46. Montana
46
Montana
I t’s reckless, it’s insanely dangerous, and mostly, it's just entirely selfish.
But it's the only choice I have right now.
“Montana?” he answers the phone in question.
“Alek, where are you?” I rush, slipping into some sweatpants and a new tank.
“I’m actually just leaving my house, a-are you okay? You sound flustered.”
I am flustered. I’m panicked, terrified, and worried about what Wes and his guys are capable of.
“I need help. I n-need…” What the fuck is it that I need from him? “I need you to take me somewhere.”
“Okay,” he says calmly. “Okay, just take a breath. What happened?”
“Someone’s in trouble.”
There’s a moment of silence before I hear a door shut, followed by the jingle of car keys.
“Just tell me where.”
W e pull up to the frat house, and Alek glances at me in the passenger seat, concern lining his eyes.
“Did you guys get into an argument? Do you wanna talk about it before you head in there?”
I shake my head, reaching for the door handle, but his gentle hand on my wrist stops me.
“What did he do, Montana?”
I sigh, wiping my hand over my aching eyes.
“C’mon, talk with me,” he urges, grabbing my free hand in his. I take a quick breath as he continues. “College boys do stupid things sometimes. They think with their dicks and not their minds…”
I turn to face him, his dark eyes searching for answers and hoping to help but still harboring apprehension about his part in this.
All men think with their dicks, Alek. That’s why you’re here, away from your wife, picking me up and taking me to resolve what you believe to be a little boyfriend dispute.
“It’s more than just that,” I say, opening the car door and sliding my hand out of his. “But I’ve got this. I do. I just need you to stay here. Wait for me. Please.”
He looks at me with uncertainty, but nods, allowing my departure.
“I’ll be here if you need me.”
I mouth a quick ‘thank you,’ then leave him waiting in his vehicle on the side street of the frat house.
Running up the porch stairs, I kick through piles of red solo cups before bursting through the unlocked front doors. An odd silence fills the house as I search for them. The living room is bare, so I make my way to the kitchen. The door of the refrigerator is open. I tiptoe past it, touching the handle with trembling hands as I peer around it, searching the hallway for a sign of anyone. But a pained, strangled yelp from the backyard steals my attention.
I scan for Rocco, seeing nothing but an old brown shed beneath a few old oaks. I shift to the other side of the kitchen, peering out a window that gives me a better view of the right side of the shed. Squinting, I see through to the back, and my heart falls to my stomach, dropping it to the floor.
There in the backyard behind the shed is Rocco, hanging from a tree limb with a rope tied tightly around his neck. His back feet just barely tip-toe him in an upright stance, and there’s blood dripping down his belly with what looks to be a shiny tool on the ground near him.
Insurmountable rage consumes me, the heat shifting from my head and neck into my hands. My head instantly pounds at my temple. I want to scream, cry, break down, lose it completely. Instead, I grip the gun resting in the back of my underwear and pull it out from beneath the back of my sweatshirt. Murmured voices sound from the basement, but there’s no time to investigate.
The door leading to the backyard creaks as I open it, drawing the attention of a man in a university sweatshirt and shorts sitting in a patio chair nearby. I quickly grip the handle of the gun, pointing it at him as shock overtakes him. He stands, eyes rounding as he backs into the siding of the house with his hands raised.
“Don’t hurt me. Please, I didn’t want to do this.”
“Sit the fuck down,” I demand, flipping the safety.
I’ve only shot a gun one time about twenty minutes ago, but there isn’t much stopping me from doing it again.
I quickly race over to Rocco, seeing his reddened eyes practically bulging in fear, his toes scraping away at the ground, trying to get to me. “It’s me, Bubba. I got you,” I whisper as a tear spills down the side of my face. His pitiful cries increase as he notices my presence, and it nearly breaks me.
I point the gun at the man again, ordering him to cut the rope. He obeys, dropping Rocco to the ground, then backs away with raised hands. I lay Rocco on his side, and luckily, he complies, catching his breath, his body exhausted from being in that position for God knows how long.
My hands scour his body, searching, but I can’t tell what they did because he doesn’t appear to have any open wounds. I trace the trail of blood up his belly and neck, and he licks my arm, leaving red smudges. I look over to where the tool was, noticing a package of sliced roast beef and a pair of pliers lying nearby in the grass. His mouth .
I gently lift his lip, and he pulls away. Carefully, I peer inside, seeing some spaces where a few of his front teeth used to be. My bottom lip quivers, and my nostrils flare. My maddening glare seeks the man left standing guard.
“I didn’t do it. I swear, it was all Wesley’s idea—”
A gun fires off from somewhere within the house, causing us both to duck down. Seconds later, Wesley and his teammate scramble outside the patio door, stumbling into the backyard with fear and disbelief on their faces as they search for their friend. The one standing guard.
“You shot him—” his friend says, stilling in place when they both see me standing in the backyard, gun raised and pointed at them.
Wesley swallows, frozen in shock or possibly fear, as he raises a hand slowly.
“Montana, what are you doing here?”
I shake my head, eyeing him with disgust as I cock the weapon.
“Wait, wait, wait…what are you doing—”
I point the barrel at him, and he flinches, his mouth finally shutting. His guys scramble away, one of them falling over a chair behind him before scurrying around the side of the house to the street.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” he begins again.
Revulsion for the injured dog behind me has his words falling short.
“What the fuck have you done?” I seethe.
“It’s Shane, Montana! He’s a fucking lunatic.”
“Shane’s the lunatic?” I laugh maniacally. “Seems my stepbrother is set for sainthood in comparison to the likes of you.”
