Crew (Crew Series Book 1)

by Tijan

  But he didn’t.

  I could tell how this was going to play out.

  I touched my forehead, feeling a headache forming. “Who did he hurt?”

  “The hospital released Race last night, so Taz took him to the hotel in town. That one he’s been staying at with his mom.”

  If Alex had been walking home, the hotel was right in the middle of his route.

  “Oh no.”

  No, no, no.

  I knew what he was going to say.

  Race helped us, so many times.

  We pushed him, not trusting. But he kept helping.

  Now this…

  I sank down on the bed. Alex had already hurt his cousin. Race would’ve been weak, or even drugged. The hospital would’ve given him painkillers. They would’ve made him fall asleep.

  He was helpless.

  I began to fear the worst.

  Then Jordan looked at Cross. “He hurt Taz.”

  I looked up.

  Taz.

  He said Taz.

  Not Race.

  Taz.

  I surged back to my feet. “Cross.”

  Cross was on his feet, a dark look clouding over him. He swallowed, and a look in his eyes I had never seen before flashed bright. “What did he do to her?”

  Jordan spoke faster now, his hand out like he could soothe Cross. “I don’t know the extent of it, but she’s in the hospital. Z’s with her.” He paused. “So are your parents.”

  Cross nodded, like he knew that already.

  Jordan kept on, “They were gone on some trip. The hospital called them. They got there an hour ago. I’ve been…” He gestured to the desk chair. “I waited as long as I could.”

  “For what?” Cross laughed, an edge of hysteria there. “To let me sleep in?”

  Jordan straightened to his full height. “To let the cops talk to Alex first.”

  First.

  I looked at Cross. He and Jordan stared at each other with a shared understanding.

  Then Cross turned to me, and I felt it. It started in my toes, making them curl, but the trickle moved up my legs. It pooled between them—where he’d been not long ago before we fell asleep again—and now it filled my chest. It went down my arms, making my fingers twitch, and it continued its path upward. My neck. The back of my head. Finally everything was coated.

  I was ready. I knew what Cross would do, and I held my knife out to him.

  He looked at it and shook his head.

  He dressed, pulling on a sleeveless black shirt and jeans.

  He left the room.

  I followed him. Jordan followed me.

  Cross went to his father’s office. The closet opened, I heard a series of beeps, and he appeared again—a 9mm in his hand.

  We waited three hours.

  Three hours for Alex to be booked into police custody, to be processed, and then let out on bond. Three fucking hours, for hurting Taz.

  In the meantime, we got the story.

  Zellman was with Race at the hospital, and he relayed it on his way to the police station. He told us over the phone that Alex had shown up when Taz took him to the hotel. His mom had stayed back at the hospital to finish some additional paperwork, but Taz drove him, going ahead so he could sleep.

  Alex showed up.

  Drunk. High. In a rage.

  He and Race started fighting, and he swung wide at one point, hitting Taz instead of Race.

  He didn’t realize it wasn’t his cousin, and he hit her again and again.

  Race shoved him off, but the damage was done.

  Her left cheek was fractured. So was her lower jaw. All her teeth were intact, but she’d have to have her mouth wired shut for ten weeks.

  Ten.

  Weeks.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Not to a Normal. To crew, yes. We ran that chance. We signed up for it. We signed up knowing the risks. But family. Friends? Fuck no. They didn’t sign up for it.

  It was wrong.

  Alex needed to go.

  That’s what I thought as I was now sitting between the guys in Jordan’s truck.

  We were driving around Roussou. We were waiting to find out where Alex would be, and that was Zellman’s job. He was following Alex to wherever he holed up. Once he did, once he told us, he was supposed to go back to Taz’s side and not leave.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to check on your sister?” Jordan’s voice was low in his cab, taking the same left he’d taken for the fiftieth time that morning.

  We were on a continuous loop through Roussou, just waiting, just tense, just… There were no words to describe this morning.

  Thinking about it, I stomped down the same shiver I’d been having since we left the house.

