Crew (Crew Series Book 1)

by Tijan

  The other guy still had my knife in his arm, and I felt hands scoop me up from behind.

  Someone pulled me off the car and then let go.

  I fell to the ground, landing on my side on top of a rock.

  I grunted from the pain, and though it blinded me for a moment, I reached underneath me and grabbed the rock.

  “Enough!” I heard Alex roar.

  Two guys reached down for me. I brought the rock up, smashing one in the head and bringing my elbow back into the other’s face.

  A fist hit me in the side, and I doubled over again.

  I felt tears coating my face, tasted my blood mixing with them, but I wasn’t stopping. I wouldn’t, not until I was put down. If I could move, I could fight.

  “Stay down, bitch!” Alex growled.

  The group surged back at his words, leaving me alone.

  I looked up, panting. Holding my side, I winced as I felt a rib broken. “You fucker.”

  He snarled again and lifted his arm. He was going to backhand me. I braced myself, ready to fall out of his way and punch that rock up into his side, but before I could, before he could—another roar came from the crowd.

  Suddenly someone grabbed Alex, hurling him away from me.

  I stood, panting, my vision blurred. I was close to passing out. I felt it coming.

  I tried to focus on who had just arrived.

  The person punched Alex hard, and when Alex lifted a hand to block a second punch, he grabbed Alex’s arm and bent it at an ungodly angle. A blood-curdling scream ripped from Alex’s throat, stopping everyone else in their tracks.

  The guy didn’t waste the opening. He rounded with a strong punch. Alex crumbled to the floor, and the guy turned to face the rest of the group. They closed in before I could see who it was, but I looked around. My crew wasn’t here. I didn’t see any of Channing’s…

  I looked again, blinking and trying to see. I almost fell, so I grabbed hold of my Jeep’s door and hauled myself in. This guy was fighting all of them at once. I couldn’t tell who was winning, but then four trucks sped down the driveway and veered right for us.

  Zellman and Cross were in the back of Jordan’s truck. Before he even came to a total stop, they launched themselves out and were on some of the Ryerson crew. Jordan wasn’t far behind, literally lifting one of the guys up and throwing him to the ground.

  Channing was in one of the other trucks, and he paused as he exited. He scanned the mess, saw me, and as his crew waded in, he came my way.

  It hadn’t been Channing who attacked Alex, or my crew.

  In that moment I knew who it was, and I tried to stand again, but my knees gave out.

  Channing scooped me up in time, putting me back in my Jeep. “Are you okay?”

  I grunted, pushing him away. “I’ll be fine.” He didn’t budge. I shoved at him again. “Go! They need help.”

  Channing grinned crookedly at me. “I think it’s probably over alre—”

  Another scream sounded, and the fighting stopped. People shuffled backward, clearing out and revealing Alex on the ground. My knife protruded from his leg, and he rocked back and forth, trying to pull it out.

  Race stood over him, bloodied, sweating, and bruised. His shirt was ripped, and parts of his jeans had been torn away.

  He knelt, ignoring everyone, and reached for the knife. He leaned close, saying something to his cousin. Alex sucked in a savage breath, freezing, and Race yanked my knife out. A sickening groan came from Alex as he seemed to wither into a little ball.

  Wiping the blade off on his jeans, Race came over to Channing and me.

  The crews started to separate. Alex’s crew picked him up and carried him away. My guys came over, and Cross stepped right in front of me, ignoring Channing and whoever else was there. He scanned me up and down, looking for injuries. Jordan and Zellman were right next to us, doing the same.

  “Shit, Bren.” Jordan shook his head, looking harried. “You scared the goddamn life out of me.”

  “Our normal shit seems petty, huh?”

  He laughed, broken. “Yeah. Petty is one word for it. You okay?”

  I nodded, but hissed when Cross touched one of my ribs. It was a soft prod, but it was still a prod. It hurt like a motherfucker.

  Cross didn’t care. He was still assessing.

  Most of Channing’s crew had gone back to their vehicles, but they lingered there, waiting for instructions.

  Channing turned to me, nodding to Race. “Who’s that?”

