45. Shane
45
Shane
M y fists pummel into his reddened face, my chest heaving with every swing as the sun shines above us, beating down on the outdoor scene. Madness overtakes me yet again as I become the monster they’ve always wanted. Violent. Destructive. Untamed and uncontrollable. I can’t contain the anger that stirs beneath my skin when someone fucks with my own. Rocco is no exception.
I’ve been constructed through violence, trained through torment, and taught in trauma. I know no other way than to fight for myself with whatever I have left to give.
Wheeter, Josiah, and I raced over to the fuck boy frat house after Montana suggested Wesley's involvement. We found a few of them day-drinking outside on their front porch, probably still up from last night’s party. Wheeter peeped the house through the windows, seeing no trace of Rocco whatsoever, so we took immediate action and jumped Wesley and his friend on the front lawn while the rest scurried off.
“You better give me some answers while you still have teeth,” I say, kneeling over him, and punching him into the dirt again.
He spits out blood, his hands still throwing jabs at me. Fuckers got a little fight in him . Sports will give you that falsified self-confidence, making you assume you can actually last a day on the streets.
“Just stop and I’ll tell you where he is,” his friend answers from his seat on the concrete patio watching in horror as I rearrange Wesley’s facial structure. Josiah holds him to his seat with a gun to his head.
“How about he doesn’t stop, and you just tell us where the fuck he is,” he suggests, cocking his pistol as I throw another fist into Wesley’s abdomen.
“Basement.” Wes murmurs in pain, curling into himself. He finally broke. “He’s there.”
I pull Wes down each stair by the back of his shirt until we’re in the cold, damp basement of the old college home. I wasn’t about to let him sneak off without showing us Rocco, so I’ve got him by the collar until I find my boy. It reeks of frat boy piss and stale beer. Cups litter the corners of the floor, and the uneven concrete splits in large cracks. A sliver of light casts a ray of visibility from a cluster of small square windows.
“I smell loads of shit and don’t see a dog, Wes,” I comment, shoving him forward into the center of the room. “Why are we down here?”
Wheeter stands back with Josiah’s baseball bat as Josiah holds the pistol out at Wesley's friend. Wes and whoever this tool is keep stealing glances at each other, heightening my nerves. I’m cautious as I search the unfamiliar space.
“He’s here.” He spits more blood onto the floor, raising a hand and pointing toward a collection of shelves containing paint and various tools. “Over there. The cage is back behind the shelf.”
I search the dark corners, whistling for him, but come up short. My rage is engaging, and it’s taking everything in me to remain calm right now. I crack my neck with my knuckles, then close my eyes and take a deep breath.
Where is my dog?
“Why do you keep looking at him?” Josiah yells, hitting the dude upside his head with his pistol.
I turn to face them when I see Wes duck off, reaching behind a stone pillar to grab something. He straightens his arm, now holding a handgun, and aims it at Josiah.
Fuck. The one time I don’t have my Glock on me.
My stomach plummets as I realize the situation we’re in. I left in such a rush that I forgot to grab it entirely. There was only one thing on my mind: horrific visuals of what they’d done to Rocco.
I chuckle, licking my teeth as a fiery heat strolls its way up my back and into my neck. My dog isn’t down here. This was a fucking set-up.
“Quite the predicament you’re in,” Wes says, wiping the blood dripping from his chin on the back of his hand.
Josiah and Wes stand locked in with their weapons pointed at each other, no one moving or giving in. Wes knows as well as I do that I won’t do shit if it means one of my guys gets hurt. Doesn’t matter how impulsive or violent I am, I’d never risk it.
“Tell me what you want me to do, Croix,” Sigh comments, never taking his eyes or gun off Wes.
Wheeter sets the bat down, leaning back against a pillar and casually glancing back and forth between the two. “Guess I better make myself comfortable,” he says. “Looks like we’re gonna be here for a while.”
But this little standoff won’t last long. Wesley’s confidence is already shaking. Clearly, the plan in his mind felt much more triumphant, but being here in his trap, it appears he’s unsure of what to do next. He’s the kind of guy who owns a gun for the sake of telling someone he owns one, not for enjoying the power that comes from the kickback in your hand, the pleasure of the accuracy of the aim, the thrill of the mess of blood and the pain it spawns.
“You think you scare me?” Wes says, talking to me but staring at Sigh. “You think your felon ways rattle my bones?” He laughs. “Yeah, you’ve done some damage. Fucked up my guy’s face, burnt half of the garage. Shit, even fucked with my girl and did your best to embarrass me in front of the team.”
“She’s not your girl,” I say sharply, working to control that fury of jealousy that coils within me at the mention of Montana.
Josiah’s eyes dart to mine.
“Ah, Croix, that’s where you’re wrong. She’s mine to do whatever I want with. My bitch if need be.” He smirks.
Tension tightens my jaw.
“She’s using you,” I say with a bite of amusement. “Using you to get to your father. Monty has one goal in life, and it’s to be a part of that goddamn orchestra. She’ll walk over anyone to get there. Especially the one holding the door.”
His nostrils flare, and he readjusts his grip on his gun.
“Besides, you don’t honestly think someone with the tenacity and feral libido like Monty would ever be happy settling for that graham cracker dick you got to offer?”
Wheeter makes a noise from his throat, withholding his laugh, and Wes shoots him a scowl.
“Have you ever actually sat to wonder how a broke bitch from Perrysville could afford such a pristine instrument? Surely you aren’t stupid. You’ve been around your father’s career long enough to have some sort of idea of what these things cost.”
I walk closer to him, and his eyes flit from me to Sigh and back.
“But where did the money come from?” I question.
Irrational thoughts invade his mind, and I know he’s assuming the worst. But Wesley has never had to worry about his father’s trust fund like I did mine. He was a different part of her plan.
“Nah, she didn’t steal your riches, ya pussy.”
He visibly sighs.
“Porn,” I say with a smirk. “Your girl sucks and fucks for bucks.” I lean closer to him, tipping my head. “How does that make you feel? Still sitting high and mighty knowing your bitch, as you so kindly call her, is sitting on cocks for cash?”
“You’re lying.” His upper lip curls in disgust.
“I mean, I should know,” I continue. “Who do you think recorded that little video? You know the one. The solo performance?”
“You hijacked her documents. Stole that video in hopes of getting back at me.”
Apprehension lines his forehead, uncertainty infiltrating his thoughts. He may have been told she made it for him, but the truth of the matter lies within the one with the files.
“It’s bigger than you, Wesley Hopkins,” I emphasize his name, slowly stalking toward him. “Life has always been bigger than you.”
“Another step, and I’ll fucking shoot,” he warns, his voice rattling with fear.
“You won’t,” I say with confidence. “But I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me where my dog is.”
“I think you’re forgetting I’m the one with the gun here.”
“You’re not a killer, Wesley. Just a stupid boy attempting to look tough while forever following in his daddy’s shadow.”
He chuckles, smiling menacingly before spewing the next few words I wasn’t prepared for.
“And you’re nothing but a big dog without his teeth.”