Crew (Crew Series Book 1)

by Tijan

  “Even Dad?”

  I couldn’t believe I’d said that word, but as all eyes looked my way, I couldn’t shrink now. I’d spoken. I had to own my words, though my hand trembled.

  I tucked it under my leg.

  “What’d you say?” Channing asked.

  “You heard me. You want me to see Dad? Hear his words of wisdom?”

  Channing’s eyes narrowed. “I recall asking you to go with me to visit him not too long ago, so yeah. Go and hear what he has to say.”

  He started to turn away, his shoulders rigid and tight.

  He was such a hypocrite. He hated him more than I did.

  “Should we talk about that night? That’s what he’s going to say to me. He’s going to talk about his regrets.”

  Channing’s back got even tighter. His shoulders seemed to stretch out, widening his shirt.

  I waited. I wanted him to say something. I wanted to hear him acknowledge that night.

  I laughed. “Don’t you want to hear a play-by-play of that night? I can tell you. I don’t need to go see Dad to remember.” Slowly I stood, though I kept my head down. I felt like I was talking to a sleeping cobra. I was wooing him, trying to engage him. It didn’t matter that the cobra was my brother.

  No one talked about the night our dad was arrested. No one. I never had, and I knew Channing hadn’t. I didn’t even know if Channing knew what had happened. This was the first time I’d brought it up. And I was using it to needle him. I wanted to get at him. I wanted him to feel some of the pain I would have to suffer if we didn’t fight the mentoring program.

  He looked back toward me as I stood waiting.

  “Bren.”

  He wanted me to let him off the hook. I wasn’t going to do that. I wanted that cobra to wake up. I didn’t care if I would get bitten. I might have welcomed it.

  “Were you told what happened that night? Are you able to imagine it?”

  “Don’t.” He drew in oxygen, then letting it out just as quickly.

  So he did know. Maybe?

  I began remembering myself, speaking the memories out loud. “She died. She was gone, and you were gone too. It was me and him in the house.”

  Way too many fucking years, just him and me. Him. Me. His alcoholism.

  “It was quiet when she was sick. Did you know that? It was eerily quiet. Then she died, and there was no sound. Not a peep. You were gone. He was gone. She was gone. It was just me, until…” I hated this. I hated peeling back the layers, the memories, the numbness. It was all being stripped away. “Then he started coming back. So did the booze. The partying.”

  Channing’s jaw clenched.

  He knew what that was like. It was why he’d left in the first place.

  “His friends started coming around too.”

  I would be in bed. I’d be trying to sleep.

  I could hear their drunken laughter. They’d hoot. They’d holler. Their dirty jokes had them slapping hands. They sickened me. They sickened me now.

  “That became the norm, Channing. Every night he brought friends home. He didn’t care who they were, just as long as the house wasn’t empty. He didn’t want to feel her like I did.”

  Like I still did.

  “Stop, Bren,” Channing rasped, but wouldn’t look at me.

  He couldn’t. He would see what had happened to me.

  “At first he stayed up while they were there. He was responsible, making sure no one found out about me. That didn’t last.”

  He started falling asleep.

  That night his latest group of “friends” had woken me up with their noise. But they always stayed downstairs, so I didn’t think too much of it. I’d just needed to go to the bathroom.

  “I didn’t have toilet paper,” I said aloud.

  If I had…

  “I was going to use the bathroom in the hallway.”

  Stupid toilet paper.

  “Bren.” Channing’s eyes had shut tight. He didn’t want to hear this, but it was coming. It was time. Finally.

  “Maybe I should’ve grabbed a robe. I don’t know. Maybe if I’d stayed in my room…” If I’d had toilet paper. If I hadn’t needed to use the bathroom outside of my room.

  I felt her coming now. She wanted to protect me. She wanted to envelop me so I didn’t feel what I was about to say, but I pushed her off. I wanted to go numb, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t right, not this time. Not yet.

