by Tijan
Copyright © 2019 Tijan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created by the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.
Edited by Jessica Royer Ocken
Beta read by: Crystal R Solis, Eileen Robinson, Rochelle Paige, Debra Anastasia, Heather Brown, and Heather Amber Pollock
Proofread by Paige Smith, Chris O’Neil Parece, Amy English, Rochelle Paige
Formatting: Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC, www.allusiongraphics.com
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Ryan’s Bed Chapter One
Dedicated to Amber Reynolds Moore, her family and those who loved Amber.
To the reader,
Crew Princess is not a standalone. You must read Crew first!
Other books that are connected to Crew Princess, but do not have to be read before reading are:
Fallen Crest Series
(Fallen Crest High, Fallen Crest Family, Fallen Crest Public, Fallen Fourth Down, Fallen Crest University, Logan Kade, Fallen Crest Home, Fallen Crest Forever)
The Boy I Grew Up With (Channing and Heather)
(Can be read as a standalone.)
BREN MONROE
RECORDED INTERVIEW, PART 1
Fallen Crest Police Station
Conducted by Fallen Crest Police Detective Broghers and Fallen Crest Police Detective Peyton.
Duration: Five minutes.
POLICE: It’s been established that Jordan Pitts, Zellman Greenly, Cross Shaw, and yourself, Bren Monroe, were responsible for the recent assault on Alex Ryerson, former leader of the Ryerson Crew. Is that correct?
BREN: no response
POLICE: After your crew assaulted Mr. Ryerson, he remained in the hospital for four weeks. Is that correct?
BREN: no response
POLICE: Do you care that you guys almost killed him?
BREN: We never touched him.
POLICE: scoffing You did, and we know you did. He was in the hospital for a month. Do you care about that?
BREN: no response
POLICE: You were given instructions not to harm him permanently. That’s correct too, isn’t it? Just give us that little bit, and we can move on.
BREN: I want my lawyer.
POLICE: Sigh. This ends police interrogation, part one.
You would think one might outgrow violence.
At some age—after inflicting so much pain, seeing too much blood, hearing so many cries of agony—a person would be able to walk away, turn her back, and the need wouldn’t be there anymore.
Right?
It never worked that way for me.
The urge just grew and grew until it was too much to handle.
There may not be a wish to die inside me anymore, that might’ve gone away, but a different desire rose up. I wanted to cake the streets in red. I wanted to put terror in the Normals’ hearts, inflict them with some of the quaking we woke with. I wanted them to feel what it was like to have the power against them.
But I couldn’t do any of that.
Or at least, it wasn’t time.
“Bren.”
The sounds around me permeated my mind, and I turned toward the voice amid the yells, laughter, shrieks, splashing, and glasses being tapped together.
Right. I was at a pool party.
No wonder I was feeling all murderous.
Who wouldn’t be?
“Bren!”
A lot had changed in the ten weeks since a friend was assaulted, and particularly in the last month. A lot. One of those changes was heading toward me. Tabatha Sweets. One of the most popular girls in our school, one that used to fear me, and here she was. Coming up to me. Calling my name. Acting like we were buddy-buddy, which we actually had become. Hence the not-fearing me part.
She still should have.
She came to stand right in front of me. She wasn’t blocking my sun because I’d been holed up in the corner of the backyard, lying down behind the grill, because let’s face it, I wasn’t the socialite here. I was here for very specific reasons: this pool party was at the Shaws’ house.
Cross Shaw was my boyfriend.
Taz Shaw was my friend. She was also Cross’ sister.
And the other two guys in our crew wanted to hang out. Zellman and Jordan.
So we were here.
I was here.
Unwillingly.
And daydreaming about violence.
Go figure.
I sat up, looped my arms over my knees, and sighed. “What’s up, Tabatha?”
“What are you doing back here?”
Her voice was a little snippy with frustration, but also confusion.
Tentative was the best way to describe our relationship—and I’m being extremely loose with those words to describe whatever I had with Tabatha and her minions. You can blame all the hours I had to serve on their charity committee, which was renamed their ‘event’ committee as part of my community service. Stabbing our old principal had ended with me sort of having other girlfriends besides Taz.
I wasn’t sure how that had worked out.
A couple had been after Cross, and I knew a couple still held a torch. As for Tabatha, she and Jordan were now a couple couple.
Yeah. I was surprised at how fast that happened too.
They went from one official date to being a couple, and now they were almost the lovey-dovey type of coupledom.
