31. Zepp

THIRTY-ONE

zepp

The next afternoon, I sat on the couch playing Call of Duty with my brother.

I shot his avatar in the head. Blood splattered the screen before his player crumpled to the pixelated sand. "You suck at this."

"Yeah. Well. You suck at life," Hendrix shifted to the edge of the couch beside me, his focus on the screen. "So are you and Monroe into that BDSM shit now or something? Last night sounded ruff."

I cut my eyes away from the TV. "Mind your own business, would you?"

"We're brothers. You're supposed to confide all your kinky shit to me." He moved his character across the screen, ducking and weaving like a complete cracked-out feen.

Sometimes I worried my brother was a complete mental case and that it was my fault for whacking him in the head with a whiffle ball bat repeatedly when he was five. The rumble of an engine pulled into the drive, then around the back of the house. Hendrix sat up like a prairie dog at the sound, then chucked his controller down, and rushed to the back door. "Aw, hell no!" he grumbled before the screen banged shut.

I pushed off the couch and slipped outside, skirting around my seething brother. "I don't like this."

That damn Challenger sat parked in our backyard. Monroe in the driver's seat, window down.

"She better not be stealing cars for us now," Hendrix grumbled as I approached the idling car, taking note of the Star Wars sticker on the back bumper.

I stopped beside the car and folded my forearms over the sunbaked roof, looking down at Monroe. "If the guy hadn't thought he was going to get his dick sucked by my girlfriend, I would almost feel bad for the fucker."

"Why? He's from Barrington."

I stepped back when she opened the door and climbed out, pressing a kiss to my lips. "He has a Yoda bumper sticker on the back fender." I thumbed behind me. "He's not real Barrington."

She frowned. "Now, I feel a bit bad."

Hendrix stomped down the steps, a deep scowl on his face and his arms crossed. Like an angry toddler that had shit his pants. He pointed at the car. "Did she steal that?"

"Are you…" She looked at me, brows creased in disbelief. "Is he judging me?"

"I'm judging my pussy-whipped brother!" Hendrix stepped up to the passenger side of the car and kicked the wheel. "This is bullshit, man. Practically move her in. Fine! Fuck her in the kitchen where I have to eat my food. Great! Get your balls on my couch. Whatever." He tossed his hands into the air, glancing from the car to her to me, then back. "But letting her steal cars. That's over the line."

"Hendrix…" I dragged both hands down my face, annoyed as hell with him. "Shut up."

"Zepp doesn't let me do anything." Monroe rounded the front of the Challenger and squared up to him before poking him in the chest. "I already stole cars, you asshole."

"Yeah? Well…" His brow wrinkled, and for a split-second, he looked like he was at a loss for words. "Who's gonna get rid of it for you?" His gaze swung from her to me.

"Oh, like he's doing me a favor." She thumbed back at me. "He's taking a cut."

Damn her and her mouth. I hadn't really thought she was going to steal the damn thing. At least not this soon. "Hey!" I held up both hands. "She was talking about it when I was fucking her. It's basically like agreeing to something when you're drunk. And I didn't think she was actually going to do it."

"Fine. You want out?" She made her way back to the driver's side. "I have my own guy. I can take it there right now."

"Roe…" I started, but Hendrix was already taking a step and swinging at me. I caught his wrist and bent his arm back, slamming him against the hood of the car. "I'll split my half of the money with you, dickwad. Shut up." I gave him another shove before letting him go.

"Stealing cars is our shit, man," he whined, then sniffed. "Nothing's sacred anymore. Not our couch. Not our cars. Nothing." He pushed away from the hood and pretended to wipe at tears.

"Do you want it, or not?" Monroe asked, hands on her hips.

That was a few grand. She had already stolen the damn thing. "Yeah. We'll take it over to Billy Bob and the guys at the chop shop."

"Unbelievable." Hendrix sank to the leaf-covered ground on a huff. My seventeen-year-old brother was sulking.

Monroe rolled her eyes at him. "Your maturity never fails to astound me, Hen."

