35. Shane
35
Shane
K nocking on the door, I let out an exasperated sigh.
“Let’s fucking go!”
I push through Wheeter’s sticky bedroom door with my shoulder, only to find him and Josiah locking tongues with their pants down, dicks in each other's fists.
“Jesus,” I drop my head back.
Wheeter breaks the kiss, turning to face me as Josiah attacks his neck.
“Quick is my favorite.” He smirks before his mouth drops open and a groan rumbles from him. “Fuck, Sigh.”
They’re clearly hungry for each other as they push up against the wall, mouths crashing together again. If they gotta get it out of their systems before the party tonight, so be it. But I’d be stupid not to say that the look in Wheeter’s eyes is scaring me more and more. He looks like a man falling.
Josiah swore he had it on lock, that it’s simply sexual. But anyone could tell that what’s going on between these two is more than just the use of a free hand, or body, for that matter. This is intimacy, and Josiah is fucking with Wheeter’s head. If I wasn’t ready to knock his ass out before, I’m definitely ready to now.
Their conjoined moans continue as they maul each other's mouths, and I shut the door, fishing for my lighter in my pocket. Tonight is all about unleashing chaos. After Montana’s unplanned visit to go see her mom at Fikus Penitentiary, I can only imagine how traumatized she is.
I know exactly how it went down: Pleas for more money, a desperate attempt to use her yet again.
Montana’s mother is a virus that she lets stay within her system, infecting the good and catering to the bad. Allowing the assumption of what love is to sink her into sickness. Luckily, she has me here to eradicate her of this plague.
Slumping down on the couch, I grab a random pen on the coffee table, absentmindedly tapping it on my knee as I kick my legs apart, resting my head back.
I'm restless and unsteady, and I get the itch to pop some Percocets to take the edge off. My scars shine in the kitchen lights streaming into the living room, illuminating the worst of them. I take the pen and drive it into the long raised scar on my forearm, trailing a deep black line over the top of it, working my best to black him out.
Josiah discovered my father’s potential whereabouts today through some extensive online searches. Dumb fucker is living in some nice house in Rio, about a half-day drive away, with his woman and some kid. Anything to replace me. What a great life he chose.
There’s so much I could be doing right now instead of reminiscing on the past. I could be driving out there with a bottle of whiskey between my legs and a Glock in the passenger seat, ready to rewrite my traumas with a quick shot to the forehead. I could be busy developing graphics or code for a new level to defeat Micron I’d been working on or even uploading and exporting some of the new footage I have for CyprusX, but my mind is where it's been since Montana arrived, fixated solely on her.
Knowing Montana’s at Wesley's place, getting ready for this frat party, dressing up in something sexy—fuck, even simply changing in front of him—has me snapping the pen in my hand, the plastic shattering in my palm. I wipe the excess ink off on my pant leg, not giving a fuck if there are more holes or stains in them.
Nails click along the kitchen floor as Rocco makes his way over to me in the living room. He sniffs my pants, then my hand, before sitting next to my leg and resting his head on my knee.
He looks up at me with his big brown eyes and lets out one long, quiet whine. I pat his head, scuffing behind his ear.
Even he’s been acting differently since her arrival, sneaking into her room at night, sleeping in her bed, and getting up to wait at the door for her when he hears she's home.
Rocco looks to the door near the kitchen and whines again before rubbing his head against my thigh.
“I know, boy. I’m gonna bring her back.”
T he place is a shit show when we finally arrive. Bodies are everywhere, jam-packed into a tiny frat house, but it’s a party we wouldn’t miss for the world despite not being invited. Fuck these self-righteous, pompous dicks with their pretentious air of importance. In four years, half these idiots will be bitching about increased taxes and complaining that their wife doesn’t give head like she used to, hopefully wanting to off themselves with a bullet to the brain after finally realizing they were sheep, bound by societal standards they just can’t seem to uphold.
