Crew Princess (Crew Series Book 2)

by Tijan

And I could see inside of him too.

  He was right there, staring back at me, and I saw the deep yearning he kept checked because he knew I held myself back so much.

  But I had to. I couldn’t endure life if I lived it like this, feeling everything. I couldn’t, but right now, with my legs winding tighter around his hips, this was the only place I had to be.

  His lips found mine, holding, claiming.

  He began moving harder, deeper, then paused and rotated his hips, moving so he touched every part of me, and I almost screamed. Pleasure nearly blinded me. My back arched again. I was almost off the bed, only my head and hips keeping me there. Cross lifted with me, his mouth moving to taste my nipple as he growled and grabbed my waist, holding me down. He began shoving, and I was a frenzied mess, pushing back just as hard.

  Tears slipped down my cheeks.

  He moved up, tasting them, and found my lips. “I love you,” he breathed.

  A deep groan left me. “I love you.”

  As we both pushed over the edge, he found my hand, his fingers sliding against mine, and thrust once more. Both of us came down, our bodies jerking from the ferocity, and then, calm.

  Utter. Complete. Quiet.

  It filled me just as much as everything else had, and I lay still, totally still, savoring it.

  I felt him. I felt us.

  His lips were at my throat, and then I felt them brush over my face. He was tasting more of my tears.

  I gasped, the inevitable pain slicing me as my climax moved along and living filtered in.

  “Cross,” I cried, my voice still hoarse. “Cross.”

  He shifted, gathering me in his arms. He feathered kisses over my cheeks, my forehead, then lingered on my lips.

  “I’m here. Don’t, Bren. Please. Stay with me. I know you’ll lock her back up, but not tonight. Not till the morning.”

  I couldn’t. The denial was quick on my lips, but seeing his agony, knowing how much he needed me, I stifled it. I held on, and I pulled him back to me. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” He searched my eyes.

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  And I stayed.

  I’d put her back in the morning.

  He wound himself around me, his head against my neck, his hand on my breast, and one of his legs between mine. We went to sleep.

  I could go to jail for what I was doing.

  I didn’t care. Waking in Cross’ arms, I’d started the process of shoving her back down. I’d numbed myself, only feeling a third of what I could handle, but I’d stopped halfway. I didn’t know why. Normally, I couldn’t wait to turn off my emotions, but this morning, after feeling that with Cross, knowing how special it was, there was an ache I hadn’t felt in a long while. Months maybe.

  It was nearing seven in the morning now. The timing was stupidly close, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  Crawling over the fence, I didn’t unhook the latch because I saw they’d finally smarted up and bought a full fence that went all the way around their lawn. Who knew what other changes they’d made. They’d gotten a dog since my last visit, but the toys were the same.

  I’d watched them before. It seemed like another life ago, so much had happened. So many changes, but I had to come. I had to see if I saw her.

  Sneaking over the fence, not wanting to risk them having an alarm or squeaky hinges, I dropped over, and then I was officially trespassing. Didn’t matter that this had been my home growing up, or that this was where my family had been pulled out from beneath me. At one point, the two-story home had been mine, and I knew it was irrational, senseless, but I still wondered if I could catch a glimpse of my mom walking the hallways.

  Creepy, I know.

  I was so far past caring.

  A Barbie doll looked at me from the grass. A small tricycle. A plethora of trucks and trains. A dinosaur. Some superhero figurines. Large plastic pieces for a puzzle.

  I picked up every one of them, taking them to the front patio and laying them just in front of the wooden steps. I knew those creaked. The home hadn’t been renovated, and I could see they hadn’t touched up the stairs or patio area, so I saved that trip for last.

  One trip after another, I picked up a toy, took it over in front of the deck, and laid it in the grass. A second trip. A third. More than six until I had all the toys collected. Then after that, I moved into stealth mode. They had two large toy chests next to the window. Both were open, the tops off, and why not? Their fence was high enough to deter people from invading their space, giving them a modicum of privacy even though it was the front lawn. Roussou wasn’t big on homeowner associations.

