***This is where I first came in...even though I started here the story was still very good. I ended up seeking out the begining and had hopes that it was as good as the part that I had just finished. I was not disappointed. This story has so much character and imagination, sometimes I think it out shines the romantic fantasy stories I write. I especially like the scene with the boy at Montana's home, doing his little fantasy dance. Being caught was priceless! I have to confess I'm really curious as where this story will lead, enough so that I will be watching a lot more closely for more of your chapters. Maybe you could drop me a line when they arrive... You write well and and have a great imagination, I think I could learn a few things from you. I look forward to reading more of this story....I'm waitng patiently....until then.. Oh and as far as mistakes or errors.........I failed to pay attention, sorry***

Waking up this early when she knew she shouldn’t have to made her feel like she had a hangover. She struggled to open her eyes again and when she finally managed to she looked in the mirror across the room at her reflection.

There are a lot of words in these two lines, making it tough to read. Could stand to be pared down a little.

The lights across the way in the house with the Autistic kid were on.

Distance between subject-verb felt too far apart.

She sighed and got out of bed. She had to get moving. Whatever it was that his majesty wanted done this morning wouldn’t wait for long. It was going to be another one of those days. After a quick sink bath she would go down and have to face him. Something she just wasn’t in the mood to start dealing with so early in the day.

This is a new action. I think it could stand to be a new paragraph break.

Came an order from the lazy boy, in which he still sat from last night.

This is essentially a very long dialogue tag. I think it's confusing.

In the last two story apartment they had lived in she had worked out the combination of steps to take in order to get down the whole flight quietly. The first two were good and sturdy. The third and forth steps she had to go to the right. Fifth and sixth to the left and so on. She made a mental note to figure these steps out as quickly as possible.

Before this paragraph's first sentence, I recommend first depicting Montana standing at the top of the stairs.

It's a great addition to the story. But it also focuses on her last set of stairs, so I can't visualize the "now" stairs as much. Describe the ones in THIS house. Are they wood? Linoleum? Carpeted?

“When is Dickhead going back to work?” Stepping in she asked her mother.

Montana rolled her eyes and assisted her mother by flipping the sizzling bacon while her mother flipped the pancakes in the next pan over, behind the pan containing the scrambled eggs.

An awful lot of "pans" in this sentence.

As always Montana wasn’t hungry this early in the morning but remained at the table strictly out of protocol. No one spoke to each other. ...

I'd make a new paragraph here, too.

Her mother had pre-dished out the first helping of food just like he liked it. Pancakes stacked four high, three eggs scrambled, four pieces of bacon and grits. Syrup over the whole thing. You couldn’t even see the plate....

Details like this are what's going to make your story. Good job.

Her father had long ago smothered all positive emotions that could have been felt by any other normal family that she could imagine in her thoughts...

Another great paragraph.

To top that off and the thing that irked her the most was the fact that any of the remaining emotions, all but fear, was not permitted to be felt openly in the house by anyone but him.

Felt it was a somewhat awkward sentence, but a great idea.

What was with her this morning.

Italicize, and end with ?

She told herself to chill

Was this word used in this time period? I thought it was post 1984 at least.

This was the same routine she had been through countless amounts of times when he was home. It would not last forever, she reminded herself. A day or two and he would be back to work or with a little luck maybe a war in some third world country would break out.

Great stuff.

he was waiting for his food to be cold

Excellent idea.

This whole paragraph is very interesting and effective for fiction. I do think it goes on a little long, however. Maybe pare it down about 15%, focusing especially on the long sentences.

“For Christ’s sake, this food is ice cold!” He spouted.

Felt on-the-nose. It's already been established.

Note: the father's the most interesting character in the story, at least to me, thus far. Problem is, he's unlikable.

When he was done saying his piece

peace

He flicked the paper with his finger. Out of everything else he did, the flicking of the finger on the paper was her worst peeve of him. It was like an explanation point at the end of the sentence. It was the I am king flick. The, I’m a smug bastard so fuck you and the horse you rode in on flick. His orders. His comments. His ways. The flicking of the paper. All of it uncalled for. Finally she reached her wits end and snapped. She pushed away from the table.

Felt like it needed a bit of reworking and editing.

