by T I J A N
Lincoln shoved him to walk forward, but I waved him off.
“I got him.”
“What?”
“I’ll take him over,” I said. “I got it.”
“Channing—” He started to say more.
I jerked Traverse forward. “I got it. I mean it.” I nodded to the others. “Cover their backs if something happens.”
“What about covering your back?”
I wasn’t listening.
Traverse stumbled, almost pitching forward. I righted him, holding him steady as he grunted, his face pale. “What are you doing? This a suicide mission?”
My hand tightened under his elbow, digging into the bone. It wouldn’t affect him, not normally, but he was weak. When I broke the skin, I lessened the pressure and said, “Shut the fuck up. Unlike you, I have a plan.”
“You’re going to die, Monroe. You’re walking to your own grave right now. You just don’t want to admit it.”
He giggled maniacally. The guy was half hysterical, and once we neared Maxwell, he started shouting, “He shot me. Twice. He tortured me, Maxwell. I’ve not had medical care.”
“Shut up.” I grabbed for his injured hand now and yanked back.
A scream ripped from his throat, and he fell to his knees.
I studied their faces. They were close enough to hear everything, and I was close enough to read their expressions. Nothing showed. They were walls of cement.
Maxwell, their leader, moved forward, stopping a few yards away. Tanned from years on his bike, he had a leathery sheen. From what I knew about him, he was in his fifties. He’d grown up as a Red Demon, taking over ten years ago after his uncle retired. He was known to be reasonable and fair, but if you crossed him, you were already dead.
I was banking on some of that honor for what I had planned. If not, Traverse was right. I was a dead man.
“You look like your father,” Maxwell said as a greeting. He ignored Traverse, inspecting me as I did the same with him.
Traverse’s scream faltered. “What?”
I motioned to him. “You can take him. I shot his weapon out, and I shot to injure him. We did have someone look at him, and he was fed, given water, and had a bed to sleep in until we could meet. He wasn’t tortured.”
Maxwell hesitated, then held up a hand.
Three of the guys who had moved forward came the rest of the way. They grabbed Traverse and half dragged-half walked him back to their motorcycles. As he passed the last man still standing back, Traverse jerked in their arms.
“What—Connelly?”
Connelly didn’t respond.
“Wait a minute.” Traverse started to struggle, trying to get free of their hold. “Connelly, what are you doing? What’s going on here?”
Maxwell nodded at Connelly, who turned to Traverse and said, “You weren’t supposed to kill Dex. I know that’s what you had planned when you went. It’s why I didn’t go. That wasn’t what we agreed on. Double-crossing Monroe’s crew wasn’t part of the deal either.” He motioned to me. “He’s connected. You forgot.”
“What? The crews? They’re nothing. Half are high school kids.”
“No.” Maxwell’s voice was loud, booming over the entire parking lot. But he wasn’t yelling. He was just authoritative. He had charisma, and he didn’t need to do anything other than speak.
Traverse quieted. Connelly too.
“He has roots you don’t even know about,” Maxwell continued. “You were foolish, Traverse. You got ahead of yourself, thinking you could out-con us, expecting us not to do our homework.” He gestured to his men. “Take him away. We’ll deal with him later.”
Connelly came forward, pausing at Maxwell’s side. He inclined his head briefly to me. “I didn’t agree with what Traverse was going to do, and I’m sorry for my part. We’ll make it right.”
Well. Shit. I hadn’t been expecting any of this.
Connelly followed the rest, helping them put Traverse in the back of their one truck. Three guys jumped in with him, and Connelly got in on the passenger side. The truck pulled out, driving past my men.
Maxwell took out a toothpick and popped it into his mouth. He began to chew on it, moving it around over his teeth. When he put that toothpick in his mouth, I got a different glimpse of him. He wanted to look laid-back, almost carefree, but I saw his intelligence. His eyes were sharp.
If I hadn’t known his reputation, I would’ve caught on anyway.
“Your father said you’re one of the smartest guys he knows,” Maxwell said. “Coming from him, that’s high praise.”
I laughed, wincing too. “You sound like you know him well.”
“I do. He was my cellmate for a year. I never thought I’d hear from your pop again, not unless I got put back in. Imagine my surprise when he called me this morning.”
“Yeah.”
I hated to do it, but getting in touch with Maxwell Raith couldn’t be done through the front door. He wasn’t that type of guy. I’d needed a back way in.
“To be fair, I think I gave my dad a heart attack when I called him.”
“Yep. Yep.” Maxwell nodded. “He told me about you. Said things aren’t too great between the two of you.”
I jerked up a shoulder. “Yeah, well. Maybe they’ll get better after this.”
“You have a sister too? Younger than you?”
I narrowed my eyes. What’d he know about Bren? “Yeah.” He didn’t need to know anything else.