Hidden faces reside behind various creature masks, some wearing full-out costumes instead of simple disguises. It’s a CAGE party, so I get why Wheeter wanted to be a fucking flamingo. The dude literally found a way to utilize his hair color of choice to perfection. This party is entirely his element, being that he’s into dressing like animals in real life, too. I’m almost nervous that we’ll never get him out of here.
Josiah threw on an old werewolf mask he wore a few years back for Halloween, and I’m wearing nothing but my street clothes with my bike mask in my pocket, because fuck these parties. I follow them into the backyard of the house and stop near a keg, noting that no one seems to mind my lack of costume. In fact, no one seems to notice who anyone here is, which works in our favor, considering half of these fuckers would try to throw us out like the previous few times for setting fire to shit, breaking collegiate heirlooms, and stealing all their pussy.
We round the outdoor pool, strung-up lights highlighting sections of the backyard where topless women donning nothing but various animal masks partake in a game of chicken on top of their male counterparts. A boisterous crowd surrounds the circus, cheering on their choice of zebra or giraffe as the girls go at it, pushing recklessly until the other falls. The screams grow as the techno beats pulse through the speakers.
“It’s like Animal House on crack,” Wheeter comments.
“Wheet!” some girl hollers behind us.
He turns and hugs a panda while Sigh and I continue walking to the far corner of the yard, finding more of our people near a pool house out back.
I haven’t seen Montana yet, but I know she’s here. She wouldn’t miss this fraternizing opportunity for the world. The possibilities of climbing the ladder of success are endless at a party where keeping your legs open is expected.
Rocks hands me a beer with one of his paws. He’s wearing what looks like an authentic black bear head, probably shot by his uncle, who hunts big game. Everyone here looks like idiots.
“Didn’t think you were into the dress-up parties, Croix,” he laughs. “Where’s the costume?” He grips the shoulder of my oversized tee, shaking it and rustling my chain.
“I’m not, and you look fucking stupid.” I shrug away from him.
A crowd chants near a tiger doing a keg stand closer to the house, and I notice a group of women huddled together, some curvy, some thin, but all moderately attractive, wearing swimsuits with rabbit ears and looking in my direction.
“They can’t take their eyes off you,” Rocks notes, sidling up next to me to peer in their direction. He raises his beer toward them, and they giggle. “They want to come over and talk, but they’re afraid of you after hearing about what you did to Carson.”
“Good,” I reply. “Fuck ‘em.”
“Damn, Croix, I thought you were here for some fresh tail since Lana jumped ship.”
“Lana jumped ship?” I scoff, taking a sip of beer. “First I've heard.”
He laughs. “Ah, she's still creeping around, yeah? You lucky fuck. You get all the crazy hos.”
I brush off Rocks and his drunk commentary and look past the flock of girls. The only tail I’m looking for is a rat’s.
Searching the patio near the house, I continue my search for her, but with all the elaborate costumes, loud music, and flashing strobe lights, it’s hard to tell who any of these people are. Wheeter is still talking to some girl as Josiah sits alone in a lawn chair, watching. Falling back in his seat, he pulls out a flask, downing nearly half the contents as Rocks makes his way to the bunnies to solidify a hookup for the night.
Finishing my beer, I toss the bottle on the grass for the preppy bitches to clean up later, then grab my smokes from my pocket and pop one between my lips. I circle back to our group of castaways accumulating in the shadows of the frat party, then pull out my lighter. I flick it once, about to light the tip, when I get jacked in the jaw with a fist. My head snaps to the side, my lighter and cigarette both falling to the ground. One of my piercings tears into my lip and iron coats my tastebuds.
There’s a collective gasp that sweeps over the group around me as I lick my bottom lip and turn my head to face my assailant.
With fists clenched and her chest heaving, Montana stands feet from me, wearing the tiniest little black dress that barely covers the mounds of her breasts. Her hair is slicked back in a sleek, long ponytail with what looks like cat ears perched on top of her head. Her eye makeup is darker than what she usually wears, reminiscent of the vixen I fell in love with online, and her rage-fueled glare appears more seductive and alluring than ever. Fuck, she looks sexy.
