Page 76 of Playing By Their Rules

“Okay, okay,” I whisper, trying to sound soothing and not full of fear.

Because I’m so fucking afraid right now.

Mina begins to pace. Her footsteps are frantic, desperate. Six steps one direction, then whirling quickly to retrace that progress before repeating it. I can only imagine what she must be feeling right now—the panic, the confusion, the loss.

Two full minutes pass. She’s getting well and truly worked up—the situation isn’t defusing on its own; it’s ticking along and I don’t know how much time we have before the explosion.

Someone else in my place might rush over, grab Mina, hold her down. In some other situations, that might be the exact right thing to do.

But I know Mina. So I don’t rush her, I don’t try to wrench the broken bottle from her grasp.

Instead, I sit down on the floor. I’m small, vulnerable. I’m not a threat. I’m just Maisie, the girl she loves and views as a sister.

It seems to shock her out of her pacing. She stops and stares for a long moment. Maybe sitting down and being vulnerable was the wrong call. She could easily overpower me from this position.

Her eyes on me, she drops the bottle. It thuds to the weathered floorboards and rolls away.

Her shoulders sag. Tears trail down her cheeks and her chin wobbles.

“Mina,” I whisper, holding out my arms. “I’m here for you.”

“Maisie, I don’t—I don’t know—”

“Come here,” I say.

She stumbles forward and falls into my lap, her entire body shuddering while she cries. I hold her and hold her. Even when my ass goes numb, I continue to hold her. She reeks of whiskey and sweat and sorrow, and still I hold her.

“I did some bad things,” she says on a shaky breath.

I stroke her hair. “I know.”

“Don’t tell them, Maisie.”

Sighing, I don’t say anything. I can’t lie to her and tell her I’ll keep quiet. I highly doubt that Percy or her previous foster father deserve justice, but the extent of Mina’s mental illness needs to be known so it’s taken seriously and she can get proper help. If she didn’t get the proper help and went on to hurt someone else, I would never forgive myself.

“Let’s go outside,” I say. “We’ll get a ride home and—”

“We’ll both go home?” she asks.

“I’m not sure.” It’s the truth.

For a moment, I worry that she won’t come with me, but when I nudge her off my lap, she gets up willingly. My guess is that she wants this to be over just as much as I do; she’s just afraid of what comes next.

I take her by the hand, leading her out of the cabin. The tiny driveway is illuminated by headlights. It looks as if someone got Ethan’s car while I was in the cabin, because it’s here now, parked behind Mina’s car and the one Squid was driving. I was so distracted with Mina, I never even heard the engine.

Ethan and Chance look as if they want to rush forward and rip me away from Mina, but I give them a subtle shake of my head. No fast movements, no extra drama. Mina needs calm and respectful.

It’s Roman who walks forward, slowly, his hand outstretched in greeting. “Hello. You must be Mina? I’m Roman.”

She gives him a distrustful look. “Are you a cop?”

“No, I’m with a private security company. Maisie wants to make sure we take care of you.”

Mina shakes his hand, but when she tries to pull away from him, he doesn’t let go.

“Come with us,” he says.

“I don’t want to.” Mina digs in her heels, refusing to budge.

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