by Tijan
I stepped between them, saying coolly, “You’re not going to replace one opponent with another target. Your problem’s with us, not with a Normal who, no offense, doesn’t have a lot of say in this matter.”
Zeke looked back to me. “That right?”
The adrenaline had bolstered his confidence. His head raised, and his chest puffed out. He was forgetting whose knife had caught his throat. I was about to remind him when Cross broke forward, his entire body tense and ready to fight.
“Your name is Zeke Allen,” Cross said, almost sounding bored. “Your father is on the board of Kade Enterprises. He owns a small share, not enough to get a say-so, but enough that he can show up for board meetings for the free coffee and food. Your mom thinks she’s a Fallen Crest socialite—wine for brunch, charity events, that sort of thing. You’re the oldest in your family. You’re hoping to go to Cain University, and you think you can be like Mason Kade. That’s your goal. You’ve got his picture in your locker, and how do I know all of this?”
Now his voice was chilling. He looked at Zeke like a predator sizing up its prey. “Because we don’t just fight. We do our homework. When I get told a bunch of Fallen Crest Academy kids are looking to burn one of our buildings down, you better be sure I find out who I’m going to be fighting in the long run.”
Zeke’s look was different now. A trickle of awareness came over him, his whole body stiffening. “I’m taking it you’re the real leader here?”
There was more movement in the background, and then Race pushed to my side.
Zeke glanced over, his eyes narrowing, but he turned back to Cross right away.
“We don’t have an official leader here. That’s not how we work.”
Except he was, and that was how we worked on some things.
I caught a small grin from Jordan before it vanished.
Zeke nodded, edging back. His hands went up. “Okay. I get it. You all are some sick badasses.”
“Come on.” One of his friends hit his arm, and the four of them walked backward, out through the fence.
We waited. One of the Normals went to the gate, watching. We heard a bunch of car doors slam shut, engines roaring, and tires peeling out, and he raised an arm. “They’re gone.”
“Fuck,” Cross said, under his breath.
“How’d you know all that?” Jordan asked him.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I asked Zellman.
“What the hell just happened?” Race asked, looking around for anyone with an answer.
Then, Cross sighed. “This is actually happening now. Shit.”
He looked at me. I knew what he was thinking.
We were in a town rivalry. It was officially on.
Everyone was vulnerable.
That was the part of a town rivalry that sucked, but it was the truth. You didn’t know what your adversary would do—if they’d go after someone considered innocent or weak, or if they’d step up and face off against someone equal to them. We’d never fought against this group from Fallen Crest Academy.
Cross explained that he had done just what he’d told Zeke. He’d called a few people and asked who ran their school. Everyone said Zeke Allen, so he’d gotten the details on him. I hadn’t known he did that. No one did, but we were damn glad he had. Because we’d showed a small edge over them, they’d walked out with a prickle of fear. That small prickle could double, triple, grow and grow until we went against them again. Psychological warfare. I’d never known Cross to be good at it, but he’d just proven me wrong.
Yet another reason he was our “unofficial” leader, as he put it.
I was pretty sure after the Academy Crusties left, most the dudes in the backyard had a guy crush on Cross. When we walked back inside Tabatha’s house, there was a new sense of awe and shock. And, of course, the girls weren’t immune. I needed a moment myself, even though mostly what we needed was a crew meeting.
Rivalries required an organized effort, so all the crews were called, and an hour later we were meeting in the basement of Rossou’s pizzeria. Even some of the Normals were there: Tabatha and Sunday were the ringleaders for the girls, and a few of the Normal athletes had come, plus one guy from the student council. He kept adjusting his glasses and tugging down his sleeves. I was guessing he’d never been a part of something like this.
Moving up next to him, I asked, “You need the bathroom?”
He fixed me with a steady glare from behind his glasses. “Why? Because I look like I’m going to piss myself?”
Well, yeah, but also, “You look a little green in the face.”
