by Tijan
James flinched at that. He coughed again, raising his head up. “The two of you haven’t been proud to be mine for a long time. Hearing that now only saddens me because I thought there’d been progress—”
“Are they suing you?”
I hadn’t thought of that, but Logan was locked in on our dad. He smelled a trail and was following it down the path.
James was silent. That gave us the answer.
“Shit, Dad. That’s why they backed off.” Logan shook his head. “I’m sure some of it was because of Channing, but I bet if they harmed the sons of the guy they’re going after in court, that’d hurt their lawsuits.”
Again, silence from James.
“Christ, Dad.”
“What do you want me to say? People get sued. There’ll be a settlement. There’s always a settlement.”
Now I was reading between the lines. “They won’t settle, will they?”
And remembering back last night, how the older guy presented himself, how he spoke, how Channing had been alarmed on the phone last night, none of that was sitting well with me.
Our dad seemed to already be pleading the fifth.
“Shit. They won’t.”
“They’re a motorcycle club. They can’t touch us.”
“Let’s hope they can’t, Dad, because what if they could?” Logan whistled under his breath. “Intelligent outlaws. Nothing scarier, right?”
James looked at a loss for words, but then he sighed. His voice lowered. “I won’t let anything hurt you guys, or Sam, or Taylor, or Maddie. Nothing. This is a matter that’s being settled in court. They have no case. They’ve just been like mosquitos. They won’t go away, that’s all.”
I’d heard enough.
My stomach was tightening. “Whatever, Dad.”
His eyes skirted between us. “So, uh. Can we do lunch? Analise really would like to see little Maddie.”
I was already turning and walking away.
I heard Logan say behind me, “No, Dad. No lunch, but it was good to see you.”
Me, I didn’t say a word. There wasn't any more to say.
We got to the rental and I cursed once the doors were closed. “Bet you a fucking mil that he ran those towns, whatever towns he’s talking about, dry. He ruined businesses. Families lost their jobs. I don’t want to think about the collateral to kids. Shit. Shit, Logan!”
And I was putting two and two together, and I wasn’t liking what else was connecting.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I need to have a phone call with Channing about this MC.”
“No, Mason.” Logan’s tone was assertive, final. I rarely heard this from him. “Not this road. Not this fight. It isn’t ours. It’s his and I don’t want to go where that road might take us. Not this time.”
He wasn’t asking, or pleading. He was saying.
He added, “You had a feeling. Well, so do I. About this. We have to leave this one alone. We’re good. What we have coming ahead of us is nothing but good. Let’s stay that course, not go down this course.”
Since he brought it up, in a roundabout way, I had to take this opening.
I asked, “You okay? And I mean you and Taylor?”
He got quiet. “Why are you asking?”
“Sam’s worried. You’re quieter than normal.”
“Oh.” He seemed to consider the question. “Yeah. I mean, you grow up and change. Like I said before, I think Taylor and I need to think about some things, but we’re good. She and I. There just comes a time when you have to strike out and start your own course, your own family. I think I’m getting there, but yeah. To answer your question, we’re good.” He gave me a half-grin. “Love you, brother.”
“Love you too.”
Talk time was done. I turned the engine on, and we went back.
And as for staying our courses, I listened to my little brother.
18
Samantha
Mason crawled back into bed and woke me up.
His mouth went right between my legs, and I came awake like I’d never come awake before. It was another form of heaven, and then he proceeded to take me there.
I’d just come down when he eased out and settled beside me, but still caressing me. He was peppering kisses on my throat, up my jawline, then back down to my mouth. I curved into him, deliciously satiated and knowing no part of my body wanted to move. Except my boobs.
Because I had to pump. Again.
And then I remembered and shoved his face away. “Maddie.”
“Is with Malinda. She’s taking care of her.”
I wanted my baby, but my other baby was here and we were heading back to Massachusetts today. That meant the real world.
I sighed, nuzzling into Mason as he held me. “I want my little girl.”
He grinned, his mouth finding mine before he pushed himself up. “Then I’ll get your little girl.”
“Do it with clothes, please.”
He’d been reaching for the handle, then paused. Throwing me a rakish grin, he grabbed some pants and hauled them on. “Forgot we weren’t home. And alone.”
A moment later, he was returning with Maddie in his arms. Pure bliss. Right there.
I sat up and he handed her off, and the world was perfect all over again. She was awake and alert, her little hands reaching up as Mason shifted back into bed beside me. He leaned over, cooing and playing with his little girl as I held her.
It was a bit later when Mason asked, “Did you get enough time with Heather?”
I nodded. I’d adjusted so I was lying further down in bed. Maddie was between us, her arms and legs kicking up in the air. She was trying to suck one of her toes.
“Yeah. I did. She’s happy.”
“She is.”
I looked up. Mason was watching me, his eyes soft.
I murmured, feeling my throat swelling up, but knowing it was only good I was feeling, “Everyone seems happy.”