  There’d been rage.

  There’d been pain, inexplicable pain. Remorse. Rage again. A murderous rage. A quiet cold seeping out of my bones—a hunger to inflict what had been inflicted upon.

  Cross had taken the gun out, but Jordan grabbed it, saying, “No way, man.”

  “Jordan.” Cross had pushed him against the wall. He took it back. “Goddamn—you don’t know!”

  “Yes.” He’d put hands on Cross, paused, looked at me, and then shoved him back. “My sister was almost raped, fucker. Raped! Yes. I do goddamn know, and Z took the gun out of my hands that night.”

  I had frowned.

  Jordan had laughed, sounding almost as harsh as Cross. He looked between us. “You didn’t know that, did you? You aren’t the only ones with secrets in this crew.” He extended his hand, holding it steady. “Z didn’t trust me then, and I don’t trust you now. Give me the fucking gun, Cross.”

  Cross didn’t do anything. He stood glaring at Jordan, until—I was frozen in place for that moment—he finally held it out.

  Jordan had snatched it, swiftly, and handed it behind his back to me.

  I stepped forward, taking it, my eyes holding Cross’ as I did.

  God.

  My mouth dried.

  She was in him too. She was blanketing him, protecting him, making him numb to feeling what had been in me for so long.

  I paused, and without thinking, I pressed my palm to his chest. His heart lurched against it, pressing out to me, and it wasn’t just him and me there. I swear I felt her. She really was in him. My insides split in half—someone was tearing me in two and doing it so slowly that I could hear every tendon breaking, feel the rip as every vessel burst open.

  I choked up.

  If that’s what I felt, standing in front of him, looking into his eyes, and feeling his heart—I couldn’t go there. I wouldn’t. Not yet. Instead, I whispered, standing close until his forehead moved to rest against mine, “Just hold on.”

  His heart pounded three beats, all at once, and he jerked his head in a rough nod. Then his eyes closed, and his chest lifted as he filled his lungs. He was in control. For now.

  Jordan tapped the back of my elbow, and I moved in response.

  We had to go fast.

  He went with me, back into Cross’ parents’ closet.

  Jordan grabbed the gun’s lock-box, bringing it down. It was still open. I put the gun in. Jordan locked it again, and I headed back. Jordan was right behind me, almost breathing down my neck. I was scared, for a split second, that Cross had grabbed a different weapon and gone on his own, but he hadn’t.

  I had to stop, just the slightest of pauses, but enough where Jordan grunted so he didn’t run into me, and then I was moving forward again.

  Cross’ eyes were dark and almost soulless, but he was focused on me. He was holding on.

  I took his hand, lacing our fingers, and I was the one who’d led us outside. I was the one who’d taken us to Jordan’s truck. I was the one who’d made the decision that instead of one in the back and two in front, all three of us would sit together. And I was the one who’d decided when Jordan got in and asked, “Where to?”

  “Just drive.”

  Cross didn’t want to go to Taz. Not u
ntil Alex was dealt with. We all knew that, so we never offered. That’s why Zellman was tasked with staying there, until he got the call that Alex’s lawyer was at the station. How he knew, who called him, I didn’t know. I didn’t ask. No one did.

  My phone pinged now, bringing me back to the present as I sat between these two.

  Durrant’s house.

  A second text: Alex let himself in with a key.

  Mouth dry, hands sweaty, pulse pounding, I texted him back: Devil no sing till eyes.

  “He’s at Durrant’s house,” I announced. “No one’s there.”

  Jordan nodded once and swung around.

  “You tell him to go back to Taz?” Cross asked.

  I powered off my phone and put it in my pocket, feeling that locked gun box by my feet. “I coded it. He’ll be radio silent till we see him.”

  Durrant was a Ryerson crew member, and apparently one of Alex’s most loyal friends. Either that or…

  Jordan grunted. “I think I remember Durrant’s out of town. Someone in his family died. Sweets told me that last night. She was mentioning it because there’s talk about having a party there.”

