19. Zepp

NINETEEN

zepp

Monroe had left before I woke up. The girl was making a habit of sleeping in my bed, not fucking me, then bouncing the next morning. And now, I couldn't get her out of my damned mind.

I swept the red tip of the pencil across the page in a focused attempt. I had spent half an hour trying to mix the colors to match the highlights in her hair. Another fifteen on the ripped fishnets…

My phone vibrated on the table beside me.

WOLF: Found the snitch. We'll come get you after school.

An hour later, we were hightailing it out of Barrington down the backroads that led to Dayton while the sun set behind the horizon.

"Those snitches are getting stitches." Hendrix cackled from the backseat, then grabbed my headrest and shook it. "That guy pissed himself right before you nailed him. All over the place like a little bitch."

Wolf and Bellamy chuckled.

My brother enjoyed fighting. I fought because it was necessary. Dayton wasn't like Barrington. Money didn't give you power. Violence did. And the second someone was viewed as weak, they were fucked.

I wiped at the blood splatter on the knee of my jeans, whatever bullshit the guys were carrying on about fading into the background. Had Bellamy not caught wind of that raid, both my brother and I would be in juvie. That piece of shit Barrington kid deserved every punch he had received.

Wolf turned onto the highway. "And then the kid offered us a hundred bucks to leave him alone." Another round of laughter filled the cabin. "Dumbass." He leaned over the wheel a little, squinting through the windshield. "Is that...Monroe?"

Halfway down the stretch of road, a bright-orange Pinto sat on the shoulder. Steam billowed from the hood. A redhead leaned against the side, her jean-clad legs crossed over one another and her thumb stuck out. Hitchhiking. She was hitchhiking. Again.

"Goddamn it. Pull over."

The truck veered off the highway, stopping behind her car. I slammed the passenger door, then started down the patch of litter-strewn grass. Monroe waved at me. Waved and smiled. Oh, she knew I was pissed.

I threw both hands in the air before I got to her, blood pulsing behind my eyes. "Seriously?"

She eyed me up and down. "Did you kill someone?"

"Don't ignore me. What the hell are you doing?"

"My car broke down. I need to get back to Dayton."

"So you hitchhiked? Instead of calling me?"

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. "It's not like I don't know Wolf's truck."

I had to squint to make out her car. Her bright-orange, eyesore Pinto. No way she knew it was Wolf's truck. "Really?" I snatched her wrist, yanking her thumb up. "This was out when we were at the end of the road." I tossed her hand down, and she immediately folded her arms over her chest.

"Well. You're clearly busy." She swept a hand down my frame. "Killing someone, apparently. You know, you really should be less conspicuous."

She was unbelievable. And stubborn. I stuck a hand into her pocket, and she jerked away, but not before I grabbed her phone. "This," I shook it in her face. "Use the damn thing, Roe." Then I shoved it against her chest before striding to the front of the car.

The second I lifted it, steam enveloped me. Leaves covered the engine full of rusted parts and duct-taped hoses. "Holy shit…" The battery was bungeed down with a wire coat hanger. I understood not having the money for the upkeep, but this was beyond ridiculous.

"What?" She glanced over my shoulder. "Is it dead?"

"It should be." I knocked off a pile of leaves. "What are you trying to do, set the thing on fire? Girls." Shaking my head, I slammed the hood. "Get your shit outta the car."

"I can't leave it here. It'll get stolen."

I brushed past her, starting toward Wolf's truck. "No one wants that piece of shit."

"Like you wouldn't steal it."

Stopping, I thumbed back at the smoking hood. "That is where I draw the line. And I'll get one of the guys to come to get it." I continued to the truck, waiting for her to grab her things.

She grumbled when she climbed into the back beside my brother.

"Hey, Red. Like the jeans," Hendrix said before I closed the door.

Monroe argued with my brother the entire way home. When we got inside, he stomped over to the couch and snatched up the game controller, flipping Monroe the bird. "Wanna let me whoop your ass in Call of Duty , Zepp?" He grabbed the remote, and the TV flickered to life.

