9. Zepp

NINE

zepp

Never in my life had I met the challenge I had in Monroe. I glanced around the party, unable to ignore the stares of several girls. It would be easy enough for me to bang my frustrations out with someone else. But unless it was Monroe in my bed, at this point, my ego wouldn't like it.

For the last half hour, I had sat on Wolf's tailgate with her, neither of us saying a word.

She snagged the bottle from my hand, draining it of the last drop before it hit the ground with a thud.

"I swear, Roe. If you throw up…"

Flipping me off, she hopped down from the tailgate and headed toward the bonfire. A shitty pop song blasted through the speakers, and she tossed her hands up and moved in beat with the bass. God, she had to be shitfaced if she was dancing. She lasted all of two minutes before some guy moved behind her, eyes on her ass.

Like hell I was letting him dance with her.

I jumped off the tailgate and shouldered my way through the people dancing, slipping right between him and Monroe. One stern look from me and the pussy retreated, his tail tucked like a stray dog.

I gripped her waist, leaning down beside her ear and inhaling the scent of the bonfire mixed with her sweat. "If your clothes were off, this would be a hundred times better."

Her nails raked across the back of my neck as she pulled me closer. "Right here?" Her ass pressed against me when she circled her hips. "In the middle of a party?"

"Why not?" My fingers tightened on her sides, my dick drawn to her like a magnet. "I would make it worth your while, Roe." I pressed my lips to her throat in a kiss. "I really would."

"I don't doubt it." She pushed against me again, the friction enough to force a little bit of pre-come to the tip of my dick. I was so into dry humping her that I didn't notice Bellamy skirt by me until he slapped my shoulder. "We sold out," he said. "Let's roll."

Reluctantly, I let go of Monroe and started toward the truck. I made it to the pickup, only noticing Monroe wasn't with us when I opened the door. I grabbed Bellamy's arm when he went to climb in the back and nodded toward the fire. "Go get her."

His brow wrinkled. "You go get her; she's your girl."

"The hell she is."

A small smile pulled at his lips. "So, she's fair game?"

My fist balled.

"Yeah," he laughed. "What I thought."

I shoved him. "Go get her before we leave your ass."

"Yeah, dude," Wolf shouted from the front, cranking the engine then laying on the horn.

With a laugh, Bellamy started across the field. The best thing that could happen right now was for us to drop her at home and me to spend a few minutes with a bottle of lotion, jerking her out of my system. I stood by the truck, watching Bellamy try to wrangle Monroe. She swatted at him, flipped him off, then staggered a few steps. When he tried to help her, she punched him in the arm. I almost laughed when I jumped over the side of the truck. She was feral, that was for sure. When they headed toward the truck, I climbed into the passenger seat.

"Where's my brother?" I asked Wolf.

"Said he had a ride." He checked the rearview mirror and chuckled. "She's like an angry chihuahua."

"She's a pain in the ass." Or a pain in the cock. Whatever worked.

The back door opened, and Monroe shouted at Bellamy before he shoved her into the cramped extended cab. "Jesus Christ. Do you ever stop talking?" Bellamy exhaled before climbing in behind her and slamming the door. And... Drunk Monroe kept bitching.

Wolf glanced at me, and I jerked my chin toward the back seat.

"Just drop her at the entrance of the park, Wolf."

"No." Her hand landed on my shoulder. Tangled hair covered her face when she leaned between the front seats. "I can't go home drunk. Take me to Jade's."

Wolf shot a glance at me as he put the gear in reverse. "How ‘bout we leave her here?"

I shrugged. "Where's the weirdo's house?"

"By the cemetery?" Wolf chuckled.

Jade did look like the kind of kid who would hang out by tombstones, lighting candles, and call a séance or some crap. Wolf threw it into drive. Leaves crunched under the tires, and the car bounced over ruts.

"It's near...here." Monroe huffed.

I glanced at her in the rearview. "You don't know where she lives. Do you?"

"Of course I do."

"Well, figure it out, or we're dropping you at the trailer park." I wasn't taking her back to my house, and we weren't going to drive around for an eternity trying to find her friend's house.

The headlights moved over the trees. Wolf slammed on the brakes and pointed through the dirty windshield on a cackle. "Look at your brother, dude." The lights were shining right on Hendrix going at some girl he had bent over in the woods. Wolf lowered his window, then leaned out and shouted, "Get it, dude. Get angry at that pussy!" He tapped his horn a few times before pressing the gas.

