After a while, Frenchie’s phone buzzed.
He checked the message, expression shifting immediately.
"Come," he said as he got out of the van. "We are ditching this car."
Hughie frowned. "Why?"
Frenchie gave him a look like the answer was obvious.
"Because we kidnapped and murdered one of The Seven," he replied. "And Butcher drove this thing everywhere."
That was fair.
They got out quickly and followed Frenchie down the street toward an old Jack and Jill’s moving truck parked near the curb, rust visible around the edges and one of the rear doors looking like it barely closed properly.
Mark stared at it.
"Please tell me we’re not living in that."
"We are absolutely living in that," Frenchie replied.
He pulled the back door open and climbed inside first.
The interior was cramped, filled with old blankets, equipment cases, tools, and the general atmosphere of people hiding from federal crimes.
Hughie climbed in after him more cautiously while Mark followed last, already disappointed in life again.
He barely had time to complain about the smell before the huge man sitting deeper inside the truck suddenly stood up and grabbed Frenchie by the collar.
"Smelly motherfucker," Mother’s Milk snapped.
Frenchie immediately shoved him back.
"Oh, here we go," Butcher muttered.
Hughie looked completely lost. "Butcher, who is this guy?"
"You’ll give the game away," Butcher replied quickly while stepping between them before things escalated further.
"Not until this frog gets what’s coming," Mother’s Milk said, still glaring at Frenchie.
Frenchie looked equally ready to throw hands.
"Only thing coming is me on your mother’s titties!"
"Motherfucker, let me at him!"
The truck shook slightly from the movement while Butcher physically kept them separated.
"We had an agreement about him," Mother’s Milk snapped.
"We agreed to put a pin in it," Butcher shot back.
"What agreement?" Frenchie asked immediately.
Mother’s Milk pointed at him accusingly.
"There was no pin. I don’t trust this French whore."
Frenchie looked offended on a spiritual level.
"I am more American than you, you racist piece of shit!"
Hughie turned toward Butcher again. "Why are they fighting?"
"Nothing," Butcher replied instantly. "Water under the bridge."
Mother’s Milk’s expression darkened.
"You tell that to Mallory’s grandkids," he said coldly. "Tell them it’s water under the bridge."
Frenchie’s face tightened slightly at that.
"That was not my fault."
Before the argument could continue, a ringtone suddenly filled the truck.
Never Gonna Give You Up.
The entire mood broke instantly.
Mother’s Milk cursed under his breath and pulled out his phone while Frenchie immediately started grinning.
"Shit."
He answered the call immediately, voice changing so fast it gave Hughie emotional whiplash.
"Hey, Monique. How you doing, baby?" he said warmly. "Oh damn, I forgot to marinate the tilapia. I’m sorry, sweetheart."
Frenchie and Butcher were already trying not to laugh.
"No, listen," Mother’s Milk continued. "How about on my way home I stop by DeLuca’s, pick up two nice tenderloins, some portobello mushrooms, and that pinot you like?"
Mark stared silently from the corner of the truck.
This giant angry man transformed into a suburban husband in under three seconds.
"Yeah, baby. I love you too."
Mother’s Milk made a kissing sound and hung up.
The second the call ended, Butcher and Frenchie burst out laughing.
Mother’s Milk pointed at all of them in complete disgust.
"Fuck all y’all, alright?"
"All right, all right," Butcher said, still grinning. "You two knobbers kiss and make up, yeah? We got a fucking job to do."
Mother’s Milk rubbed at his forehead tiredly.
Honestly, working with Butcher had never been pleasant. Now he’d somehow returned to find Frenchie still insane, Butcher still manipulative, and two completely random strangers shoved into the team.
One of them also smelled like a biological hazard.
Frenchie clicked his tongue dramatically before holding out his hand.
"Fuck it," he said. "Dégage."
Mother’s Milk stared at him for a moment before finally shaking it.
The second he did, Frenchie leaned forward and made exaggerated kissing noises.
Mother’s Milk shoved him away immediately.
"Man, get the hell outta here."
Then he looked toward Hughie and Mark properly for the first time.
"Who are these two supposed to be?" he asked.
Butcher pointed lazily toward them.
"The nervous one’s Hughie," he said. "The other one’s Mark. You two, this is Mother’s Milk."
Hughie blinked.
"That’s... a nickname?"
Mother’s Milk already looked exhausted by the conversation.
"No," he replied flatly. "My mother actually named me Mother’s Milk."
Hughie looked genuinely caught off guard.
"Wait, seriously?" he asked. "Why?"
Before Mother’s Milk could answer, Mark suddenly spoke up from the corner of the truck.
"Don’t be a dick," he said. "Why do we care what his parents named him?"
Then he paused briefly.
"Although," he added, "that is an unbelievably unfortunate name."
Mother’s Milk slowly turned toward him.
"You can’t just say that to his face," Mark continued seriously. "You have to consider the emotional damage. I mean, if somebody named me Mother’s Milk, I probably would’ve thrown myself off a building before middle school."
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Frenchie completely lost it first, laughing loud enough to shake the truck while Butcher leaned against the wall grinning.
Hughie just looked confused because somehow Mark had managed to defend Mother’s Milk and insult him at exactly the same time.
***
A/N: Advanced Chapters are available on Patreon.
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