33. Montana
33
Montana
I sneak into my room as quickly as I can. Naked and leaving a bathroom with Shane wasn’t the best look, especially with everyone’s eyes on us. Lucky for me, it seems Lana was the only one paying close enough attention to notice. I can only hope he has her on a tight enough leash to keep her mouth shut.
I change into some comfortable sweatpants and an oversized stretched tee, attempting to warm myself as I grab my phone and hop into bed.
It’d been a minute since I’d texted Markie, and I was truly beginning to miss her. Knowing that she’s busy with her thesis and the fact that I’m on my own mission at the moment, I feel like I’ve been slacking in the friendship department lately. Truthfully, I just miss talking with the only person who’s ever really gotten me. I never have to pretend with her. Life is never about putting on a facade with Markie. Have I withheld some of my past? Sure, but who doesn’t? I have a once-in-a-lifetime friend who’s seen me through a lot, but I’ve been neglecting her.
Money Shot: I have so much to tell you… I need my friend right now.
I watch my phone, waiting for her to respond as laughter fills the living room from the ongoing party.
Message received. I wait, but no little blue dots appear.
Money Shot: I slipped up again. Stepbro related.
I wait, hoping that entices her to message me back, being the whore for details that she is. But nothing happens.
Sighing, I lay back on my bed, only for the piercing sound of my phone ringing to startle me upright. Wes’s name fills my screen.
“Hey, Wes,” I answer, swallowing down my worries.
“Montana, what happened? Where are you?” His voice is rushed, and I hear what sounds like a car door slamming in the background.
“I’m fine, I’m at home, what do you mean—”
“I heard,” he interrupts. “I heard what happened.”
My stomach drops to the floor. Dread swarms me.
“Oh,” I whisper, holding my breath.
“The party. Jameson’s friend was there. He told me what Shane did in front of everyone with your cello,” he growls.
No clue who that is, but it’s funny how these guys gossip worse than girls. I hope and pray Jameson isn’t one of the randoms hanging out in the living room right now. If Wes found out Shane and I were alone together in the bathroom…
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “It’s ruined.”
“God, I hate that sound in your voice,” he says sorrowfully. “I'll fucking kill him.”
Or have someone do it for you. I can’t help the bleeding thoughts.
“I’m grabbing my stuff, and I'll be over soon. I’m about to give that dumb fuck a piece of my mind.”
Shit.
The last thing I want right now is a confrontation between these two, especially knowing I’m the root cause of Shane’s pain. Wesley would never understand it. Shit, I’m still trying to process it.
“What? No, really, you don’t have to, Wes. I’m just going to lie down for the night. Everyone’s leaving, and I’m exhausted and don't want any more problems. I just want to go to sleep.”
I hear a rustling sound permeating the kitchen, murmured voices rising, more laughter, and glass breaking.
“You sure? I mean, I can also swing by in the morning before practice if you'd rather. Just to see you.”
My brows drop at the same time my chest sinks. Yes, I told him not to come, but Jesus, way to get out of that one quickly. It's as if he was hoping I'd shoot him down. Didn’t even fight it. Not to mention, he’s already in his car. I heard him shut the door. If he’s not coming here, he’s definitely going somewhere.
Sharp laughter from down the hall causes my head to turn.
“Uh, yeah, tomorrow is fine…just text me before you come,” I mutter.
“Sounds good,” he says. “And keep your chin up, babe. We'll get this shit figured out. Maybe I'll talk to my dad—”
“No,” I interrupt immediately. “I don't want any handouts. I got this.”
“So stubborn,” he says with what sounds like a smile. “But it’s that fierceness that got you in the door.”
As if I didn’t know that. But it feels gross coming from a person who’s been handed everything in life. Wesley once told me that his mother got him a real-life horse for his fifth birthday, and they returned it because he wasn’t into the color brown that year. This is the guy preaching perseverance.
“After practice, do you want to catch a movie or something? I know I’ve been busy, but you’re my priority tomorrow. The night is yours. I’m all yours, babe.”
“Um, well, I actually need to go somewhere, so tomorrow won’t work.”
“Yeah? Where are we going?” he answers, inviting himself, and I can practically hear his smile beaming through the line.
I can’t tell him I’m considering going to visit my cracked-out mother in Fikus Penitentiary. His entire family would revoke my presence entirely if they knew about my past, so I do what I do best, and I lie.
“I have to help a friend move back home. S-she’s, she just broke up with her boyfriend and needs help moving her stuff out before he comes back from leave.”
“Yeah? You need some muscles for this move?”
“She doesn’t have that much stuff, honestly. I think she just wants my company. Girl talks, ya know?”
“Okay, okay. You’re not spending the night, are you?”
“No, I’ll be back by tomorrow night.”
“Good, because Derin is hosting The Cage at the frat, and I’d look like a fool if my girl wasn’t there with me.”
I roll my eyes. The Cage. An annual masked party where men and women dress up as various animals and gyrate on each other to techno beats. Epic.