"You're just gonna sit there covered in someone else's blood?" Monroe said.

"It's dried." Hendrix scowled, glancing back at me. "Who is she? Mary Poppins?"

"Well, that's fine then. Dried hepatitis." She looked at me, pulled her phone from her pocket, then pressed it to her ear. "God, he's gross." Then she let out a groan. "Dammit, Jade. Answer your phone." She jabbed her finger over the screen before tucking it away.

"Don't wanna hang out?" I asked, starting up the stairs.

"Not like I can go anywhere," she said, following me. "And I'm definitely not sitting with American psycho there."

"It's not that much blood."

"Well, that's all right then," she said, her voice dripping in sarcasm as she brushed past me and into my room.

Into. My. Room.

With any other girl, that would have meant game on. But with Monroe...I had started to think if I could get in a session of dry humping, I would be doing good. Stopping at the doorway, I pulled off my shirt and tossed it at her. She swatted it away before her eyes landed on my chest, then dropped lower.

"Welcome to come take a shower with me," I suggested.

"Trying to get me naked?"

I smirked. "Always." I headed to the bathroom, leaving it cracked just in case…

By the time I stepped into the shower, my dick was at full mast. Every creak of the floorboard caused it to twitch in anticipation. There was that small hope that I would walk back into that room and Monroe would be naked and spread-eagle on my bed, waiting. But I'd been fantasizing about fucking her for so long, I would probably come in less than a minute. Which was why I jerked one out real quick before I washed off.

When I got back to my room, Monroe wasn't naked. She wasn't spread-eagle. She wasn't even on my bed. She was beside my desk, staring down at the sketchbook I had left wide open. On the picture I had drawn of her. I went to my dresser to grab clothes, pretending I didn't care; that she had not seen some vulnerable part of me when it absolutely was.

"You drew this?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"You're really talented, Zepp."

Ignoring her, I grabbed a pair of boxers from my drawer. Her seeing that sketch had exposed more of me than I wanted her to see and that compliment made me feel like some wounded wolf, limping through the woods.

"Thanks for giving me a lift," she said quietly.

"Yeah. Sure." I dropped the towel, watching her watch me in the mirror before I stepped into my boxers.

"What are you doing tonight?" She sat on the edge of the bed, tracing a finger over the bedspread.She was cute when she was awkward.

I snorted. "Not shit. You?"

"Sitting at your house and waiting for Jade to pick up her phone." She paused for a second. "She's probably bored of rescuing me every time the shit box breaks."

There was a part of me that hated she had called Jade instead of me. God, I was so screwed. "Just call me from now on."

She chewed at her lip. "You realize this is a weekly thing..."

"Don't care." I sank to the bed beside her.

She fidgeted, knotting her fingers in her lap. "See if you're still saying that at the end of our three months." She snorted.

I drew a circle over the knee of her jeans. "I think we're a little past that. Don't you?" Seconds passed, my chest growing tight.

"I think…" Her gaze dropping to my mouth as she hesitated.

Fuck this.I gripped her hair, then pressed my lips against hers hard before I pulled back. "You think what?"

"We aren't friends," she breathed.

"No shit." Then I pinned her to the mattress, settling between her thighs. Her hands trailed over my back, and I leaned down to kiss her again.

"Cockface!" Hendrix shouted.

Before my bedroom door smacked against the wall, Monroe shoved me off and sat up.

"I knew it!" Hendrix pointed at me with a perverted grin before he threw himself onto the bed.

God, I wanted to strangle him.

"Bumping uglies." He cackled.

"Get out!" I smacked him in the forehead. "Dick."

"Look, this fuckfest is gonna have to wait." He waggled his eyebrows at Monroe before looking back at me. "The guy they stole the Trans Am from has already reported it. Bell said it's on the police scanner."

"Fuck off, Hendrix." I shoved my foot into his side and pushed him onto the floor with a thud. He was screwing with me because he thought I was about to get laid. No way the guys caught.