Her comment stunned her father as much as it did her, at least at first, as he just sat there. First her outbreak last night with the neighbors and now this. It had to be some sort of chemical imbalance in her system. What ever it was and regardless of the consequence she took a liking to the immediate release it gave her. At least this time the person deserved her wrath. Unfortunately, her father wasn’t the type to take a step back and re-evaluate himself at the opinion of others no matter how close they hit the mark. Just like any other time any backlash toward him would certainly have a adverse effect. He stood, brooding and bear like, slamming the paper on the table.

Again, a bit overlong and explainy.

Her father was an intimidating, hulking man.

This is telly

 When he moved it was quick and impressive. As unreasonable as he often was his actions alone demanded respect. And now she was quickly reminded why no one in this household ever talked back or made waves. Yet today was still different for her. Maybe it was a long time in the coming. Recently, she had begun feeling like a weakling by avoiding him. She felt like a coward for biting her tongue like she was turning into her mother. Her heart skipped at first when he caught up with her and grabbed her but the anger that had been festering inside quickly took over once more.

Because it's written so densely, it reduces dramatic tension.

Like the kind that a horse might wear to keep it incoherent of distractions and on the right path but with her it was the opposite.

Didn't get it...

For an instant she smirked then as she recognized her chance she made for the escape. Quickly, she ran out into the cool morning air. She didn’t look back at first as she feared he could easily be right behind her but after a few blocks she was finally winded enough to stop and take stock of the situation. It was all surreal being out here, half dressed, with nowhere to run. Just an hour ago she was warm and in bed and now she was a fugitive. Out before the sun was fully up. Realizing what she had done and wondering what to do next made her both liberated and scared.

She continued down the street realizing it was her first time exploring the neighborhood. All was quiet. Even the dogs from last night. She suddenly realized how glad she was that she didn’t chose her uprising at a time when they lived in one of the other unsavory places in which they often resided.

When she shifting into new thoughts, separate into a new paragraph.

When she reached the end of the subdivision she stopped and stood, looking out into the fields and cow pastures, the sun just now peeking over the horizon. Both north and south the only adjoining road disappeared around a bend with no other civilization in sight. At her left was a carved sign, painted in pastels and embedded in a brick wall, half basking in the orange glow of the rising sun. The whole monument was surrounded by square shrubs and multicolored flowers. It welcomed all to Meadow Brook Prairie. How quaint she thought. Behind the sign was a blind spot from both the main road and the entrance to the subdivision. This was where she finally sought refuge. Sitting on the dew soaked wood chips she plucked a flower and began pulling the pedals off one by one.

Again, it's good, but felt overlong for me.

"petals"

Her father was convinced that a nuclear war was eminent.

imminent

Note: there's a lot of good info in this section. But it's a tad bit explainy. I think it can be paved out more evenly over the action.

“Don’t train your daughter like one of your friggin’ soldiers and then expect no retaliation in the face of adversity.” Her thoughts spoken out loud.

Felt weird that she said it aloud.

A boy her age walked on hands and knees over to her and sat back against the wall.

What? How old is this kid?

She took him in a few seconds then looked back down the road to her house then back at him. He had bulgy eyes like a guppy, a big crooked nose, teeth that were clean yet also crooked and thin brown hair fashioned into a mullet. He reeked of colon that smelled along the lines of cat piss or bug spray, she couldn’t decide which. He was dressed in a deep blue tee shirt and a white suit with no tie like Don Johnson of Miami Vice. Other than his obvious unattractiveness he unsuccessfully captured the look. His frame was just too thin and the clothes he wore floated on him. The manly scruff look he was going for was a bit far fetched with his mangy patches of peach fuzz. He was kind of cartoon like to look at. Like Gonzo from the Muppet Show or something like that. She had considered relocating but quickly realized there was nowhere else to go but back and she wasn’t ready for that move yet. Cocking his head he smiled at her. An over exaggerated, facetious smile.

cologne

Also, this is a lot of description all at once. It stops the flow of action. It's not all necessary.

“Name’s Shamus.”

Isn't is spelled "Seamus" in Irish?