Couldn’t have you looking like a fool. Especially not after the video leak.
“Of course, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
We say our goodbyes, and I check to see if there are any new messages from Markie.
None.
My heart sinks even further.
Before I can wallow too much, more shattering glass down the hall steals my attention, followed by the scuffling of feet and what sounds like a chair toppling.
I race out of my room and down the hallway, noting that Shane’s door is open and his room is now empty as I pass it. A few more steps, and I come face to face with the scene that’s unraveling before me.
Some guy has Wheeter pinned to the wall by his throat. Josiah stands nearby, swinging a baseball bat in a slow, steady circle, and Shane is casually leaning back against the opposing wall, staring at them as if he doesn't have a care in the world.
Wheeter’s eyes are wide, his hands up in self-defense, and the slightest smirk is on his lips.
“Sorry, man, but she wanted it, like bad, and I’m not one to withhold pleasure from the ladies.”
The man squeezes harder, shoving Wheeter’s head back against the wall.
“I’d let go of his neck before I’m forced to break yours,” Josiah comments, twirling the bat.
He has a wild look of protectiveness to him, and a tone that drops so low I feel the ice in his statement. A side of Josiah I’ve yet to see.
“Yeah, I’d let go…he used to play little league,” Wheeter chokes out.
“Shut up, pinkie!” the man yells.
Josiah’s grip on the bat tightens, his lip curling.
“Aw fuck, Carson, chill out. Tawni fucks everyone. Quit acting like she’s some sort of angel,” Shane comments, making the remaining stragglers in the living room laugh. This makes the bulky guy even more enraged.
“Tawni, go get in the car!” he screams.
The girl who was making out with Wheeter earlier looks petrified, with her slim dress riding up her thighs, her hair all disheveled, and mascara running down her tear-stained face.
“Shit, look around this room. I bet you can't spot a dick she hasn't sat on,” Shane continues.
Carson reaches behind his back, gripping a handgun that was tucked into his pants and placing it against Wheeter’s temple.
The laughter stalls, a collective hush settling over the remaining party-goers as everyone stills in place.
My nerves are on edge, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them while Shane leans casually back against the wall next to Wheeter. Looking calm as ever, he rests his head back, chin raised, as he assesses the scene.
“In fact,” Shane continues, “She let Sigh stick it in her ass just last week.”
“Croix,” Lana warns from the living room.
My eyes narrow at her. She still thinks she has some sort of control over him.
Shane reaches into his pocket and grabs his lighter. He pulls a cigarette from above his ear, pops it between his lips and lights it, taking a few puffs.
It's funny. You’d assume the guy with the gun would be the one everyone is afraid of, and yet, it’s as if everyone can feel the danger looming around Carson. Everyone but Carson. The entire party is now watching Croix, waiting on pins and needles to see what he does. The tension is nearly unbearable.
Carson releases Wheeter’s neck, and he falls forward into Josiah. Quickly turning the gun on Shane, he presses the barrel firmly against the middle of his forehead.
My lungs tighten, and panic zips up my spine. This guy has a death wish.
Shane looks as relaxed as ever as he blows smoke into Carson's face—a face that’s flushed a deep shade of plum, nostrils flaring as rage threatens to boil over. Twisting the barrel against Shane's head, he grips the weapon tightly, his hands shaking.
“So violent.” He frowns. “You sure about this? Didn’t they teach you to use your words, big boy?”
“I choose action,” he replies.
Shane shrugs, blowing out another puff of smoke through his lips. Holding the cigarette between his teeth at the corner of his mouth, he smiles. He fucking smiles. Reaching down, he grips the edge of his t-shirt and pulls it up his toned abdomen, showcasing the Glock he’s got dipped into the waistband of the jeans he threw on. His smile drops.
“We gonna play here or outside, Sweetcheeks?”
The terror in my chest has me gasping at the discovery, causing Shane's eyes to slip over to me with a scowl. It's quick. But not quick enough.
It piques Carson’s interest, and he follows Shane’s gaze. An eerie smirk slides across his slimy face.
“Ah, that one, huh?” He nudges his head in my direction.
Shane's face remains neutral.
“Get back in your room,” Shane demands, his tone calm yet terrifyingly direct, not even looking my way.
“Guess if you all get a ride on the town bicycle, then I get to fuck the new toy.” He shrugs, taking a step toward me while the gun still remains pointed at Shane’s head. “Only fair, right? The new step-sis, I’m assuming?” He turns toward me. “I’ll follow you to your room, sweetheart. Just lead the way.”
Shane takes another long, slow drag of his cigarette before blowing it out of the side of his mouth. “Do it.”
Panic seizes my heart at the suggestion.
“Follow her,” Shane says, nodding in my direction.
Is he seriously considering offering me up to solve this little dispute? My pulse pounds in my head as Carson’s smile grows more menacing.