His wide-eyed gaze met mine. "She just called me a chicken!"

Ignoring Hendrix, I grabbed the toolbox from the back porch and dropped it in the grass beside Monroe's feet. She rummaged through the tools while Hendrix stayed all criss-cross applesauce in the middle of the yard.

"You want a cut," I said. "Go file down the VIN, dipshit."

An hour and a half later, we'd dropped the car at the chop shop. I sat in the passenger side of Monroe's Pinto, counting through the stack of hundreds. "Poor fucking kid," I said, grinning. Honestly, I didn't feel bad for the guy. At all.

He had a nice car. He had a cushy Barrington life. And he thought he was going to bang my girl. He could suck my nuts. Besides, Dayton was the mange-riddled lions, and Barrington were the sleek gazelle, ripe for feasting. It was just the circle of life.

Monroe's phone vibrated in the cupholder. She gave it a brief glance before tossing it to me. "Can you check that?"

Challenger Geek: Sorry I didn't text you back. Someone stole my car.

Challenger Geek: It was my granddad's car.

Challenger Geek: Please tell me I can see you. I need some for real cheering up right now.

I stared at the phone, half wanting to laugh, half wanting to punch the kid. God, we were assholes.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Your boyfriend."

"Just block the number."

"Seriously?" I shook my head, typing out a response. "You can't steal a guy's car, then block his number."

Monroe took a hard turn off the highway, slamming me against the window. God, she was a shit driver. "Why not?" she asked.

"Because it makes you look guilty as fuck." I added a heart to the end of the text.

Monroe: That's so awful. Maybe I can see you later. I have to go to communion and promise my virginity to the church today.

Challenger Geek: I didn't take you for a church girl ;)

I snorted and typed another response.

Monroe: What's that supposed to mean?

Hell no, Monroe wasn't a church girl. She'd give half those senior citizens cardiac arrest the seconds she stepped in with those tits and those bare legs.

Challenger Geek: I don't know. You're hot.

That was it. The kid had to be a virgin. No game whatsoever.

Monroe: Aw. Thanks. Pulling up to the church. GTG. TTYL.

Challenger Geek: Tell Jesus I said hi.

Monroe fishtailed around the corner of my street. Cars were parked along the road and in the yard. People were sprawled over the sagging porch, drinks in hand. And my brother was leaned against the open door, sweet-talking a girl.

"What the hell?" There was no space on the driveway, so Monroe cut around the lawn, blocking in a couple of cars. "I'm not moving." She opened the door, and rap music from the house poured in. "They can walk home."

"Got a few people over," Hendrix said, like the people on the porch and the haze of smoke drifting through the open door wasn't a dead giveaway.

"No shit." Monroe glared at a girl nearby.

I flicked my brother on the forehead on my way across the threshold. Wolf and Bellamy sat on the couch, both of them with their hands up the same girl's skirt while the bass pumping through the speakers rattled the walls.

"Didn't take them for the crossing swords type," she whispered in my ear.

That was a mental image I could have gone without. "I'm grabbing a beer." I pushed through a group of girls crowding the kitchen and went to the fridge, bending over to dig through the shit beer Bellamy had stocked the shelves with.

"You like the view?" Monroe growled. "I'm gonna count to three. One."

I slammed the fridge and turned around to only Monroe in the kitchen. I cracked open the can. "I like it when you go all Harley Quinn on people."

"Girls, Zepp. Not people. Looking at you like you're an all you can eat buffet."

"All you can eat." I wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her and placing her on the counter. "Want me to go down on you right here? Show them they don't stand a chance?" I placed the beer down and grabbed her thighs, spreading them just enough.

"So romantic." She gave me a slight shove. "But no, because Hendrix will probably film it."

"Oh, the hell no!" Hendrix barreled into the kitchen, a sadistic grin in place as he hopped on his heels and thumbed toward the front of the house. "The Barrington cocksuckers just pulled up. They want a beat down." He ran through the kitchen and grabbed the nine iron.

