by Tijan
Jordan began tossing parts of the stick to the ground absentmindedly.
"Okay. So. What all happened exactly?" he asked me.
I relayed everything.
"Fuck." Jordan glowered at the end. "Alex jumped you, but he got his ass kicked, and he pissed off your brother. So what's the payback?"
Cross crossed his arms over his chest. He spoke in a low voice, a hint of warning there. "He's going to get his ass kicked again. I don't care if I have to do it my goddamn self. I am kicking his ass."
"Chill out. You're not doing anything alone. You know we'll have your back," Jordan hissed. "I'm not saying to ignore it, but we do payback on the Ryerson leader, and what then? It's crew war. You guys ready for that?"
Cross was unnaturally still.
That told me plenty.
I craned my neck a little. The painkiller the nurse had given me was starting to kick in. I swear there was a little glow around Zellman where he was perched above everyone else, but I could make out the anger too.
Zellman was usually happy no matter what happened, so I had to do a double take. Nope. It was still there.
Noticing me, some of the anger fled, he said quietly, "He hurt you, Bren. He has to pay for it."
"Some would argue he already has," Jordan mused.
"What the hell?!" Cross growled, jumping away from the vehicle and shoving Jordan. It was fast and forceful. His shove pushed him almost to the ground. Jordan's head whipped back, his face twisting in anger, but Cross didn't care. He stood his ground, his hands in fists. "What? You got a problem with me, because I sure as hell have a problem with you. Say it one more damn time. One more damn time, Jordan."
"Say what?" Jordan's hand thrust through his hair.
"You fucking know."
They were silent.
Cross was waiting for Jordan's answer, and Jordan lowered his head after a second. He submitted, speaking quietly, his hand fisting in his hair. "Look. I'm just saying a crew war could mean more of us like Bren. I don't want that."
"He didn't get hurt by our hands. He hurt one of ours. We have to do the payback. You know that," Cross gritted out.
Jordan's head lowered another fraction of an inch. "Okay. Yeah. I get it."
"We have to, Jordan," I said. They all turned to me. "He's pushed it too much. He has to be hurt back. We can't let it go."
"Okay, but we have to be smart about it." Jordan looked at all of us. "We hit him hard, and just him."
"We can do political shit to lessen any blowback on us, but it will happen," Cross said. "There's no question of that." He looked at Jordan, then Zellman.
"So what about Race?" I asked.
All eyes went back to me.
I added, "I don't know what to say about him. Honestly, I went there for Taz."
"We need to figure out how to deal with him," Jordan agreed. "He's been helping us. If he really doesn't have an agenda with us, then what the fuck, man?"
Zellman snorted. "Everyone has an agenda. If it really was because Drake said to hang with us, and it's not Bren's cooch he wants, we gotta know this guy better."
"Don't talk about my vagina. Ever. And never refer to it as a cooch."
"Huh?" Zellman blinked in confusion, glancing at the guys. "What'd I say wrong?"
Jordan and Cross started laughing.
"New crew rule: no one talks about my vagina, unless you want me to start referring to your two-inch, soft, limp dicks." I growled. The happy pills weren't helping.
"Cooch isn't bad."
"Say it one more time, and I'll wait until you're drunk, then tattoo the words 3 Second Man on your ass."
"Dude. Just stop." Jordan shook his head at him, half-laughing still.
Zellman frowned, itching his head. "I will. Yeah, but cooch isn't bad. Is it?"
"Fucking A, Z!"
"Sorry. Sorry." He ducked his head, holding his hands up. "I'll stop. Sorry, B."
"So we're set?" Cross asked. "We deal with Race first, then figure out the best way of handling Alex?"
One by one, we all nodded.
"I want to be there," I said.
They turned to me again. I frowned a little. "Not that you'd purposely cut me out, but I'm injured, and I know you guys might question him without me because you think you don't want to bother me. But I'm there. I want to take part."
Cross looked at the others again. "We do it as a crew, or we don't do it at all."
We were about to thank Race, in our way.
Cross took me home.
