by Tijan
"Wha-what?"
"Channing Monroe. He's a big fighter--"
"No, I know." He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "No. No, not at all. I just--I don't know. I wanted to help. Besides, when Cross' twin sister asks a crew girl for help with her charity event, word spreads fast." His eyes slid to the right as we passed some of Sunday's friends. "They sit behind me in chemistry, and trust me, they're not quiet. Just tell me the amount you need, and I'll email him." He added, "He'll do anything I want. He thinks I can talk my mom into going back to him."
"Yo!"
Jordan was moving fast behind us. He swooped in, and before Race could look behind him, Jordan's arm was around his shoulders, pulling him forward. He forced Race to move with him.
Zellman and Cross trailed behind him, and both sliding me looks as they passed.
Jordan had a bug up his ass. I didn't know what was going on, but I sighed and fell in line.
Jordan half-walked, half-dragged Race to the opposite end of the lot. Once we were tucked on the other side of his truck, he let him go.
Race shoved him away, scooting backward. Alarm filtered over his face, his eyebrows pinching together. "What's going on?"
Jordan bent down a little, so he was almost looking Race in the eye. He wagged his finger between Race and me, making a tsking sound. "Is this a thing? The two of you?"
I flung my arms in the air. "Again?!"
"Yes, again." Jordan's smile had an edge to it. His arm went around Race's neck before he could move out of the way. Race struggled, so Jordan tightened his arm. If he'd bent over again, it would've been a chokehold. "I called him out on Tuesday, and he didn't deny it. You did, Bren, but not him. He never denied a thing, and now he's sniffing around your pants again." He turned to Race, jostling him a little. "I'd really like to know why." He cast a look at Cross, adding, "I don't think I'm the only one."
Cross met my gaze, but his eyes were shielded. He wasn't letting me in.
I gritted my teeth.
I wasn't some helpless, hapless little girl. I didn't need this big-brother act Jordan was doing. He could watch Race. He could be suspicious of him, and hell, he could even give him crap. One time. Not a second time. And not when we were almost in front of an audience. We were hidden by his big truck, but people always watched us. People would've noticed Jordan's fast walk over here, how he'd had his arm around Race.
I was betting we had five minutes before Alex showed up.
Cross stepped up next to me, his arm brushing against mine. He lowered his head, but his eyes were locked on Race. "Jordan, you know why Race is in town? Why he's here in the first place?"
Fuck.
I recognized that tone. It was low and chilling. It was the same he'd been using in the library, and I realized now he'd just checked his attitude. He'd been waiting for this. And that fucker, he must've planned this during that time.
Jordan frowned, becoming still. "No. Why?"
I waited, wondering how he knew about the divorce.
Race started to smirk.
Jordan saw his reaction and looked back at Cross. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head.
Cross gestured to Race. "He's here for the underground fighting ring."
Jordan went a whole new level of still.
People from all over came to Roussou to fight, and to watch, and those who were serious about the ring were good fighters. Crew members could fight. We'd had our fair share of tussles, and we could handle ourselves, but underground ring fighting was a whole different situation.
Those guys were out for blood.
If someone fought there and stuck around, they could do serious damage outside of the ring as well. There were no official rules. They could fight outside the ring, and Jordan finally started to put two and two together.
He let go of Race and drew away from him. "You're a fighter?"
There was dark amusement in Race's eyes, and he nodded before skimming a look over Cross and me. His top lip curved, just a bit. "I am."
"You good?"
There was some hesitation, but then Race nodded. "I am."
It was almost karmic for Jordan to be nervous now, but a part of me felt for him. Jordan was pushing Race's buttons because he was the new guy, but also because of me. Mostly, however, I think Jordan was doing it because he could.
I started to feel better about this confrontation until Cross stepped forward.
Both his hands were in his sweatshirt pockets, and his shoulders were stiff and taut. Race could fight. I'd seen enough to know it was true, but the one guy who could go toe to toe with him was Cross.
Race's quiet confidence was nothing compared to the air that radiated off Cross.