Hendrix swung a victorious arm in the air, then smacked the girl's ass. No dignity whatsoever. Everyone in the truck laughed—except, of course, Monroe.

When Wolf finally pulled over in front of the trailer park, Monroe was snoring. The truck idled on the shoulder of the road.

Wolf glanced from Monroe's passed-out ass to me. "You gonna carry her?" I knew nothing about Monroe. For all I knew, I could cart her drunk ass up to her trailer and some beer-bellied man would stagger out onto the makeshift porch, toting a shotgun.

"Hell no." I glanced back at her, head resting against the window. "Just take her to my house."

Wolf kicked the car around, and we headed back down the deserted stretch of highway. "How about we drop her at Harford's?" Bellamy said from the back, and my jaw ticced a little. "Bet he'd love that shit."

"I'm not a pussy delivery service." A small flare of anger ignited inside me. Sure, it would be a slap in the face to the prick if I dropped her on his stoop. Most likely give me the chance to give him the beating of his life for laying his hands on her. But I sure as shit wouldn't put her in that situation.

The truck sputtered through the slums, weaving between the beat-up cars parked along the side of the street until the headlights landed on my sagging front porch, and we all climbed out—except Monroe.

I banged my fist over the back-passenger window. "Wake the hell up, Monroe. I'm not carrying you."

She pushed up, swiping hair from her face with a confused look. She stumbled onto the driveway; her expression scrunched when she glanced at my rundown house. "Why are we here?"

"You said you wanted to sleep with Zepp." Wolf shrugged a shoulder, and Monroe shot him a death glare.

"Bullshit."

I didn't have the patience to listen to her crap, so I started up the path and unlocked the door while she argued with Wolf. Man, did he have her wound up by the time she staggered inside the house.

"I would rather screw…Hendrix," she slurred. "Wait, no. He's disgusting. You, Wolf." Her shoulder banged into the doorway, and then she stopped to glare at me like I had something to do with it. "You're a dick."

She headed toward the living room, but I caught her by the elbow and redirected her toward the stairs. God knew what state Hendrix would be in when he got home, and I could only imagine the fight that would break out if he attempted to harass her. And he would. On top of that, I wanted to see the look on her face in the morning when she woke up. In my bed. Most likely with little recollection of how she got there. Cruel? Of course it was, but that would be priceless.

Monroe missed a few steps, nearly eating the carpet several times before we made it to the top. "Wait." She stopped outside my bedroom, face scrunched and arms crossed in typical Monroe eat-shit-fashion. "Where are you taking me?"

"To bed."

Her brows hitched. "I'm not getting in your bed."

"What? Don't want to tell the quarterback prince you slept with me?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but the ratty thread of patience I had left snapped. I tossed her over my shoulder and carted her into my room, throwing her onto the bed like a ragdoll. She boomeranged right back up, glaring at me while I stripped down to my boxers.

"I'm not having—" Her gaze dropped to my chest, then lower—"sex with you."

"I don't have sex, Monroe." I leaned over, gripping the edge of the mattress while I inched close to her reddening face. "I fuck."

The springs creaked when she pushed to her feet and brushed past me. I dropped to the bed when her shirt came off, and I thought, finally we were getting somewhere. My gaze skirted over her back, stopping on the thin strap of her red lace bra, and I knew we were getting somewhere. Of all the things I'd asked her to wear, she had chosen that. "Red lace bra, huh?"

"Red lace bra," she said in a mocking tone, then gave the clasp a swift flick. Her bra was on the floor. She was nothing but bare back and fishnets and a pair of tiny shorts. My dick hardened while I tried to decide where I would start with her, rough or soft. One glance at those combat boots, and I settled on rough. But then, she put her shirt back on and kicked off her boots.

My brain short-circuited, sparking for a few seconds until she slipped between the sheets on a huff, then flipped onto her side to face me. This was not how these things went…

She aimed her probing gaze at me like she thought, maybe, if she studied me hard enough, she would find something. Monroe could stare as long as she wanted; there was nothing to peel back. Nothing inside. What she saw was what she got.

"You know," she finally slurred, patting my cheek. "You'd be pretty if you weren't such an ass."

I snorted. That was her grand revelation. Like looks had anything to do with personality.

Seconds ticked by before she rolled onto her back, body all stiff like a corpse. "This was your plan all along. Get me into your bed." She waved her hand around for a second. "I like your light."