We made it to my room before Channing appeared. I was prepared for an interrogation, but surprisingly, none came. He just asked if I was okay. Albeit, he asked a bit gruffly, but he seemed appeased once I told him I was fine. He didn't question why I'd been at Alex's place or ask how the whole thing had happened, like a normal parent would.
Heather lingered in the doorway after Channing left, biting her lip, her hair in a braid. She kept looking me up and down, as if searching for any outward injury that hadn't been treated. She kept pausing at Cross' hand on my hip. He wasn't helping me stand or anything, but the touch was nice. I found myself leaning into him, into his hand, and he flexed it in response. He tugged me even tighter against him.
"Where are the other two?" Heather asked.
"They were tired," Cross said. "Went home."
Her smirk told us she didn't believe him. "Okay." She nodded in the direction Channing had gone. "He's not questioning you because it's your crew business, same as with him."
Heather was our go-between.
I wasn't sure if that was a good thing, but I nodded. I got it. "Thanks."
She raised an eyebrow. "No need to thank me. Just doing my duty as someone who cares about both of you--you know, trying to smooth out sibling fights before they happen."
"Is that what he does for you and Brandon?"
She laughed this time. "Yeah. Right. He makes it worse, views it as his personal reality show."
I felt a pinch at her words.
Channing was funny, and viewed as a charmer, but not with me. Never with me.
I wasn't worthy enough.
I firmed my jaw, swallowing thickly. As if sensing the storm in me, Cross' hand smoothed over my back. His fingers slipped under my shirt and rested on my skin.
"So," Heather continued, her eyes noting that touch before flicking back to my face. "A normal girl who had been in a beatdown would stay in bed, watch movies, and have a good, old-fashioned cry fest. I'm assuming you're heading right back out?"
The painkillers were making everything a bit fuzzy, but I nodded. "Yep."
She sighed. "Okay."
I waited.
This was where a parent or guardian figure would get angry. How dare I go back out, especially now. Where was I going? What would I be doing? When would I be back? Channing hadn't asked about the fight, so I wasn't sure if Heather would step into those shoes now.
She ran her fingers through the end of her hair. "Goddamn, I need a cigarette." She started to leave, but turned back and pointed at me. "Be fucking safe tonight. Okay? Be safe. And call your damn brother to let him know when you're getting home. He stresses me out too."
She went back in their bedroom, shutting the door with a bit more force than necessary.
I didn't move. I stared at the closed door.
I had a weird feeling inside me, churning around.
It didn't feel bad, or wrong. It just felt...different.
Cross chuckled, seeing the look on my face. "She cares."
Yes. "I thought she hated me."
"She's caught in the middle." His hand fell away from my back, and he went to the window. "Do you still want to do this tonight? Jordan and Z just got here."
"How'd you know they arrived?"
"My phone buzzed in my pocket." He smirked at me. "Took a gamble."
I started to laugh, but winced at the movement. Someone got a decent wallop in there. It'd hurt worse in the morning, once the painkillers wore off, so I nodded. Now wa
s the time.
"Yeah." I went to my closet. I'd need dark clothes for this. "Better tonight while I'm a little loopy than tomorrow. Tomorrow's not going to be fun."
"Stay home."
I paused as I shifted through my shirts and looked at him.
"Take a sick day." He gestured to the doorway. "You heard Heather. She wants you to do that. Hell, she probably wants to dote on you. That's what parents do. Makes them feel good about themselves."
"Your parents do that?"
He hesitated. "They should--for Taz."
I frowned at him.
Cross knew my relationship with Channing was messed up, and I knew there were problems at his house, but I hadn't pushed for the details. Hearing him now, I wondered if I should.
"I'm sorry," I told him.
Cross' eyes met mine.
"For Taz, I mean. She'd enjoy that kind of treatment."
His Adam's apple shifted as he swallowed, and he cleared his throat. "Do you need help changing?"
"No. I'm stiff, but I'll manage."
