13. Blackheart

13

Blackheart

M ontana Elizabeth Barnes is the most testing woman I’ve ever met. I was telling the truth when I said Margaret would’ve loved her. She would have. Her mouth was just as smart as Montana’s, and she challenged me just as much.

But where Margaret would cower and let me take control, Montana only pushes me harder and whips out tricks I don’t see coming. I don’t know what to do with her and I never know what she’s gonna try next.

My little fox is a fighter, and I’m not used to going multiple rounds in the ring. But one of us has to lose, and we’re going to find out who’s stronger soon enough.

I roll down the windows while I get back on the highway while Montana keeps her head turned away from me.

I deal with the silence for ten minutes before I can’t take it anymore. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Montana raises a brow and scoffs. “Pardon me? ”

“Do you have a boyfriend, Montana? Someone out there looking for you?” I don’t know why, but I’m hoping she says no.

Her upper lip twitches like she’s remembering something and she shakes her head. “No. No one.”

I hit a pothole that makes her bosom shake. “Any kids?”

She smirks. “None. You?”

My joy from her answers is immediately extinguished. “Nope.”

Her hazel eyes look me up and down. “Do you want any?”

I did once. I didn’t, but then I did. I remember when Margaret told me I was going to be a daddy. It was a Saturday morning and she was in my arms. I was barely awake when she shoved two positive tests in my right hand. I couldn’t wait to experience fatherhood. We were only a few weeks away from finding out the sex when—when I found her bleeding out in the kitchen.

That was the night I tried to end my life, and when I failed, I booked an appointment for a vasectomy the next day. Now there’s no chance I’ll ever risk facing pain like that again unless I get it reversed which I would never fucking do .

I glance over at the girl staring back at me, trying to intimidate her. “What about me indicates that I would have any interest in having a fucking kid, Montana?”

Her chest rises and falls a little faster, and she looks away from me. “Not a fucking thing, honestly.”

I’m the one who egged her on, but her answer still upsets me and opens my wounds all over again as if I’m back to that day.

Montana only twists the knife in deeper when she keeps the conversation going. “Are they her shoes, Blackheart?”

I get into the fast lane, going fifteen over. “What shoes?”

She gulps. “The shoes at your house. The shoes you let me borrow. Are they hers?”

“They were hers, Montana. But they’re not anymore. They belong to me. Not her. She died over ten years ago, and she’s not coming back. Nothing belongs to her anymore.”

My throat burns, and my eyes water. She’s been gone so long that I don’t even know why I still care. But I do. It hurts to think about her. It hurts to say her name and hear her laugh in my head and remember her smell.

Montana plays with a loose lock of her thick hair. “You don’t have to pretend like she never existed.”

I press on the gas a little more, going way faster than I should. “And you don’t have to pretend you give a shit about her when you never met her. I don’t need or want your useless fucking sympathy.”

Montana sniffles, and then she turns away while she starts to cry again softly. She’s so damn emotional.

Seeing her cry shouldn’t upset me, but it does. I just wanted to push her buttons a bit, but I feel like I went a little too far. I’d apologize, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to show any weakness in front of her. It’ll just be a slippery slope into a closeness I’m not interested in having with her.

We ride another two and a half hours in silence, and when we get closer to Denver, I snap my fingers at her. “What’s the address to your friend’s place?”

Just like when she first mentioned it, she freezes up again, but then she takes a breath and tells it to me. “Will you bring a gun in with you?” She digs her short nails into her arm, and I pull her hand away, not wanting her to break the skin I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours trying to heal.

“He’s not gonna be in there, Montana.” She doesn’t mention her father often, but whenever we’re talking about him, she makes this face like he’s Michael Myers or something.

Her eyes water, and she bites her bottom lip. “But what if he is? What if he’s waiting for me there? What if he tries to capture me again?” Her voice shakes, and her eyes are somewhere off in the distance. Her little body starts trembling just like it does when she has her sleep terrors.

I pull her hand in mine just so she can stay in the moment with me. “He won’t be there, Montana. I swear. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let him take you.”

She squeezes my hand like a woman going into labor and shuts her eyes while she tries to catch her breath. I let her rest, clutching onto me until we arrive at the apartment building.

When I park in the garage, I let go of her hand. “If you want to wait here, I can go look for your things.”

Montana asked to come here, but I’m worried about how she’ll react if she goes back inside the place she was taken from.

My terrified fawn looks up at me and sits up straight, removing her seatbelt. “I wanna go in. Don’t leave me here alone.”

Securing my weapon on my hip, I get out of the truck and go to her side to help her, and she latches onto me like a child to their parent while we head to the front of the building.

The minute we step through the doors, I’m filled with dread .

This place feels like death. There’s a front desk, but no one’s present at it. Montana types some code into the call box that overrides it, and the elevator doors open to let us inside.