He laughed. “Relax. That wasn’t a veiled threat. Your old man saved my life in prison. And just so we’re clear, I don’t consider that debt paid here.” He motioned to where the truck had gone. “Connelly already rode out, told us what Traverse was going to do. We’re not a charter that wants enemies in Roussou. The entire club has steered clear of your town for a reason. We know the system you have in place—have had in place for years now. Richter was moving in on his own. He was an ambitious piece of shit. Traverse was doing us a favor by moving in on him. But he didn’t know he wouldn’t have gotten permission for moving in on you.”
“So, if this isn’t a debt for my dad, why are you doing this?”
“Well, that’s for us to know. Not you. It’s club business.”
Fuck that. “Then how am I supposed to know another young punk won’t get in his head to ‘get ambitious’?”
He stared at me, weighing my words.
Here we were. Two leaders. Two armies behind us. In the grand scheme of things, his men would win. He knew it. I knew it. He had other charters to call on for backup. I had my men and maybe fifty crew members, half of which—Traverse was right. They were young. My job here was to protect them. No more blood needed to be shed, but Roussou was a prize. If Richter and Traverse had wanted to control it, why not someone else? And if that was a battle down the road, what moves should we start making now to protect ourselves?
His eyes narrowed, studying me.
He bobbed his head a bit. “Okay.” He took out his toothpick and flicked it to the ground. A second one came out of his pocket, and he popped that in instead. “Your town’s too close to Fallen Crest. They got too many corporations there, businesses, empires. We don’t want attention brought on us, and where there’s rich folk, there’s cops. They like to enforce their own kind, and that ain’t us. Roussou’s too close. We like moving our product through Frisco, through Callyspo. We like staying to the back roads where we might take down a truck, but not enough to bring too much heat on us. That’s why we steer clear of Roussou. Your town is the boundary for us. We go around you guys.”
It made sense, in a way.
“Thank you for that.”
“There’s another thing.” He took out that second toothpick, but he only held it. “Your dad offered something else. We took him up on it, which is another reason I don’t consider this transaction as a debt paid off.” He began to scratch near his mouth, using the back of his thumbnail. “Your pops didn’t want me to say anything, but I figured maybe you should know. I�
��d want my own to know.”
I knew. I knew before he said the words. There was no rhyme or reason. There was nothing building up to it, but I knew because it only made sense.
“Your dad joined up. He’s an older member. We don’t usually take ’em that age, but he’s a good fighter. He can hold his own. He’s one of our point guys in prison.” He tilted his head, measuring me, waiting to see my response. “How you feel about that?”
What’d I say here?
My dad would be protected, but he’d get out. He still had forty years to live when he got out, and what then? Well, now I knew. He’d leave. He’d be with the Red Demons.
He’d be out of Bren’s life.
“It’s a smart move, for you guys and him.”
“That it?” He narrowed his eyes.
“Yeah. That’s it. We’re all good then?”
He pursed his lips, still gauging me, and then he sighed and held out his hand. “We’re good.”
“No more Red Demons in Roussou? Traverse won’t be a problem?”
That got a shallow laugh from him. “You won’t be hearing from Traverse again. Connelly will be my spokesman from now on, and he’ll be based out of Frisco. If we have to do business again, you can go through him or your pops.”
I wouldn’t be going through my pops, and the way Maxwell was watching me, I caught the knowing look on his face. He also knew I wouldn’t be going through my father.
“Deal.”
We shook on it.
I was about to head back to my guys when he said, “I have to ask…”
He motioned to where my guys were perched, all standing on the backs of their trucks, watching the exchange.
“What was the idea for that? What were you going to do if this all went south?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I was going to offer you something.”
They wouldn’t have been able to stop me by then. They wouldn’t have been close enough to fight or try to protect me. I would’ve made the offer, and I would’ve stood by it. I would’ve done it all for them.
“What were you going to offer me?” Maxwell asked.
I met his gaze with no hesitation.
“Me.”
56
Channing
“What the hell was that?” Lincoln demanded.
I had to give Moose credit, because he was the one I thought would be on my ass the second the rest of the crew left. It wasn’t him. It was Lincoln.
We’d all returned to the warehouse, and Congo had just shut the door on the last exiting member. The ones who’d held back were my core: Chad, Moose, Lincoln, and Congo. It had long been the five of us. I just needed Bren, Scratch, and Heather here, and this would be my family.
I was lucky.
It hit me.
I was goddamn lucky because I’d been able to spend most my life with these people. They hadn’t filtered in and out of my life, with a few exceptions. Lincoln had joined up a year ago. Bren—I’d been the fuck-up there and hadn’t been in her life as much as I should’ve been. But I’d had Heather, Moose, and Congo with me since elementary school. Chad had joined up at the end of sixth grade.
These were my guys.
I goddamn loved them, but what I’d said to Maxwell was the truth.
It was time I told these guys.
“If things went bad with the Red Demons, I was going to offer myself.”
“Yourself for what?” Moose roared.
There was the menacing growl I’d expected from my best friend. Moose edged forward a step, his massive arms folding over his chest—literal tree-trunks, both of them. And how he got them to fold over each other was impressive.