“Weird way of saying hello,” I comment, rubbing my jaw, making the guys behind me cough back their laughter.
Her eyes flare at me. She wants to portray icy coldness, the same as the matter encapsulating her heart and running through her veins, but the fire within her burns bright in my presence. That heat I’ve been missing since her departure warms me now, giving me purpose again. Hatred fuels those who give the right parts to the wrong people.
“What are you supposed to be, sis?” I diminish her with my trailing gaze. “Stray pussy in need of a pound?”
Some of my guys and the listening group of girls laugh.
“I was hoping for the scaly-tail, garbage-hoarding gutter rat tonight. More on brand for you, don’t you think?”
“You’re fucking dead to me,” she spits before tossing her drink in my face.
I immediately taste the vodka punch as it slides down my face and neck. I lick it off my lips, blinking through the sting just in time to see her quickly turn on her heels.
Not so fast, pretty girl.
I grip her arm, stalling her. She turns and swings at me again, but Josiah grabs her around the waist and pulls her back. She claws at his arms, screaming obscenities as she tries to escape his hold and attack me again.
“Nah, let her go,” I tell him. “Let the little one fight.” I lift my chin, smirking in her direction.
I know how to taunt her, to dive beneath her flesh and poison her blood. I thoroughly enjoy driving her mad, and if there’s one thing she despises more than anything, it’s losing, especially to a man.
Josiah releases her, shaking his head at me. But his concerns don’t matter. All I care about, all I’ve ever cared about, is right here, seeking retaliation for the damage I’ve caused. I’m prepared for that. Thirsting for it.
These secrets between us continue to build, unbeknownst to everyone in our presence. Montana and I have an arsenal of unspoken truths between us, an artillery of mass destruction just waiting to implode.
A few more animals gather around as she closes in on me. I raise my hand to hold her off before she attacks, her fists tight and ready, jaw locked and claws out, waiting to tear me to pieces.
“You want to hit me? I’ll make it easy for you,” I comment, kneeling on the grass before her to level myself with her eyes. “Don't be scared, now. C’mon. Hit me—”
My head snaps to the side again, an audible crack ringing through my jaw.
Unexpected is my first thought.
It worked , is my second.
“Ah!” Her hoarse scream startles me as she wraps her fist into her other palm.
Blood spills from the inside of my mouth, trailing down my shirt. The girl has an arm on her. I spit into the grass, looking up just in time for her to swing again. I duck, she misses, and I take the opportunity to swoop under her legs, standing as I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder, her top half hanging down my back and her thighs secured by my arms.
“Put me down! Put me the fuck down, Shane!”
“That’s enough outta you, lil’ kitten.”
The crowd laughs. She kicks and screams, pounding her fists into my back while the group around us join in on her torment, their songs of laughter filling my ears.
“Set me down now!” she yells again, clawing at my back.
“Throw her in the pool!” Rocks yells, lifting his drink. A few other guys start chanting pool , and even the bunny-eared girls join in on the melodic tune.
I consider it, dumping her ass in the water and creating a real drowned rat, but a voice stalls me.
“Well, if it isn't Shane Delinquent-Croix.”
Spinning, I turn toward the vexatious voice—the one belonging to none other than Wesley Hopkins himself, dressed in a fuzzy brown zip-up with a gorilla mask on his head. He's standing next to a man with cuts on his face who looks oddly familiar to me, but I can’t place him.
“I was wondering if lover boy was gonna save you,” I mumble to Montana, still draped over my shoulder. “Thought we needed the bat signal and everything just to get his eyes off the free tit show at the pool.”
“Put her down,” he demands. His crew of men circle him, attempting to intimidate me with their numbers. I got two fists and a knife. I'm good for at least five of those fuckers.
