6. Monroe

SIX

monroe

I headed for Barrington, my mind still a storm of emotions. My hatred for Zeppelin Hunt was growing by the second, but I was more annoyed at myself. I should have just gotten the damn beer, but my temper had risen like an angry rattlesnake, refusing to back down. And now, he'd made sure everyone thought I was another one of his skanks.

Some girls saw Zepp in all his brooding, shithead glory, and they wanted to either be used by him or save him. He might have been hot, but I would never degrade myself with that asshole. And I didn't give a damn about saving him. My biggest error was allowing him to see just how much I didn't want to be seen with him because now he was going to make my life hell. My resistance was so pointless it was almost laughable.

By the time I pulled up to Max Harford's iron gates, I'd had enough time to stew over everything, and my chest was tight. I slammed the door to my heap of a Pinto and stormed up to the white brick house. Before I had even rung the bell, Max opened the door, flashing a wide smile that screamed all-American good boy.

"You're early."

"Yeah, that okay?" I stepped inside the marble foyer and, as always, felt like dirt that the maid would want to sweep up.

"Of course. Only an idiot would mind a little more time with you." His gaze dropped to my legs for a fleeting moment. "You look nice today. Like the skirt."

I tried not to scowl. Compliments were not welcome, but I had to remind myself that with him, there was no back-handed dig. Even though Max was Barrington's golden-boy quarterback and should have been the biggest of all dicks, he was actually okay.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

I followed him through to the massive kitchen, all sparkling and white. He disappeared behind the door of his stainless-steel refrigerator, then popped back with a can of Grapico. I eyed the purple can when he handed it to me.

"I know it's your favorite." He shrugged a shoulder on his way into the sitting room.

I couldn't remember telling him that Grapico was my favorite. "That's nice of you." I tapped a finger over the ring pull, fidgeting as I followed him over to the couch.

"Just a quick stop at the store. It's fine." He patted the spot beside him. "My dad's working late tonight."

"Okay." I put my books on the coffee table, then checked my watch, barely paying attention to anything else. I had three hours before I had to be at Zepp's, and that thought had a nervous churning settling in my gut.

The engine to my piece of shit car sputtered when I pulled up outside the Hunt house. Anxious energy crept through my veins on my way up the overgrown sidewalk and onto the rotting porch. I debated leaving a few times before I finally knocked on the door. Voices shouted inside. Heavy footfalls came toward the entrance, and a series of locks clicked before the door swung open to Hendrix. He took one look at me, and that was enough to have disgust crawling over my skin. He was almost as good looking as his brother, but he was even more of a whore than Zepp.

"Who you gonna bang first, Red?" He bit his lip on a grin. "Me or my brother? You want us at the same time, that's extra."

"Gross. I'm here for Zepp."

"Final answer?" He opened the door wider, then stepped to the side. "'Cause, my dick's bigger."

"Congratulations." I shouldered past him, cutting through the entranceway while he laughed. I headed toward the kitchen, and seconds later, the pop of fake gunfire came from the living room.

Zepp sat at a small breakfast table; his brows pulled together while he studied the screen of the laptop in front of him. His hand rested on the worn tabletop, tattooed fingers clenched in a fist. He always looked so angry. And dangerous.

I stood in the doorway and cleared my throat.

His response: Sliding his phone across the tabletop. "Order me some pizza."

I wanted to strangle him, but instead, I mumbled "dick" under my breath before dialing the number to Pizza Barn and placing an order for two pepperoni pizzas. When the delivery guy asked for the address, I looked at Zepp. "You know the shit hole house at the end of Victory Lane? There." Then I hung up and chucked Zepp's phone back at him.

"Will that be all?" I asked, acid dripping from my voice.

He didn't even look up from his laptop, let alone respond. He was such an asshole.

"Fine." I headed for the hall. I hated being Zepp's bitch, but trying to get out of it had backfired. So this was what I had to deal with—beer runs and pizza orders.

"I didn't tell you, you could leave, Monroe."

I stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at the peeling wallpaper before I turned to face him. "Really, Zepp? Can we just not?"

The condescending glare he directed at me had my temper spiking. He was such an arrogant prick with his stupid nose ring and muscles. "Screw you and your small-dick power trip."

A cackle came from the living room. "Told you mine was bigger," Hendrix shouted, but Zepp's gaze remained fixed on me like a hunter staring down the sites of a rifle.

He took a chair from the table and shoved it toward me. "We made a deal. Which means you should shut the fuck up and sit down."