"Seriously, man." He popped up from the floor, the smile completely gone. "They're on their way here. We gotta get this shit moved."

The screech of tires sounded through the bedroom window, and Hendrix headed to the door. "Come on, man. Seriously. Bros before hoes and all that shit."

By the time I had thrown clothes on and made it into the overgrown backyard, Hendrix was filing down the VIN.

"It has a tow bar. With balls on it." Monroe eyed the rusted-out Trans Am before dropping onto the porch step. "What the hell are you gonna tow with that?"

"Jesus Christ…" The only thing that car was towing was a cooler full of Bud Light. "What the hell? That is not the Trans Am Tony wanted."

Wolf stopped screwing on the new license plate to glance over his shoulder. "Some guy had OD'd in that one. So we improvised."

I covered my face with my hands. This was the stupidest shit they had ever done. And that was saying a lot. "You improvised?" I kicked gravel at the car, then glared at my brother, because I was certain he was behind this. "You did this, didn't you?"

"I mean…" He waved a hand at the car. "It's a Trans Am."

"Whose?" I asked. Hendrix wasn't even with them.

"The guy from the Dollar Store."

I had to close my eyes and count to twenty. Then thirty. As much as I wanted to nail him in the face, he was my brother. "You're an idiot."

Bellamy popped up from under the hood. "The damn thing won't crank." He chucked a ratchet across the yard, smacking against the concrete birdbath. "It's junk. Don't even know why the guy bothered to report it."

Wouldn't start? I headed around the front of the car. "How does a hotwired car just die?" I pushed him out of the way and leaned over the engine. One look at it and I cussed. It died because it was a literal piece of shit. One with a pair of balls hanging from a tow bar. That the cops were after. "It's the alternator."

A stolen car. With balls. And a broken alternator. This had to go. Now.

"Wolf!" I shouted. "Go run down to the Dollar Store and get some pantyhose."

"What? No." He glanced around the back of the car, jerking his head toward Monroe. "Make the girl do it. I'm not letting Paul start rumors about me crossdressing and shit."

Monroe glared at him like she would kill him. "I'm less likely to wear pantyhose than you are."

Wolf frowned before chucking his keys at her. "You're a girl. I have balls."

"Debatable. You are a football player."

"Roe," I said. "Please?"

With a roll of her eyes, she snatched the keys from the ground and walked over to where we stood in front of the car. "Who's paying?"

Wolf slapped twenty bucks into her hand, then pointed at her. "I want change. And those Nacho Cheese Doritos."

"No chance." She strolled around the side of the house. Seconds later, an engine roared.

Wolf glanced at me with brows pulled together. "She's gonna bring back my truck, right?"

I went to work, wiping down every inch of the inside to make sure there weren't any prints. I barely ran the cloth over the glove box, and it fell open. A matte Glock sat tucked away amidst crumpled napkins. It was usually old mail, a box of condoms, maybe a syringe. But this... I took the cold metal in my hand, knowing I could get at least two-hundred bucks for it down at Tony's Pawn Shop. I tucked the gun under the waist of my jeans and finished wiping down the surfaces.

"Doritos. Pantyhose." Monroe tossed a bag at Wolf, and seconds later, he had the makeshift belt in place.

The engine roared to life, and Bellamy and Wolf peeled out of the backyard, leaving track marks through the tall grass.

I pulled the gun from my jeans, holding it up. "Found this in the glove compartment."

"Oh, shit." Hendrix's eyes lit up.

"You should probably toss that." Leave it to Monroe to shit on my parade. "Could belong to a serial killer for all you know."

I shoved it back into the waistband of my jeans. "I can get a couple hundred bucks for this thing."

"Oh, well. That's worth jail." She delivered a condescending shake of her head, then started back to the house.

"Hey." Hendrix shuffled up beside me, nodding toward Monroe as she made it to the steps. "We don't have any slots left at Tony's this month. You think..."

For once, my brother made sense. We each were allowed to trade stuff at Tony's Pawn once a month. And I didn't want to hang onto this thing for three more weeks.