“This is a family matter, Wesley,” I say, slapping her ass with my free hand. She squeals and bounces before growling with rage. “See yourself out.”
“Get your hands off her, you degenerate shit,” he says sternly, dropping his beer to the ground. “I won't repeat myself.”
“Good. Don’t waste your breath.” I make my way around him and his crew, walking toward the house, when Wesley takes a step forward, forcing me to be that guy.
I dig into my pocket with my free hand and find my switchblade. Flipping it up before him, I point it at his neck.
“You sure you wanna do this here?”
He immediately backs away from me, his chin going into his neck.
“I’d hate to make you piss yourself in front of all your little friends.”
“Set her down,” he demands, his tone a bit softer this time.
“Or what?” I taunt. “You’re the one that’s got something to prove to these people. Now’s your chance, fuckboy.” I flip the blade in my hand, nodding at him. “Pull up your big girl panties, and come take her from me.”
His eyes grow round, his nostrils flaring with a rage he can’t unleash. He simply raises his palms in the air, taking a step back.
Fucker wouldn’t even get stabbed for his girl? Figures. Spineless prick. Montana sure loves to choose ‘em.
“Shane, put me down!” Montana demands, but I swing around roughly, facing the crew of petrified wannabes again.
“Ah fuck, that's right,” I say, pointing at the familiar man with my blade. He cowers. “You're the guy I fucked up behind Troy Digman’s place. The piss on the boot guy. Knew I remembered that ugly mug.”
Frustration overtakes him, and he lunges forward, attempting to get to me, but Josiah and Rocks step forward, pushing him back. Soon, more of my guys fill the area, and Wheeter takes notice of the situation, throwing himself in immediately. Love them for it, but I’m a tad agitated I don’t get to fight this out myself. Then again, my hands are full, and I need to deal with Montana immediately.
“I'll fuck you up, Croix!” Wes says behind my wall of men. “I swear to God I'll get you arrested again!”
I ignore his noise, hauling Montana, who’s still slung over my shoulder, kicking and screaming, toward the patio door. A scuffle breaks out behind us as my guys get into it with Wesley's.
No one seems to be paying much attention to the events taking place near the corner pool house, however. The party is still in full force near the patio, the pool’s edge lining with more people shedding clothes than not.
“Where are you taking me?” Montana yells, attempting to kick her way out of my grasp. “Put me down!”
I slap her ass again, and her body jumps from the sharp sting. I know that tender flesh is nice and red, my handprint making its mark. The tip of my dick aches to see it from behind—fingers imprinted into her ivory skin. She huffs in frustration, probably mad at herself for being aroused by my violent nature, and slumps against me.
We head toward the kitchen, and I spot the fridge. Checking the freezer, I roll my eyes when I see it empty. Her body finally gives in and becomes more lax against mine, realizing I'm not putting her down and her fight is worthless. Making my way through the kitchen and the many bodies occupying it, I finally find a mudroom with a storm door attached to it. Garage.
It's warm yet damp inhere, and I don’t bother switching the lights on, but I meander through the garage until I find what I’m searching for. When I spot it, I open up the freezer to find random wrapped bags of meat, deciding between venison or a pork shoulder. I can’t decide, so I grab both.
Closing the freezer, I roughly plop Montana down on top of it, her ass bouncing and perky tits begging to pop free from her tight black dress as she hits. She tries to hop down, but I step between her thighs, locking her in place.
The look in her eyes sends an electrical pulse wave throughout my body, pulling blood from my limbs and filling my dick. I practically throb at the idea of fucking the hatred out of those eyes. So much fury and endless rage, all finally focused on K1ngK0br@ himself.
“You're a stupid, stupid girl,” I say, grabbing her left hand.
The swelling is already forming, and bloody abrasions cover two of her knuckles. She could’ve easily broken her hand, and then what? Her music is done. I place the frozen pork shoulder under her hand and the smaller frozen package of venison sticks on top.