My jaw clenched when I took the seat, forcing myself to swallow my pride.

I hated his too-perfect face and the way he looked at me like a cat toying with a mouse. "Keep being a dick just because you can, but I can make these three months real hard for you, too."

He pushed up from his seat, patting my head when he rounded the table. "That's cute."

My teeth ground over each other so hard it's a wonder they didn't crack. I closed my eyes and counted to ten in my head so I wouldn't pick up this chair and toss it at his head. "God, you're a prick," I mumbled so he wouldn't hear.

And that was that. We didn't say a word to each other for the next half hour.

Bellamy and Wolf showed up, and once the guys had scarfed down their greasy pizza, we piled into Wolf's rundown pickup and headed across town, eventually rolling through the winding roads of Barrington.

Wolf cut the lights before pulling to a stop outside one of the large brick houses. "Why are we here?" I asked, my gaze fixed through the cracked window.

Zepp climbed out, and the guys followed. On a resigned sigh, I opened the door, and the warm, night air wrapped around me. The second my feet hit the sidewalk, Zepp moved toward me, a burning cigarette hanging from his lips. The smirk on his face made me take an uneasy step back. I didn't trust any of them for shit.

"Now, what I need you to do…" His gaze dropped to my chest before he grabbed onto my shirt, yanking the material until it ripped. "Damn, nice tits."

Hendrix snickered behind him while Wolf and Bellamy lingered in the shadows.

I swatted his hand away, glancing down at my exposed bra. "What the hell, Zepp? I love this shirt."

His gaze lifted from my torn shirt to my face. "Cry for me." Smoke crawled through his lips with each word, that cold gaze cutting right through me.

"What?" A shiver of awareness trickled through me. They could do whatever they wanted to me right now, and no one would know. Swallowing my unease, I folded my arms over my chest. "Tell me what I'm doing here."

The burning ember of his cigarette reflected in his near-pitch-black eyes. He thumbed behind him to the glossy, red door illuminated by a lone porch light. "You're going to go bang on that door until that rich bitch opens up. Then you're going to tell her some dickhead boyfriend of yours is after you while you keep her in the kitchen."

"Why?"

He leaned in close, his thumb stroking over my cheek in a way that made my breath catch. "You're the distraction. Now, cry." The rasp of his voice burrowed beneath my skin in ways that I hated.

I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of smoke while the warmth of his breath fanned over my face. It wasn't hard to make myself cry; I just had to allow a glimmer of life's hard reality to creep through the walls I had constructed to keep it out. For a moment, I let myself drown in the hopelessness that I fought so hard.

When I opened my eyes again, tears broke free. Yet, even through the blur of life's shitstorm that welled in my eyes, I zeroed in on Zepp's ski mask-covered face. Despite being covered, I could still see the crinkle of a pleased smile in the corner of his eyes.

"Good girl," he said before slinking into the shadows, the others following behind like loyal subjects. Dickhead.

Within seconds, they'd disappeared around the back of the house. And I took that as my cue. I ran up the drive, then pounded my fist fast against the door, over and over. The fact that I was the only one at risk here bubbled to the surface. It was my face that would be seen. The second that reality set in, I went to turn from the door, but the porch light came to life, and the door opened without the slightest of creaks. A willowy woman in a silk robe with a strand of pearls at the base of her throat stood at the entrance, a bewildered look on her face. "Can I—"

I was screwed now. Better make this believable. "Please. Help me," I choked, glancing over my shoulder. "He's after me."

Her gaze stopped on my ripped shirt, then she grabbed onto my elbow and yanked me inside. "Come in, dear. Hurry." The large door closed behind us with a thud, and she guided me along the shiny, hardwood floors. She led me into the living room, but I didn't sit. He said to keep her in the kitchen.

"Please, could I have a glass of water?" I clutched my throat—"parched" from "running."

"Of course." She motioned for me to follow her.

We passed through the hallway, and I noticed the perfect family portrait centered on the wall. That was when I realized just how messed up Zepp was. In the ornate, golden frame, Leah stood between the woman leading me through the hall, and a guy I guessed was her dad, all of them smiling at the camera. This was Leah's house. I shook my head while I followed Leah's mom into a kitchen that was bigger than my entire trailer. It made me hate the woman in front of me while wishing I could be like her.

"Here." She placed a glass onto the marble, kitchen island. I gulped half of it, thinking that even their water tasted better.