He was dangerous.
And when Race's chest rose and stayed, I knew he was feeling it too.
Cross was also still furious, but I hadn't figured out the reason--that is until he started speaking.
It was quiet, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
Whether Race realized it or not, he was treading dangerous ground with Cross.
The rest of us stood back and let him talk. We'd learned to shut up when Cross had something to say, when he was in this mood. He didn't strike, unless there was a reason. And there was always a good reason when he did.
"I'm saying that because I see you." He took another step forward. As he did, Jordan backed out, so it was now Race facing us with only Cross in front of him. It was almost a conversation between the two of them, but knowing Cross, he did this to send another message. He didn't need us to back him up. He didn't need us to help him. He could stand on his own just fine and Race swallowed, seeming to get it.
His throat moving up and down. "I get it."
"No." Cross shook his head briskly. "You don't get it. You're around us, a lot. You're around Bren, a lot. You're putting your nose in our business. You're standing up to your cousin for us? We didn't ask you for that. It's to the point now where we have to acknowledge you and the 'help' you're giving us, but that's not how we work. You want to be crew, you straight up say it. We decide then. Not you. You don't worm your way in with us. You don't get to try to weasel your way in." He straightened up, but his hands remained in his sweatshirt pockets. With his hood still on, he was the image of a bad boy facing off against a threat.
Shivers snaked their way down my spine, turning into a throb in my stomach. That throb was moving lower, and I flattened my hand against my stomach. I hadn't felt this before, with anyone.
I moved to the side so I could see Cross' face. I almost couldn't look away. He was entrancing, the way his chin jutted up defiantly and his nostrils flared, how he looked down his nose at Race.
He was pushing back a foe, one maybe we hadn't seen before. Cross was right. Race had been slinking his way in, and as if feeling my thoughts, he looked my way.
He shook his head. "I didn't--I offered to help because I want to help. There's no agenda. I mean it."
"Bullshit."
Race focused on Cross again. "I mean it. I don't want anything from you guys. My parents are divorcing. That's the real reason we're here. The fighting ring is a bonus. It's a way to piss off my dad, to be completely honest. But I do like fighting, and yeah, I mean..." His eyes cast down. He rolled his shoulders back. "God. I don't know. Maybe I did have an agenda. Drake told me to stick close to you guys if I wanted protection. I don't want to join my cousin's crew. They're not the good ones. I've heard them. I've been around them. They're turning into the bad crew." He stopped again, licking his lips, his throat moving up and down. "Shit. You're right. I was trying to weasel my way in." A fleeting panic pulled at his face. "I'm sorry. I am. I know that's how you guys are. I didn't--I wasn't thinking it through. Drake said you guys were the ones to be friends with."
Cross snorted. "Drake was fucking with you." His eyes slid my way again. "He knows we don't bring in strays. He wanted to mess with us."
Us.
I swallowed over a knot.
Me.
My ex wanted to mess with me, and I remembered all his sniping comments about Cross.
He wanted to mess with me and Cross.
I swore. "I'm going to rip his balls off."
Jordan and Zellman laughed.
A faint grin showed at the corner of Cross' mouth. Some of the air lightened too, but he didn't say anything.
"I..." Race looked between us, eyes lingering on me and Cross. He moved back a step, his head lowered, almost in submission. "I wondered, but I didn't..."
Cross snapped his gaze back to him, sharpening once more.
"Wondered?" he bit out.
That was enough. I stepped forward, my hand touching Cross' arm lightly. We didn't need to have untruths dredged up, not yet, not when I wasn't ready to think about that either.
I cleared my throat. "If you're serious about the charity thing--"
"I am." His head lifted. "I really am. Tell me the amount, and I'll call my dad."
"That's for Taz, right?" Jordan spoke up.
"Yeah."
"Then come on, moneybags." He stepped forward, his arm coming around Race's shoulder again, but this time it was casual, like they truly were friends. He patted Race on the arm. "Let's you and me go and find the female Shaw. I'll help out with this charity thing."