“Shouldn't let anyone affect you to the point of fucking up your future.” I scoff at the irony. “Jesus, grow a backbone, rat—”
Before I can finish my diss, she slaps me across the face with her free hand. It stings the area above my swollen lip, but this is the pain I enjoy. Real pain I can not only feel but see.
Heartbreak is that invisible death you only wish you could visualize in order to cut it out of yourself. Seeing the one you love hurt themselves trying to harm you is the best revenge. It worked with my dad, and it most certainly works with her.
Montana hisses, curling her injured hand against her chest.
“You dared me to break you, and it appears I did just that.”
“You put her in there,” she growls, eyes set ablaze. “You set up my mother and got her locked up. I know it was you, Shane. She told me it was you.”
I sigh, purposely looking bored as ever as I peer to the left of her.
“Your doped-out mama wouldn't know a face from a crack pipe.”
“The Mothman.”
I focus all my attention back on her, my eyes settling on her lips.
“A friend of mine. The Mothman is what she said. That ring any bells in that empty noggin of yours, shit for brains?” she shouts, flicking the large moth tattoo covering my Adam's apple.
Shit. Guess she wasn't as tripped-out as she seemed when I made my way into her place. Still doesn't matter. No court system is going to believe some tale of a flying mothman gifting her grams of heroin like some sort of fairy-mothmother from a drugged-out junkie as facts. Not when it's too easy to pin charges on her.
“Have you ever stopped to wonder how she got busted? Have you ever actually put that pretty little brain of yours to work and thought about how they traced the sales back to her?”
Her face drains of blood and the white sheen of her cheeks against her dark hair looks sickly. She knows just as well as I do that while her mother was a big user, she wasn’t ever in the business of selling drugs. Her nostrils flare as her eyes harden.
“I should’ve killed her,” I state calmly, reminiscing. “I would have, seeing as she needed my help to find a vein that wasn’t blown. It wouldn’t take much more for me to give her just enough to overdose, but it appears she’s a weakness for you. And there’s nothing better than capitalizing on an enemy's weakness.”
The pure horror and shock of my admission overtakes her, and her face becomes so ghost-like that she looks as if she’s moments from collapsing before me.
“So fucking what? What's it matter, Monty? She was on a fast-track to death or prison. Consider her cage a blessing in disguise.”
She slaps me again. I blow out a breath, trying to rein in my irritation from the bites this little rat keeps providing.
“Hit me again, and I swear to God I'll hit you back,” I warn.
“No, you won’t.”
“Test me, Monty.”
She slaps me again, and I return the favor by raising my hand and slapping her back, the sting on my palm a pleasant sensation. With her cheek reddened, she turns to face me, lips parted and eyes in disbelief.
“You don’t know me anymore. I’m not that boy who’d give up the world to protect you. Stop assuming there’s a piece of him still in me.” I lean closer, making my point known. “There’s not,” I growl.
She winces slightly, looking past me with frustration before focusing on the anger within her again. The air between us sizzles with fiery tension, pulling us inward, craving the storm of our conflict.
“She loved me, Shane. I know you'll never understand what that means. You've never experienced real, legitimate parental love in your life, but she loved me. The only way she could.”
It’s laughable, really, how delusional she's become.
“Let me ask you one thing, Montana. Just one thing.” I tip my head, leveling our eyes, my palms lying flat on the freezer on both sides of her ass. “When you went to visit her at the penitentiary today, did your mother assume you had a new lawyer for her?”
Her lip twitches, and her eyes dart away quickly.
“Did she plead for you to get her out? To save her? Did she look into your pretty brown eyes and tell you how awful they are treating her? How badly she needs your help to get free?”
Her hardened gaze on me softens with the tiniest degree of sadness, telling me I already know the answer—her weakness.
“You’re so used to people using you that you’re blinded by it. Grabbing at whatever measly scraps anyone gives you so you can pretend someone actually gives a shit. You do it with Wesley, and you’ve always done it with her. She’s a shit mom. Always been a shit mom, and yet you give her the benefit of the doubt because of love .” I damn near vomit the word as I say it.
