23. Shane
23
Shane
I walk into the house with bloody knuckles and my sawed-off shotgun at my side. Josiah is leaning against the sink smoking a bowl, and Wheeter is sitting down at the table, a meatball sub to his lips, looking sheepish as all fuck when he sees me. I stare them both down, then drop the gun on the table, making Wheeter jump in his seat.
“Jesus, dude,” Wheeter laughs before tossing a baggie across the table to me.
My brow cocks as Josiah studies us from afar, his eyes narrowing in on the pills, yet neither of them dares to ask me about my appearance.
“Your stuff,” Wheeter clarifies.
That’s the best thing about Wheeter. He’s reliable as fuck, never questions anything, just does what he needs to do to get me what I need, and leaves it at that. No bro talks in the bathroom to tell me I’m fucked up. I already know I am. Having my friends confirm that only increases my rage.
“You will be compensated,” I confirm, grabbing the tiny bag from the table and tucking it into my pocket.
“On the house,” he offers, sitting back in the chair to rub the top of Rocco’s head, who’s crept his way in from the living room.
“Nah, I take care of my own,” I state, peering not so subtly at Sigh.
Seconds later, the side door bursts open, smacking the wall with a thud as Montana rushes in, stumbling into the kitchen alongside us. Rocco’s head jerks in her direction, and a deep, throaty growl rumbles, accompanied by a vicious bark. He lunges at her, barking wildly and flashing his fangs until she’s backed against the fridge, arms raised and eyes sealed shut, awaiting her doom.
“Nei—”
“Sich setzen!” she yells, interrupting me.
Rocco’s ears drop back, the hair on his haunches lowering as he sits down before her, a sorrowful whine escaping him.
The boys look at each other, then at me.
“Would you look at that?” Wheeter smirks. “She’s controlling the big dog now.”
Montana drops a hand to Rocco, and he licks her palm, wagging his tail before trotting off to the living to curl up on the couch again.
“Are you fucking crazy?” she yells, funneling her madness in my direction. “Like honestly, are you fucking delusional?”
The guys’ eyes both round, knowing the trouble she's in for addressing someone as violent as me in this manner.
I sit back into the wooden kitchen chair and grab the shotgun, cocking it in one hand beside me. I place it back on its side on the table, angling the barrel toward her.
“Hey, Sigh, isn't there a race we need to get to?” Wheeter asks.
“Yeah, man, the one-off Fenway that starts in about five minutes?” he asks eagerly, blowing one last cloud of smoke from his lungs and cashing out his bowl in the sink before sticking it back in his pocket.
“That's the one,” Wheeter exclaims, his face a mix of anxiety and the need to get the fuck outta here.
They hustle out the door as I intended, starting their bikes and riding off, leaving Montana and me alone with nothing but the thick air of tension between us and the ticking clock on the wall.
She's just standing there before me, in her little blouse and slacks, dressing the part of a suburban house slut.
“I'm sorry, you were saying?” I narrow my eyes at her.
“What were you doing on the Hopkins' property today?”
I twist my lips. “I'm not sure I know what you're talking about.” I relax into the chair. “I’ve been here all day.”
“All day?” She eyes me condescendingly. “That’s why your bike’s still hot in the garage, yeah?”
“You touched my bike?” I sit up straight.
“Oh, I touched it,” she purrs, sauntering closer until a palm braces her on the table, the other on the back of my chair. “Slit the tires with a butcher knife, tore into the seat with my nails, even lifted my leg. Hot piss, all over it.”
I chuckle, licking my teeth as I inhale her hypnotic scent. “Keep talking.” I put my finger on the trigger, turning the barrel until it’s pointing into her lower abdomen. “I love it when my bullets find new homes.”
“Look at you,” she says with disgust, shaking her head as her eyes give me a once-over. “You're a fucking mess. Mad because you can't get what you want, huh? Sad that your mommy doesn't care about you. Poor Shane.” She frowns. “Mad that your friends are more into each other than you. Pissed because your stepsister is showing you every day, right under your nose, that if you actually applied yourself in life, you could get out of the trenches you love to subject yourself to. Upset because someone like Wesley Hopkins has everything you want in life? A woman who takes care of his needs? Becomes his own personal freak, open whenever he needs a little stress release? Living the dream of a promising future? A lifetime of wealth and babies—”
Before she can continue, my palm is at her throat, shoving her tight little body back against the fridge.
