𝐌𝐑𝐒. 𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒

𝗗𝗘 𝗦𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗔

Genevieve blankly stared at her bruised wrists, the commotion happened so fast. After that single sentence she knew, when she looked at his eyes he had completely lost himself. There was not a sign of stopping  nor remorse or care. If Trevor hadn't stepped in there was no doubt that she would've died or either passed out.

"You're lucky you left early, any later and it would've gotten a lot worse," he handed her another can of beer. "For the swelling."

Carefully she placed the can on her neck, her thoughts remained in the madness before. He was right on a certain part she had no where to go. Moving with him, she had lost contact with most old friends and was too far to visit family. She had Bethany, but Bethany's house was already tight with such a small apartment and two growing kids. The lasting options were a motel or asking the stranger beside her. It was either that or a homeless shelter.

"Where are we going?" She croaked.

"To an old snake," he swerved into the neighbourhood road. The homes here were homes she never thought she'd enter. Tall villas posted beside palm trees and stores. Trevor entered one of the homes, parking beside a shiny red car.

"We're here!" Switching off the radio, he pulled out a duffle bag from the back.

"So this is your friend's place?" She unbuckled her seatbelt, hopping out the truck.

"Yup, also what I call the snake nest," he marched up to the door simply entering.

"I'm home!" He called out before plopping the duffle bag onto the kitchen counter.

"You bastard,"a man jogged over.

"No you Townley," he greeted the man.

"I see you've brought a guest," he turned towards Genny. "It's not best you get involved with him."
He scanned her up and down mainly on the bruises.

"My name's Genevieve," she gave out her hand, hesitantly he shook it.

"Michael," he gripped her hand firmly. "It seems you've been acquainted with the psycho beside me."

"I rather be a psycho than a snake," he swung his arm over his shoulder.

"Whatever you say," he rolled his hands. "It was nice meeting you Gen, you can sit over there whilst we talk things over."

Plopping down on the white sofa, Michael pulled Trevor away in the corner of the kitchen. "Did you kidnap her?" He sighed.

"No,she came willingly," he crossed his arms.

"Anyone woman that comes willingly to you must be mentally deranged," he rolled his eyes. "Are you sure this isn't like that old bag?"

"She wasn't an old bag, she was in her fifties!" he retorted. "And originally I went for her other assets so it's different."

"And she just so happens to have a abusive partner?" Michael grabbed two beers from the fridge.  "Are you not seeing the connection?"

"We met by coincidence, and you know how the streets are Mikey," he grabbed the beer bottle. "Maybe you've forgotten how it is after becoming Mr de Santa." 

"Don't pull that shit Trevor," he popped the bottle open. "I was dragged into a shitload of messes only a year ago because of you."

"Tomato tamata," he took a swig.

"You really are a fucking nut," he shook his head. "So  mother Teresa, what are you gonna do with her?"

"That's a great question," he grinned. "She could stay a bit at the trailer."

"That's if she doesn't run away from the cockroaches crawling around there," he shivered. "It wouldn't hurt for you to clean up."

"Don't have the time," he leaned onto the counter. "How's Frank?"

"His good, got his own business running and even a family starting,"Michael sighed. "Time sure does fly by."

"Mhmm," Trevor hummed. "He was nothing but a street crook and now he lives in vine wood, a lovely success story."

"He did have a wonderful mentor," he smirked.

"You mean mentors," he gulped down another. "I taught him not to be a snake.I was the balance. I was the the Yang to his yin."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he patted his back. "What's in the duffel bag?"

"See it as your little early birthday present," he grinned.

"And that is?" Michael rose his brow.

"Open it," he chuckled.

Cautiously, he walked on over to the duffel bag, slowly unzipping it. The bag was filled to the brim with amo and clean new guns.

"Don't ever say I don't give you shit," he raised his bottle.

"What's got you in the giving mood?" Michael placed the bag into the cupboard.

"Can I not be nice?" Trevor chucked the bottle away.

"You and nice don't mix," Michael chucked another bottle over.

"Oh cupcake you just haven't seen much of that side, I can be real nice," he popped off the lid.

"Sure sure, whatever you say," he leaned on the fridge.

The two caught up chatting with a slight pinch of bickering and banter. It had been a while since they could talk so comfortably and openly. Without the pressure of another mission or someone chasing after them. It was peaceful.