Anyway, right now, my crewmate’s girlfriend who was also somewhat a friend of mine (depending on the day and my mood, to be honest) stood over me. She was staring me down, hands on her hips.
I couldn’t lie, though. The urge to pull my knife out, just to hold it and know it would make Tabatha uneasy, was strong. But I didn’t. I’d grown over the last year. See? Counseling and community service could rehabilitate us lower criminal beings.
“Where are the guys?” I ignored her question. Did she not know me by now?
Pushing up to my feet, I didn’t wait for her to
respond.
I took stock myself.
Zellman was on a back lounger, his on/off woman (Sunday) on his lap. Monica (one of the girls still holding a torch for my guy) was next to them, sitting on some other guy’s lap (I think a baseball player).
Jordan was just coming out of the house.
He saw me staring at him and paused, beer in hand. He raised his eyebrows in question, but I shook my head.
I didn’t need him for anything.
He kept moving, going to sit in another lounger by Z. And I knew where the fourth member of our crew was.
Jordan. Zellman. Cross. Me.
We were Wolf Crew, the smallest crew in the Roussou crew system, but also the most dangerous one.
There were other crews. Larger ones like the Ryerson Crew, or the Frisco Crew, which had popped up over the last semester. They were our neighboring town, and their high school had burned down. The town was too small to get enough funds to build a new one in time for their winter semester, so they were being bused to us. Well, half of them were. A few went to Fallen Crest Academy, and a good third went to Fallen Crest Public School, but the rest came to us. Frisco, Fallen Crest, and Roussou formed a weird triangle a bit inland in California, so those were the options.
We’d heard the Frisco students who went to the Academy shit their pants at how rich and fancy everything was. Most people in Frisco were poor like us. The Academy was for the rich. There were exceptions, but it’s what it was.
A few of their girls had tried to follow Tabatha around. She only took in two of them, literally flicking the others away with her hand.
I guess that’s what popular girls did? I didn’t know.
All this is just to say: I’m not like them.
I’m not like Frisco. I’m not like a Fallen Crusty, and I’m not even like a Normal (our term for those who aren’t in crews at Roussou). The ones I’m like? My crew. Zellman. Jordan. Cross. That’s it.
And seeing Jordan laughing so easily with that sporty guy, I felt a twitch in my chest.
I didn’t know what it was—jealousy, anger, or maybe I was just hungry. But the fact that I’d felt that twitch was enough for me. If I did emotions, it was never a good result, so I was gonna bounce.
“Oh, no, no, no.”
I began to move around Tabatha, but she blocked me.
Her eyes flashed in determination, and she pressed her lips together. “I recognize that look on your face. You’re going to ditch.” She shook her head. “You can’t ditch.”
“I don’t care.” I started off again.
She blocked me again, flipping her hair as she did. The movement was enough to draw attention, and conversations around us started to wane.
I gritted my teeth.
Tabatha was in my face, and I hated when anyone was in my face, and I was two seconds away from—
“Sweets.” The door opened again. Taz stepped out, a hand on her bikini-clad hip, dressed just the way Tabatha was. “Back away from Bren.”
Tabatha started to turn, laughing.
Taz wasn’t joking. She nodded at me. “She’s two seconds from putting hands on you.” She scanned the backyard. “Not a great situation to be in right now, if you get my drift.”
There were phones out. Things didn’t stay secret anymore, not since the Friscians came to town. And there was another development rumored as well, one that had most people seeing stars and Hollywood signs, but I can’t even get into that now. I’d been given a heads-up and knew it was going to be a pain in my ass.
“You’re close to losing it?” Tabatha asked quietly, easing back a step.
This was her redeeming quality. Sometimes she was clueless, but other times, she had learned to give me space. She backed down now, an apology flashing in her eyes.
I could move my jaw again. It wasn’t encased in cement. “I don’t like being cornered.”
“Shit,” she said under her breath. She stepped to the side. “Sorry. I wanted you to have fun.”
I felt a little bad now, but not enough to keep me here, pretending to be a normal high schooler. I was literally itching, the need to be free and roaming alone making my blood boil.
Taz had stepped farther out onto their cement patio, and I could see the phone in her hand. Looking over, Jordan flashed me a grin as he put his phone away.
I got it now.
He’d called Taz, and that was a good way to handle it.
Taz was sweet to everyone, but as she fixed a look on me, I was getting that antsy feeling all over again.
“Bren.” Taz started for me.
I knew what she wanted. It was the reason she threw this party.
And my jaw locked back in place. “No.” My teeth were tight too.
