21. Zepp

TWENTY-ONE

zepp

Green buds scattered the table. Wolf puffed on a joint while he stuffed a Ziploc bag with weed.

"Hey. You still hang out with Dizzy?" I asked.

Dizzy was the guy who first got us into selling weed—until he ended up in jail for an assault charge.

"Off and on. Why?"

I snatched the baggie, weighed it, sealed it, then tossed it into Wolf's unzipped backpack. "Think he'd take a hundred bucks to beat the shit outta some guy?"

"Probably." He passed me another bag. "Who?"

"Some guy that fucks around with Monroe's mom."

"Sure, Dizzy would do it. Want me to call him?"

I gave him a nod as a cloud of smoke drifted across the table.

We bundled up a few more dime bags before Wolf broke the silence. "You like her."

I focused on the numbers flashing on the scale. Of course I liked Monroe, but something about admitting it seemed too personal. Even for Wolf.

"Dude, you kissed her in the parking lot."

"And?" I chucked the bag into his backpack. "I've had girls give me blowjobs in the bathroom."

"Zepp Hunt having anything to do with a girl outside of a bedroom is weird as hell." He pushed up from the chair and went to the fridge. "She's all right, though," he said. And that was Wolf's way of saying he wouldn't give me any more grief about it.

Gravel crunched beneath the tires of Dizzy's Cadillac when he backed out of Wolf's drive.

Wolf propped the ladder against the side of the trailer. He made it up the first few rungs before he froze and looked back at me. "Wait. Why aren't you just beating Jerry's ass?"

Because I had promised Monroe I wouldn't touch him. "It's complicated."

"Whatever, dude."

We fell into the ratty lawn chairs, and my gaze locked on the license plate of a brown Camaro that read: DABIGBOSS.

"Da Big Boss, ‘bout to get his ass beat."

Wolf chuckled before he leaned over to grab a drink from the mini-fridge.He sighed. "Dude, we haven't had any parties since Monroe started hanging around."

"There's been a lot of shit going down."

The deep gurgle of an engine echoed over the trailer park before a Mustang came flying down the road, a cloud of dust kicking up in the glow of the taillights. It idled to a stop outside Monroe's trailer. The door swung open, and Monroe climbed out, then disappeared behind the trailer. Seconds later, she emerged from the shadows with a tarp.

Wolf coughed out a laugh. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. She beat the shit out of Dale Davison today."

I swung my gaze from Monroe to him. "Why the hell are you just now telling me this?"

Wolf shrugged, holding up the joint permanently attached to his fingers. "Forgot."

Jesus Christ. Blood pulsed through my temples, slowly building while the possibilities of why she would punch someone flipped like a Rolodex through my mind.

When Monroe started toward her door, I wet my lips and whistled. She froze, glancing down the street in our direction.

"Hey, Roe!" I shouted. "Why'd you beat Dale's ass?"

Her hands went to her hips. "Because he's a dick."

I had been the king of all dicks to her, and it took her a good few weeks to punch me. "Did he touch you?"

Her head dropped back on a groan, then she tossed something inside her trailer, and hurried across to Wolf's porch. The ladder creaked before her head popped over the gutters. Her gaze bounced between Wolf and me, a small grin pulling at her face. "Well, this looks cozy."

Wolf slumped in his chair. "This is guy's time, dude. She's interrupting man-hour."

"I'm sorry, I don't want to shout across the trailer park like a redneck. Don't worry. I'm not staying."

I snatched her wrist before she could descend. "Did he touch you?"

"No."

My hold on her tightened. "Then why did you punch him, Roe?"

"I told you, he's a dick. He pissed me off." She studied me for a moment, then huffed. "Will you stop?"

She told me the other night that she trusted me, and yet, here we were dancing around the truth. Like Monroe always did.

"What did he do exactly?"

Wolf sighed, then pushed up and shuffled toward the ladder. "I'm hungry," he said on his way down.

Monroe's teeth raked over her bottom lip. "Apparently, I must have a golden pussy to lock you down. His words. Not mine."

Wolf laughed from the porch, mumbling golden pussy before the door below us opened and shut.

That was shit Monroe would usually roll her eyes at—shit I would usually deck someone for.

"Don't look at me like that. I was feeling temperamental this morning." She dropped onto the lawn chair, crossing one leg over the other.

Part of me wanted to put him in a chokehold, but then I figured, Dale getting a smackdown by a girl was humiliation enough. Monroe was the kind of girl who could fight her own battles.

"Do you have a golden pussy?"

She shot a sharp glare at me. "You're funny."

"So, I've been told." I glanced back at her trailer.

A massive guy circled the tarp-covered car. My jaw tensed while I played with the idea of going over there and throwing a punch at him. I jerked my chin toward the bastard.

"That why you wanted the Hurst back so bad?"

"Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way." A half-smile flashed over her face. "He was so pissed when you stole it right off the damn drive."

My jaw tightened, and I leaned over my knees, staring at the bastard as he peeked under the tarp. "It's not funny, Roe." Had I known, I would have just let her have it.

"It is what it is."

It is what it is... I knew her mom was there. I knew she was a crackhead. My mom may have let guys smack her around, she may have hidden it from anyone who tried to help, but high off her ass or sober, she would never let any of her piece-of-shit boyfriends touch us. The one that actually did whack Hendrix got stabbed in the gut. Monroe had told me the other night that her mom's boyfriends had tried to rape her—but that was something that happened behind closed doors in the silence of the night. The bruises Monroe had on her, no way that could go unnoticed—ignored but not unnoticed.