I took my clothes into the bathroom and examined myself. I sucked in my breath. I was bruised everywhere. There were scrapes on my head, like someone had wrenched my hair back and left a mark. The bottom half of my chin was one giant bruise. It went from ear to ear. Then there was another at the corner of my eye. I felt over my ribs, just skimming. I had a bruise the size of a basketball on my side. There was a yellow lining around it.
No wonder Heather had wanted a cigarette. If she showed up looking like this, I would've been smoking too.
Nonetheless, I hadn't lied. I was stiff, but I was still able to move around. Everything would be painful as fuck in the morning. I made up my mind. Whether Heather or Channing wanted to dote or not, I'd take a skip day tomorrow.
But first things first.
I dressed, pulling on black pants and a black long-sleeved shirt with a hood. Getting the clothes on was slightly painful, a fact the pills were helping. I would've been crying if they weren't working, and I knew they were because I had to try three times to lace up my shoes. Finally, I gave in and slipped on an old pair that I didn't need to tie.
Cross was waiting on the edge of the bed. He'd changed too. I didn't ask where he'd gotten his clothes. He kept a drawer here.
"I'm ready."
He stood, but his gaze skimmed over me, darkening before he took my hand and led the way. A vein popped out from his neck. Hearing laughter in the backyard, he turned to go out the front.
We weren't really sneaking out, but it still felt that way.
As we hurried to Jordan's truck, the passenger door opened. Letting go of my hand, Cross jumped lithely and soundlessly into the back. He settled into the corner as Zellman got out of the front. He paused once, looked me over, and gave me a slight nod.
He jumped in the back too, going to the opposite corner, behind where Jordan was at the wheel.
I got into the cab, having to hold my breath until I was settled.
Fuck. I hated being injured.
There was no music playing. Tonight, that felt right. It felt appropriate.
Jordan tapped a coffee drink in the console. "I got this for you, if you want it."
It was his way of saying he was sorry. "Thank you."
When he turned toward downtown Roussou, I glanced over.
"He's not at Alex's?" But as I asked, I knew that was true. Alex had told me himself.
"Called someone. He's at a hotel. I got the room number."
"His mom?"
"We're in luck. Apparently, she likes her martinis--at the Fallen Crest Country Club."
I laughed. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Our boy is alone, unless he's got company of the female persuasion." He winked at me as he turned the vehicle onto the main road. "That'd complicate things a bit, huh?"
I shot him a dark look. "Shut it."
I did not want that to be the next thing, where they teased me about Race in a sexual or romantic way. Good grief.
Then I reconsidered. We still had a few blocks to go. We were alone. Cross and Z couldn't interrupt, so throwing all caution to the wind, I braved it.
"Why do you keep insinuating he still wants in my pants? That should be over."
Jordan was quiet. His hand tightened on the steering wheel, and he inclined his head toward me with his eyes still on the road. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah."
His smirk grew. "You're actually asking me this? Don't you see it?"
"See what?"
He gestured back behind me. "He admitted it, somewhat. He hates Cross. He keeps hanging out with us, or trying after we keep trying to tell him to take a hike. He waded into a big fucking fight for you earlier. I mean, Bren. It's plain as day. How do you not see that? No guy is going to do all that shit unless he wants in a girl's pants, and even then, this guy's going above and beyond. I'd worry about you getting a stalker if the guy wouldn't have to deal with Cross first."
I was stunned. "Wha--how?"
The slight interest Race admitted earlier didn't seem that deep, not what Jordan was describing.
He snorted again. "Come on, Bren. You're not stupid. Or dense." He paused. When I didn't say anything, he laughed again. "For real? You really haven't noticed it?"
Now panic was rising in me. If he hated Cross, that meant...
No.
No way.
I frowned. "What are you talking about?"
But the touches had been increasing.
The looks too. Cross had always known me, but it was different lately. Lately it'd been like I needed his touch, and he answered me before I'd even asked.
The shivers. The tingles. The throbbing.
I had started to ache in places I never had for him.
My heart was pounding fast and loud, thumping against my ribcage, and I bit back a groan. The pills were starting to wane. That must've been it.