Her thin brows pulled into an expression of concern. "What happened, dear?"

"My ex-boyfriend. He— Wouldn't take no for an answer." My voice broke a little, and I forced tears to pour down my cheeks, before swiping at them. I had no idea what I was supposed to do here.

"Oh, my." She gasped, her hand moving to her chest in horror, as though shit like that didn't happen every day. "Did he..." she trailed off, unable to say the word rape.

Jesus, Leah sure as hell hadn't inherited her mom's innocence.

"No. I got away." I wiped away more tears. "Can I use your phone?"

With a nod, the woman fetched the phone. My gaze drifted across the hall while I pretended to call someone who would give a shit about me. That was when I noticed Zepp in the hallway, like an ominous shadow. His dark eyes burned through the slit in his ski mask like smoldering coal before he disappeared down the hall.

Nervous energy wound through my veins as I sat and waited for the guys to finish. I almost jumped out of my skin when the knock finally came at the front door. Leah's mother moved ahead of me to answer it. Bellamy stood on the Welcome mat. His gaze met mine before moving to the woman. "Thanks for helping my sister."

"That's no problem." She placed a hand on my shoulder. "You really should involve the police, dear. It's just not right."

Bellamy wrapped an arm around my shoulder; I guessed to really sell it. "Thank you for your help."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, we both sprinted across the manicured lawn for the truck. One of the guys opened the door to the back cab. I threw myself in, and Bellamy tumbled in behind me. The door was still open when Wolf pulled away from the curb, tires screeching.

We hadn't made it out of Barrington before guilt settled in my gut. That woman had tried to help me, even if she was rich and raising bitches like Leah Anderson. And we had robbed her. Although I knew it was all things she could afford to lose, it felt wrong.

"Looks like you can follow directions," Zepp said from the front seat.

"You robbed your girlfriend?"

He barked out a laugh. "I don't date girls, Monroe. I fuck them."

"Spreading her legs should surely buy her some loyalty. Damn." That was cold.

Hendrix snorted beside me. "Nothing about Leah deserves loyalty. Not even her pussy."

I couldn't imagine sleeping with someone and finding out that I meant absolutely nothing to them. I wondered if Leah had any clue how disposable she was. For a second, I pitied the bitch. It was fleeting, though, because she'd have to be stupid to see Zepp as anything more than the asshole he was. Not like he tried to hide it.

My phone vibrated, and I took it out, reading over a message from Max. Hendrix leaned over my shoulder, and I glared at him, locking my phone.

"Harford?" Disgust laced his voice.

If I had to guess, Hendrix didn't know anything more about Max than the fact that he attended Barrington, but as far as most people in Dayton were concerned, that was enough. There was always beef between our schools, and Max was public enemy number one because he was the quarterback. The golden boy with a perfect life handed to him on a silver platter. He was all that, but he was also okay for a Barrington guy.

"You're talking to Harford?" Hendrix kicked at one of the bags filled with stolen stuff that sat on the floorboard. "Why the hell are you talking to that asshole?"

"None of your business."

My gaze caught the rearview mirror just in time to see Zepp glare into the backseat.

"Fucking the golden dick quarterback, huh?" He laughed, lighting a cigarette. "There's your self-respect."

It was right on the tip of my tongue to deny it. "Says the guy fucking and robbing the cheerleader."

"Cheerleader s . Plural." He cracked the window, and a stream of smoke billowed out.

"Congratulations."

Guys like Zepp and Hendrix could bang all the rich girls they liked. But the second a Dayton girl picked a Barrington guy over them, especially the quarterback, the guy had hell to pay and she was a slut—then again, weren't girls always the sluts, while the guys were studs?

It was late when I got home. My mother laid, passed out on one couch, another track mark in her arm. Jerry was on the other couch, several beer bottles scattered around his feet and a bottle of whiskey dangling from his hand.

Great. Jerry was a horrible drunk.

"Where you been?" he slurred.

At the very least, I knew I should try to appease his drunk ass, but I couldn't help the indignation that rose in me. Despite knowing it would piss him off, I said, "Out." One word I knew I shouldn't have, but I was still fighting.

No matter how much power he had over me, I'd never stop; because the moment I did, I would become just like my mom. A tragedy. Screwing dirty men to pay for a habit, all so I could escape the very existence I'd created. She was weak, but I refused to be.

That drunk, angry glaze in his eyes was all too familiar to me, and the second he took a step toward me, I knew what was coming, so I braced myself.