  I sucked in my breath for a second, but let it go almost as quick.

  We were driving to let Cross shoot this guy.

  Yes, we took the gun away from him at the house, but he’d released it only after Jordan promised to keep it in the box until we got to Alex. We were going with Cross because this was crew, this was having his back, but in this moment, knowing what he wanted to do, knowing what we were taking him to do—I didn’t want it.

  I didn’t want any of it.

  This was wrong.

  This was a part of the crew life I didn’t want.

  I felt a punch at that, realizing I wasn’t all-crew at that moment, but no. Fuck that. I was.

  I was.

  Cross stared straight ahead, locked down, an impassive expression on his face that sent shivers down my back.

  I knew I had to speak up, or I was going to lose him.

  I caught Jordan’s gaze. He lifted his eyebrows, a message there for me. He made a face at me. It was brief, but I knew he was with me.

  Fuck.

  Okay.

  Icy dread began trickling down to my stomach, but I had to try. I had to.

  “I love you, Cross.” My voice shook.

  Jordan eased up on the pedal, his head turning toward us for an instant.

  “Keep driving.” Cross’ voice didn’t shake. He knew what I was going to say.

  Jordan didn’t, slowing the truck even more.

  “Keep fucking driving, Jordan!”

  Jordan was waiting for me, watching me. I gave him the slightest nod, and he pressed the pedal again. I had this time to talk. I would make it count.

  “Mallory was nearly raped, and we didn’t kill that guy.”

  “We should’ve,” Cross bit out.

  Jordan winced.

  “No. That guy turned himself in. Alex already went in too.”

  “And he’s out on bail.” Cross was so rigid, so tense. His head whipped to mine. His eyes blazing. “What makes you think he’ll do any goddamn time? He fucked up her head. He broke her jaw. He broke her cheek. She has a concussion. She could have permanent fucking damage. She might have problems for the rest of her life—we don’t fucking know. What makes you think he shouldn’t pay for what he did?” He was glaring at me.

  I felt punched with every word he said.

  “If anyone deserves to hurt him, it should be Taz then.”

  Jordan grimaced, and I ignored him.

  Cross snorted. “Right. We should’ve let Mallory go up on that hill with us. Remember that night? I know you like to sit those beatdowns out, but fuck, Bren. I thought you were with us. I thought you were with me.”

  I heard his accusation.

  Icy dread swirled through me.

  I heard his pain.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” I burst out, my voice cracking. My chest heaved. Every vein was stretching, trying to explode. “I am here for you, and you don’t want to hear this, but you have to.” I turned, and I faced him head-on. “You’re going to kill someone. You don’t walk away from that! You. Not him. Not that fucker. You, Cross!” I leaned forward, almost lunging at him. I grabbed his shirt, and I was right in his face. “My mom is gone. My dad is in prison. My brother was gone since I was fucking eight years old. It’s been you. It’s been goddamn you all my life.”

  I shook him with every word.

  He went mute, but his eyes were on mine. He was listening.

  He was giving me this time.

  “Let’s beat him up. Please,” I rasped. “You want him to pay? Make him live with what he did. Beat him so bad he doesn’t walk. Do that. Just don’t kill him.” My lungs rattled. My whole body was shuddering. I pressed my forehead to his. My lips grazed just over his. “You pull that trigger, and I lose everything. I lose you. I can’t lose you.”

  The truck was turning. Slowing. We were on a gravel road.

  “Taz loses you,” Jordan added, his voice strained. “You’re hurting your sister. Again.”

  Cross didn’t move.

  He didn’t pull away.

  He didn’t reach for me. He didn’t take my hands in his. He didn’t move his face back.

  He sat there, like a rock. He was cement, on the outside and inside.

  I was going to lose him.

  He wasn’t going to change his mind, and realizing that, I did the only thing I could think of. I crawled onto his lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and curled my legs in, and then—then—he moved. His arms pulled me the rest of the way.