“Oh.” He frowned to himself, his face twitching before he shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I did have a touch of food poisoning, but that was two days ago.” He fixed me with another look, swallowing tightly. “Do you even know who I am?”
That was easy. “You’re on the student council.”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here, but do you know my name?”
Roussou wasn’t super big. I should’ve known, but I couldn’t lie. “Don’t take it personal. I make it a habit not to know. Just how I am.” I gestured to my head. “Heed the rumors. I’m a bit messed up here.”
He scowled. “Everyone has issues. You’re no better than the rest of us with your issues.”
That was… I wasn’t sure what that was. “Okay. What’s your name?”
“I’m Harrison Swartz. And I’m the student body president.” He nodded. “Thank you very much.”
Well then. “Thank you for your service?”
He bowed to me. “You’re welcome.” A cough, then he gestured around the room. “And thank you for this. You and your crew don’t realize this, but Zeke Allen and his friends have been bullying other students at our school on a regular basis.”
I frowned. “Why’s no one said anything?”
“Mr. Allen’s father is well connected in Fallen Crest. Who would they go to? The police? Our administration didn’t care. Principal Neeon laughed at them.”
Harrison was a good three inches taller than me, gangly, hair combed back with the ends frizzing up. I couldn’t tell if he would be considered a good-looking guy underneath those glasses or if it was because of the glasses. Fair complexion. Hazel eyes.
Noticing me noticing him, he swiftly set his frown back in place. “I do know who you are, if that’s what you’re wondering. You’re Bren Monroe. You’re crew royalty. Channing Monroe’s the one who started all of this devas—all of this…”
“Devastation.”
He paused. “Hmmm?”
I saw right through him. “Devastation. That’s what you were going to say.” I could see more of him now. “You hate this, don’t you? But you’re also grateful. You don’t like that there are crews in Roussou, but you’re also thankful because now we’re fighting someone who bullies you. Am I right?”
He paled.
“I bet a part of you wishes there were no crews, but a part of you worries what Roussou would be like without them. Am I close?”
A choked gargling came from him.
I turned to inspect the room, almost seeing it in a new light. I tried to see it from his point of view. The Normals looked more imposing. Tabatha and Sunday seemed prettier, but also bitchier. The leaders of each crew looked rougher, more dangerous. A trickle of fear slithered down my back, and I knew this was how someone like Harrison Swartz saw us all. I looked back at him, trying to feel the way he viewed me.
Dangerous. Deadly. And...what else was I feeling from him? Lonely.
Well, shit. That had me reeling. He was right, in some way. “You think I’m lonely?”
He blanched, another gurgling sound coming from him. “How did you…” He tugged at his shirt collar this time. “How did you know that?”
I shrugged. “A feeling. Do you?”
A helpless laugh came from him. “I feel like I’m going to get knifed if we continue this conversation.”
Right. Knifed. Because that’s what I did.
I knifed people. That�
�s why all this was happening.
I felt a rock in my chest. “If you want, we can stop talking.”
Except I didn’t talk to strangers. Except I didn’t open up. Except—why the fuck did I care?
I thought he was about to say something, but I moved away and went to find Cross. Why did I care about some kid like that? I felt his judgment. He looked down on me, on us, the crews. He’d been scared talking to me.
I didn’t actually know if that’s what he felt, but a part of me understood it. I judged myself all the time. Why begrudge someone else? I found myself watching Harrison again. If there hadn’t been a crew system in place, what would his life have been like? He was being bullied by some rich prick from Fallen Crest Academy, so who’s to say he wouldn’t have gotten that in Roussou? But maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t happening because of the crew system, because of us.
Maybe, just maybe, we weren’t all so bad after all?
Then Jordan called out, “Okay. Is everyone here? Because we need to make a plan, for everyone.”
The plan was simple, but effective. Everyone had to move in pairs.
