hell was he taking me to the food store?SIXMarkHer brothers were good men.
It just further cemented something I had already known was wrong about popular assumptions regarding criminals. They weren't all pond scum. They weren't these evil, devious figures sitting in dark rooms smoking cigars and plotting terrible things.
In fact, it would probably freak average people out how much criminals were just normal like them. They had houses that needed cleaning and garbage cans that needed taking out. They often had wives and children that they loved and protected. They ate, worked out, worried about daily life shit.
And her brothers might have been armed robbers, but they were still, first and foremost, the big brothers to a little sister they thought needed their protection.
Coming from a large family myself, I understood those familial bonds. I respected them. I was happy for Scotti that she had that. It likely saved her a lot of headaches over chickenshit men who had no business being anywhere near her if they couldn't stomach the idea of her brothers taking him down if he did something to hurt her.