"Roe?" I shouted, and she stopped, turning around with her hands on her hips. "Wanna do me a favor?"

"Depends. Does it involve the serial killer gun?"

"Of course it does."

"Then, no." She turned back to the house.

"What? Too chicken shit to go sell a gun?" That got her. All I had to do was question her a little.

She gave the gun a flippant glance. "I want half."

It was either give her half or chuck it in the woods and get nothing. Thumbing over my nose, I started to the house. "Fine."

"And you're coming with me."

I slipped a hand around her waist. "Of course."

We rounded the house and climbed onto my bike. "You're tainting trailer trash, Zepp," she teased before the engine roared to life. "And that's quite a feat."

Oh, I was only getting started...

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled past the prostitutes by the phone booth and into Tony's Pawn Shop's parking lot. The pink fluorescent light blinked on and off. Monroe hopped down from the bike. The second she removed her helmet, she shot a sketchy gaze around the parking lot, lingering on a group of hookers.

"You know all the best places to take a girl, Zepp," she said.

"Try to hold off on fucking me until I get you home. Okay?" I tucked the gun into the back of her jeans. Something about the way it peeked out made my dick hard. All Tomb Raider looking and shit… "I'm not gonna lie. That's fucking hot."

She rolled her eyes. "Wait." A frown settled on her face like some terrible realization had just overcome her. "Why do I have to sell this? Why can't you?"

"Tony's made a deal with us. We can each come in once a month. No questions asked. And our allotment is already up."

"Tell me the truth, am I gonna get arrested for this?"

Like I would let her go to jail. "Tell me that's not a serious question?"

She shifted closer, glancing over her shoulder. "It might have killed people!" she whispered.

"Tony doesn't give a shit." I pointed toward the barred doors. "And he writes down fake names."

On a sigh, she turned and crossed the lot.

A couple of minutes later, she stomped out. "He won't take it." She shoved the Glock against my stomach. "Says he needs paperwork."

"What the..." I tucked it into my jeans.

Tony always took anything we brought in. Jewelry, knives, guns—without the paperwork. Then again, he knew us. He didn't know Monroe.

"Fine," I said.

We drove back to the house. When she climbed off the bike, I took the helmet from her, putting it on.

Monroe glared at me with suspicion. "Where are you going?"

"To sell the gun." And then I pulled away.

I drove over to the Northside—a place I wouldn't dare take Monroe. Dayton was bad, but this place… The things I would do for a few hundred bucks. I was glad to get the hell out of there, speeding around corners and running red lights. As soon as I got back to my side of town, I pulled into the Jet Pepp to buy a pack of smokes and condoms. Just in case. And when I came back out to the pumps, some cracked out man was walking off with my bike.

"What the hell, man?" I sprinted over. The second I went to deck him, something tore across my skin. Fire radiated from my arm; then, I noticed the blade in the man's hand. "Stupid crackhead!" I punched him in the face, knocking him back before I grabbed my bike. I cranked the engine and pulled off, not noticing the blood on my arm until I reached a red light.

By the time I got back to my house, blood drenched my sleeve.

Bellamy glanced away from the game when the door slammed shut behind me. His gaze landed on my arm. "What the hell, man?"

Monroe tossed her controller onto the sofa.

Wolf paused the game, plucking the joint from his lips as he turned around. "Are you bleeding?"

"No shit, dumbass," I said, going to the kitchen to grab a beer, popping it open and chugging it with the door still open.

I took another beer and shut the fridge.

"What happened?" Monroe leaned against the doorway, arms folded over her chest.

"Got cut by some hobo."

She pushed away from the doorframe and stopped in front of me, grabbing my wrist and inspecting the cut. "That needs stitches."

"I'm not going to pay three hundred bucks to get someone to sew me up at the hospital."

"I know." She shoved me toward one of the kitchen chairs. "Sit down."

"I'm not letting you sew me up, either." I cocked a brow, but she ignored me, moving to the cabinets to rummage through them.

