4
Monroe
Monday morning, I stood outside the doors of the high school, watching students hurry through the congested halls while anger still pulsed through my veins. Zepp had dropped me at the gate of Karl’s Carmart on Friday night with a pair of bolt cutters. I made a deal with him for a car I had to steal. Again! To make matters worse, I had to hotwire it, which meant Bubba knocked a hundred bucks off. And of course, Jerry made me pay for that out of my pocket. Like I didn’t make him enough money. Now I was indebted to Zeppelin Hunt, of all people. He was into stealing, dealing, and illegal shit that I didn’t need to be more involved in than I was already.
I wove between kids with backpacks and hurried through the combination on my locker, thinking that maybe I could fly under the radar and not draw Zepp’s attention.
Jade popped up beside me, fiddling with her lock before yanking it open and cramming her backpack inside. “Good news. Mom ungrounded me.”
“How did you get out of that?”
She glared at me with a frown. “I went to church.”
“So Jesus has forgiven you for smoking weed in your bedroom?”
“Probably not. But Mom thinks He has so…”
I laughed. “Well, I’m working tonight, or I’d come and hang out with you.”
She slammed her locker door, then leaned against it. “How that place is still open is beyond me. They should have been busted by now.”
“Because Dayton cops don’t give a shit about a few seventeen-year-olds getting their tits out.”
“True.”
I hated my job. I really did, but it was good money, and it was nearly impossible to find work in Dayton. I had three choices: stripping, drugs, or prostitution. And stripping was the lesser of those evils.
We moved away from the lockers and started through the corridor. Jade was rambling about some girl in her calculus class when she stopped mid-sentence. “Oh shit, Monroe.” She nudged me with her elbow, her gaze aimed at the end of the hall where Zepp was walking straight toward me. “He’s so scary and hot, and God, I would so fuck him.”
“He’s an asshole, Jade.”
Zepp sauntered toward me, parting the sea of students before him.
Near-black eyes roamed over me, and I wanted to slap myself for the way my pulse ticked up. He shoved his phone into my hands. “Number.” He said it loud enough that a couple of the girls walking past stopped and stared. There was only one reason Zepp asked a girl for her number.
“Why would I give you my number?”
“Because I told you to.” Our eyes met, battle lines drawn. An unamused laugh slipped past his lips, and I hated that I found it sexy. “Phone number, Monroe.”
I reluctantly keyed in my number, then shoved the phone against his chest and stormed off, Jade in tow.
Jade leaned in, clutching her books to her chest. “You totally just gave Zepp Hunt your number. And everyone saw,” she whispered.
Yes, they did. One request: keep it quiet—and he couldn’t even stick to it. He pissed me off so much that it was all I could think about for the rest of the school day and into the evening.
I had to work that night, and that anger festered as I worked the pole and lap danced for sleazy men until two in the morning. When my shift was over, I went back to the dressing room and got changed, then checked my phone. There was a string of missed texts from an unknown number.
Unknown Caller: I need a favor.
Unknown Caller: Don’t ignore me, Monroe.
Unknown Caller: WTF are U doing?
It had to be Zepp. My fingers were typing out a response when that same number flashed across the screen. I answered it, pressing it to my ear while I shouldered my bag. “Yeah?”
“You asleep or some shit?” Zepp’s deep voice came down the line. Rap music thumped in the background.
“What do you want?”
“You. At my house. Now.”
“No.”
Silence crossed the line. I could imagine that sharp jawline of his ticcing with frustration. “Don’t be stupid, Monroe.”
One of the girls pranced into the room, counting through her cash as she made her way around me.
“I had one request, Zepp. Discretion.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You asked for my number. In the middle of the damn hall. That is not discrete.”
A deep laugh rumbled through the speaker. “I ask for girls’ numbers all the time.”
“Well, great.” And now I looked like one of his sluts. One of the girls giggled at her changing table, and I went into the hall. “I don’t want to be associated with you in any way. Got it?”
“Jesus Christ… You have twenty minutes to get to my house with two cases of beer,” he said, then the line clicked.
He had hung up. I stared at the blank screen, anger bubbling away like a boiling pot. Zepp couldn’t hold up his end of the deal, so neither would I.
5
Zepp
Twenty minutes had passed. Thirty. The party had started to thin out, and I still didn’t have any beer. I moved through the drunk girls leaned against the wall, and Wolf glanced over at me, one brow raised and a slight pull on his lips.
“She’s got some balls, dude. Some major balls.” He snagged a joint from one of the girls and took a puff. “What are you gonna do, Zepp?”
And that, I wasn’t sure of. She was a girl—one who wasn’t eager to fuck me—which meant I had limited options. I wasn’t going to hurt her, but I sure as shit could embarrass her. “I’ll figure it out.” I shouldered through the living room, then took the stairs to my room. That girl was unbelievable.
There was a soft knock at my door before it cracked open. I looked up from the bed as Leah slipped inside. I was not in the mood for her bullshit tonight. The problem with girls like Leah, they thought they would come to the shit side of town, bang one of the broken bad boys, then clean him up and make him into something close to shiny. Tying one of us down would have been like hanging a lion’s head on a wall. A trophy. Something any Barrington girl could brag about.
She flopped down onto the bed, stretching her arms out in a piss-poor attempt to look sexy. “You wanna have sex?”
I jerked my chin toward the door. “I’m sure my brother would be more than willing.”
She sat up, her cheeks tinging red. “Come on, Zepp.” She rubbed over my crotch. “I know you want me.”
“Jesus Christ! I just told you to go fuck my brother.” I shoved her hand away. “Get out.”
Leah shoved to her feet with a huff, stomping across my bedroom like a spoiled brat before she slammed the door on her way out. The most pathetic thing about it was: Leah would text me later that night. She’d show back up next weekend because she didn’t care that I didn’t respect her. The way I saw it, respect wasn’t nearly as important to her as image. And that was pretty damn sad.
Monroe, on the other hand... She wouldn’t even buy me beer. Something told me that if I talked to her that way, she’d draw blood. I dragged a hand down my face. I was livid at her, but still, those legs and that attitude... I hated her almost as much as I wanted to fuck her. Maybe that was why, later that night, I found myself beating one out to the idea of having Monroe James’ thighs wrapped around my hips while I showed her what being a bad girl was really about.