He wasn't giving Race an option. He started walking him right back out, just a little more respectfully than the way he'd dragged him back here, and he winked at me as they went by.
Zellman watched them go, his hand twisting some of his curls before he turned to us. "Jordan's got a thing for your sis. I'm announcing it now before it becomes a problem." He held his hands up. "And don't go all dark Cross on me now. I won't take it like that guy. I'll just pop you in the face."
And he would. He'd get beaten up by Cross in the end, but to him it would be worth it.
I grinned, but I was relieved when that lightened the mood even more. Cross started asking questions, but Zellman wasn't answering.
He kept shaking his head, saying, "You have to ask Jordan," until Jordan himself came back. Alone.
Jordan gestured over his shoulder. "I left the new guy with Taz. She was cornered by the cheerleaders." He nodded at Zellman. "Sunday wants to know if you want to hook up tonight."
Zellman grunted. "Am I in a crew?" He stopped, squinting at me. "Are you still fighting with her? I thought that ended after the tire thing."
"What?"
"Never mind." He gave Jordan a thumbs-up. "I'm up, on, and in for whatever's going down tonight that has to with Sunday and being all sexual." He was starting to bounce up and down.
I grimaced at that thought, but remembered the other conversation from study hall. Sharing a look with Cross, I said, "Uh, guys?" I bobbed my head at Cross. "You want to loop them in on what else is going on with Ryerson? The bad one."
Jordan and Zellman snapped to attention.
This was crew business, and after Cross relayed Alex's latest antics, Jordan cursed.
"You serious? He's fucking proclaiming they're the biggest and baddest?"
Cross nodded, and then we all grew silent.
We weren't saying a word, but I knew what was going on.
We were the Wolf Crew. We were four, and we were fierce. We didn't need the numbers other crews took on, but what helped us all gel sometimes didn't make up for the fact that there were only four of us. If it came down to a war, we'd strap on and step up to the line, and we'd be smart about it. But prevention was always the first step.
Which meant someone had to talk to Alex. He was a hothead, and the best person to talk to him was Drake, which meant I was right back where I'd been earlier.
Me talking to him.
"Fuck."
Jordan sighed. "You know it's the best option."
But still.
I shook my head, shoving my hands into my pockets. "This fucking sucks."
Cross stepped close, his shoulder grazing mine. "I'll go with you."
"Ah." Jordan clipped his head from right to left. "No. Hell no. Not to be a prick here, but that would not be good. We all know how much Drake Ryerson hates you, so I agree with Bren."
"You do?" I don't have to go?
"You should take your brother."
Oh. Double fuck.
"And we should go now, before anything gets worse."
Look at Jordan, being our leader.
I grimaced, but gave in. "Fine."
Jordan and Zellman went to Jordan's truck, and Cross and I went to my Jeep.
Tuesday Tits was pretty much the exact opposite of Manny's. The name itself should've given that away. As we drove up to my brother's bar, a line of motorcycles were parked outside the front door. We pulled into the back alley and found a whole second line of motorcycles parked there too.
Tuesday Tits catered to a rough crowd--not just my brother's crew, though they fit in, but a biker gang that frequented Roussou. As we stepped inside, a bunch of guys wearing leather cuts were drinking and playing pool. A few lounged at tables, talking.
The conversations lulled and all eyes came to us.
They seemed to sense fresh meat.
"How's it going, Bren?" the bartender asked.
It was just a formality. He didn't want to know.
The bartender was one of Channing's crew members. He wanted the regular customers to know we were hands-off.
I tipped my head up in greeting, pausing just inside the back door. "He around?"
He nodded toward the back hallway. "In his office."
Jordan and Zellman moved around me, heading to one of the empty pool tables. They knew the policy too. Unless they knew the bikers, they couldn't talk to them. Extra attention was not helpful, and Jordan's mouth--that would've drawn extra attention.
My brother's office door opened, and he stepped out. "I hear my sister's name?"
"Yeah." I headed for him with Cross behind me. "Hey."
He frowned at me, then at Jordan and Zellman. "I don't want you guys here."