  I knelt and quietly placed every single toy through the deck’s railing. There was enough space through the smaller posts. The tricycle I left for last. It was too large. Once everything was on there except that, I skipped the steps and climbed up over the middle banister. It was the sturdiest and the only one that wouldn’t creak under my weight. Then, stepping down onto the middle plank—another one I knew would remain silent—I began putting the toys into the chests. One by one. When all was done, I closed the tops and leaned back over, lifting the tricycle clear. Rotating on my heels, I rested the trike between the chests.

  It was done.

  The lawn was clean.

  This was when I should go.

  I should turn and sneak back out the way I came, because I wasn’t the type to break in and steal stuff. But I couldn’t bring myself to go.

  Swallowing thickly, my instincts were quiet. I liked to listen to them, but I couldn’t move. Heaving a quiet breath, I edged farther over the deck, making sure to touch lightly on the planks, so only two protested under my weight and I was at the swinging bench. Easing down, sitting with my back against the far edge, I could see the house, and I only needed to turn my head to see the street.

  I watched the house.

  I wasn’t even lying to myself, saying I’d only stay for a little while.

  I never once looked at the street. My head was on the house, my eyes trained for a glimmer of a shadow, a movement in the curtain. If I was asked what I was looking for, I wouldn’t be able to explain it. How can you look for a ghost? But that’s what I was doing, still doing.

  I just wanted to see her. One more time.

  Bark!

  I tensed, freezing for a split second. I forgot about the dog.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Okay, buddy. I’m coming.”

  A light switched on.

  I heard paws on the floor inside.

  Before I could leap from the bench, the dog was on the other side of the door. He froze, catching my scent. A low growl began, followed by loud and angry barking.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I was off the bench, jumping over the banister, but instead of going to the front gate, I darted to the side of the fence between their house and the neighbor’s. Scaling up and over, I dropped down on the other side just as I heard them open the door.

  “What is going on with you?” The husband was half griping, half laughing as he stepped outside.

  There was a rush of feet on the patio, and I heard the dog growling and sniffing on the other side of the fence. A desperate whine came from him, and he tried to dig at the bottom.

  “Groot! Stop it.”

  They named their dog Groot. I smiled.

  “Hey, boy. What are you smelling there?”

  He was getting closer.

  I headed out, running over the neighbor’s grass. They hadn’t put up a fence. The dog followed me, and I heard the owner say, “Oh. Whoa. What the hell…?”

  Then I was at the sidewalk, and after darting past a few vehicles, I slowed to a walk, hunching my shoulders forward. I tugged the hood of my sweatshirt up and dug my hands into my pockets. It was the end of April, but it was still fucking cold in the morning.

  I’d gone a few blocks when my phone started buzzing, and then I heard an engine behind me.

  I knew, like I always did, because he always came after me, that it was Cross.

>   I didn’t even look.

  He slowed down, and I reached for the door handle. I got inside, breathing in his scent of sand and pine, and I crumbled. The tears wouldn’t stop, and I wasn’t only crying because I missed my mom.

  “Bren.” Cross parked the truck and slid over, pulling me into his arms. “Baby.”

  I just cried harder.

  Life was hard, almost too hard sometimes.

  That’s what I cried for.

  The next morning, thirty minutes before the school doors opened, I was still raw.

  After Cross picked me up and held me during my breakdown, I hadn’t been able to put all the emotions away. That made me volatile, and no one liked a volatile Bren—me in particular. So after discussing things with Cross (and by that, I mean we just waited till Channing came home, changed, and headed back out), I took a day off. Cross called in for me because he’d been perfecting his Channing imitation. Then he went to school, and I stayed home to get my emotions in check.

  It hadn’t fully worked.