Mason nodded, his eyes going back to Maddie. He laid his hand on her stomach, his palm down and he began tickling her. Her smiles and shrieks filled the air.
Those eyes of his, always soft when he looked at his little girl.
“I think everyone has their own path, and I think everyone will get to where we are.”
“You think?” Because, God, I hoped so.
“I do.”
He leaned over. I met him halfway and our lips brushed each other in the most tender kiss I’ve felt in a long time from him. It took the air out of my lungs for a second. I reached up, my hand cradling the back of his neck, and I tugged him closer. “I figure we have thirty minutes before Malinda breaks down our door for lunch.”
He grinned against my mouth. “I figure you’re right.”
We were right.
Lunch was wonderful, but then again, the whole weekend had been wonderful.
I couldn’t wait for our next visit back.
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For More Reading
If you’d like more Mason and Sam, go to
www.tijansbooks.com
for a bonus scene previously written and released.
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Books still to come:
Always Crew
(the conclusion of the Crew series)
Nate’s book
(late winter 2020/early spring 2021)
Author Note
I hope you enjoyed catching up with the Fallen Crest and Crew characters!
Thank you to all the readers who love these characters and keep them alive, especially in my reader group.
Crew
Chapter One
You aren’t supposed to want to die.
I know that’s isn’t what society wanted to hear. It isn’t supposed to be felt or thought about. It’s supposed to be ignored, but I was standing here. I was watching my crew beat the crap out of a guy, and all I wanted was to
trade places with the guy.
I knew that sounded morbid. I did, and I’m not talking about the off-the-cuff comment like you bombed your history exam and it’s the “kill me now,” or your boyfriend dumped you and “Gurrrrl, I just wanna dieeee! WTF?!”
No. I was talking about the dark kind where it’s in the back of your mind, where it’s a small little door that you wanted to open and disappear through . . .
Some days, it was hard to suppress and harder to ignore, so I wasn’t doing either of those.
“You’re not going to touch my sister again,” Jordan growled before delivering probably his fourth punch already. “Got it, asshole?”
It was my face getting bloodied. Not that guy. That’s what was going on in my head, but not anyone else. Not Jordan, who straightened to sneer at the guy laying at his feet.
Jordan Pitts.
He was the self-proclaimed leader of our crew. Note here: self-proclaimed. As in, he announced it one day. No one took objection and off he went, embracing his cocky swagger thinking he speaks for our group of four. The truth was that he did, but only when we didn’t have a problem with what he was saying.
Our group wasn’t a dicktatorship, whether he believed that or not.
Jordan bent down, his long, six-feet-two self, grabbed a hold of the guy’s shirt and lifted him in the air. He shook him, growling again in his face, but the guy couldn’t answer. His face was broken. Literally. Either Cross or Jordan had punched his cheek so hard it looked busted. His whole face was a mess of blood and bruises. I would’ve felt sorry except for two things: he tried to rape Jordan’s sister, and when Jordan asked him to report himself, he added a curse word, his middle finger, and he spat on Jordan’s shoes.
Apparently this guy didn’t know the reputation of either us, or Jordan himself. If he had, he would’ve ran the other way when he met Mallory Pitts. You had to give the guy some props. Instead of lying, he was honest. He told Jordan exactly what he thought of that suggestion. And anyway, if he’d lied, we would’ve followed up, and if he didn’t report himself, this whole beat-down would’ve happened anyway.
This was my crew.
After Jordan, but there were two others besides myself. Cross Shaw, Zellman Greenly.
My name is Bren Monroe and even though I’m in the middle of this whole dark diatribe, and even though we’re looking like the bad guys right now, things aren’t always as they seem.
Jordan slammed the guy back down to the ground, then bent over him to issue more threats.
Cross stepped back, and I felt his gaze on me even before I looked up. Yes, there it was. His tawny hazel eyes that so many girls loved. We were family—and not that kind of family. But I’d have to be blind, and even then I probably would’ve still understood why so many girls at Roussou High salivated over him.
Six one. Lean, but built. He had a strong square jawline, one that he would clench at times. A face that was almost prettier than mine. He was one of those types of guys. He would be gorgeous even if he was a girl, a fact I loved to tease him about. But teasing aside, the facts were simply put: Cross got the girls. He could just show up somewhere, and ten would be at his side. He could nod at a girl, and she’d go to his side for the night, usually be down for anything he wanted. Cross was the quiet, nice guy….except he wasn’t really either of those at all. I mean, he was, but he wasn’t. He was generally quiet, but he talked to me. And he was nice, but he could be lethal. Piss him off, and you’d never see him coming. He wasn’t like Jordan with the growling and throwing people around. He’d come right up to you, and then you’d be waking up in the hospital a couple days later.
And while I loved Jordan and Zellman, they weren’t Cross.
They weren’t my best friend, the guy whose closet I’d crawl into so many nights when I needed a sanctuary from my own hell called home.