  “The guy who gave you a ride to Jordan’s that one night.”

  Channing’s eyebrow rose. “That’s the same guy?”

  Race stopped next to us. He held my knife out. “Lose this?”

  “Thanks.” I took it, putting it back into my pocket. It didn’t feel right not having it there. “I came to find you.”

  “Someone texted me, saying you were here. I got here as fast as I could.” He glanced at my crew, but none of the three were paying him any attention. All eyes were glued to me. He looked at my brother instead. “Hello again.”

  Channing narrowed his eyes at me before turning to Race. He tipped his head back. “You gave me a ride last week?”

  “I did.” Race turned to me. “Alex and I have a difference of opinion. I had to find a new place to live today.”

  Channing grunted again. “You’re a good fighter. I saw some of your moves.”

  “Thank you.” Race winced, and I saw that he was hurting. His face was a little pale. “That’s part of the reason I moved here,” he continued. “There’s a good underground ring. You’re the champ, right?”

  My brother nodded. He’d been keeping a mask up, but now he let a real grin shine through. “I am.” He paused. “For now. I recently retired.” He nodded to Moose and Congo, who were heading over. “Everyone handled?”

  Moose said, “Everyone’s down.”

  Jordan nodded at me. “I know Cross is checking, but are you okay?”

  “Everything except maybe a rib.” As I spoke, Cross straightened in front of me. His hand came to where my rib was, but he didn’t touch me. He wanted to, his hand hovering there, and with a small apology in his eyes, he lifted up my shirt for a better look.

  I pushed it down. “I’ll be fine.”

  He wasn’t listening. He held my shirt up higher and frowned at what he saw. His eyes closed, and a second later, he stepped close, his forehead softly resting on my shoulder. I felt his tension leave his body then, and couldn’t help myself. I closed my eyes, running a hand down his back.

  Neither of us commented as he shuddered under that touch.

  Jordan cleared his throat, his voice still rough. “We’ll take you to the hospital. Cross will drive you.” He motioned to Zellman. “We’ll be right behind you.”

  “I can go with her—” Race offered, but my brother shook his head.

  That wasn’t protocol. Crew took care of their own. Channing was my brother, and maybe if this were more severe, he’d step in, but even he respected the crew rule on this.

  He stepped around so he could see me. “I’ll see you at home tonight. Call if you need anything.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I told him.

  He walked away with his crew, but yelled over his shoulder, “Call me!”

  Cross glanced sideways at me, but I didn’t say anything. I only nodded, waving to Moose and Congo. I refused to acknowledge the small part in me that was feeling all happy, glad that my big, bad brother had come to my defense. I wasn’t like that. That was too girly.

  Which I wasn’t.

  I was badass.

  I had my own knife.

  Right.

  It took everything I had to keep from showing my stupid grin. It would’ve given me away, so I moved farther into my Jeep.

  Cross held his hand out to Race. “Thank you.”

  Race froze. The rest of us watched, and after a pause, he put his hand in Cross’. “Yeah.” He blinked a few times, rapidly. “Of course.”

  Cr
oss added, “I owe you.” And that was it. Turning, he got behind the wheel.

  I tried to gauge his thoughts, but he only clenched his jaw and finally pulled out after the others had gone. We were the last vehicle.

  We kept up with everyone going back into town, but after a while, I noticed Cross was going slower and slower, until Jordan’s truck’s lights were almost specks in the distance. Then he let out a deep breath and swung the Jeep into someone’s driveway. He slammed it into park and was across the seat in a heartbeat.

  I didn’t have time to process.

  He stopped just before touching me. His hand flexed. He let out a harsh breath. “Goddamn.” His touch was gentle as he cupped the side of my face.

  “I’m okay.” I winced as I said that.

  He pulled his hand away, shaking his head. His eyes were hard and dark. “Someone called your brother, and he called us on his way. We almost beat him here. Holy fuck, Bren.” He breathed out again, shakily. He rested his forehead gently to mine. “I lost about two years of my life, seeing you like that.”

  My throat swelled, and I blinked away some water in my eyes, because that’s what it had to be.