  But I was better today, and after having a crew meeting to bring everyone up to speed on the surprise Drake visit and the tidbits he’d dropped, we’d decided to deal with Monica first.

  It was going against my bones to be at school this early, but here we were.

  Zellman looked ready to piss, grimacing. “I don’t think this is the right way to deal with her.”

  We were going to confront her.

  I frowned. “Why not?”

  “First, you look like you want to rip someone’s head off.”

  The guys glanced at me.

  I nodded. “True.” Monica’s would be preferable.

  “Two, Monica is not scared of us. She knows we’re not really going to do anything.” He paused. “To her.”

  I held up a hand. “I might.”

  Zellman gestured to me. “You just proved my point. But three, what are we really going to do? Threaten her? Monica’s a little nuts, and she’s more nuts than normal because she doesn’t have her friends to reel her in anymore. Also…” His eyes flashed to Cross. “Monica really, really hates Bren.” He coughed. “Because of you.”

  We all understood that. No one was arguing that point.

  I frowned. “Is Monica seriously that crazy?”

  Cross and Zellman said at the same time, “Yes.”

  Huh. I hadn’t realized. Okay then.

  “New plan.” I held up a hand. “Cross talks to Monica—”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You want to pimp me out?”

  I kept going as if he hadn’t said anything, “—and pretends he’s jealous of who she’s dating. Then we can find out who she’s dating.”

  Jordan tilted his head. “Why can’t we just ask Tabatha?”

  “Because they don’t know. Monica wouldn’t tell them.”

  Cross nodded. “Taz said Monica wouldn’t give them a name, but they know it’s someone from Fallen Crest Academy.”

  Zellman growled. “I really hate those fuckers. Wait!” He tensed. “What if it’s the same asshole that got Sunday pregnant?”

  “Double reason to bash his head in?” Jordan mused.

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think she’ll tell me. She knows I don’t give a shit about her.”

  I had such a good boyfriend. Pride swirled around my stomach, making it flutter.

  “Monica’s nuts, but she’s not like that.,” Jordan said. “She and Sunday were best friends. She left their group because of Sunday’s ties to us.” He gestured to Zellman, who grinned. “Not because of a falling out.”

  “My boyfriend is Zeke Allen,” a voice piped up behind us.

  Ooooooh.

  Shiiiit.

  We all turned as one, probably with varying expressions. We’d heard nothing. Not a sound, not a car, not a footstep.

  Zellman grunted, his eyebrows shooting up.

  Jordan grimaced, stepping backward.

  I didn’t know what Cross looked like because he was silent, like he always was, unless he needed to step up and kick some ass. But me? I was all about this.

  I started smiling, and I knew Monica was taken aback. She blinked a couple times, her scowl flattening.

  I stepped toward her. “Really? It’s Zeke Allen?”

  She moved her bag to her other shoulder and edged away from us, toward the school. “Why are you happy about that?” She motioned around us. “And don’t bother. I can tell you’re gearing up for a ‘crew intervention’ or something, but it’s not going to work. I know you guys don’t hurt girls, and I’m not really doing anything to you anyway.”

  The guys were hesitant. I sooo wasn’t. I was almost salivating. Yes, the old Bren was back, and she was rising to the surface and having a great time.

  “You mean you’re not going to blab to the interviewers today? ’Cause you’re scheduled for this morning. Becca emailed me the schedule in case I was sick again.”

  Monica’s mouth closed with a snap. She looked rocked.

  “You’re not planning on saying anything about me, Cross, Zellman, or Jordan?”

  She swallowed. Her voice came out small. “I don’t have to, about you guys.”

  “But the Ryerson crew, you will?”

  She opened her mouth, but then she paused and closed it again. She didn’t say a word.

  “What are you going to say when they ask about the crews?” I asked.