She gasps, her breasts bouncing beneath the flimsy pristine blouse. The desire to rip it from her chest and slap the plump flesh until it’s red overwhelms me. Fuck her.
“You're really pushing me, you know that?”
“Fuck you, you choleric cocksucker,” she spits out. “I am done with you trying to destroy me and everything I’ve built while you live in a delusional world where I’ve somehow wronged you.”
I stare through her, almost in disbelief that she could be so stupid and naive.
“None of this is misplaced,” I say, the words shooting like fire from my tongue. “The hatred I have for you is entirely singular. I'm quite literally staring at the root cause of all my problems.”
She zeroes in on me, her focus direct and deadly. Swallowing beneath my palm, I pinch my fingertips harder into the skin of her neck.
“Yeah? And what stemmed this singular hatred? Which aspect of my life affects you so much that you desperately seek to destroy me?” Her raspy tone excites me.
“You stripped me of any hope I had left for humanity, and you’ve haunted me ever since,” I reply methodically. “You’re my living nightmare.”
“Wow,” she deadpans. “I had no clue the power I'd obtained.”
I punch the fridge beside her head, rattling the contents within. She flinches but immediately masks her expression.
“Even a fish can seem powerful to an insect. Don't think of yourself too highly, rat.”
Her lip twitches, her eyes softening as they search back and forth for understanding in mine, but the pulse in my palm beats fast and steady, and the fear I need from her is present. She doesn’t respond to my statement, and it infuriates me further.
“Open your mouth,” I demand, squeezing her neck tighter and tighter.
“What? No,” she chokes out.
“Do it, Montana.” I lash out, nostrils flaring, my hand squeezing harder. “Don't push me.”
She shakes her head, confused by the odd request.
Using my other hand, my touch becomes brutal as I grip the hollow space of her cheeks, forcefully prying her mouth open by cutting her teeth into her skin. A whimper leaves her throat as she claws at my arms, trying to break from my hold.
I lean over her and spit into her mouth, coating her tongue with my saliva, watching it pool together with hers. Blood rushes to my groin, and I feel the familiar ache of my cock swelling in her presence—this unresolved need to hurt and fuck her at the same time. It never fails, the warmth of her flesh beneath me, the hidden terror held in her demonic eyes, this proximity to my little nightmare.
She flinches, then attempts to get out of my grasp by thrashing her head, but I hold her throat tighter, leaning in closer so our eyes are level. Her hand rises from her side to slap me, but I let go of her cheeks and grip her wrist, holding it in place. Her other hand grips my groin, finding my erection, eyes widening at the discovery. She fists me tightly, sending nails piercing into my flesh through the tough fabric in an attempt to hurt me, but it only strengthens the madness within me.
I lean forward, pushing my body firmly against hers into the fridge until her hands are trapped between us, cupping my cock. I cover her mouth with my palm while my other hand remains around her neck.
“Swallow,” I seethe, our noses now touching as I drop my forehead to hers, rendering her utterly useless against the fight of my body sealed against hers. “Swallow me whole. You’ve done it before, now do it again so I can watch.”
Her little nostrils flare beneath my palm, fiery passion burning in her eyes, not wanting to do as I command. I know she craves to spit me out, just as she did years ago, but I’m not allowing the loss of me as she stands here, trapped beneath my body.
“Swallow,” I instruct slowly, lowering my tone.
She reluctantly does, her eyes pooling with tears of rage as her throat finally rolls.
It maddens her to listen to me, to give in against me, but in the same breath, she submits. Montana is the type to need someone to push her to submit because she’s never been allowed the space to do it before. I know her history, her past, and her traumas because I supported them financially for years. She drained my family's bank account because of it—the catalyst to the downward spiral.
Her chest billows beneath me, and she takes in a deep, calming breath, finally relaxing in my hold.
“Listening can be fun, gutter rat. Maybe you should do it more often.”
