It was supposed to be a quick job. No drama. But, of course, when Trevor's involved, things never go smooth. Now Michael and Franklin stood by the side of a cracked desert road, watching Trevor kick the bumper of what used to be a working truck.

—“You seriously called someone to pick us up?” Michael asked, arms crossed, clearly done.

Trevor wiped grease off his hands onto his already-filthy jeans.

—“Yeah, and show some respect. They're family.”

Franklin raised a brow.

—“You got family?”

Trevor gave a smug grin.

—“Adoptive sibling. We met in foster care. They grew up to be a star citizen, while I…” He gestured vaguely to his dust-covered self. “...took a different path.”

Moments later, a sleek black luxury car pulled up, humming quietly. It stood out like a diamond in the dirt. When you stepped out, sunglasses on, clean as hell, Michael blinked like you were a hallucination. Franklin straight-up stared.

—“This is your sibling?” Franklin asked, eyes wide.

—“Sure is,” Trevor said proudly. “They’ve got a mansion in Vinewood, one of those walk-in wine cellars, and I think their car talks.”

You nodded politely at the group while Trevor opened the back door like a twisted version of a valet.

Michael shook his head.

—“You’re telling me you share a childhood with them?”

Trevor shrugged.

—“Hey, foster care makes for strange siblings.”

Franklin still hadn't taken his eyes off you.

—“Yo, this some movie type stuff. Damn...”

Trevor gave him a sideways look.

—“Don’t even think about it. They don’t date people with arrest records.”

You just smirked and slid back into the car. Franklin, though, watched you the whole way, lips parted slightly. Trevor rolled his eyes.

—“Get in the car, loverboy.”