"I know, but I'm here for a reason."
"Why?"
"I have to go see Drake, crew business."
"Crew business? From what I'm told, he's not crew anymore."
"Yeah. That's the problem."
Channing kept looking behind me to where Jordan and Zellman stood. I followed, seeing the reason for his concern. Some of the bikers had congregated nearby. Sometimes this wasn't a bad thing. Most bikers were fine, but these weren't. They were from a one-percenter MC. If they targeted Jordan and Zellman to hustle--or as hustlers--there'd be problems. The biker clubs were fiercer than us. There was no line they wouldn't cross. We co-existed. That was about it, and even that line was shaky.
But this was one of those areas Channing handled for Roussou while the rest were kept in the dark.
"Your ex goes to school six hours from here," Channing said. "I don't want you driving there."
"What?" I turned back to look at him. "Come on. Are you serious?"
"Chad had to take off. He's in the same town." Chad was another of Channing's crew members. "He can find him and have the talk you need to have."
"No."
"Yes."
Channing went back to watching the bikers. Two of the guys approached Jordan and Zellman. The bartender had paused, looking from them to Channing. He was waiting for a signal. Another door opened from the hallway, and Congo, another member of Channing's crew, came down.
He stopped right next to Channing.
Congo might've been short, but he was muscular, and he wasn't someone to mess with. He was like a bald mini bodybuilder.
"Yes, Bren," Channing repeated, cursing under his breath as he moved around me.
The bikers were now talking to Jordan, holding out a beer and gesturing to the pool table.
My brother started for them, then turned around and flung a hand toward me. "Get her out of here. Now." Then he was back to closing in fast on the pool table.
I looked over in time to see his crew member lock the registe
r.
Congo started forward, a metal bar in his hand. Where he'd gotten that, I had no clue. He didn't have it when he walked down the hallway.
"Shit." Cross moved closer to me. "Maybe you should go?"
I threw him an incredulous look. This was my crew, and my brother. I wasn't moving.
I reached for my knife, tucked against my body under my shirt. I didn't pull it out. My hand was there, just in case.
"Hey, fellas." Channing walked up and threw an arm around Jordan's shoulders. He was an inch shorter than, but he yanked him down like he was going to put him in a headlock. He maneuvered him back behind the table, taking his pool stick at the same time. "If you'll excuse me," he said to the bikers. "I gotta kick these minors out of here." He shoved Jordan toward us. "You heard it, kid. Beat it."
Jordan took a couple steps, frowning at us and then my brother.
Zellman stayed right next to him.
"We were going to play a game of pool." One of the bikers picked up the pool cue Zellman had left behind. He had a scar that went down the entire side of his face. "They look like they have cash to burn. You don't mind, do you?"
Channing stood directly between us and them, but more of the bikers had started to take notice. A few moved closer. My brother held his hands up. His voice came out smooth and almost cheerful, but his jaw clenched.
"I got a fine recently for underage kids. Sorry, guys. You're going to have to play somewhere else."
The biker with the pool cue pointed it at Jordan. "How about it? You guys want to go somewhere else to play?"
Channing's shoulders tightened. "Somewhere in Frisco then."
Not Manny's.
Not in Roussou.
That was my brother's message.
I waited to see their reaction, but Chan didn't. He turned his back, and as soon as he did, his whole nonchalant facade dropped. His mouth set in a furious line.
Jordan took a step backward, seeing it.
Channing would beat his ass if he didn't leave.
Jordan cleared his throat. "Nah. Maybe next time. I think we got what we wanted." He looked at me. "Right? You're off the hook tonight?"
He widened his eyes dramatically.
I got his message too. "Oh yeah." I smiled at my brother. "I'll see you on Monday?"
I didn't wait for Channing's response. With Cross, Jordan, and Zellman behind me, I hurried out of there, veering right in the alley, past a couple more of Channing's crew members and my cousin, Scratch. I recognized Moose. He was bald like Congo, but tall, with tattoos all over his head and neck. I didn't recognize the other guy.