I slide my palm from her lips, caressing those pink beauties with my fingertips as I do. I want nothing more than for them to be beneath me again, sucking and slurping all over my cock, those temptress eyes telling me she’s mine without words. But I’ll get that again. I am owed that much.
“I’m not your dog, Shane,” she says, her voice hoarse.
“Nah, I already got one of those,” I reply, flexing my hips into her hand again, rubbing the ridge of my dick against her pinned fingers. Fuck, it feels better than it should.
Her nose wrinkles, wanting to remove it, but she can’t because it’s mine now. My lips graze hers, and a throaty groan rumbles out of me at her forced touch.
“But I wouldn’t mind leashing this neck…” I continue, circling my fingers back around the soft skin of her throat. “Getting you on all fours, shoving a tail plug up your ass and taking you for a walk, parading my little pet whore around the neighborhood.”
“You’ll never have me again, Shane,” she growls. “Mark my fucking words—I’ll carve a hole into the center of your dick before you ever—”
I interrupt whatever stupid sentence was about to come out of her by sticking my tongue into her mouth and caressing hers with one long and deliberate stroke.
Her body softens, stunned, her tongue loose in her mouth as I finally get the taste of her I always needed. Soft, wet, and deliriously sweet. She melts into me, only for a moment, but the slight hum that leaves her throat can’t be heard, only felt through the vibration against my palm.
I want to hear it again, so I dust my lips against hers before dipping my tongue out and licking along the curve of her bottom lip. Her mouth remains slightly parted, opening slightly until my tongue caresses hers again. This time, her head tips back, and her jaw opens for me, her tongue slipping deliberately across mine.
I pull back, shaking my head once as the fog in my skull returns. It’s that hold she’s got over me—her venom, its lethal toxins threaten to disarm me every time. One glance into my eyes, and she sees it, too.
She knows she can rule me.
“Shane, let me go,” she growls. “I’m warning you. If Wesley finds out—”
“Fuck Wes.” I slam her neck back into the fridge, and the back of her head bounces against it. “Do not say that goddamn name in this house or around me ever again. Next time, I’ll send one through his skull instead of his siding.”
“I knew it.” She shakes her head at me. “I knew it was you. How did you know I was there? How could you possibly know what we were about to—”
She stops herself, searching my face for an answer to the question she doesn’t want to ask.
“What you were about to do?” I answer for her, rubbing my nose along her jaw before my eyes find hers again. “Ah, fucking Wesley Hopkins in his mother’s powder room while his parents remain at the dinner table downstairs? How promiscuous of you.”
“How could you possibly—”
“He’ll never in his lifetime be able to fuck you the way you crave. He couldn’t dream of sending those pretty little whiskey eyes to the back of your head like I’ve seen. He can’t make you scream for mercy, tear apart blankets between your teeth, claw flesh open beneath your nails, or beg like a whore in heat for some sort of saving the way you do when your stepbrother is inside of you.”
She looks perplexed, a bit hazy at my declaration.
“Admit it, he’s just a stand-in,” I say before licking up the side of her face, sampling her delectable taste. “You don’t love him. He definitely doesn’t love you. He’s a sub used to advance the game. Nothing more.”
Her chest heaves as she tries to push me off again.
“What game?”
“This attempt at a new life. This falsified version of yourself you’ve created. You weren’t meant for orchestras, degrees, and yacht clubs, even if your undeniable talent supersedes others born into it.”
“That’s rich, coming from a guy who wanks off in front of his computer all day. How dare you try to tell me what I’m meant for,” she says, her cheeks flushed a delightful shade of red. “Besides, Wes knows what you did with the video. I told him everything.”
I smile endearingly. It's almost cute.
“If he knew everything, you wouldn’t be using him as a threat against me. Wesley Hopkins will drop your trash-ass like a bad habit the first chance he gets.”
Her lips tighten, and her jaw is tense as ever.
“They're coming for you, Shane. They’re going to destroy you.”
“You say that as if they’re on your side, Monty,” I tease, leaning forward to lick the sweetheart V of her soft, pink lips. She tries to back away, pretending to be disgusted. “But you and I both know the truth of the world around us. Montana Rowe is nothing more than a warped puzzle piece, cramming herself into a place she never belonged.”