“She’s not a—”
“Piece of shit. She’s a piece of shit who used her only daughter by having her spread her legs for her cracked-out dealer and the entire world for some cash. How much is left? How much money are you riding on right now, Montana? Don’t tell me you were dumb enough to let her fumble it all away with dependencies and poor life choices,” I scoff.
“She’s been through a lot. And whatever I did for her is none of your concern,” she seethes.
“How many times did he have access to your room when she was in a drug-induced coma on the couch?”
Her mouth drops open, and she looks like she might be sick.
“She’s not who you think—”
“How many times?!” I slam my fist into the freezer, anger clouding my vision. “How many fucking times did her dealer touch you when you didn’t want to be touched? Before you found a way to pay him? How many excuses are you going to give to a woman who catered to this bullshit?!”
She raises her chin, her eyes clouding with tears. “I allowed it.”
“Allowed it.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Allowed it.”
“Just like how you allowed your shit dad to beat you with his fists,” she remarks, hitting me exactly where it hurts. “When given the option, you always chose fists, didn’t you?”
The statement guts me, like a rusted old coat hanger twisting through my organs, reaching into my chest and scratching whatever dark heart still resides there. It hurts the most hidden scar, worthy of inflicting the worst pain, and she knows it. She came back with a bite only the most deceptive rat would. No mercy. Only pain.
“It only got worse after you drained me. Doesn’t that affect you? Knowing you caused my life to crumble? Is there no remorse?”
“Your dad was an abusive father far before I was ever involved. Don't act like I changed that trajectory. He left you after that. If anything, you should be thanking me.”
“Thanking—” I stall my words, sucking air through my teeth and placing my fist near my mouth in hopes of controlling the violence threatening to bleed out all over her.
She scowls at me, waiting for me to break.
“What was your excuse with me?” I say, bypassing that comment entirely. “Why keep up the facade for so long? The conversations flowing long after I’d paid up?”
She blinks up at me, still holding her wounded hand in the frozen meat, and I can see the guilt weighing on her.
“You allowed me to fall for you, irreversibly so. Needed me to help keep your simple yet fucked-up life afloat, screaming thrones of love and admiration through non-stop communication, then dropped me with no explanation, no nothing,” I state, my eyes going back and forth between hers. “So what made you do it, Montana? What, did you find someone else to empty their IRA and life savings for a glimpse of that slick center? No, no…let me guess, did some poor, unassuming man sell the family home and divorce his wife at the chance of a promise of forever with you? Maybe you didn’t have time for me anymore because your hands and mouth were occupied after opening your thighs and allowing paying customers to finally get more than a viewing.”
She pauses for a moment, her mouth dropping open to say something before stopping herself. She licks her lips, blinks a few times, and resets.
“How did you know about the audition?” she asks. “How did you find me?”
My heart pinches in my chest, but I push it away. I knew the day would come when she’d truly question that, but I can’t fulfill her need for answers. Not yet.
“It’s irrelevant—so many ways to fool a man’s heart. But tell me, is this new life of yours a way to erase the burdens of your past? Forget the damage you caused to the unsuspecting?”
“It wasn't like that at all, especially not with you. There was no one else”—she hisses when the meat shifts on her knuckle—“like you. No one that mattered.”
Memories of our conversations flood my mind.
Tell me what time you plan to take a shower, King.
What time I shower?
Yes, silly, I want to know we’re taking one together.
You want to take a shower with me, Ven?
I want to do everything with you. All your firsts.
“That mattered,” I repeat. “Just a bunch of sad blokes getting fucked outta paychecks, eh?”
“I mean it, Shane.” She says my name so direct—so full of purpose—it nearly crumbles my tough exterior. She swallows, blinking those heart-stopping eyes back up to mine. “It was only ever you.”
It's only ever you.
