Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“I’m a good performer.”
As hard as her fake moans had me, I could only imagine what the real ones would do. “Oh, I bet you are.” I traced my finger over the collar of the turtleneck she wore, moving my mouth closer to her neck. “You know what else I bet? That you’re gonna look so good when I make you come.”
She went tense.
“Three months,” I said. I inched the neck of her sweater down. “Try not to give in to me.” An ugly, green bruise peeked out from the collar of her shirt, and my stomach bottomed out. I yanked the fabric down farther, and she fought to tug it back up.
“Take your shirt off.”
“No.” Her jaw tightened. “I’m not screwing you.”
But we both knew that wasn’t why I wanted her shirt off. If I had to bet, there were more bruises on her. Leah’s text popped to mind, followed by Max’s smartass grin. I grabbed her sweater, so focused on her that I didn’t catch her hand rear back until I felt the sting on my cheek. Gritting my teeth, I fisted the material and pressed my nose to hers. “Take. It. Off.”
Her arms came over her chest. A hateful glare danced in her eyes, but I could see something else underneath it she was fighting.
My blood boiled, sizzled, and popped through my veins like an angry hit of heroin. “Take off the goddamn shirt. Before I tear it off of you.”
“Just leave it, Zepp.” Her shoulders fell, like a little of the fight had left her.
Part of me knew I should leave it alone, that there were some parts of our lives meant to stay in the darkness, but I wanted to prove myself wrong. I wanted to find nothing underneath that shirt but pale skin. Balling the material in my fist, I slowly lifted it past her navel to her ribs, revealing a smattering of ugly, fading bruises. For a moment, all I could see was my mother. All I could hear were the lies she told to cover up the abuse. As shit as our lives were, this was the part of it I refused to accept.
“Who?” I said through gritted teeth. “The fucking Barrington quarterback?”
She tugged the sweater from my hand, hiding the marks from my view. “No. Just let it go.” Her gaze met mine, hard and unreadable. “You know how this shit works. We’re just surviving, right?” An undercurrent of defeat hid within her sarcastic tone. And the shittiest thing about that statement—she was right.
All of us here, we were only surviving, just trying to make it to the next day and possibly find a little bit of enjoyment from a quick high or a good fuck. Because a few seconds of bliss was honestly as good as it got for us.
With one breath, all trace of vulnerability disappeared, and in its place materialized something untouchable. A wry smile pulled at Monroe’s lips, and she patted my cheek. “Don’t go soft on me, Hunt,” she said before slipping out of the stall.
For the rest of the afternoon, the image of her bruised body stayed at the forefront of my mind, the word survival playing on a loop. I sat in the back of Weaver’s class, head down like always, but instead of sleeping, I was thinking. About her. About Max, and how I wanted to smash in his face.
By the time I had finished up with detention, I had pretty much plotted Harford’s death. Wolf was in the parking lot, throwing his football gear into the bed of his truck when I came out of the school.
“What’d you have detention for?”
I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and lit it before fastening my backpack to my bike. “Smoking on campus.”
“Lame.” An engine revved on the highway, rock music blaring. I glanced over the deserted parking lot as an electric-blue, vintage Corvette Stingray barreled around the school’s entrance. It fishtailed when it took a turn into the lot, then raced around to the side of the school.
“Who the hell has a car like that in Dayton?” Wolf asked.
“Nobody.”
Monroe jogged out of the building to the passenger door of the Vette then climbed inside. The car sped past, slowing in front of us long enough for me to catch sight of Max Harford with his shit-eating grin before he peeled out onto the highway.
That was when I decided I would let that stupid rumor about Monroe and me spread; that I’d dump gasoline on it and set fire to it because if people thought she was mine, he wouldn’t be able to touch her.
8
Monroe
Balancing my coffee in one hand, I dialed the combination for my locker and tugged it open. I was running on three hours of sleep after working last night, and I’d debated ditching this morning, but that wasn’t going to get me out of that strip club or this shit town. I grabbed my books and rounded the corner, stepping straight into the path of a fight. A jock shoved some guy right into me, knocking me over and sending my books and coffee flying across the hall.