“He’s fucking with your head. Always has been. He admitted to stealing that footage of you!” he says. “That video you made for me? He stole it! He was the one who sent it out!”
“I know.” I raise my chin. “He was in the room when we made it.”
His face shifts from shock to disgust as he shakes his head, looking to the ground as if it will provide some answers.
“And before you go calling me some whore, remember where you had your tongue last night. It sure as fuck wasn’t on me.”
“That’s bullshit, Montana. If your focus was where it should be, maybe none of this would’ve happened,” he says, hand pointing behind me at Rocco. “He was about to do something dangerous. Violent people occasionally need to be taught a lesson in social conduct, and the only way to speak to them is through the language they understand—”
I shoot at the ground near his feet, causing him to jump back.
“What the hell!” he screams as the dust flies around him.
“You don’t touch the dog, Wes. There are rules that preppy boys like you will never learn. You never touch the dog.”
“I’ll ruin your career. One word to my father and—”
A flurry of footsteps round the corner of the house, stealing the words from Wesley’s mouth, and Alek comes into view. He’s panting, forehead dripping with sweat, and panic warps his usually collected expression.
“Montana! Are you alright?!” he yells, approaching me when another person enters his line of sight. “Wes?”
His eyes trace the scene, horror filling them before falling back on me.
“And what, Wes?” I question. “What were you going to tell your father?” He knows as well as I do that with Alek here for backup, his word is shit against ours.
“Jesus, what happened?!” Alek asks, racing toward me and Rocco.
“Help me carry him around,” I demand, my fear for his condition amplifying again.
Alek gives Wes a look of absolute repulsion as Wes mutters off excuses in some sort of sick display to justify his actions.
“It’s not as bad as it looks. He’s fine. That fucker deserved this! You can’t set your dog on someone! He could’ve burned that house down! He’s out of line!”
I fire the gun at his feet again, and Wes jumps into the air, the dust from the bullet into the earth exploding before him. I effectively shut him up while making him dance.
Catching up to Alek, who’s already rounded the house with Rocco in his arms, I run alongside them, rubbing Rocco on the head as we rush to the front street.
“It’s okay now, Bubba, I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”
He pants, his long tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, where blood smears across his muzzle. His bloodshot eyes stay trained on me, almost ensuring I don’t leave him, looking exhausted as ever. Tears spill down my cheeks, seeing Rocco in such bad shape. Anyone who can hurt an innocent dog deserves the worst kind of pain.
Grabbing a blanket that’s already in the trunk of Alek’s Lincoln, I lay it out as he gently sets Rocco down. I worry that he’ll be upset with the blood in the back of his pristine vehicle, but I notice the blanket is already somewhat dirty with stains.
“Let’s go. I know a vet nearby.”
“I just gotta find Shane—”
“Monty!”
Shane’s voice pulls at me, and I turn, desperately seeking him. He’s walking down the porch, Wheeter’s arm draped over his shoulder. The gun shot inside.
“Oh my God.” I race toward them. “Is he okay?!”
“Bullet grazed his thigh,” Shane answers quickly, his tone tight with aggression.
“I’m right here, guys,” Wheeter says to us both. “I can speak.”
“We gotta get out of here!” Josiah yells, running down the porch to meet us.
Sirens sound in the distance. Surely, some neighbor from this block called the police to report the loud pops of gunfire.
“I need to find Rocco!” Shane says in a panic.
“We’ve got him,” Alek answers from behind me.
Shane looks around me, peering at Alek with contempt, finally noticing that he’s even there. I can tell he’s not thrilled by it, but as the situation presents itself, we don’t really have a choice. It’s not like he can take Rocco out of here on his bike. However, I’m sure he would if it came down to it.
“Montana found him out back. He’s in the SUV.”
Shane’s focus returns to me, desperation and worry already there. The unknown is eating away at him.
“He’s okay, Shane. He’s going to be okay.”
Relief floods him, and nothing but gratitude finds me.
“Can you ride?” Shane turns to Wheeter.
“I’m good, I’m good,” Wheeter says, bracing himself. I notice the trail of blood running down his leg. “Just nicked me. A little love bite. Ain’t nothin’ compared to the teeth on this one.” He slaps Sigh’s chest, who then scowls at him, annoyed with his lack of seriousness for the situation. “I can ride.”
Shane nods at him, then turns to face me, almost looking for direction. He’s still so distraught.
“I’ll call you from the vet,” I say, quickly walking backward toward the car.
“Wait,” he says, following me. “I need to see him.”
We approach Rocco, whose tail wags wildly as soon as Shane comes into view. He tries to get up to get to him, but Shane shushes him and holds him down. He’s never looked worse.
“They had him hung up by his neck, and pulled a couple of his teeth out with pliers,” I inform him, swallowing back my bile at even having to voice the words.
Shane’s eyes narrow, and the wrinkle between his brows becomes more pronounced. A vein along his temple flares as he peers at the raw marks around Rocco’s neck. He tightens his jaw, blinking back whatever pain threatens to leak out. He touches Rocco’s face, softly stroking behind his ear.
“Ich liebe dich,” he says to him softly, kissing his forehead before his eyes find mine.
I love you.
My heart tightens in my chest, aching as my tears wet my cheeks yet again.
He palms the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair as he pulls me into him. Resting his forehead on mine, our breaths meet between us. We stare at one another for a moment, speechless yet grateful, with so much emotion behind our gazes.
But the driver’s side door slams, awakening us from our moment, and we finally part, doing what we need to do to get out of here.