Page 58 of Wicked Pickle

We step out into the silence of the night. The darkness is complete, the sky inky black, stars obscured by a mass of gray clouds that block even the moon.

A breeze kicks up, sending the long grass across the road to rustling. Merrick’s boots crunch as he walks to the truck.

I hurry to open the passenger door.

When he sets Marietta in the seat, her eyes pop open. “Symphony?”

I duck around him so she can see me. “I’m right here.”

“Are we going home?”

“Yes.”

“You were fucking that man really loud.”

I carefully avert my eyes from Merrick. “Let’s get your seat belt on.” I pull the strap down and buckle it.

Merrick and I walk around the other side. I scoot beneath the wheel to the middle. “Sorry for all the trouble.”

“Yeah, it’s been a night.”

“Did everyone settle down at the bar?”

“Not exactly. Two-Shit’s woman got pissed that Two-Shit was going on about your friend here and decided to walk around topless. Two-Shit broke a bottle over his own brother’s head for looking at her and went after half the bar for having seen her.”

“Oh, God.”

“We had to do a full sweep out. Been a while since we shut down early.” He starts the truck with a rumble of the engine.

“Did you call the cops?”

“And alert them that there’s trouble at the Leaky Skull? Hell no.” He says it like it’s the dumbest thing I could have suggested.

“Whole different world,” I mutter.

He extends his arm to rest his wrist over the steering wheel. “Yeah, maybe it’s not the best place for a couple of proper girls like you two.”

My body goes still. What the hell is he saying? “I met your family, Merrick. You’re the one who is trying to act like you’re from some seedy no-good stock. The net worth of those wedding guests is more than the GNP of many small countries.”

“Now, see, that’s what I’m talking about. Going around talking about things like gross national product. The average joe at the bar would assume you’re talking about a model of a truck.”

“GNC?”

“Exactly.”

I blow out a long breath. “This is ridiculous. You guys were raised with straight white male upper class privilege. And now you’re playing like you didn’t, like you raised yourself on a bayou with nothing but radishes and river water.”

Merrick busts out laughing so loud that Marietta stirs. “Are we home yet?” she asks.

“We’re going to the car.”

“Oh, right.” She snuggles up to the wall by the window.

I decide I might as well ask my questions. I’m unlikely to see Diesel again. I’ll grill his brother. “So, why did you and Diesel ditch the Pickle family, anyway?”

He shrugs. “It’s a cult. Nobody gets out.”

“It is not. People do get out. Rhett’s brother Court left the family business. And he had it all. New York apartment. Head of the corporation.”

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