“Yourself for what?” he asked again.
I raised my head, meeting each of their gazes, one by one. Then I looked back at Moose.
“I was going to offer to leave the crew.”
Moose’s nostrils flared.
Chad cursed, swinging his head from side to side.
Congo swore and kicked at a can near his feet. It slammed into the wall, bounced back, and he kicked it again. He sent it clear across the warehouse the second time.
No one cared. No one paid attention to him.
I waited, studying Lincoln.
He had no visible reaction. He was stoic, waiting for more.
Shit. He knew. There was more coming, and goddamn, he knew somehow. I glanced back to Moose and saw the same look there. He knew too.
“And?” Moose was the one who clipped that word out. “And now what? You’re not going anywhere, right? It’s all good. We’re good. The shit’s over.”
He knew that wasn’t what was going to happen.
So I braced myself, and filled them in.
57
Heather
Junior year
I’d left a few minutes before the basketball game was over. Sam was still inside, sitting with Logan and some others, but I’d wanted to get to Manny’s before everyone filtered in.
I might be a high school student, but I had work to do.
I was weaving through the vehicles in the parking lot when I heard him.
“You becoming a full-fledged Fallen Crustie? Going to their games too?”
I drew up short, my insides tightening at his voice, and I looked over.
Channing lounged against his truck, one foot over the other, his arms across his chest, and his head down.
I readied myself, prepared for anything he was going to throw my way, but he didn’t look angry. He almost seemed… I cocked my head to the side. That couldn’t be true.
He almost seemed resigned.
No way. Channing Fucking Monroe wasn’t a guy to let me become a “Fallen Crustie,” his derogatory term for them—not without a fight anyway.
“Maybe.” I stopped a few feet from him, sliding my hands into my back pockets. I tilted my head to the side, knowing it drove him nuts. He always wanted to step in, slide his hand around my neck, and pull me in for a kiss.
“I don’t go to school in Roussou anymore. I guess that makes me Fallen Crest now.”
His eyes darkened. “You’ll always be Roussou.”
We are Roussou.
The thought flared in me at his words, and I couldn’t deny that I wanted it too. The kiss. I touched the top of my mouth with my tongue. The thirst was there. The hunger. It’d been too long since I last tasted him.
He groaned. “Fuck, Heather. You’re playing with fire here.”
“Maybe.” I grinned at him. I couldn’t stop myself.
His eyes darted behind me. “You’re making new friends.”
Oh. That’s why he was here. All the flirting left me. “Yeah, but you knew that.”
“Friends come and go.” He pushed off his truck, walking toward me, a predator stalking his prey. He stopped right in front of me, now within inches. “These friends don’t seem to be going,” he breathed.
I didn’t want to look in his eyes anymore. There was too much history there.
I focused on his chest, murmuring, “Yes, they do.”
His arm shifted.
I felt him now, and I sucked in some air at his touch. His hand rested on my chest, then slid upward, curving around my neck. He tilted my head to meet his gaze. It was heated, but not from anger, not from wanting to fight. His eyes were fiery because of me, because he was touching me.
“If they hurt you… If she hurts you…” He let his threat hang in the air.
My heart skipped a beat. My body temperature was rising fast, and I was just barely restraining myself from pressing against him.
I touched his chest, intending to push him back an inch. But I didn’t. I only whispered instead. “I like Samantha. She’s a good person.” She was a new friend. I thought she could be a good one too, but only time would tell.
He grunted, his thumb rubbing against the base of my neck. “She’s connected, Heather.”
“I know.” He’d known that already. That wasn’t why Channing was here. He was here to remind me I w
as connected too, that I had others who would protect me. I wasn’t on my own, which I had to admit was sometimes how I felt going to school in Fallen Crest. I had friends, but they weren’t like him.
No one was like him.
I spread my fingers out, moving my hand to feel his heartbeat.
We weren’t a couple—when we actually were official—who did cheesy. We didn’t have the pretty words, the nice promises. What we had was different. We had history. We’d bled for each other. We’d fought for each other. We fought against each other. But as I smoothed my hand over his heart, I closed my eyes.
No. Instead of the romantic stuff others might have, we had this.
I felt my heart align with his.
We had the same heartbeat.
Channing gave in too, his arms moving around to hold me. He bent his head. I felt his lips brush my forehead.
“I might not be the man for you now.” He cupped the side of my face and moved my head back so I could see him. His eyes were downright smoldering. “I will never be worthy of you, but one day, I hope to be better. One day, I will give you everything. I promise.”
58
Heather
Present day
Jesus Christ.
The Fallen Crusties were out and in full force. I watched them from my front porch again. The cigarette in one hand, the lighter in the other, and a 40-ouncer between my legs. I was as white-trash as possible. Again.
Sunglasses over my eyes.
My top was low, my shorts tight and high, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I even had my hair all blowing in the wind, because I didn’t give a shit.