17. Zepp

SEVENTEEN

zepp

I stared at Monroe's name on my phone, at the message typed out on the screen: you ok?

Hendrix came through the front door, followed by Wolf, and I deleted the text. They dropped their backpacks onto the floor and went straight to the beanbags in front of the TV, switching on the PlayStation. "How long did you get suspended for?" Hendrix asked, tossing a controller to Wolf.

"Three days."

Wolf narrowed his eyes. "That's it? Dude, Brown's going soft."

Even Brown hated those Barrington kids and their parents. Had I not thrown in the offer for him to suck my dick, I would bet all I would have ended up with nothing more than a week's worth of detention.

The guys had barely gotten into their game when an engine revved outside, setting off the alarm on a neighbor's car. Hendrix looked over his shoulder, ears practically perking up. "Is that a V8?"

Another roar rattled the aluminum windows, and I headed across the room, twisting the plastic blinds open. Harford's electric-blue, 1970 Stingray Corvette idled in my drive, door open, and Monroe's long, fishnet-covered legs swinging out from behind the wheel. "God-fucking-damn."

I stepped onto the porch just as she perched on the hood like some Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, crossing one leg over the other.

"Brought you something," she said, trailing a fingernail over the checkered-flag emblem, and as hot as she looked on the hood of that car, that wasn't some piece of shit, rusted out heap. That was a fifty-grand classic car, belonging to the guy I had beat to within an inch of his life. With the passenger window busted out and, if I had to guess, she had hotwired it. That was a connection I did not need.

"What the hell, Roe? Why do you have Harford's car?" I hurried down the porch steps, stopping beside the shiny car. "In my motherfucking driveway!"

The smile on her face crumpled, a bitter expression replacing it as she pushed to her feet. "Because it means he doesn't have it."

Cop sirens wailed in the background. That noise was a constant on this side of Dayton, but I had a good feeling, this time, they were after her.

"Get in the damn car," I said, jogging to the open driver's side door.

"Hell no." She shoved me, then sank behind the wheel, glaring at me. "I stole it, I drive."

Biting back an aggravated groan, I went to the passenger side and climbed in. The thing practically sat on the ground. A twinge of jealousy rose inside me when I noticed the completely restored original interior. Spoiled dick.

The motor growled, rumbling through the leather seats. Monroe shoved it in gear, and the car flew onto the street, tires screaming. Monroe literally drove it like she stole it, flying over potholes and careening sideways around the corners. When the call of police sirens rose over the engine, she gunned it harder, winding through the slums until we hit the entrance ramp to the freeway and the speedometer pressed one-fifty.

I swiped a hand over my jaw, staring at the interstate in front of us. I got it. She had lost it, but dammit, stealing his car and bringing it to my house? She could have just set it on fire...

Some shitty rock song blared through the speakers when Monroe cranked up the radio. A laugh fell from her lips. "I love this car."

The fact that she was acting like this was some kind of joyride snapped the thin thread of patience I had been clinging to. I cut off the music. "What the hell were you thinking, Monroe?"

Her arms went rigid against the steering wheel. "He deserves it."

Max deserved a lot worse. Worse than what I had already done to him, but the thing was, this all would be a blip on the radar. His cuts and bruises and broken bones would heal, and insurance would give his parents money for the stolen car. As much as we wanted to believe we'd stuck it to Harford, it wasn't anything he couldn't dust off his preppy, designer shoes. "And what the hell are you going to do with it?" I asked.

"You can sell it."

"Are you insane? I can't sell this!"

"It's got to be worth at least thirty grand. Yes, you can!"

I didn't take Monroe for stupid, but this was stupid. "This isn't some old drunk's piece of scrap metal! It's a 1970 Stingray Corvette. In mint condition." I glanced at the busted window. "Almost. Flags would go up everywhere if I tried to sell this thing, and then my ass would end up in jail."