"What?" I snatched the back of his shirt when he rushed past.

"They're shitting on our territory, man, which means we are gonna fuck them up." He broke free of my hold and darted into the living room.

"Stay in here," I said to Monroe on my way through the doorway.

Wolf stood at the window, peeking through the mangled plastic blinds. "Shit, dude. They got bats."

Hot anger tore through me. Those assholes came to my house to start shit. I snagged my Slugger from the coat closet, Wolf and Bellamy in tow.

Hendrix was already on the porch, shirt off, chest puffed out. Guys piled out of the shiny Range Rover parked beside Monroe's Pinto, bats in hands. Their shoulders were back, chins lifted like they were on their high horse. But what pissed me off more than anything was that Max fucking Harford was sitting in the passenger seat with a shit-eating grin on his face.

The Barrington crew stopped when the guys and I stepped onto the first step. "I suggest you leave," I said.

The prick at the front of the pack laughed. "Don't think so. You cost us the championship. Fucked up our quarterback and a few of our wide receivers." He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "And shit on my ride."

"I diarrhea-ed on your hood, man!" Hendrix shouted before cackling.

The guy's jaw clenched, his gaze shifting to my brother before coming back to me. "We're gonna dish out some justice, Hunt. I'm gonna beat you in front of your little Dayton minions there."

"You just gonna stand there and talk all day, or what?" I gripped the bat in my hand, adrenaline firing through me like radioactive material. I wanted to take a swing so damn bad, but I wasn't making the first move. I knew better than that. "Or you starting to rethink getting your rich-boy ass beat?"

His nostrils flared, before he charged at me, swung, and missed. Then all hell broke loose.

It was only a matter of minutes before most of the Barrington guys were rolling on the ground, groaning and clutching at their limbs, and Max was still in the Range Rover, like a coward, with a phone to his ear. Wiping sweat from my brow, I crossed the yard, stopping at his window. I took the end of the bat and smashed the window. "Didn't learn your lesson last time, shithead?"

Max's mouth moved up and down like a fish out of water for a second.

"Yes, ma'am. Victory Lane," he muttered into the phone.

"Calling the cops, Harford? Or an ambulance? Because you're on my property. With bats," I rested an arm over the window ledge, shards of glass tearing into my skin. "Self-defense is a bitch, isn't it?"

He swallowed hard enough that I noticed. "Um. I'm sorry. No, ma'am. I don't need assistance. It was a, umm. It was a prank." Then he dropped the phone.

The image of him on top of Monroe surfaced, and I wanted to take the bat to his face again, but I knew killing a guy still on crutches wouldn't look like self-defense. "You're a piece of shit," I said, pushing away from the car when I spit in his face. On my way to the porch, I snagged Hendrix by the back of a shirt and dragged him off one of the Barrington guys.

"I wasn't done, dickwad." Hendrix swatted at my arm.

"He's knocked out."

"And?"

I slapped Hendrix on the back of the head, then shoved him toward the door. Everyone filed back inside the house except Monroe. She lingered on the porch, eyes set on the Range Rover.

"You didn't kill Max." She patted my chest. "Proud of you."

Someone turned up the music. "I'm going to get this shit off of me," I said, heading upstairs to wash the blood off my arms. I took the washcloth on the ledge of the sink and glanced up in the mirror to wash my face, and Monroe's reflection caught my attention.

"Can I help you?" I smirked into the mirror, scrubbing at the speck of blood on my cheek.

The look in her eye made my dick hard. It was the look that said she was down to fuck. I turned from the sink, and her shirt hit the floor, followed by her bra. I cupped her tits in my hands, biting at her lip. "Like a bit of violence, huh?"

She grabbed my wrist and shoved it under her skirt. "You tell me." Holy shit, she was wet.

Biting back a groan, I slipped my hand inside her panties. "I'd say that's a definite fucking yes." I lifted her onto the edge of the sink, spreading her legs. "I bet I can get you off at least three times."

"Ambitious."

"No, Roe. I'm determined."