She filled a pot with water, then placed it on the stove before dumping half a container of salt into it.

"It didn't nick anything important, or I'd have bled out..."

She came back and gripped my arm, poking around the slice. "I know. But I'm guessing it wasn't a squeaky-clean blade. You can't close it unless it's clean, Zepp."

"Who said anything about closing it?" Like hell I was letting that girl anywhere near me with a needle.

"You can't leave it like that. You got any superglue?"

I laughed. "You're kidding me, right?"

"My mom went through a self-harm phase on a bad batch of crack." She grabbed the pot of water and some paper towels, then came back to the table and started cleaning the cut. "Couldn't exactly take her to the ER because she'd end up in the nuthouse. So, superglue." She shrugged. "It works. Where's the glue?"

I pointed to the drawer beside the stove. Roe grabbed the crinkled tube, then came back and pinched the skin around the wound together while unscrewing the green cap with her teeth. The second that shit hit my skin, I winced, gritting my teeth at the obnoxious sting.

She smirked. "Don't be a baby."

I couldn't remember the last time anyone had taken care of me like that. And it wasn't until that moment I realized how much I wanted—needed something like this. Monroe blew on it before she let go. I glanced down at the disgusting, wrinkled skin held together by dried globs of glue.

"I should go home," she said, pushing to her feet. Her car wasn't here, and it was late.

"Is Jade coming to get you?"

"She didn't answer. Her mom must have taken her phone again."

I watched her for a second, shifting on her feet and staring at the floor. "You could just stay."

She chewed at her lip. "Or, you could just take me."

"I could." But I didn't want to. I passed through the doorway into the living room.

"What if I don't want to stay?"

I stopped beside the couch. "Do you not want to stay?" I waited, knowing this— us —was becoming a habit. That we were both probably out of our element. We were loners when it came to relationships, but the more time I spent around her, I was finding it hard to believe that anyone would really want to be alone. Even her.

Monroe tugged at a loose thread on her sleeve. "I don't know."

"Well," I grabbed onto the railing and started up the steps to my room. "Until you do know…"

I was halfway up the stairwell before her footsteps followed behind me and down the hall. She stopped in the doorway.

"Change your mind?"

"Not sure yet." She moved to my desk and took a seat, running her hand over the open sketchbook. "Can I see your other drawings?"

I didn't share those with anyone. Ever. Not since my mom had died. That book was full of nightmares and regrets, worst of all, hopes.

"You don't have to," she added.

I stepped up behind her, staring over her shoulder at the sketch I had made of her. Part of me wanted to show her, and that scared the shit out of me. "Why do you want to see them?"

"I don't know." She traced a finger over the outlines. "Maybe I just want to know more about you."

On a snort, I took the sketchpad in my hand. "And you think drawings are gonna tell you something?"

"This tells me more than you've ever said." Her finger tapped the page. "Cryptic, remember?"

I thumbed through the edge of the pages. "And when are you going to let me know something about you?" I didn't miss the way her shoulders tensed, like she was getting ready for a fight.

"What do you want to know?"

A thousand things. I moved to my bed and took a seat, flipping to the first page. A ghastly green face stared back at me, the word CRACK in yellow letters instead of teeth. It was my mom, the way I saw her when she wasn't sober. "For every picture I show you, I get a question. Okay?" I held out the notebook. When she grabbed it, I didn't let go for a second. "Because I don't let anyone see these— ever ." The moment her gaze dropped to the page, I focused on the bedspread. I didn't want to see her reaction.

"Ask me."

I had no idea where to start because I wasn't sure how many pictures I was okay with her seeing. With each page, those pictures got darker and darker. Which meant I should start with the question that ate away at me. Get that one out of the way. "Who hits you?"

Her gaze snapped to mine, and she closed the book. "This was a bad idea."

"You don't want to keep going? Fine. But you already saw the picture. And that's my question." My jaw tightened. "Answer it, Roe."

She inhaled a hard breath, her gaze falling to the bed. "It's not that bad. He only gets fisty if he's drunk. Or I piss him off."

