24. Montana
24
Montana
I never succumb to danger like I do when I’m near Shane Delacroix.
Pinned by his body, my heart pounds wildly, erratic beats that feel as if it’s trying to break free of the cage holding it inside my chest. I've never felt anything like this; the cool, clammy sweat that dampens my body or the tickle of the hairs on my arms standing on end when he so much as opens his mouth and that deep, demonic timbre penetrates my ears.
He angers me, makes me feel weak, then has my body unraveling, thirsting for what I know will be a cataclysmic release. It’s a spiral of sensations I always told myself I could control.
Not even the men who hurt me in my past could jumpstart my nerves the way Shane so effortlessly does. I knew what to expect with them; the forcefulness of that junkie, his needs outweighing the morality of fucking a child, or men who could be my grandfather paying extra to have me perform their dirty pleasures online, handfuls expressing some of the most audacious acts they wished to perform on me. But even with my tainted past, Shane somehow still shocks me to my core, setting my mind ablaze in his presence while reaching places I’d thought my barriers denied.
An irrepressible fire burns beneath my skin, fueled by rage and endless lust. Logical thinking is thrown out the window as forces out of my control continuously tempt me to tear out that fire, bleeding it all over him.
My heart thumps so loudly, my breath hitches, and suddenly, my witty tongue is lax and unable to articulate the proper ways to verbally assault him. If I can’t overpower him with my muscles, I’ll gladly rip him to shreds with my words, but even that is a newfound inability.
He just spit in my mouth and forced me to swallow it—swallow him. He watched with a predatory look, thriving in my consumption of him. The degrading act was meant to humiliate me, not entice this ache in the pit of my belly for more.
It’s exasperating, knowing your body is fixating on the most lethal person standing before you, even as your mind screams endless nos. But, as two opposing magnets do, we repel against one another, yet it’s becoming increasingly clear that neither of us could exist without being on the same decrepit planet.
Shane’s fingers still linger at my collarbone, reaching to softly circle my throat again. I feel the searing pain of my tender flesh, hinting at the bruises surely forming from his indented fingerprints. For a moment, I think that he might actually do it. Maybe he’ll kill me like he almost did that teacher. Like he’s rumored to have murdered Gabriella. Not necessarily because he wants to, but because the sickness that inevitably drives him won’t allow him to stop.
But this maddening ferality in his stare is more than just pure hatred. The way his chocolate eyes appear darker in my presence, the irises diminishing to nothing as his pupils dilate—there’s a look of torture there. One of pure and endless suffering. A look of agony and betrayal, laying thickly over the true emotions set beneath.
A picture of loss.
The ground beneath me shifts, my world crumbling around me as he holds me hostage to his truth.
“W-who were you?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He glares at me in disbelief, his shoulders tensing and an angry vein pulsing near his temple. He'll only know how to answer my question if he understands the truth of who I once was. Who I am.
“Who were you?” I ask again through his firm grasp, begging for the answer from his lips. “What was your name?”
Thoughts run rampant as I remember the words of our first encounter in this house: You're gonna make me a lot of money, sis.
“It doesn't matter who he was,” Shane begins softly, running his forehead across mine, sending an electric shiver down my spine. He pauses, frozen entirely, as if my presence sends the same chemical exchange to his tortured mind. His eyes stare into mine, reaching further into the part I’ve sworn off, needing to solidify his message. “He’s dead now.”
The casual way he speaks sends that same fight-or-flight shock throughout my veins. He has the calmness of still water yet the chaos of a madman beneath. The presence of a lurking predator, one silent in his pursuit yet ready to strike when the opportunity deems fit.
His lip lifts and pulls into a haunting side grin. Rolling off me, our foreheads separate as he backs away, heading down the shared hallway to our rooms. He whistles once, and Rocco scrambles to his feet from the living room, his nails clip-clopping down the hall to follow at Shane's heels.
I blink profusely, stabilizing myself against the fridge and releasing a long, steady breath.
If Shane seeks to continue to destroy the mirage I've created for myself rather than help me the way I know he can, he's gonna go down trying.
A nother morning, another wet dream.
It’s becoming routine, the sensation of waking up with panties soaked by my own arousal, and there can only be one explanation for my body’s overexertion—Shane.
I’d hate to admit that any man has my panties in a twist, but I’d be a fool to deny what he does to me. My mind is mush while the rest of my being is electrically charged and awakened, basking in his toxic presence. Never in my life has anyone fucked me the way Shane fucks me. Ruthless. Completely unhinged. With the only purpose of each interaction to effectively obliterate my soul.
But as I often do, I pack the feelings away, ignoring them entirely to focus on the next task ahead of me.
It’s my first official practice with the Montgomery Fine Orchestra, and these aching fingers are ready to ignite a fire at the Institute. After showering, texting Markie about my plans for the day, and changing into a suitable outfit, I head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.
But as I’m rounding the corner to the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks by the image of a woman bent over, her thong-covered ass sticking out of the open fridge.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lana says, zero remorse in her tone. “Did you need something?”
I roll my eyes at her annoying nature. It appears she must’ve spent the night, being that she’s dressed in nothing but a blue thong and the same oversized band t-shirt Shane was wearing when we first met.