He stopped as finally she turned to look at him. He smiled at her once more. She squinted at him and for a moment he was glad to see that she was to finally going to open up to him.

A sudden POV shift in the middle of a sequence. This is generally considered a POV violation, since the entire first portion was told from Montana's POV at 3PL.

His words hung in the air as he finally became quiet and sullen. She waited for him to persist but he finally appeared settled. Finally, the golden quiescence she craved so much. The sun was warm on her face and she took it in along with the newfound silence. But with the absence of one thing came another. Again she began mulling over her return home today. She began to analyze why she finally lost it after all this time regardless of how futile she knew it would be. It was obvious to her that she was getting older and so was the routine at her house but it was more than that. It had something to do with her new surroundings maybe. Maybe it was all due to her lack of a personal life. There was no outlet for her. As much as she had fancied being a loner growing up, in all actuality maybe her heart screamed for some sort of companionship. Some sort of… friend. With this thought she again looked over at the gangly fellow that sat with her. He was still brooding himself, wrapped up in his own thoughts of friendship perhaps. After all, this place where they lived was picturesque and all but it didn’t offer much to do. But why him, she questioned herself. He was annoying… and a guy. Why befriend the enemy? Who was she kidding. The prospect of a friend that was female sounded even worse in her mind. While all the guys she knew just wanted to get into her pants at least they were easy to read. All the females she had known where conniving little bitches. All of em’ stuck on themselves. So if she needed friendship the best place to start would probably be a male. At least, as far as she could figure, males were the lesser of the two evils.

"gangly" was the first moment I could actually envision Shamus' physical character.

This is all excessive for me. I'd recommend paring it down a good amount, removing anything that is explainy or on-the-nose.

As her father continued off into the distance she realized this was the best time to get back into the house and get some clothes and get out again before he came back. She was not ready to face him again this early and if he stuck with his schedule he would be drunk and asleep by seven o’clock tonight. If she could figure out what to do to stay gone for that long. She turned to him once more. He was now standing on his tiptoes and peering over the bushes too, in an effort to see what was so important to her.

I had trouble visualizing what was happening. The explained-thoughts interfered with my ability to imagine it.

Afterward, to his delight, she agreed to hang out with him in order to see how the other half lived.

Who is the 'other-half'? What is being compared?

As they jogged back he allowed himself to take her in...

Another jump into Shamus' POV. I strongly recommend reconsidering the shift, because it interrupts the reader's ability to get behind Montana's story.

He was only going to tell her about his friends Kyle and Jake that lived next door.

He closed his eyes and smelled her perfumed hand and smirked then tilted his head in a daydream like state and began to pucker his lips to kiss her hand.

These two lines are Shamus' POV shifts intertwined with a paragraph in Montana's POV. In essence, I felt it's a double-violation. POV shift, and a shift within the same paragraph.

“Wait! What will I say…” It was too late as she was gone. He looked up at the door and took a step toward it then stopped. He reached for the doorbell but hesitated, running a few scenarios by himself first. “Hello. I’m…” he shook his head. “I’m what? What the hell am I going to say!” He said out loud. Closing his eyes he turned away from the door, putting his hands on his hips. “Think, think…” he hit his head on the banister. He had to hurry and think of something. “Hello. I’m Shamus. I live down the street and I think your daughter is so hot. You don’t know me but I just wanted to come over and ask your permission to climb on top of her and ride her like a bronco at the county fair. You know, bang her like a screen door in a hurricane. So whaddayah say mom! Me and the little missus’ gonna do the humpadybump!” He said his mock spiel smiling and shaking his head and thrusting his hips with emphasis on all the really good words mimicking a woman wailing in orgasm.

Again, his POV.

Also, this seems too much like a movie sequence rather than the tone of fiction for which this story seems to be going. I didn't care for it, but I wouldn't tell you to omit it if you really want to keep it.

I felt the chapter ended without a hook pulling me into the next chapter.

Dylan, the chapter works for most of the way through, and often has some very good moments. Not sure how much you've finished of this novel, but I would stick with 1 person's POV for each chapter. Maybe 1 thief per chapter. You could even entitle each chapter "Montana" "Jake" "Shamus" and so forth just to let the reader know whose story each chapter is going to be.

Thanks for the read.