It was more of an encouraged guideline, but I noticed most everyone from Roussou followed it during the street dance that night. Moving through the crowd, Cross was my partner, and our job was easy: watch for trouble.
Of course, that didn’t just mean from the Academy Crusties. Cross and I were crossing the main road, a block down from my brother’s bar, when I felt him brush up behind me. “Moose.”
Shit.
I veered right, catching sight of my brother’s biggest enforcer on my left, but then I braked.
Congo, a smaller version of Moose, was there.
We went straight, and Lincoln was there, a scar running the length of his face, tattoos all around his neck and arm.
Backing up, I heard Cross hiss, “Fuck!” Then he was shoved to the side, and hands grabbed me.
“Heya, cousin.”
I grimaced, hearing Scratch’s voice before being firmly guided through the street and to the back alley. Once we were between two buildings, Scratch let go, but he shifted so his hand was on my back. He kept a lone finger there, prodding me ahead. “Big brother wants to talk.”
I turned around and slapped his hand away. “Get off me.”
Cross stood to the side.
Moose, Congo, Lincoln all fell in line, along with another one of my brother’s guys, Chad. Big, red, and hairy, he was just shy of matching Moose’s height. Seeing his fuzz, I rubbed at my jaw. “Growing this out?”
Chad grinned. “Maybe. I haven’t decided. The nurse I’m dating is loving it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A nurse, huh? That’s convenient.”
He shrugged.
Lincoln stepped forward, the silent and deadly one of the batch. “Your brother’s concerned. That’s all.”
Scratch threw him a side look. “Dude, that shit doesn’t work with Bren. She’s a Monroe. Ice-cold heart, this one has.” He poked my shoulder.
I batted it away. “Touch me again, and I’ll cut your finger off next time you’re passed out.”
Pride gleamed from his smile, his white teeth showing. He didn’t even bat an eye. “There she is. Figured domestic bliss might’ve made you soft.” He chuckled. “Nice to know my little wild cousin is still in there.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and moved away, keeping an eye on me as he did.
It was useless to fight. Cross knew that too. These guys made up the oldest crew in Roussou.
My brother was just leaving his bar when he saw us coming.
He stopped in front of us, and his guys formed a circle, giving us a pocket of privacy. All around, people were coming in and out of his bar, most probably going to join the street dance. But it was nearing evening time, so the crowd was going to only get bigger. Channing’s bar usually had a line wrapping around the corner and halfway down the block, especially on a weekend night.
“Ah.” He stopped in front of us, folding his arms over his chest. His gaze moved from me to Cross and back again. “The two little ingrates who sleep under my roof, fuck under my roof, and eat all of my food.” He tsked us, shaking his head. “I tell you one thing to do, and you do the opposite.” His face hardened and his gaze settled right on me. “Where’d you go last night?”
“Technically, we stayed at the house.”
“Fine.” He moved a step closer. “Where’d you go this morning?”
“Alex Ryerson gets to his gym around five in the morning,” Cross said. “We went to have a word with him.”
Channing switched his gaze to my boyfriend, his jaw tightening. “A bird tells me your crew went and had a word with Malinda McGraw before the Fallen Crest bonfire.”
Cross and I shared a look.
“Technically…” I was all about that word tonight. “Mrs. McGraw-Strattan had a word with us. We didn’t go to see her, didn’t even know her until she came to our truck.”
“Malinda lives in a wealthy neighborhood. What were you guys doing there?”
“Fuck this,” Cross said under his breath. “My dad’s new girlfriend is over there. I was curious.”
Channing narrowed his eyes, studying us again. “Did you get your curiosity satisfied?”
Yeah. My brother knew we weren’t there for the 411 from the neighbors.
He added, “Do I need to remind you that my sister is still on probation?”
“It wasn’t even like that.”
Except it was. I turned, keeping my face forward as Cross glanced at me again. Channing wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t gotten to his position in Roussou by luck—fighting, being ruthless, and being smart were the main ingredients.