  Her facial expressions shifted until she settled on something and a smug grin came out. “Did you know none of the Ryerson crew had to sign a deal with the cops?” She watched all of us, that smug smirk deepening. “You all have been wrapped up in your own lives, so I bet you didn’t notice that. They were arrested. Just like us. They were offered the deal. Just like us. They didn’t take the deal. And yet, unlike us, they were released the next day. Not one has charges being brought against them. They all got off free and clear. Wondering about that? I would, if I were you.”

  “They posted bail. Same shit would happen to us,” I said.

  “No.” She said it so calmly, with such confidence. She knew. She knew something we didn’t. “They didn’t. They were released. My aunt works for the Fallen Crest Police Department. She could tell me that because there were no restrictions. They all walked free. And they’ve been quiet. Have you noticed that too?”

  “Because Drake’s their leader,” Zellman said, but he wasn’t as cocksure as she was.

  That wasn’t a good sign.

  “Really.” She laughed, mockingly. “Are you sure about that? Are the Ryersons even still a crew?” Her eyes found mine and settled. “Have you guys noticed the lack of crew activity? I mean, they’ve pulled the glue out of yours. If she’s at school, she’s locked up in the library doing her helper duties.”

  She was right.

  A thudding feeling took root in me.

  “I overheard the conversation Broghers had with Badger. She didn’t want to give up her counseling sessions with you. It got heated. And yet, look who else has been absent the last couple weeks. We haven’t had any committee meetings. I’m here for early prom decorating, which you knew, which is why you’re here.”

  Another thing was she right about.

  Fuck.

  I sensed a theme here.

  As if making our decision for us, she began walking backward toward the school. “And one more thing, you might want to talk to that producer you’re helping. She’s got some ties close to you.” She was speaking right to me. “I would know. Zeke’s a huge Mason Kade fan. He’s obsessed with him.”

  I raised my chin. “Those guys have nothing to do with me.”

  “Not you, but your brother, your future sister-in-law…” She let it hang between us before she turned and walked into school.

  “Man.” Zellman sighed once she was gone. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see Bren pull her knife or not.”

  “It wouldn’t have worked,” I said faintly. I turned to the guys. “She’s right. Monica’s right. We can’t do anything physical. We nee
d to do something else, something—”

  Cross said it for me. “Not crew.”

  I felt sick to my stomach.

  Zellman swore under his breath. He was speaking for the rest of us.

  “So what are you going to do?” Jordan asked.

  I shrugged. “Talk to Becca. That’s the only thing I can do.”

  “You want to do what?”

  Becca Sallaway’s disbelief was evident.

  We’d put together a small plan after talking to Channing, then Heather, and I was incorporating phase one. The rest of the camera team were getting ready. Monica was due to walk through the door any second, but I wanted her on pause.

  I said it again. “I want to be interviewed.”

  “You?” Her eyebrows were up. “We were told you would not be a part of this documentary. In fact, your principal told us not to even entertain asking you or that gorgeous guy I’ve seen you snuggling up with.” She sounded wistful. “Though, I can tell you the camera would love him. It would be amazing exposure for him.”

  “Him too.”

  “Excuse me? What?”

  “Him too. And Jordan. And Zellman. And I’m fairly certain I can get a few others to redo their interviews.”

  Her head lowered. She clasped her laptop to her chest and peered at me. “Why would people have to redo their interviews?”

  “Because of me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They weren’t as honest as they could’ve been, and that’s because of me.”

  “I don’t get it. Why because of you?”

  “Did Kenneth really not tell you guys?”

  “Tell us what?”

  “That I’m in a crew.”

  “You’re what?” She staggered back a step, almost dropping her laptop. “No. He didn’t say a word. Though…” She shook her head, sighing. “Part of that was because of us. We were asked to come in and do a somewhat more personal piece on the history of Roussou—how it is now versus where it came from.”

  I was lost.

  “We’re not the only team working in Roussou. There are two others. We’re just the ones assigned to interviewing current students.”

  I gulped. A large boulder had wedged its way into my throat. It was painful as fuck. “Excuse me?”