I met his eyes as he came toward me. His golden hair and tanned skin made him every pretty boy’s nightmare. When would he wake up and realize he had more potential than all of us? He could go to New York and be a model, or go to Hollywood and be a teen actor. Why he stayed in Roussou was beyond me.
He wasn’t messed up like the rest of us. He wasn’t messed up like me.
“You got the look,” he said, coming to stand next to me.
Yeah. I knew what he was referencing, but I didn’t respond.
“Okay, fuckhead,” Jordan announced. “We’re going to leave you now, and if you think you’d like to turn any of us in, don’t forget what we have on you. Got it? Nod your head, dickwad.”
Jordan was the intellectual here. He was smrt.
The guy made a gurgling sound and managed to move his head a bit.
It sufficed for Jordan, and he nodded. “Good.” He turned, his long legs crossing the ground toward us.
I leaned against the back bed of his truck, Cross still next to me, as Jordan opened the driver’s side door.
Zellman had been standing nearby at the ready. That’s what he tended to do any day of the week—always behind Jordan and waiting. Since Jordan had come over to us now, so did Zellman. He launched himself up to the opened truck bed behind us.
I heard the cooler open, and he tossed a beer Jordan’s way. “Bren? Cross?” he called.
Cross shook his head.
I turned around to look at the guys. “I’m good. Thanks.”
“You sure?” Zellman extended a beer.
“I am.”
Jordan’s eyes flicked upwards—his response to a lot of the things I did. We had each other’s backs, but to Jordan that meant doing everything he wanted. Sometimes we disagreed, and every time I didn’t do what he did, he took it that I was disagreeing with him.
Family doesn’t work that way.
I watched him, just for a moment.
One day we would battle.
One day it would be me against him.
One day his disapproval would make me snap, or one day he wouldn’t just be a jerk because I wasn’t doing what he wanted. He would go too far and that would be the day I’d meet him halfway.
I already knew how the lines would shift in our group. Cross would back me up. Zellman would probably back-up Jordan. It’d be two against two so when that day would happen, I hoped to be in a really piss-ass poor mood because even though I was the only girl in the group, one of the two only girls in the entire system, I could handle my own and I wanted to enjoy lighting into Jordan on that day. But that day wasn’t today, and I hoped it would take a long time to come. I did care for Jordan like a brother, though he wasn’t my actual blood.
“So.” Jordan slammed the door shut again, the force rocking his truck for a second. He propped up a leg on the truck’s gutter. “What’s the plan for tonight?”
It was the last night before our senior year started.
Sunday night. People had been to church this morning, and we’d beaten someone bloody this evening. There was irony in there somewhere. I was just too tired to find it.
“Ryerson has a party tonight,” Zellman offered. “I say we go.” His shaggy curls bounced around as his blue eyes darted between all of us.
“Yeah?” Jordan’s eyes lit up.
Zellman nodded. “I’m down to go. I think Sunday Barnes got new boobs this summer.” He grinned. “I’m hoping to check ‘em out personally.”
Jordan laughed. “I’m good with that.” He tipped his head back, finishing his beer, and then tossed the bottle into the trees behind us. “Bren, Cross, what about you guys?”
Cross would wait for me, so I said, “I’m good for the night.”
“No party?”
“I’m gonna head home.”
Jordan’s disapproval settled in the air over us, but no one said a word.
“Think I’m down with you guys for the party,” Cross added after a moment.
Zellman thrust a fist in the air. “Hell yeah. Take it.” He offered his half-emptied beer.
Cross laughed, but shook his head. “I’ll wait for the good liquor there. Rye
rson always has something.”
“Yeah! That’s what it’s about.” Zellman finished his beer, and reached into the cooler for a second one. “Jordan?”
“I gotta drive.” He glanced to me. “Ride home?”
I looked over to where the guy still lay on the ground. He hadn’t moved.
I shook my head. “Think I’ll walk. I can cut through the trees.”
“You sure?”
Cross moved around us, clapping Jordan on the shoulder. “Let’s go. Bren can take care of herself.” He glanced back to me, circling around the front of the truck to get into the passenger side. He knew I wanted to be on my own tonight. He knew it because he could feel it. Just like I could almost hear his thoughts now.
She always has.
I finished in my own head, Always will.
Cross’ statement seemed to settle the other guys, and Jordan started the truck. He circled around me, kicking up a cloud of dust, and zoomed back down the way we’d come. He saluted me with a finger as he passed by. Zellman had settled in the bed, sitting by the cooler, and he held up his beer as his goodbye.
I shook my head, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at my mouth, but that was all the reaction they got out of me.
Once they were gone, it was just me, the bloodied guy, and the same dark quiet I’d felt earlier.
It came out of nowhere at times, swallowing me whole. Some days it would vanish just as quick, others like tonight, it lingered.
It used to scare me. I now missed it at times when it wasn’t there, but I always knew it would move on. It was like a firefly slipping away into the night. When that happened, I was left with the feeling that I let something slip from my fingers.
This night, that firefly remained. It warmed me.
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