He needed to be distracted. “Mrs. McGraw-Strattan said she knew Mom.”
Channing’s gaze snapped to mine.
“Did you know that?” I added.
“Are you serious?”
I nodded. “That’s what she told me. Said she hadn’t told anyone who knew her. I’m assuming she meant you and Heather.”
Channing eased back a step, his hand coming to rub his jaw. “Yeah. I mean, no. She never told me that.”
I didn’t really care what Mrs. McGraw-Strattan had said, but I knew Channing would. It would bother him the rest of the night, and it’d be enough to spur him to drive to Fallen Crest and ask her himself. I’d been so little when our mom died that I couldn’t say what his relationship with her had been, and it was another thing on top of so much Channing didn’t talk about.
He’d been wracked with guilt—guilt at leaving me alone in that house, guilt at leaving me in general until our dad went to prison and Channing took me in, and yeah, that was the ace up my sleeve because it worked. Consider him distracted.
Channing looked down, still rubbing his jaw. “I don’t know Malinda that well, but I’ve been around enough. Heather more so. She told you and not us?”
I eased back a step, gave a small nod. “Warned us to leave the neighborhood, said someone probably called the cops the second we pulled onto their streets too.”
He grunted, a brief grin showing. “Probably. Heather’s more recognized, but man, we haven’t gone over there in a long time. I think I was only at the house a few times.” He turned to Cross. “Did you get the information you wanted?”
I eased back another step.
Cross shifted on his feet, bringing his hip in close proximity to mine, almost brushing against me. “I know about the lady, but that’s it.” His voice was tight, controlled. “I’ll figure out the rest.”
It was a nice way of telling Channing to stay in his lane. We all knew it. His guys too, and a couple chuckled.
Noting our close proximity and how I had moved away from him, Channing dropped his hand. His eyes flashed. “Okay, kid. I hear you, but the problem is you’re taking too damn long figuring it out. You’re in my house, and I understand the emotional need Bren has for you, and that’s the only reason I’m allowing it. Got it? A year earlier and you’d be forced to bunk with Jordan
or Zellman, and my sister would’ve been shipped out of state—”
“Fuck you!”
He ignored me. “So if you tell me to mind my own business one more time, I’m not going to care how pissed off my sister will be. I’ll bust your head open. Got it?”
“Channing! Shut up!” I tried to move between them, but it was Cross who moved me out of the way.
He stepped up, coming eye to eye with Channing.
In that moment, I realized how similar they looked. Both tan. Both with dark blond hair. Both ripped. And both mean. Channing was more extroverted, while Cross liked to stay in the shadows unless he needed to step forward.
He was stepping forward now.
The air sizzled around us. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I contained a shiver, reaching over my body with one hand to touch my other wrist.
“I don’t care that your guys are here.” Cross spoke low, quiet, but so clearly. He wasn’t flinching, and he wasn’t looking away. He was holding steady, staring right back at my brother. “I don’t care how much respect we owe your crew—not when you threaten my relationship with your sister and not when you get involved with my family life.”
“I told you—”
Cross tipped his chin back. “I don’t care. All due respect, I’m handling my shit a lot better than you did at my age.”
That was a direct slap in Channing’s face, and he noted it, his nostrils flaring. “Really?”
Cross softened his tone. “I’m not saying that to insult you—just a reminder. You’re coming at me as if you’re going to kick me out, when we both know the real problem you have ain’t me. Bren’s birthday is coming up. She’ll be eighteen, and if she decides not to rely on you for food and shelter, there ain’t a thing you can do it about it. Except me. I’m the one holding her together.”
Cross stepped back. Turning toward me, he added his last words, “And you know that too.”
He had stripped everything bare and left us all exposed, because he was right.
Channing drew in a breath, his chest rising and holding before his gaze slid to mine.
I bit my lip. Yeah. There were still problems with us, and most certainly with me.