“Bren, please.”
“No.” I moved around her, my hands in my pockets as I wove my way through the crowd inside.
Usually people moved for us, but I wasn’t giving anyone time to notice I was coming. A few squeaked as I brushed past them.
“You need to talk to him.”
I was at the stairs. I stopped, my hand on the rail. “I don’t, actually.”
“Bren, please.” Her voice wobbled.
I paused. Really?
I gave her a look. “I know you were just drinking, laughing, and sitting on your boyfriend’s lap two seconds before Jordan texted you to get Tabatha off me. Do not put on the waterworks and think it’s going to work.”
A tear fell, leaving behind a wet trail as she let it go all the way to her chin. She sniffled. “I miss my brother, Bren.”
Nope. The tear wasn’t real.
Or…
It could’ve been.
Cross hadn’t stayed at their house for the last two months, not since—
“Stuff it, Taz,” came a voice from behind her.
Relief.
I was no longer in the crosshairs.
Cross was heading down the stairs, his eyes firmly locked on his sister’s and his jaw clenched. That strong, square jaw, the one I ached to kiss and touch and run my hands over. His hair was a little lighter than normal, but cut short, and if possible, he’d been hitting the weights harder over the last two months than before.
Jordan and Zellman liked to lift weights, but that was a pastime for them.
For Cross, it was different. There was a set of weights at Jordan’s shed, and Cross was there a couple hours a day now. The results were staggering. At six-one, he remained lean, but he was much more defined than ever. His stomach was a washboard of abs, and if he turned to the side with his shirt off, I could see every cut of his muscles.
He’d been on a mission, and besides lifting weights and training with Taz’s boyfriend (who was a boxer), his other outlet was me.
He turned those tawny hazel eyes on me, and I felt zapped. Just by that look, I knew he needed a release. I could feel my own need rising again.
“Cross,” Taz began, flicking the tear away.
Her voice had suddenly firmed back up. Shocker.
She angled her body to block him as he came down the stairs, a bag over his shoulder. She had a hand on the other railing. “You need to talk to Mom—”
He stopped in front of her, staring down. “I don’t, actually.”
“Cross—”
“She cheated on Dad,” he said coldly.
Yeah. This had happened over the last month.
Taz’s entire body seemed to deflate. “I know, but he cheated on her first.”
That happened too.
Then from Cross, “They’re getting a divorce, Taz. Whether I’m talking to them or not won’t change a goddamn thing.”
And yeah, that was happening overall.
Times were now a bit tense.
Then Jordan came over and asked, “Hey. Are we going to the bonfire tonight? For District Weekend?”
District Weekend. I’d forgotten—and shit.
We had about a month left of school.
That meant prom was the following weekend.
Wi
th Cross just two inches beneath him, Jordan was the tallest guy in our school. The only one who could’ve competed was our last principal, but he was gone.
Someone got him fired…
Cross came down the last few steps, moving his sister out of the way with a gentle hand, then stepped down so he was right behind me. His voice came over my shoulder, his breath caressing me. “We are?”
Jordan drew closer, some Normals behind him. The one lounger guy had tripled so there were three of them now.
I looked, but no Z. Where was Z? A few girls had come instead.
Sunday. Monica. There was another girl too. Lilac? She had a thing for Cross. I wasn’t a fan. And I was pretty sure she loathed me. I didn’t blame her. I’d feel the same.
See. More evidence of just how far I’d come.
I was all understanding now, not straight-going-for-the-knife Bren anymore.
Work in progress. That was me.
“Yeah. Why not?” He shrugged. “Fallen Crest and Frisco switched things around. Might be fun. That Quickie’s place burned down. I heard they have a new place there instead of that one gas station. Wait. Is that where they put the new police station?”
One of the guys cursed. “Where’s the bonfire going to be then?”
More than a couple phones came out, but Cross touched the back of my elbow. “Come on.” He motioned to Jordan as well, so the three of us moved outside.
Cross walked to the street before stopping.
“Look,” Jordan started, his hands in the air.
“I’m fine with it.”
My eyebrows shot up.
Last semester, we would’ve been holding back for me. I was the one who always did my own thing, with Cross coming to find me later. But since his dad had moved out, since Cross had officially moved into my bedroom, he and I had switched roles.
Well, I was still one to do my own thing, but usually Cross was more vocal about how none of us needed to do all the parties. His being okay with this bonfire in Fallen Crest—especially there—wasn’t… Then I got it.
“Your dad’s new girlfriend is there, isn’t she?”