  “I’m okay.” I was in pain, but I was okay. No one had sliced or diced me.

  His eyes closed. He didn’t move away.

  This was Cross. He was my best friend. He was more family than Channing or Scratch. He was more than… I stopped thinking.

  I closed my eyes and breathed out in relief too.

  The ER nurse saw us and harrumphed. “You guys again. This week is complete now that I’ve seen you guys—or handiwork from you guys.”

  Jordan and Zellman started laughing, but I caught the dark cloud on her face. She wasn’t amused. When the doctor came in to examine me, she booted them all out. Cross didn’t move from his seat.

  “Gotta go,” she told him.

  He locked eyes with her. His jaw firmed. “I’m not going.”

  She looked at me.

  “He’s family,” I said.

  She turned back to him.

  He smiled.

  “He’s your brother?” she asked, but she knew us. She knew the truth.

  “He’ll look away if I tell him to.”

  She sighed and went out the door. The doctor didn’t blink an eye at Cross’ presence. He did all the usual exams, checking out my cuts and the bruises already starting to form. He pressed a hand over my stomach, listened to my lungs. He asked if I was having problems breathing.

  Everything hurt, but my breathing was fine.

  There were no knife wounds anywhere. I’d just been hit.

  Thirty minutes later, after debating whether an x-ray was even needed, I was released.

  “Clean bill of health?” Jordan asked when Cross and I got back to the lobby.

  I shot him a look.

  He laughed, and Cross answered for me. “She’s got some nice painkillers to take, but that’s it.”

  I stretched out my arm. A nasty bruise was fully black already, taking the shape of a boot.

  “Looks like Florida,” Zellman said.

  “Or a boot,” I countered.

  He grinned. “That too.”

  “Who kicked you?” Jordan asked.

  I had to think about it. It seemed like so many had taken a shot at me. “Alex maybe? I don’t know. He was there. A few others got me in the side. I didn’t even know someone had gotten my arm until the doctor saw it.”

  They were silent, all three staring at me.

  There were topics to discuss, big and bad topics, but I chose an easy one.

  “Race got there before they could do a ton of damage, right?”

  Jordan’s eyes grew suspicious. “What’s his deal, if he doesn’t want in your pants?”

  I glanced at Cross, remembering the feel of his touch as he’d cupped my face.

  Feeling an upsurge of tenderness, I shrugged in response to Jordan’s question. “He’s not said anything, but I’ve gotten the vibe that he and Alex don’t see eye to eye.”

  Jordan grunted, looking around.

  We were drawing attention, standing in the lounge.

  The room was quiet for some reason, and all eyes were on us.

  Cross cleared his throat, indicating outside. “Talk out there.”

  One by one, we trailed behind him.

  Cross had dropped me off at the entrance, and I followed him now to where he’d parked beside Jordan’s truck. The lot wasn’t too big, but both vehicles were in the back corner, so there would be a modicum of privacy unless someone was standing on the other side of the fence around the lot.

  As if reading my mind, Zellman went over and scaled the fence. He grabbed the top and hoisted himself up to see over. “Clear.” He dropped back down, dusting off his pants. “We’re good. No one back there.”

  Jordan sat on his truck bed as Zellman came to join him. He sat on the top, one foot resting on the bed by Jordan, and the other hanging off the back.

  Cross looked at me in silent question, indicating the back of my Jeep.

  I nodded, and he moved over, half-shielding me as I climbed up, and keeping a hand on my side. He seemed to stand point then, as if he was the leader.

  Jordan picked up a stray stick and began breaking it into pieces. “So we need to decide a few things.” Here were the heavy topics.

  “You want us to wait for this conversation?” Cross asked me.

  If we went to my house, Channing would be there. If we went to Jordan’s, no one would be there, but I was longing for my bed. Here and now. It was better to get it done.

  “Nah. I’m on the happy pills. Do it now before I get sober.”

  I grinned at him, and he smiled back, his eyes lingering a moment before turning to Zellman and Jordan. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he leaned against me, but gently. I was tempted to run my hand down his shoulder and arm. I had to press it against my side to keep from doing that.

  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.