  My throat was scraped raw. “The cops made note of what I was wearing that night,” I told him. “A sleeping tank top and boy shorts.”

  Like it was my fault.

  Like it mattered what I had been wearing.

  I still felt their silent accusations. It had been in their eyes, the way they looked at me, as I sat there covered in blood.

  I had to get to the bad parts. I couldn’t hold her off anymore. Inch by inch, I let her in, and I became so numb I couldn’t feel my lips.

  “I was in the hallway, on my way back. The cops told me later that when I flushed the toilet, that’s how he knew someone was up there. He heard me.”

  I had reached for my bedroom’s door handle. Three feet and I would’ve had the door locked. I would’ve been inside. I would’ve been safe.

  “He came out of nowhere.”

  I never saw him. I felt him.

  There was a shadow on the stairs, and then his hand was on my mouth. He dragged me back into their room.

  God. I clamped my eyes shut. What if it’d happened in their room? What then? What would’ve been the ending?

  “Bren?” Someone had called my name.

  He’d paused, just inside their bedroom, and he must have changed his mind.

  “He was going to rape me in Mom and Dad’s room. Then he heard Dad, and he took me into my room instead.”

  He’d shut the door and whispered in my ear, “You fucking tell him you’re fine and you’re going to bed, or I will kill you. You got that, cunt?”

  “He shook me as he threatened me.”

  Our dad had said that’s how he knew I was lying. I never told him I was fine. It was a lie.

  I didn’t lie.

  “I said what he told me to. I recited it word for word.”

  But I’d known what was by my bed, what I could grab.

  “He said he was going to kill me.” Even now, anger swelled inside me. I felt it pushing at the numbness.

  “He waited until Dad bought my lie and we heard him leave.”

  I’d heard one agonizing footstep on the floor after another until they faded. I’d felt my humanity going with him.

  “He threw me on the bed. He started ripping my clothes off. He was in a hurry. He fumbled for his condom—so thoughtful of him, right?”

  I’d known where my knife was.

  He’d gotten distracted for a second, and I reached for it, under the mattress.

  “I stabbed him. I thrust that knife in as far as I could, as hard as I could—just like he wanted to rip inside me.”

  He’d knocked my hand away, but I fought him. I rolled too, punching his dick as hard as I could. As he doubled over to the floor, I was on him.

  “I grabbed my knife and pulled it out.”

  I’d raised it above my head, straddling that asshole.

  “Then Dad took it from me.”

  It had been time for his crime.

  “I wanted to do it.”

  He’d taken the knife from me, and with a gentle hand, he’d ushered me to the side. He’d told me to leave.

  “He tried to get me to leave. But I knew what he was going to do.” I could feel tears in my eyes. I hated them. They were weakness. “He cut his throat, and I watched from the door.”

  He’d killed him so I wouldn’t.

  I waited a beat, then asked Channing, “Still think I’d benefit from hearing how I should be in prison and not him?”

  My father went to prison for a crime I should’ve committed.

  The silence was thick.

  Weak. Vulnerable. Exposed. I was
all three of those, and I hated it.

  I reached for my knife, and as soon as I felt it, everything off balance centered again.

  “Were you going to kill him?” Channing asked.

  I’d expected the question from Cross, so I looked over. He already knew.

  I turned to my brother. “Yes.”

  He nodded once. He didn’t say anything, but I caught a darkness in my brother, one that I saw in the mirror, one that scared me to my core at times.

  It was the firefly, but there was a different glint to it in him. A murderous glint.

  He reached out to touch my arm, but turned to his crew members. “We need to talk to the rest of the active crews, get them filled in on what’s happening at the school.”

  My head reared back. “I thought you weren’t going to get involved?”

  He gave me a long look. “I changed my mind. We’re stopping the whole goddamn fucking thing.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “That’s it? I tell you all that and now suddenly you’re going to do something about the program?” Didn’t he have anything else to say? About Dad? About that night?