A fist grips my heart at that phrase. The one that pulled me out of so many dark places all those years ago, only to bury me back deeper.
The tension between us melts somewhat at her confession, her words bringing us back to this reality again, where we’re simply staring at one another, searching for understanding. Her pained expression reveals that there’s more she’s withholding from me, and the look in her eyes reminds me of an endless torment I’ve witnessed before. One I’ve seen so closely all those nights at the Macrae Mansion in my best friend’s eyes.
“I’ll never forgive you for putting her in there,” she says definitively.
“Yes, you will,” I say confidently. “Might not be today, definitely not tomorrow, but one day you will.”
Our resentment for one another binds us with the weight of a thousand worlds. Letting go of that means succumbing to the pain of our endured pasts. Neither of us is ready to release our hold.
The door to the garage twists, rattling as someone tries to enter. Whoever it is starts pounding.
“C’mon,” I say, stepping back from the freezer to give her space to hop down.
I hold out my hand for her, and she eyes it warily.
“What? No,” she says.
I grab her free hand since she’s not willingly offering it to me and pull her to stand. She stumbles on her heels, and I catch her, stabilizing her with an arm wrapped around her slim waist. I consider what I’m about to do, knowing how stupid of an idea this is for a man who’s never healed the broken parts of himself, but with her body sealed to mine the way it is, her lips close enough to taste, all thoughts and rational decisions are left in the dust.
This is vEn0mX, the girl I fell so hard for all those years ago. It’s her in there. I see the shadows of her soul, and grasping at that darkness is what I need to survive.
“I need to take you somewhere.” My eyes drop to her lips.
Her eyes drop to mine, and a soft breath escapes her. She’s drawn to me too.
“No. No way. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she whispers. “He won’t stop—”
“Fuck Wesley,” I whisper before meeting her mouth with my own.
Our lips softly connect, our tongues instinctively searching the other’s, stroking and sending electrical impulses to my brain that I'll never comprehend. We're tied together in such twisted, sinful ways that never let up.
I want to pull back from the kiss, needing not to fall, but I can’t. The things Montana does to my heart horrify me. She’ll have absolute control if given that power again, more so than any substance I’ve ever taken. I want to give her all my pain, all my anger, all my rage and pent-up aggression she’s missed out on. I want her to be reminded of the torture of losing her and what it did to me.
Montana is the only one who’s ever known the truth of who I am, and with that, she can effectively destroy me more than she already has.
Instead, she pushes at my chest, breaking the kiss for me. She backs away, lines forming between her brows. Shaking her head, she turns and grabs the door handle. When it opens, the door meets my palm, and I push it shut again, my body molding to the back of hers.
“I’m sorry if you thought you had a choice,” I say, my lips dusting the velvety skin of her neck.
Her body shivers as she tries to pull the door handle again, but I hold it shut, pulling the lighter from my pocket. The same one she slapped out of my hand only moments ago.
I light it, holding the flame near her reddened cheek, still hot from my slap.
“You won’t stop Wes from coming for you by threatening me,” she retorts.
“Oh, sweet sister, I’m not threatening you.” I close my lighter, extinguishing the flame. Reaching around her, I grab a handful of zip ties from a shelf near the door, shoving them into my pocket before removing the cat ears from her head. “I’m simply distracting him.”
Re-striking the lighter, I hold the cat ears in the air between us and set them ablaze, the sizzle of the synthetic fur sparking a fire before us. I toss them to the garage floor near a shelf lined with cans of paint. Grabbing some paint thinner, I pop the cap and squeeze, sending the flames scaling high up the wooden shelf.
“Shane,” she gasps, watching as the garage lights up around us.
Her eyes, like whisky in the sun, glow from the fiery blaze. I can’t stop admiring the face I’ve been denied for so many years. She stares, dumbfounded by my actions, before her lip tilts up in the faintest of grins, amused by my chaos; delighted by my demons.
She’s never looked more mine.