"And your mom just lets that shit happen?" Part of me wanted to go set fire to the trailer at this point. That was a question I already knew the answer to.

"She's too far gone to care about anything but her next hit." Monroe sucked in an uneven breath. "And he's giving it to her, so…"

Jesus Christ. I wanted to kill them both. "You don't have to stay there, you know." The words came out of my mouth before they had registered. And it wasn't that I didn't want her at my house, but more that I was afraid I would freak her out.

She hugged one leg to her chest, resting her temple on her knee. Monroe watched me like she was trying to work me out. "Where else am I going to go?"

"You can stay with me."

An uncomfortable expression knitted her brows, and I panicked. Too much, too fast. Too stupid. God, she made me stupid.

"Or Jade or something," I shrugged like it was no big deal. Just a suggestion.

"Pretty sure your parents wouldn't appreciate picking up a stray. Or Jade's."

I sank back a little in the chair, bouncing my leg as I swiped at my face. "I don't have any parents."

"What?"

"My mom's dead."

She sucked in a deep breath. "Sorry."

My chest tightened until I couldn't find a good breath. "It's fine." It wasn't. I missed her every day.

The sound of the cicadas seemed to grow louder by the second. I hated this shit. The entire "I feel bad, and I should act like it, but I don't know what to say" bullshit. It sucked. But it was life, and this was getting uncomfortable. "So, you wanna go somewhere?"

"Sure. Where?"

I studied her for a second, knowing damn well that there was a shitstorm brewing inside her. Max. Dale… I could tell her eight hundred times that those guys were assholes, but it wouldn't matter. She had probably punched Dale because she was angry. And she had every damn right to be, but beating that dipshit wasn't enough. Not for Max and Jerry and her sorry excuse for a mom.

Without answering her, I pushed up from the chair and climbed down the ladder. I went to Wolf's door and knocked. "Open up, shithead."

He cracked it half an inch, the security chain catching when he peeked out. "This better be good. I was watching Porn Hub."

"Can I get your bat?"

He shrugged and walked off, coming back a few seconds later with an aluminum Louisville Slugger.

Monroe jumped from the ladder, lifting a brow at the bat. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not."

I parked behind Shit Shack; then, we headed across the street to the junkyard. I tucked the Slugger into the back of my jeans and scaled the fence.

"Is this where you kill me and hide my body in the trunk of some scrap metal?" Monroe asked, staring at me from the other side of the chain links.

"Maybe."

She quickly climbed up, slinging a leg over before she jumped, landing on her feet beside me.

"So, you think I'm gonna kill you, but you're still here, huh?"

"Yeah, well, I trust you."

And that...made me feel like I was worth something to her. And I liked it and hated it at the same time.

I headed through the piles of old washers and refrigerators, rounding mounds of dented fenders before we came to a stop. Staring at the heap of junk in front of me, I pulled the bat from my jeans and passed it over to her. "Windows and headlights are the most rewarding."

She looked from the bat in her hand to me. "You want me to hit things?"

"Hitting shit always makes me feel better." I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, lit it, then leaned against the bumper of a Chevy Silverado.

"Pretty sure hitting Dale did that," she said, lifting the bat before she swung at the front windshield. Glass shattered, and she moved onto the passenger side window.

"Don't lie to yourself, Monroe." It took a lot more than hitting one person to purge those emotions.

She made her way around the car, and with each smashed pane of glass and dented panel, I knew the anger had to be bleeding through her.

"Feels good, huh?" I snatched a rusted muffler from the ground, then took a swing at a Toyota's hood. I thought about my mom and the guy who had never paid his dues when it came to her. And I swung again.

"Fine." She punched the end of the bat through a headlight. "I admit it. I'm angry." She put a few dents in the car, then stopped to look at me. "What are you mad about?" she asked through heavy pants.

And wasn't that a loaded question. "A lot of things," I said.

"Like what?"

I smashed the muffler through a windshield. Cubes of glass sprayed in every direction. Some vulnerabilities are better kept to oneself. Which is why it shocked the shit out of me when I said, "My mom."

"I…" Monroe stilled, tapping the bat against the ground. "How did she die?" she whispered, so quiet, I barely heard it. "You don't have to tell me," she said in a rush.

I took a few more swings, this time, at the door of the car. I beat the thing until my arms ached and sweat beaded my forehead. The one thing I didn't want to talk about was that—just like I figured, the one thing she didn't want to talk about was Jerry.

But she had.

"Some asshole beat her to death." And then I rammed the muffler through the hood. No one but Hendrix knew that.

Her chin met her chest. "Of course." The words were a mumbled affirmation. Pieces clicked together in her mind. "Did they find the guy?"

I closed my eyes. Counted to ten. And I told myself, Roe was only asking because she cared, and I should appreciate that. "He was Barrington." I could hear my pulse in my ears.

I stared at the demolished car; the silence that stretched between us seemed like an eternity. Because she knew what that meant. That the guy got off because of his name. Because of his money. Because my mother was worthless compared to him—to everyone except Hendrix and me.

Her hand brushed my shoulder before her arms wrapped around my waist, her chin pressing to my shoulder. And goddamn, that broke me. I buried my face in her neck. Monroe was making herself a lifeline, and I was fucked.

"That's shit, Zepp."

"It's just life, Monroe."