I glanced at the faded, hula girl lampshade, remembering when I had begged my mom to buy it for me from the thrift store when I was eight. Three bucks she didn't have but bought it for me anyway. Total kill switch to the mood.

"Your house is nice," she said.

"My house is shit."

Monroe lifted a finger, jabbing the air. "But it is a house." She sounded like Jack Sparrow, Jesus Christ.

"Yeah."

I tried to ignore the fact that she was beside me. This entire thing was weird. She was shitfaced. And not naked. And in my bed. I just wanted to go to sleep and pretend that I didn't have a girl in my bed that I wasn't going to screw.

But she flopped over toward me, then poked me. "Can I ask you something?"

"No."

"Why are you such a dick? Or do you just want people to think that? Because you know, it's a whole lot of dick...ness."

I grabbed the pillow, curling it around my head. I should have left her ass downstairs. I could not deal with drunk girl ramblings. "Don't you need to throw up or something by now?"

"Nope. Just laying here. With your dickness."

The noise from Hendrix's TV drifted beneath the door, filling the silence. For a second, I thought she'd passed out, but then the mattress bounced. Springs creaked when she sat up abruptly and scooted to the edge of the bed. She wriggled out of her shorts, then the fishnets. Thanks to the streetlight's electric haze coming in through my window, I could just make out how great her ass looked in a thong before she fell back beside me.

Switch flipped back to game on.

"Don't even think about it," she said, like she could read the thoughts running amuck in my mind. "I'm hot."

The number of times I had heard shit like that from girls. Ten seconds later, they were touching me, teasing me. Grabbing my dick. I was screwing Monroe tonight, she knew it. And now, I knew it. Like those little shorts made a difference in how hot she was. Yeah, right.

Fighting the smirk, I rubbed a hand down my stomach, over my hardening dick. Any second now...

"I'm not fucking you." She poked two fingers against my chest, then shoved at me.

I felt my brow furrow. This was not how this shit usually went. It was the "I'm hot". I'm not like this. Followed by a kiss and them getting naked, shoving my dick down their throats while repeating how unlike "this" they were.

"Oh my God. You really thought I would, didn't you?" She laughed.

I fisted my cock, then turned on the pillow to glare at her through the dark. "You're the one half-naked in my bed."

"Oh, yeah. Please. Zepp." The condescending, monotone pitch to her voice grated at my nerves. "Screw my brains out." She rolled away, laughing. "I don't understand how you ever get laid."

It shouldn't have bothered me. She was one girl out of a million—and I guessed, maybe that was why it did bother me. She was the girl who had managed to catch my attention and the only one who didn't want it. "I think you do," I said.

"What? They don't care that you're a dick?"

"They aren't exactly here for my personality." I shifted closer, my dick pressing against her thigh when I went to nip at her ear, and I didn't miss the way her breath hitched a little. "Are they, Roe?"

Her palm met my chest, her brows tugging together. "That's kinda sad," she whispered, then shoved me back.

My jaw tensed. That was a dose of reality I hadn't asked for. Especially from her drunk ass, but I refused to give her the satisfaction. "Says the girl hung up on a Barrington piece of shit." I held her gaze, waiting for something to break. But it never did.

"Do you just want him to be a piece of shit? Because he's rich?"

She thought I was jealous of the little shit? "Fuck you, Monroe." I shoved away, settling onto my pillow and staring at the wall.

Maybe she was into the materialistic bullshit, the idol worship of Barrington and their money. Their money didn't make them any different than the assholes in Dayton; it just gave them different problems. Maybe she didn't have any depth after all.

The silence of the ghetto filled the room. "He's actually not bad," she said.

I waited. Jaw tensed, blood pressure ticking up second by second. She thought he was a good guy, and he thought she was a worthless whore. One he could hit.

"Are you really going to do that, Monroe? You really going to defend him?" My mom always defended those assholes because of what their money could do for us if she could only tie one down. I wanted Monroe to be better than that.

"You don't know him." She huffed and rolled over. And that was often the excuse my mother gave: You don't know him.

Silence engulfed us, but it did little to settle the anger rumbling underneath my skin. I'd seen the damn bruises. I didn't need to know him.

I woke to someone banging a fist on my door.

"If that's the quarterback, give him my regards." I swatted an arm out, but my hand met empty sheets. Another series of loud bangs rattled up the stairwell. "Wake up, assholes!" Bellamy's voice came through the window beside my bed. "We've got a problem!"

