Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
I rolled my eyes. “You left me in that shit hole. How the fuck did you expect me to turn out?” I asked him. I screeched when Matthew suddenly ripped my jeans away from the knife wound, jarring my leg. “Fuck!” I shouted, my hands coming up to do something—anything—to relieve the burning sensation in my fucking thigh.
“Easy!” Jonah barked at Matthew. He towered over me as if he were going to protect me from further injury. “You take it easy on her, asshole, or I swear to God, I’ll rip your head from your fucking shoulders.”
“The only way to fucking take it easy on her is to get her high,” he bit back at Jonah. “And with her brother here already spitting fucking nails, I know that’s not going to happen. She’s got to deal with the fucking pain.”
“Fuck him!” I shouted. “I need—”
“Give her what she needs,” John spoke up, sounding much calmer now. And that scared me. Honestly, it really fucking did. He looked over at me, his bulky arms crossed over his chest, his shirt stretched thin over his biceps and broad shoulders. “But you’re detoxing after this, Montana, and you’ll be detoxing my style.”
I didn’t care. I needed something now, or I wasn’t going to make it through whatever the hell was about to happen.
Matthew sat me up and lined a line of coke up for me. “It’ll work faster than pain pills,” he told me.
I grabbed the rolled-up dollar bill from his hand, plugged one nostril, and inhaled the coke. He gave me a few minutes, and then he set to work.
* * *
I was high as fuck by the time we got to John’s place. It was a simple home, probably no more than three bedrooms. It was cute though, something I never expected from him. The last time I’d seen him, he’d still been slumming in a shitty apartment.
“Let’s get her inside,” he told Jonah. “Don’t think she can walk just yet.”
“Probably too fucking high. How much did he goddamn give her?” Jonah asked as he wrenched open the back door.
“Fuck if I know, but probably too much. Going to have to keep an eye on her, make sure she’s alright. Should only be a few hours.” They pulled me from the car, and Jonah wrapped an arm around me, helping me into the house as John unlocked it.
“Last bedroom down the hall,” John told him.
I leaned my head on Jonah’s shoulder. “You smell really good,” I whispered.
He snorted. “Tell me that when you’re sober, baby girl.”
“Being sober is for pussies. Are you a pussy, Jonah?”
He just barked out a laugh and pushed open a door. He helped me over to the bed and laid me down on it. I grinned at him, pushing my shirt up my belly. My jeans were gone—ruined and blood-soaked. So, I was only wearing one of Matthew’s old shirts. “You going to do dirty things to me, Jonah?” I ran my eyes over him. “Because I want you to—bad.”
He shook his head, but I didn’t miss the heated look in his eyes as he trailed them over my body. “Run that by me again when you’re sober, and I’ll take you up on it.” He brushed his lips to my forehead. “Get some rest, Montana.”
With that, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. I was pretty sure I heard a lock click, but I was too wired to give a fuck.
5
Montana
I yawned, my bare feet slapping against the cold, hardwood floors of the room I was in as I headed straight for what I hoped was a bathroom. And thankfully, I was right because my bladder was about to burst.
After doing what I needed, I washed my hands and looked around. It seemed I had slept for the better part of the night. Yawning again, I tried the other door on the other side of the bathroom, wondering where it led.
It was locked.
A bad feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.
You’ll be detoxing my style.
John fucking wouldn’t, would he?
I flung back the bathroom curtains. Bars over the windows. Panic began to set in. I hated feeling trapped.
I rushed to the bedroom door that was shut and tried the door handle. Locked. And it was locked from the fucking outside.
Swallowing vomit, I flung back the curtains to the two windows in my room. More fucking bars.
“John!” I screeched, pulling at my hair. He couldn’t trap me in here. He couldn’t leave me like this. I was trapped. I couldn’t be trapped.
“John!” I screamed again.
Nothing. It was so silent I could hear the fucking crickets outside.
“No, no, no,” I whimpered. I yanked the window open, needing fresh air. I tried wiggling the bars and was surprised when one side of it moved.
They were old. The rust had forced it to break. And I’d never been happier for something in my fucking life.