  Channing’s eyes fell to my knife, which I tossed in the air and flicked my wrist around to catch.

  “You have your knife out, Bren.”

  I flushed.

  His hand gentled on my arm until he dropped it. A look so stark, so pained, so anguished looked at me that I froze. I found myself blinking back tears at the suddenness of it.

  He stepped close, his hands coming to touch my shoulders, so delicately, so gently, as if I were a broken egg held together by one piece of tape. He dropped his voice, whispering, “We’ll talk later. Trust me.” He pulled me in, moving my knife out of the way, and then folded his arms around me. “God, Bren.” He was shuddering.

  I was—I was still frozen.

  He pressed a kiss to my head. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  He hugged me one more second before stepping away. As he did, he wiped his thumb under his eye, catching a wetness I’d only seen there twice before.

  “You’re going to stop the school thing?” Jordan straightened from where he’d been resting against Manny’s back wall. Zellman and Cross came to my side.

  My crew watched my brother like somehow he had the answers.

  “We’ll get it fixed,” Channing said. “But you have to give us time. Okay?”

  It was like the four adults were leaving to do adult things, and us children had been told to stay.

  Channing and his guys disappeared around the building. My crew waited for my decision. If I wanted to talk, they knew I’d say something. If I wanted to fight, I’d say that too.

  Cross stood right next to me, heat radiating off of him.

  “We’re with you,” Jordan offered. “Whatever you want, B.”

  I wanted to forget.

  “Anything but remembering,” I told them.

  Jordan snapped his fingers. “How about a good old-fashioned egging? I know a principal and superintendent who deserve some new decoration on their houses.”

  It was childish. It was something a sixth grader would do, but it wouldn’t land us in jail. It was perfect.

  “I’m in.” I was so in.

  We were heading to our vehicles when the side door burst open.

  “Cross!” Taz ran down toward us, out of breath and red in the face. Her eyes were wide, almost frenzied. Tabatha and Sunday came right behind her, looking less panicked, but still concerned.

  We all paused, waiting.

  Taz grabbed Cross’ arm, panting slightly. “It’s Race. Alex’s crew showed up at the house.”

  A fight between Alex and Race was trouble. The fact that he’d sought Race out at Cross’ house was even more trouble. That made it crew business.

  “Our place?” Cross asked. “You sure?”

  She nodded, sucking in air. “They asked if you were home. When I said you weren’t, he told Race he’d better step outside. Those were his exact words.”

  Jordan moved closer. “They could say it’s family business.”

  But it was happening at Cross’ house.

  There could be ramifications if Cross didn’t say something.

  I touched his arm. “Let’s go see what’s happening. It’s at your house.”

  Zellman agreed. “That’s your home.”

  “Come on, guys!” Jordan threw a hand up. “We’ve already got big problems. This is a fight we can avoid.”

  But Cross started off, turning to walk backward. “Then don’t come,” he said.

  He’d just thrown down the worst insult possible to a crew member.

  Zellman and I went with Cross. Z jumped in the back. I got in the passenger side, and Cross was starting the engine when we felt the truck dip under someone’s weight.

  The window slid open and Jordan rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m with you guys. Don’t fucking insult me again.”

  Cross looked in the rearview mirror, meeting his gaze. He didn’t reply, just put the truck in drive.

  Taz tapped on the window, so he rolled it down.

  “You’re going to go?” she asked, her eyes still wide. Her breathing was shallow, and there were beads of sweat over her top lip.

  Tabatha came to stand next to Taz. “The other guys are there.” She pointed to Sunday. “Our friends.”

  Zellman snorted, resting his elbows on the truck’s edge. He smiled at Sunday. “You have other friends I don’t know about?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re hitting on me now?”

  “I’d hit on you if we were in the middle of the apocalypse.” He winked. “Make me a zombie, and I’ll still try to boink you, then maybe eat you.”

  She laughed and pushed at his shoulder, shoving him backward. “I’ve learned my lesson, Z. I’ve moved on to older guys. They’re more…” Her head cocked to the side. She pretended to think about it. “Longer lasting.”