Her knuckles washed white from how hard she held onto the steering wheel. There it was. I had sucked the moment of fun out of it—taken a dump on her pinch of bliss.

"Well," she said, jaw clenched. "I can't return it!"

I tossed my head back against the seat, then pointed to the exit ramp the Vette was barreling up on. "Just—Get off the interstate."

With a groan, she jerked the wheel, skidding across the lanes to make the ramp. I couldn't sell the thing, and part of me wanted just to ditch it on the side of some backwoods road, but then, Harford would get it back. There had to be a compromise. We wound our way through county roads until we came to a dead-end by Marvin Lake. Monroe glanced from me to the lake and back again.

"Put it in neutral," I said, and she stared straight ahead, fingers curling around the leather steering wheel. "You stole it." I opened the door and stepped out. "You sink it."

"No..." She gave an adamant shake of her head. "No, Zepp." There was a touch of heartache in her tone. And, I got it. Ruining a vintage car like this was damn near sacrilege—but I'd go to hell before I went to jail or let Harford have it back.

I rested an arm on the roof and leaned down to look at her through the busted window. "Either it goes into the lake, or we go to juvie."

"Shit. Fine." On a sigh, she got out and slammed the door so hard the entire thing rocked. She rounded the back, placing her hands on the shiny paint and throwing her weight into it. It didn't budge. "Help me then!"

I slapped my palms over the trunk, forcing the vehicle forward. Leaves crunched, and twigs snapped underneath the wheels. Halfway to the bank, she stepped back.

"Oh, you done?" I mumbled.

Sweat beaded my brows by the time the front wheels dropped off the embankment. One, final shove and the streamlined nose made a splash. Water poured through the windows before the vehicle sank below the murky surface of the lake.

"Thanks for the help," I said, glaring at Monroe, who stood at the bank's edge, picking at her nails.

Her gaze swept over me. "Good to know the muscles aren't for show."

I fished my phone from my pocket to call Hendrix, but, of course, there was no service. We were in the middle of nowhere, a good thirty miles from Dayton. Without a car. And I had shit to do. A small spark of anger ignited inside me. Maybe this had been some type of therapy for her, but it was pointless. The Corvette was in the lake, we were stranded, and Max would end up with a new car anyway.

"You do realize his parents will probably buy him a new car before he can even miss that one." I tossed my hands in the air. "But as long as you feel better."

"Fuck you." Her hands went to her hips. "It's all I'm going to get because he's not going to jail for trying to rape the local white trash." She started through the tall grass toward the water.

She was right. I had beaten his ass, and I had found a little bit of justice with each swing of the bat, each crack of bone. I had done my damnedest to take away the scholarship he didn't deserve, just like he would have gladly taken something from Monroe. But it didn't make me feel any less guilty that I hadn't found her two minutes sooner; it didn't change anything about that night. And neither would her stealing his precious car.

I grabbed a cigarette from my pocket and lit it, watching Monroe come to an abrupt halt at the lake's edge. She dragged a restless hand through her hair, shoulders hunched before she wrapped her arms around herself. I wasn't a shrink, but any idiot knew: no matter how hard Monroe seemed, she was just a girl. One who had been put in a shit situation by shit people—the same people who looked at us like we were worthless scum, all because we didn't have money. And there was the irony; morals didn't mean shit. They didn't mean shit to people who had money because money could buy a person's way out. And they didn't mean shit to us poor fuckers because we had to ignore them in order to survive.

I tossed the cigarette down, stomping it out before I crossed the long grass and stopped a few feet behind her, no idea how to handle this.

"Hey," I placed a hand on her shoulder, then rubbed over her back. "You're not about to freak out on me, are you?"

"I'm fine." But the slight crack to her voice told me she wasn't.

"We just sunk a fifty-thousand-dollar car in the lake, Roe…"

"At least he doesn't have it, though, right?" A half-hearted laugh slipped through her lips. "Should have torched it on his driveway."

That would have been better, but again, nothing either of us did would change what had happened. She knew that. I knew that...