  He held me close, and I lifted my head. I put my lips to his ear and whispered, “Please don’t leave me. I love you.”

  I was on repeat, saying nothing else.

  But so was he.

  He said nothing else.

  He just held me, like he was saying goodbye.

  Then we pulled up to Durrant’s house.

  I’d never forget that house.

  Every piece of chipped paint. Every crack in the sidewalk. Every step it would take to go up the patio and through that door. I’d never forget the yard, or the manmade lake it was on.

  The temperature was burned in my memory.

  It was hot. It was unnaturally hot. My shirt stuck to Cross’ chest. There was a sweet smell in the air, mingling with our sweat. I remembered noticing that, and then feeling the goosebumps on my skin.

  Everything was wrong that day.

  I was usually the dark one. Cross was my light. We’d switched roles today. And that, somehow, was wrong too.

  Jordan was the reasonable one.

  Zellman wasn’t even here.

  All of it. All wrong.

  I thought all of that before Cross opened the door. I hadn’t moved from his lap, but it didn’t matter.

  Even the creak of the door was wrong. It was usually silent. Not a sound came from it. Jordan would’ve cursed about it. He was anal about the upkeep of his truck. And then that flashed from my mind too as Cross stepped out, carrying me with him. He set me on my feet, his eyes holding mine the whole time, just like always.

  Then he reached around me.

  His chest touched mine. His arm brushed against me before he stepped back, the gun box in his hand.

  “Cross—”

  “No!” He looked over my shoulder. “Both of you.”

  Jordan had stepped out on his side, his door still open.

  “I mean it. This is my decision.” Cross looked between us. “You’re either with me or you’re not. Which is it?”

  “When you become one of us, you have to agree to three oaths.”

  “You made me promise to three oaths,” I said.

  He was ignoring me, getting the gun out.

  “Hey!” I grabbed his shoulder, whipping him around. “Listen to me!”

  “…will you treat us as family?”

  I pushed up until my body was touching his.
“Treat you as family.” I cupped both sides of his face. “You’re more family to me than anyone.”

  His eyes started to close.

  “Don’t!” I clipped out. “Look at me! You’re going to do this, you’re going to have to look at me before you walk away.”

  He shook, quivering, and he opened his eyes again.

  A small amount of pressure lifted from inside of me. A small part of that icy dread warmed, just a tiny bit. But not enough. Not goddamn enough.

  “Will you fight for us as you’d have us fight for you?”

  “I’m supposed to fight for you like I’d want you to fight for me, and I am fighting for you. I’m fighting for you because you’re me. We’re a unit, whether we want it or not. I love you. I love you.”

  I was so close, my lips were grazing his, and I felt every word vibrate to my toes.

  I couldn’t stop cupping his face. I couldn’t stop pressing against him, as if I could literally keep him from moving.

  I felt him shifting, putting the gun in his pants, and then his hands came to my arms. They were gentle, but he moved me back.

  “Bren.” His hand touched the side of my face. “Let me do this. I have to. He touched Taz. He keeps touching you. I can’t—this has to be done.”

  His body stiffened. His hands went to my shoulders again.

  He was going to push me away, and then he was going to step away, and then he was going to go away.

  “I want to die,” I cried.

  He stopped.

  I’d pulled the last card I had.

  “And the last, will you forgive as if we’re one person?”

  I felt her touch on my back. It was gentle and loving, and I felt her strength seep into me. I didn’t care what anyone told me. I felt her presence as strongly as when she’d held me before I turned nine. I felt her heat. I smelled the rose perfume she wore.

  I didn’t feel her inside me anymore, not the way she used to be. It changed that second, that day. Searching Cross’ eyes, seeing how stricken he was, I didn’t see her in him anymore either.

  “Bren?” he choked out, reading inside me.

  “That’s why I go to my house. I go to see her, but I go because I want a mom again.”

  A wall crumbled inside me. Everything was spilling out.