"Shit." I threw the covers off, grabbing my jeans, and stepping into them on my way to the stairs.

Bellamy continued to beat on the door. I was ready to punch him by the time I opened it.

"You don't know how to answer a phone?" He paced the entranceway, elbows out, hands cupped behind his head before he shot off to the kitchen. "We gotta get the weed outta here."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Jacobs and the rest of the task force are heading this way. Heard it on Dad's scanner."

I shouted for Hendrix, and nearly busted my ass getting into the kitchen. I opened cabinets, raking out baggies of weed. Bellamy grabbed a garbage bag and yanked out drawers, dumping the contents inside. With each gram I tossed, my pulse ticked up. In a city riddled with meth and heroin dealers, kids peddling weed at parties should have been the least of Dayton's task force's concern. "They don't have any reason to raid us," I said, slamming one cabinet door and going to the next.

"Some Barrington kid got pulled over last night." Bellamy chucked a pipe into the trash. "Said the weed he had on him came from us."

"They can't prove that!"

He made a knot in the garbage bag, scowling. "They can if they come raid your house."

After a frenzied ten minutes, we had the house cleaned out. Not a trace of weed. Not a single pipe. Not even a roach. Bellamy took the Hefty bag of weed and paraphernalia with him when he left. And then Hendrix and I waited for the raid.

Red and blue lights flashed through the window. Brakes screeched. Doors slammed. "

Here we go," I said, heading to the door just before a hard knock came from the other side. "Police. Open up."

I knew there wasn't anything in the house, but still, the idea had a cold shot of panic rushing through my veins. I opened the door, locking eyes with Jacobs. "What do you want?"

His lips set in a hard line. When he moved past me, his shoulder knocked against mine hard enough to push me back a step. Other officers filed in, their boots clomping over the floor while they spread out. They tore off the couch cushions. Ripped up heating vents. Pots and pans clattered in the kitchen, followed by the sound of glasses shattering. They tore apart the house. An hour later, all they had found was a crumpled beer can behind the stove.

The cops moved out, all except Jacobs. He stopped by the door, his gaze shifting between my brother and me. I shot him a smug grin. Dick, thinking he could arrest me.

"I know you're both little shits," he said, hand on the open door. "And that redhead of yours," a sick grin set on his face "they'll cut her pretty face up with razor blades in juvie."

"Get the fuck outta my house." I raised my hands to shove him, and Hendrix's hand clamped onto my shoulder.

That beer can he found wouldn't send me to jail, but assaulting a police officer definitely could. And that's all Jacobs wanted. He moved onto the porch, and I slammed the door.

That was the initial stirrings of a shitstorm. I could feel it.

"Where did Monroe go?" Hendrix asked.

"Hell if I know."

Wolf grabbed a book from his locker, then slammed the door shut. "Do we know who the snitch is?"

"Not yet," I said. The temptation to drive over to Barrington and douse half the yards in gasoline, setting fire to the lots had definitely been there. But that would have been stupid as hell.

Hendrix started down the hallway beside me. "I swear to God, that snitch is getting stitches when I find out who he is."

Wolf chuckled before him and Hendrix ducked into class. I was almost to the gymnasium when I spotted Monroe. Her steps quickened when I approached her. She tried to dart past me, but I hooked my arm around her shoulders. "I need you to come over Thursday."

"I can't. I'm busy." She tried to slip out of my hold, and I tugged her a little closer to me.

"Cancel it."

"Can we not do this now?" She turned her face away.

Something was off with her. I took her chin, forcing her to look at me. The scabbed-over split on her bottom lip was impossible to ignore. That son of a bitch had smacked her for staying over at my house. Evidently, the quarterback had a death wish. One I'd be happy to grant. My temper spiked, the pressure building like flammable vapors in a tank. The tardy bell rang, followed by the bang of lockers and a flurry of students rushing to class.

For once, I didn't want a scene, so I dragged her into an alcove by the water fountain. "Your little piece of shit boyfriend..." I imagined him hitting her, calling her worthless, the same way those rich bastards had done to my mom, and my vision went out of focus. "I'm going to break his legs, and he can kiss his scholarship goodbye."

"It's not Max." Panic laced her voice.

I leaned in close to Monroe's ear. "I will kill him, Roe." And with that, I shoved away, slamming my fist against the wall on my way around the corner.