"I'm just angry." She turned to face me, cheeks red and tears welling in her eyes. "I know better than to trust anyone. Guess I was due a reminder." She took a heavy breath. "Everyone wants something, right?"

I had no idea what to say or do, so I stood there for a second, watching her fight emotions until something in my chest went tight, and I couldn't take it anymore.

That had always been my motto: Don't believe in anything or anyone. Not to get my hopes up, because, given a chance, people let you down. Every time. I stared at the angry colors of the setting sun reflecting from the lake. "If they say they don't, they're liars."

"I know."

I could almost see her thinking, most likely wondering what it was I wanted from her. And had she asked me that a week ago, there would have been an easy answer to that question. But now, it was way more complicated. Sure, I could kiss her—fist her hair and give her a quick fuck, but outside of that, I had nothing to offer a girl like Monroe. Feelings tried to creep up in my chest, and I quickly snuffed them out, turning away from her and starting toward the gravel road. "We're gonna have to walk."

We passed lake houses and a string of RVs without a word. I zoned out to the crunch of gravel beneath my feet, thinking about how shit this must have been for Monroe, knowing that those guy's family names meant more than a girl's dignity.

"God, this place is a shit hole." She kicked a crumpled beer can into the overgrown brush. "I can't wait until the day I leave."

There was her hopeless hope, and I hated it for her. Dayton was like a spiderweb, and the harder someone fought to get free of it, the more tangled up they got in its invisible, sticky threads. I scrubbed a hand over my jaw.

"You ever think about leaving?" she asked.

I snorted. "No." We waited for a string of cars to pass before we jogged to the other side of the road. "No one gets out of Dayton, Monroe."

"No one fights to get out. There's a difference."

My mom did. And look where that got her. An uncomfortable feeling settled in my chest, like rats stirring in a nest. We crossed into an abandoned Piggly Wiggly parking lot, and I checked my phone again for service, dialing Hendrix's number when I saw I had a single bar and telling him to come get us. I sat on the curb, and Monroe dropped down beside me, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her forehead on them. "Did you get in trouble at the pep rally?"

"Suspended for a few days." I placed a cigarette to my lips, staring at an ant crawling across the pavement.

"If it's any consolation, it was a very committed performance."

I snorted a laugh. "I meant it. Brown can suck my dick."

"I'm sure you have better offers."

I focused on her, inhaling a puff of smoke. "Not the one I want."

"Well, thank you." She snatched a weed growing from a crack in the concrete, tying it in knots. "Tell me something about you, Zepp."

Way to change the subject, I thought, and I took another pull of smoke. "You gonna tell me who hits you yet?"

She dropped the twisted weed from her fingers. "No. Because it's not a big deal. And that look"—she pointed at me—"tells me you'll make it one."

No matter what she wanted to think, it was already a big deal. "Don't want to tell me? Fine." I chucked the cigarette across the vacant parking lot, and it rolled to a stop by an abandoned crate. "Think I won't find out, though?"

"It's Dayton. My mom's an addict and a whore. I live in the roughest trailer park in town." She shrugged. "Why do you care?"

Because I knew what could happen. I had watched it happen to my mom, and I didn't want anything to happen to Monroe. "Doesn't matter." I pushed up from the curb, walking to the side of the road while I fought the emotions screaming to surface. Of course, she followed me.

"You know you're cryptic as fuck, right?"

"And you're stubborn as fuck."

"I didn't ask you to get involved in my life."

I spun around, pissed that she wouldn't tell me. Pissed about everything to do with our shitty lives in this shitty town. "But you sure as hell showed up in my drive. With a stolen car." I stepped toward her, my voice rising. "That belonged to the guy I nearly killed!"

"Oh my God. Yes, I stole the car. Let it go already."

My jaw cracked. I was pretty sure my eye was twitching. This girl was un-fucking-believable. "Let it go?" I exhaled, shaking my head. "Let it fucking go ? Sure, I'll let the fact that you almost cost me a lifetime in prison go, Roe." I tossed my hands in the air. "No problem."