"He's jealous of how close you and Cross are."
Right. Because--
"You and Cross are tight. He's got your back. You have his."
Jordan slowed, coming to the main intersection. The light turned green, and he flipped on his left arrow. The hotel was a block up.
"Any guy who's going to look at you romantically is going to look at Cross sideways. If I didn't know better, I'd think you had something going on with him."
He slowed, coming to the hotel's parking lot.
"People outside of us don't understand," I told him. "That's how it is."
He pulled in, then drove to the end of the hotel. He parked in the very last slot. As he turned the engine off, he grinned at me. "Lucky for you, we'll get all that straightened out tonight." He wiggled his eyebrows and was out in a flash.
Cross and Zellman jumped out from the back.
I eased out, Jordan's words still with me.
Cross migrated closer. "You okay?"
My words were stuck in my throat, and those tingles shot through me, zapping all over. I didn't like this feeling--not knowing what to feel or how to feel, or even why I was feeling what I was.
"You guys coming?" Zellman bounced next to Jordan, going up and down on his heels.
We were about to make a move. Cross had questioned Race at school. That'd been his first shot to come clean. The Drake thing--I didn't know. I was with them. It didn't quite make sense. So this would be a second and more direct, more intimidating move.
The adrenaline was starting to build.
The anticipation of not knowing what we'd be walking into, knowing we couldn't control certain situations, knowing that in those moments we had to go with it--it was addicting. It made us feel reckless, but powerful. We were going in, and it was going to be one huge ride.
This. This was what set us apart. This made us stupid, but it made us dangerous too. And though we shouldn't--we knew we shouldn't--we loved it. We hungered for it.
Not fear.
Normal people feared this shit.
Not us. We lived for this shit, whether or
not it was a good idea.
"Yeah." I nodded.
I saw the excitement stirring in Jordan and Zellman. Z's bouncing had upped, and Jordan began to swing his arms around in small circles.
Cross was different. He'd crouch down, his head bowed until we were ready to go. He'd push off then, and that's when we'd see the dangerous side of him, the side I loved knowing he had in him. It's intoxicating to have your best friend be that fierce about you, that protective, knowing he'd go to any lengths and you would for him too. It was goddamn addictive.
This was my crew. My guys. Mine.
We were the ones no one wanted to contend with. As we followed Jordan to the side door, I knew we were about to prove that again.
He took out a key card, winking at us. "Compliments of a friend."
Zellman grinned, but Cross kept his head down, standing right in front of me.
Two steps down the hallway, and we were at the room.
We could hear the television inside. It was low, but we could still hear it. We couldn't see any light from inside, and there'd been none from outside, so maybe a lamp could be on? Either way, we expected it to be dark. We had to. Prepare and expect the worse.
Jordan used the same keycard for the door.
He released the lock, and like so many other times, we all played our parts.
Jordan held the door open, and Cross went in first. He was our weapon, the real one. He was the fastest, the best fighter, our wolf. Jordan went next, the oversized muscle, and Zellman was third.
Third was usually my place, but not tonight. Tonight everything was different.
I shut the door behind me. We were all in. Cross was already bearing down on Race.
Race gave a small shout, but it wasn't that loud.
I saw him jump up. But as he swung, Cross dodged it.
Cross was ready. Race wasn't.
There were no odds in Race's favor.
Cross didn't hit him. That wasn't the point here. He tackled him instead, and Jordan was on him in the next second.
Zellman and I went to work. We put the deadbolt in place and turned on the bathroom lights with the fan. We turned up the television, but not enough to have the neighbors complaining.
The hotel room had a kitchenette, so we flipped the microwave on, heating up air. I spotted a fan in the corner by the bed. Moving around them, I turned that on too. Zellman had already pulled the curtains shut.
It was as loud as we were going to get.
Cross and Zellman pushed Race down on the bed, turning him around and yanking his arms up behind him. Jordan stood at the end, duct tape in hand. He wrapped it around Race's hands and then his feet.