Half-eaten pizza slices cover random plates on the table, along with beer cans and a cigarette tray filled with ashes. They must’ve all come back and partied into the early morning hours. It’s a good thing my body was so exhausted from practice and studying, because once I heard the roar of the boys’ motorcycles depart late yesterday afternoon, I never heard them return.
I bet she called Shane up after seeing him out, lonely as ever, needing some attention. I bet he demanded she come over to get his dick wet. Bet they fucked all night in the room next to me. Anger coils in my abdomen at the thought.
Ignoring it and her, I push through the kitchen, forgetting the bottled water, and work to block out her existence entirely as I drape my cello case across my chest, stabilizing it on my back, and grab for my handbag. As I’m about to push through the side door, her body blocks me.
Her lack of a bra is evident as her full tits bounce before me. I glare at them with disgust, trailing my eyes up to her pointy little nose.
“I feel like you should get used to seeing me around here,” she states, tucking her freshly fucked hair with that cerulean blue streak behind her ear.
“I feel like you should get the fuck out of my face.”
She quirks a brow, smiling at me as if this is a game. In reality, I’m in zero competition with Lana, but she hasn’t the slightest clue.
“They weren’t lying when they said you were a cold, lifeless bitch.” She leans back against the counter near the door, still blocking me.
“Who’s they, Lana? Your sad, sagging tits?”
Her eyes narrow.
“I’m sorry you feel the need to put this much effort into making yourself known,” I continue, stepping forward in hopes that the idiot moves.
She crosses her arms over her chest, back straightening to give me her full height. She’s a good foot taller than me and lengthy in the legs, but her threatening stance does nothing to deter me.
“Do you honestly think you're their type?” She cocks her head to the side, giving me a smile laced with pity. “I mean, you can’t seriously think that some stuck-up band geek could have these guys turning their heads at you? Right?”
The audacity of this broad.
“And how disgusting would it be to think that you, this pristine little stick-up-her-ass princess, would have a crush on her new fucked-up, ex-convict stepbrother.” She laughs, and my blood temperature spikes. “It’s actually really sad.” Her eyes trail my body from head to toe. “Croix, or any of them, would bore of you so quickly.”
I grab the pizza cutter from the counter and hold it up to her abdomen. She gasps, leaning back against the counter again, her eyes rounding at the dried-sauce-covered utensil.
“What are you—”
A smile slowly stretches across my face at the panic lodged in her throat, and I blink once before gazing back at her saucer-sized eyes.
“I think you’re underestimating me and my abilities, sweetheart.”
“Maybe you should’ve played the clarinet, thin lips. Learn how to properly blow,” Lana retorts.
Her diss actually amuses me. So much that I chuckle manically at her. Her eyes line with worry, clearly becoming aware of the person she thought she could push around.
“How many Plan Bs has he given you?” I ask, raising my brows and pushing the round blade against her belly.
Her chin quivers slightly at the invasive question, and her knotty knuckles turn white, gripping the counter behind her.
“Because I feel like you shouldn't get used to being around here. You are nothing but a vessel being used when a better one isn’t available. That’s all you are, Lana. A cum dumpster for a man who ensures a future with you isn’t forever with the quick swallow of a pill. Doesn’t that hurt your ego? Knowing you’ll forever be a runner-up to something better?”
I drive the blade into her shirt, pressing hard enough to indent her flesh but not break the skin.
“Croix isn’t for everyone. Once he realizes that, he’ll come back to whom he belongs.”
“Croix is a man of loyalty, Lana, and you can’t seem to keep those legs closed.”
She flinches at my words, then tries to brush them off as if they don't affect her.
“If his future consists of belonging to a loose-lipped cunt, then I should do you both a favor and bleed you dry right here.”
“You’ve been in this house for what? A few weeks?” She scoffs. “You think you know him better than me?”
She has a point. She knows a different side of him. A side that I practically gifted to a desperate woman like Lana. The thought stirs in my mind, fueling me with more fire.
Taking the pizza cutter, I turn it vertically and slowly roll the blade along her shirt, still pressing into her flesh until I reach the rotten place between her thighs. She tries to back away from me, but the small of her back is already against the counter, trapping her. I push forward, my body invasive, my face inches from hers.
“I should tear your clit open with this,” I breathe, making her swallow nervously. “Slide it all the way down and watch as your flesh peels apart.”
Her hands grip the counter harder, leaning as far away from the blade as she can. I push closer, our faces dusting together.
“Tell me, Lana, if I slipped this through your folds, would Shane’s cum leak out onto it?” I run my nose along her cheek, guiding the cutter between her shaking thighs.
The idea of his nut still inside her after a night of fucking infuriates me. She doesn’t deserve it, and he’s stupid to waste it. If that’s even the case. Truthfully, I don’t think he can stand her.
“Who the fuck are you!” she gasps. “Who the fuck…”
“Just some pristine little stick-up-her-ass princess who has a crush on her new fucked-up stepbrother.” I smile, tipping my head. “Right?”
Dropping the pizza cutter, I watch her face as it lands on her foot. She cries out, bending down to grasp the now bleeding wound, but before I can see or hear anything else, the squeaky screen door closes behind me, and I'm gone.