"Oh, sorry for thinking you might want to make some money!" She stomped a few feet away. Then whirled around with her finger pointed at me. "You know, you're an asshole."

"Tell me something I don't know, Jesus Christ." I pulled another cigarette from the pack, thinking this girl was going to give me black lungs before the end of the year.

She stormed over and snatched the cigarette from my hand. Chucking it to the concrete, she stomped on it, then headed toward the road, her hips swaying with each heavy step.

God, she made me livid. She headed across the deserted parking lot, fuming.

I grabbed another cigarette, placed it to my lips, and lit it. "Now, who's the asshole?"

"I'm not riding with you!" She started down the shoulder of the highway.

I blew out a cloud of smoke, guessing she thought she was going to walk the thirty miles back to Dayton. And I was going to let her. She made it to a graffitied telephone booth, then stopped.

"Change your mind?" I shouted.

Her back was to me, but I could still see the movement when she crossed her arms over her chest. I could only imagine she was huffing and puffing, pissed as hell because she knew she had no choice but to ride back with me.

The low rumble of an engine came from the distance. An old pickup barreled down the road toward us, and Monroe hitched out a thumb. My jaw tensed. The girl had no self-preservation. At all. At this rate, she was going to give me black lung and an aneurysm. The truck slowed. Just great.

I tossed my smoke and stormed after her. "Are you insane?"

The Chevy sputtered to a stop right as I reached her. The window lowered, and a middle-aged man wearing a baseball hat leaned out. "Need a lift?" His gaze dragged over her like he was starving and she was a rare T-bone steak.

I grabbed her arm to yank her back a step. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Monroe's nostrils flared as she wrangled free of my hold.

"You okay, sugar?" the man asked.

I shot a pronounced look at him. "She's fine." My blood pressure spiked when he didn't pull off. "I said, she's fine."

Her defiant glare met mine. If she tried to get into that car… "I'm good," she practically growled. "Thanks."

Gravel crunched under the tires when the truck moved off the shoulder, back onto the highway. A sick feeling settled in my gut. She was going to get in the car with that guy. "Seriously." I pointed to the taillights disappearing over the small hill in the distance. "That was stupid."

"I don't want to ride with you! And I do it all the time." She gave a wave full of attitude down her body. "I'm still alive."

Jesus Christ. I dragged both hands down my face, frustrated. God, I needed something to punch.

"You don't think I can take care of myself? Is that it?"

"Don't start this shit." I jabbed a finger toward her and took a step. "You're a girl. You don't stand a chance against a guy, Monroe. No matter how tough you think you are."

Her eyes went wide, her hands balled into fists, and then she threw a punch to my stomach. That was probably the hardest blow she could land, and I didn't even flinch.

"Case in fucking point." I flicked her forehead. "You're a. Girl! "

Her face glowed nuclear red. An actual growl rumbled through her clench teeth when she shoved at my chest. "I don't need you!"

That was an unexpected blow dart to the chest. I thought we both needed each other on some level. Or maybe I just wanted her to need me because there was a part of me already too entwined with Monroe to let her go.

I gripped her jaw and drove her against the cracked glass of the phone booth. "Say it again."

She moved closer. Her heated breath washed over my face, bending my frustration into want, and my grip on her tightened.

"I don't need you," she whispered.

"You're a goddamn liar!" I covered her mouth with an angry kiss, full of teeth and tongue. The feel of her lips and her tiny frame pressed against me was something I had desperately needed. Her kiss, the drug that granted me the fix I had been craving. Her fingers raked through my hair, pulling me closer, and the kiss grew deeper, more brutal. I would have kissed that girl forever, and that was enough of a realization to terrify me, which was why I shoved away from her.

To protect me.

To protect her.

"Fucking liar," I said, turning back to the Piggly Wiggly parking lot.