I can feel Montana’s anxiety dripping off her body into mine as if we’re one person. The elevator doors open, and she leads me five doors down until we’re standing in front of a door with a dent in it. I take a quick glance to see if there are any cameras and confirm there aren’t. I don’t even want to think about the shit that’s gone on up here that wasn’t caught on camera.

Montana’s right hand lifts to the keypad on the door, and it shakes violently over the numbers. I place my hand on her back, centering her. “What’s the code, honey?”

She keeps her eyes on the door that has no peephole and blurts it out to me. “Forty-seven, fifty-seven. Then hit pound. Twice.”

I punch it in exactly as she told me, and then I hear the door unlatch. Montana stands in front of it like a statue, and I grab her hand again, gripping it tightly while I turn the knob and push the silver door inward.

We step into the freezing cold room, and I shut the door behind us.

Montana’s eyes dart all around in shock at the empty place .

There’s not a damn thing in this apartment. No stove. No refrigerator. It’s just barren and dead. She runs ahead of me in her boots, and I follow behind her with my hand on my gun, ready to fire at anyone who may be lurking inside here.

She takes us into a bathroom in the master bedroom, and her eyes focus on something on the sink. An antique hairbrush, coated in blonde hair. I see her lips wobbling in the mirror, and she picks up the tool gingerly, looking at it like it’s an artifact. She bursts into tears out of nowhere, and she falls to her knees, sobbing with it in her hands.

What kind of man kills his daughter’s best friend? What kind of man puts a hit out on his own child? I look down at Montana while she shakes, and her tears start to soak her breasts and the top of her dress.

Seeing her like this wakes something up in me that died a long time ago, and I feel an ache in my bones like I’m feeling the pain with her. I was on my knees just like this. Except instead of a hairbrush, I was holding a pale, ice-cold hand.

Montana starts to whimper like an injured animal, and that’s when I can’t take it anymore. “Come on.” I tuck my hands under her arms, standing her up gently. She falls into my chest with the brush still in her hands, and I pluck it from her grasp and tuck it into my pocket .

Her tears soak my white shirt, and I wrap my arms around her, not knowing what else to do. All I can think about is how I never want her to feel this way again and how bad I want to make her father suffer.

When she starts to quiet down, I pull her off me and look into her eyes that are lost somewhere in the past. Just like the first time I brought her into my house, I scoop her up in my arms and head out of the apartment to get the hell out of here and never return.

We’re twenty minutes away from our motel when I start to panic. I’m used to Montana being quiet, but she’s like a zombie. Seeing her friend’s old place did something terrible to her, and I need her to go back to the annoying little brat I’m used to.

I already fed her, and it’s too early for sleep, so I make an attempt to revive her with the only thing I can think of. “You wanna go shopping?”

She looks over at me for the first time since we left the apartment and raises a brow. “What for?”

I look down at her dress. It’s beautiful, but I’m not sure it’s her style. “For clothes. ”

She turns away from me and sighs. “I have clothes.”

Realizing I’m going to have to make her, I pull off the main road into a parking lot not too far from where we’ll be resting for the night. After I get her out of the truck, I wrap an arm around her, remembering that I need to start treating her less like a hostage and more like my lover now that we’ll be around people I don’t know. Can’t have anyone trying to rescue her from me.

Still too upset to care, she lets me hold her close while I lead her into the building.

It’s a local leather shop with items for men and women, but I’m not here for me. We’re greeted by some girl near the front door, but I wave her off, letting her know we don’t need assistance while I take on the role of being Montana’s stylist.

My little fox looks up at me while I flip through things and frowns. “I don’t feel like trying anything on.”

I let go of her just so I can start building a pile of clothes. “Well start feeling like it. You’re going to try on whatever I tell you to.”

She pokes out her lips. “But why?”

Whining Montana is new to me. I’m used to Brat Montana. Brat Montana is who I prefer. Not this whiny little bitch. “Because you’re dressed like Little Bo-Peep. And we’re supposed to look like a couple. I need you to look like a woman I’d actually be in a relationship with.”

She rolls her eyes at me. There’s my little brat. “So this is about how you want to dress me, you misogynistic prick.”

I saw how confident Montana looked the first time we went shopping when she tried on the outfit I wouldn’t let her have, and I know that the shit I’m picking out is exactly the type of clothing she’d wear, and she knows it too. But I can’t go too soft on her or she might think she has the upper hand. I still need to punish her for how she behaved in the diner. But right now, I want to have a little fun.

I brush her hair out of her face. “Yes, this is about how I want to dress you. And I’m buying it so just be grateful.” I pick up a few more things and hand her my selections. “Go ask that lady for a fitting room. Come out and show me how everything looks.”

My little bunny scowls at me and makes an aggravated noise. “I can’t wait to get away from you.”

I take a seat nearby to wait for her. “I’m counting down the seconds.”