“Yeah?” he says, almost bewildered. Clearly, he didn’t think Shane was so willing to let men run through his new stepsister.
“Yeah,” he replies, unblinking. “Seems fair enough. We’ve all fucked Tawni, might as well get your dick wet. She owes me, anyway.”
His tone of voice is so void of emotion that my body literally quivers as Carson turns toward me, eyeing the body he's about to take.
“We good then?” Shane asks.
Carson seems to deliberate for a moment before peering back at my face and lips again. I can hardly breathe as I look at the guys for help. But Josiah and Wheeter don’t look offended or bothered by the transaction in the least. In fact, they seem eager to be out of harm's way and happy I’m in it.
“Lift your shirt,” Carson demands, nudging the gun toward me. “Let me see what you got under there first.”
I scowl, shaking my head at him, but Shane interrupts.
“Do it, rat.” The command is so direct and emotionless.
Disbelief wracks through me as I pull up the oversized shirt, showcasing my stomach and the edge of my bra while feeling so dirty for it.
“Yeah,” he finally responds, lowering his weapon. He licks his lips. “Fine piece of ass.”
“Consider the situation resolved,” Shane comments to the other guests, taking a bow. They start clapping like animals, laughing at my dismay.
Carson smiles as he stalks me down the hallway, pausing when we reach the end to look between the two doors.
“Just one more step,” Shane says, pointing toward the room. “You’re almost there.”
Carson points at my door. “This one?” he directs the question at me.
I shake my head, my hands up, backing away, but it doesn’t deter him. He grips my upper arm, pulling me toward the bedroom.
“Let’s go. The deal’s been made.”
“No! Stop!” I scream out, trying to pull myself away from him, but he’s too strong. “Let go of me!”
He wraps his big, burly arms around my frame, his hands eagerly cupping whatever flesh he can reach. Wheeter looks so torn, wanting to help me but frozen in fear. Josiah glares at me as if I somehow caused this, and Shane’s face is now filled with nothing but pure joy and satisfaction.
“Ah, Carson?” Shane says.
Carson’s smile drops as he turns back toward him.
“Might want this.” He tosses a condom at him, but it falls short between them. “I know she’s new, but she’s been around.”
“Good thinking,” Carson replies, finally releasing my arm and bending to grab the condom.
Shane's staring at me now, eyes dancing across my body, landing at the top of my head.
Before I can assess the peculiar look he’s giving me, he grips the handle of the Glock from his jeans, pulling the gun free and shooting twice in my direction. I scream, my arms circling over my head as I hit the floor.
Two shots. One in the shoulder, one in the foot. Blood spurts from Carson’s wounds as he lays feet before me on the ground, crimson splatter lining the hallway as my scream encases the echoes of gunfire. Shrills of terror pierce through the kitchen, and everyone drops to the floor when Carson fires back. His aim is off, and Shane dodges it easily, tipping his head without even moving his body. Like it’s a paintball and not an actual bullet flying in his direction. The bullet hits the wall, landing just about Shane’s head.
There’s a glint in his eyes as he watches Carson writhing in pain on the floor, attempting to stop the bleeding from his shoulder with his hands. Shane’s enjoying his torture. He was hoping for it. He flexes his jaw before he glances at me, and I see it now.
I see it so clearly; this depraved soul I’ve carved and molded from the abandonment of my love.
He’s ruthless, wild, and living without the fear of death. A vicious creature capable of anything, just as he was designed.
Shane says nothing, simply waves his hand, and the guys rush Carson, Josiah taking his gun and Wheeter gripping his arm behind his back. Their other friend helps to pick him up as they drag him through the kitchen, blood smearing across the floor and out of the side door. He curses, screaming out in pain as he rounds the house.
Approaching where I'm still sealed against the hallway wall, Shane slows before me, looking down into my horror-filled eyes.
I did this. I created this person. Ruthless and thirsty for violence and pain; whichever he can get his hands on first.
He reaches his hand out for mine. My shaky fingers rise to meet his. He helps me stand, my back still against the wall for support as he leans forward, his mouth at my ear.
“I wanted him to touch you, just like the men before him. I hunger for hands on you and your body. I long for it, so I can fucking obliterate them for touching what’s so clearly mine,” he whispers. He straightens so we’re face to face. The backs of his fingers gently caress my cheekbone. “Will you forgive me?”
My lip quivers, but I nod.
“This color looks good on you,” he says, stone-cold emotion exuding from him that practically turns my blood to ice.
I’m nearly in shock. I need to be in a closed space, away from wandering and prying eyes. Too much has happened tonight, and the inability to breathe is upon me. I push past Shane and scurry toward the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind me.
I’m all but panting as I fall back against the wall, grabbing my chest with one hand and feeling my face with the other. Warm and sticky, I look at my fingers, seeing red. My hands find the sink counter, and my eyes find my reflection. I peer at myself in the mirror.
My face is ghost-white. White, with the exception of the blood smeared across my cheek from none other than my vile creation.