Page 75 of Playing By Their Rules

Ethan touches my shoulder. “No.”

“Maisie, she kidnapped you. You’re hurt.” Chance frowns. “I don’t want you near her.”

“You two might be my daddies in the bedroom, but out in the real world, we have equal power,” I say, looking between the two of them, taking in their stern, concerned faces. Chance’s dark eyes are intense and full of foreboding, while Ethan’s bright blue eyes appear to plead with me. I hate to disappoint them, but this is perhaps the most important thing I’ll ever do for Mina. “I’m going in. Please don’t try to stop me. I know her better than any of you.”

Am I scared? Heck yes, I am. Hours ago, I feared for my life to the point that I didn’t want to drink what Mina poured me, and I sneaked out to wander in the darkness because anywhere out in the open was safer than being inside that cabin with her.

But I know her. I know her expressions, I know her voice. Right now, she isn’t angry with me—she’s hurting.

“Please trust me to do this,” I say to the guys. “I’ve been through her backpack to search for her car keys, and there were no weapons. I don’t think she’s going to hurt me. I know her, and if strangers go in and grab her, she’ll be destroyed. Please allow me to give her some dignity in how she’s brought to the car.”

There’s a long, tense moment while the men seem to battle their wish to control what I’m doing.

“I trust you both,” I say. “Please trust me.”

Finally, Chance gives me a curt nod. Ethan’s jaw is tight, but he doesn’t grab me or pull me back to him as I slide out of the car.

I limp up to the porch and hear Ethan’s curse behind me. “Fuck. I hate that she’s fucking hurt.”

Chance says something I can’t hear, but it sounds reassuring.

I walk across the porch, careful again, and knock on the door. “Mina, I’m coming into the cabin, okay?”

Her loud sobs carry through the flimsy front door.

“Mina, it’s me.” I try the handle, and the door opens easily.

The room reeks of whiskey. I can make out shapes in the darkness, including Mina, but I can’t see her expression. I need to see her face to know what she’s thinking and feeling. I fumble in my pocket and get my phone out, turn it on. The glow is too faint, so I turn on the flashlight.

Mina is facing me.

In her hand is the neck of the whiskey bottle, the body of it broken, the ends sharp and jagged.

My mentally ill foster sister has forged herself a weapon.

22

OUR GIRL

Maisie

The wicked edges of the broken bottle gleam brightly in the light coming from my phone.

“Hey,” I whisper, my gaze flicking between the broken bottle and Mina’s tortured expression. “It’s okay, we’re going to be okay.”

Mina shakes her head so fast, her black hair whips back and forth. “No. No. You don’t get to do this to us. You got other people to come here, and we had something good going.”

It’s hard to empathize with her feelings of betrayal when she basically tricked me into this whole trip to begin with. But in her twisted internal logic, she was hoping to keep us together, to keep us safe.

“I know we had something good,” I say. “We have something good. I just think we need a little help. Everyone needs help sometimes.”

Spittle flies from her mouth as she shouts, “Nobody helps us! They only hurt us! Every person who said they would help—they hurt us instead!”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice cracking. She isn’t wrong—we were hurt by the adults who were supposed to protect us. But we’ve also had a lot of good people along the way, too. Kind teachers in high school who did what they could. Friends and professors at SEU, at the restaurant as well. It hasn’t been as bleak as she’s painting it. At the same time, I know she can’t see that logic. The good is locked deep in her mind and all she can remember is the bad.

But if she doesn’t calm down, the guys are going to storm the cabin, and I don’t want to risk anyone getting hurt. I don’t think the men would be injured, and they wouldn’t want to hurt Mina, but with sharp objects and her heightened emotions, it’s a risk I don’t want to take. Hands out, I take a step toward her.

She raises the bottle.

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