Not that bad. I fisted the sheet, trying to temper the anger coursing through me.

"You have to promise you won't do anything," she said.

As much as I wanted to be the one to deliver some justice, at this point, I would be just as happy to pay someone else to do it. " I won't do anything."

"Fine. It's Jerry. My mom's boyfriend. Pimp. Dealer."

And Jerry was going to get his ass beat. I handed the book back to her.

"That's it. No death threats? No chest-beating?" She hesitated before opening the sketchbook.

"What's the worst memory you have?"

She stilled, though her gaze never lifted from the paper in front of her. "My eighth birthday, my mom overdosed the first time. Next."

Something about how fast she answered—like it was almost rehearsed—bothered me. She went to turn the page, but I put my hand over it. "I can't lie to you with these. Don't lie to me."

She closed her eyes and dragged a hand through her hair. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "Fine. My worst memory is the first time one of my mom's boyfriends tried to rape me," she said in a rush, and I swallowed. "I was twelve."

My pulse kicked up, and there was a moment where I wasn't sure I wanted to know everything about her.

When she opened her eyes, they were hard and unreadable. "Still want to know about me?" There was a bite to her tone, anger, fear...I wasn't sure.

I stared at my sketchbook, thinking. There were pictures and lines, short sentences, and thoughts that told more than my lips ever would. "Depends on how much you want us to know about each other." I tapped the book in her hands. "It's not pretty."

"The truth never is. Anything pretty is always a lie." She went to my bed and settled against the headboard before she flipped to the next page.

"Do you like yourself?"

"I'm not sure," she said, confusion wrinkling her brow.

I fell onto the mattress beside her, looking over her shoulder at the drawing of gnarled up trees and wolves, then flipped the page for her, sweeping a hand over the picture of gallows, a handful of pills, and a gun. She touched her fingers to the paper as if the objects were real. "Do you wish you were like them?" I asked.

"Who?"

"Barrington." As much as we hated them, we'd be stupid not to wish we had semi-functional families and money. I just hoped that had we been that lucky, we would have appreciated it instead of being entitled pricks.

"Don't we all at some point? I hate them, but I have to ask myself if I'm not really just bitter that they got a better hand. I think that if I had their money, it wouldn't make me an asshole. The same way they probably don't think they're assholes."

Next page. Next question.

"Why do you want to come off like the bad girl?"

Her gaze lifted from the paper on a half-smile. "Are you telling me I'm doing a bad job?"

"Pretty much."

"I don't like people."

"No shit," I said. "But you still didn't answer the question."

"I don't like needing people. And I'm not someone for anyone to rely on. "

"Why?"

She turned the page. Demons and devils crawled through a ribcage filled with spiders' webs.

"Because people always let you down." She hesitated for a second. "Human connection is a lie we tell ourselves we need. We don't need anyone but ourselves, and it's best that way."

Even for me, that was fucking sad. "You want to be alone then?"

The papers rustled when she flipped them."I just want something real."

"And how will you know when something is real?"

Another flip of the page to a pencil drawing of a screaming head inside a screaming head inside a screaming head, until there was nothing but a black void.

"Do you draw what you feel?" she asked.

"Avoiding my question?" I touched a hand to the page. "It's the only way I can draw. Otherwise, it's just shit."

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at a spot on the wall. "I don't know. I guess...it's real when you trust someone."

I moved my hand, and she went to the next drawing. And before I even realized that I had verbalized it, I asked her, "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." Another flipped page.

"Why?"

Her fingers gripped the edge of the book, and this time she hesitated before her gaze met mine. "Because you gave a shit. And no one else ever has."

I could sense how exposed she was.My pulse pounded a little harder, words on the tip of my tongue I wasn't sure I wanted to spit out. I took the notebook out of Monroe's hand and placed it on the nightstand. "You're the only girl I've ever given a shit about." I grabbed her hips and pulled her on top of me.

Her hands went to my face. "Good." And then she kissed me.