  His grin went to a scowl. “Who? Who’s longer lasting than me?”

  She backed up, waving. “Almost anyone at this point.”

  Zellman frowned, but he was trying not to laugh.

  “Can we ride with you?” Taz asked.

  Cross paused, frowning.

  “We got a ride here,” she continued. “It’d just be easier if we could hop in.”

  He shrugged, gesturing to the back. “Hop in, but hold on, T. We go fast.”

  She nodded. All three girls scrambled toward the back. Zellman lowered the tailgate, and they climbed up. He pulled it closed again after swatting Sunday’s ass. She tried to look annoyed but failed.

  Once the three sat down and the guys positioned themselves at the end of the truck’s bed, Cross started off.

  Despite what he said, he did drive safer than usual, slowing down at turns and even stopping at an empty intersection because the light was red. The rest of the crew smirked at him as he pulled into the alley behind his house.

  He noticed our looks and grimaced. “Don’t fucking start.”

  Jordan laughed. “You’re a good brother, Cross.”

  Cross walked ahead of him, extending a middle finger in the air.

  I followed Cross, glancing back toward Jordan and Zellman.

  The girls had fallen to the back. Tabatha and Sunday were whispering. I slowed, letting Jordan and Zellman go past me. I felt their curious looks, but I ignored them.

  Tabatha looked smug, with her chest jutting out, as they approached me.

  “You okay?” Taz drew up next to me.

  It was her boyfriend we were here to save. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

  “Yeah, but…” Her eyes ran over my face. “You look tired.”

  Tabatha laughed, linking her elbow with Taz’s. “That’s her nice way of saying you look like crap.” She jiggled Taz a little, those smug eyes on me. “Be nice, Taz. Her guys are here to save the day. Remember?”

  Oh.

  No.

  In an instant, my hand was around her throat, and I walked her back until I
could shove her into the side of Cross’ truck.

  “He—whoa!”

  “OH MY GOD!” Sunday screeched, and the guys came back to see what was happening.

  Zellman grabbed Sunday’s shoulders and began walking her into the house. She resisted at first, digging her heels in, but after he whispered in her ear, she began edging away with him. She kept looking back, biting her lip.

  I waited, my hand around Tabatha’s throat.

  She wasn’t fighting me. She was tense and still, watching me.

  Taz twisted her hands in front of her. “Bren, don’t. Please.”

  Everyone ignored her, and Cross stepped up on my left, followed by Jordan on my right. As they closed in, Taz was shut out. She could hear me, but she couldn’t see my face.

  “Cross,” Tabatha pretended to croak at him.

  I couldn’t hide a grin. As soon as I’d gotten her against the truck, I’d loosened my hold dramatically. She could’ve stepped free. She was putting on a show.

  Cross knew it too. “Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow.

  Her eyes darted from me to him. “Help.” A hoarse whisper. “Please.”

  His face was impassive, and he shifted back, giving us some space. He crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s barely touching you. Stop acting.”

  “Cross!” Her voice sounded more normal there.

  “Why the fuck are you talking to me?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re going to let her touch me like this?”

  “Yeah.” Jordan spoke this time, leaning on his elbow against the truck. His eyebrows wiggled. “You chicks need to learn that crews don’t care about gender. Don’t matter if the person has a dick or a vagina. Crew is crew.” His gaze skirted to me. “She’s my crew.”

  “Mine too.”

  Tabatha’s eyes moved to Cross.

  She gulped, then came back to look at me.

  I removed my hand and stepped back. “I warned you earlier,” I told her softly. “Fuck with me one more time, and you’ll learn why I’m crew and you’re not.”

  She laughed harshly. “What are you going to do—”

  It wasn’t my hand this time, it was Jordan’s. He shifted so his hand was on the vehicle, but way too close to her. His finger pressed against her neck. His whole stance was meant for intimidation.