Crew, Page 28

  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.

  "Crew is crew. Our enemies are shared. Why don't you fucking get that?" Jordan loomed over her, twice her weight and probably three times her strength. No guy had ever dared treat her this way.

  He didn't need to say anything else. Her eyes darted around the scene once more, and she gave the tiniest of nods. She'd gotten the message.

  Jordan stepped back and flashed her a bright smile. "Hope this doesn't affect my chance of getting in your pants this weekend, but I'm glad you're sorted. Don't fuck with one of mine again." He began walking backward toward the house.

  Taz remained frozen in place behind us, and she scooted to the side as he went past.

  He glanced at me. "I know you had to."

  Yeah. He'd asked me to be nice. "She insulted me."

  "I know." There was no judgment in his eyes, just acceptance. With a wink, he opened the door and went inside.

  "Cro--"

  He cut her off. "Go inside, Taz."

  Her mouth closed, but she didn't go.

  "Go inside," he said again.

  She bit the inside of her cheek, but did as he'd asked. Her shoulders hunched over as she went. Once the door closed behind her, Cross nodded to me. My turn now.

  I stepped forward again, and Tabatha flinched, her upper back hitting the truck. She bounced off, steadying herself.

  "You want to fuck him." I gestured to Cross.

  Some of her color came back, pooling in her cheeks.

  "And another of my crew members wants to fuck you." I folded my arms. I wasn't going to put hands on her again. "To say things are a little complicated is an understatement." I shook my head. "I have a feeling Taz has been telling you stories of how nice and kind I am, right?"

  She gulped, but lifted her head. Just a bit.

  "So she's talking to you and making me look like a pretty princess, right? And somewhere along the line, you forgot your first instinct about me--you forgot to stay the fuck away. You started remembering how much you like Cross. You started remembering how great a friend he is to me, and you heard all these stories from Taz about how close he and I are. But we can't be together, right? Because we're crew. So you started envisioning yourself with him. Am I getting this right?"

  She looked down. "Yeah," she said.

  I'd heard enough.

  "My 'guys' aren't here to save the day," I told her. "My crew is--which includes me. I'm not just the girl in their guy group. I'm one of them. They bleed, I bleed. I am here to save the day, just like they are. You get it? You're talking to me like I'm one of you. Like I'm a fucking pretty princess who can't fight her own fight. I'm not. I'm crew. Are you following me?"

  She refused to meet my eyes.

  "I don't get what you intended just now," I told her. "Did you just forget how things work?"

  Another wait. It wasn't as long this time.

  "I forgot how things work."

  Did I need to refresh her again?

  Cross did it for me. "Don't fuck with us."

  Her head had been so high in the beginning. Now she looked like we'd taken her favorite toy away. The transformation was remarkable. She could go cry to someone, say I'd put my hands on her. I had. I shouldn't have, but I did. I knew what we'd done was bad.

  We did it anyway.

  The door opened behind us, and Jordan called, "We need your help with Race."

  Cross and I moved at the same time, going for the house.

  "They're hurting him?" Cross yelled.

  "No." Jordan pushed the door wide for us. "It's the other way around. He's hurting them. It's all-out war out there."

  We ran through the house and out onto the front lawn. He wasn't kidding.

  The back half of the crowd was the jocks and their friends. The other half, their backs to the streets, was the Ryerson crew. I stopped to count them. Our crew went everywhere together, but Ryerson's crew was big--over thirty the last I knew--so they didn't always need everyone at a fight.

  Tonight, however, I counted just under thirty, including the four on the ground.

  Race stood in the middle of everything, throwing the crew members around. He wasn't letting them pin him down. That was his only saving grace. Once that happened, it would've been over. He was grabbing one and twisting his body around, evading and dodging, then hitting. It helped that the ones trying to grab him were a few of their older members, which was wrong in a whole other level. The high school guys should've waded in, but I saw some of them in the back.

  Wait a minute.

  They weren't just in the back. They were literally standing back, their hands in pockets, a few fisted at their sides, or their arms crossed over their chest.

  They weren't okay with what they were doing.

  They were actively stating it too, at least in crew language.

  Alex, whether he realized it or not, was fucked. It was a matter of time.

  Some of the jocks looked like they wanted in on the fight. A few waded in, but they pulled back if a Ryerson got too close. One threw a cup of something at them. It bounced off a Ryerson crew member like a fly.

  Jordan moved through the crowd and gave the guy a look. "Nice," he sneered. "Real tough of you."

  At the sound of his voice, everything changed.

  The Ryersons all looked up, and the three surrounding Race fell back a couple feet. All eyes went to Jordan, then the rest of us. When the jocks realized Jordan was there, they moved aside. A path opened, and as one, we walked to stand in the center of it all.

  Race's shirt had been torn off. Blood caked one side of him, and his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes were wild, panicked, and as he realized no one was advancing, he swung around. He almost raised a hand to Jordan, but caught himself.

  His gaze jumped to me.

  Alex moved forward, half his face bruised and his lip swollen. He wiped a hand over his face, smearing blood. He didn't notice, or he didn't care.

  "What are you doing here?" he snarled at us. "He's not your crew."

  Jordan looked to Cross, who stepped forward. "This is his house."

  Alex's eyes narrowed. "Race isn't your crew."

  Cross went rigid, then relaxed into a fighting stance. He was ready, and Alex knew all the signs. "This is my house."

  "So what?" Alex demanded. "You want us to move to the street?" He pointed to some of his crew. They started fo
r his cousin, who jumped back. "We can do that. Believe me."

  One reached for Race, who batted his arm away. He jogged backward, his arms up, ready to swing.

  "What are you doing, Alex?" I'd had enough.

  Alex shook his head. "Fuck, Bren. Really?"

  "You're at Cross' house." I held his gaze. "If we singled someone out at your house?" I paused a beat. "If we didn't clear it with you first? It's about respect, Alex. You're not showing it."

  Alex closed his eyes. He took a calming breath.

  When he spoke, his voice was gravelly, like he was just clinging to his sanity. "Are you fucking kidding me? He's my cousin. This is a family thing."

  "Bullshit." Jordan laughed in disbelief. "You have most your crew here. To beat up one guy?" He gestured to the jocks behind us. "These motherfuckers are too chicken shit to do anything except watch. Thirty to one isn't a fair fight."

  "They're not all here, and he's a fighter!" Alex countered. "He can defend himself."

  "You're making your family fight a crew issue. You think I have my crew back me up if I fight my sister?"

  Cross indicated Taz, who held balled fists up to her face. She was trembling, and Tabatha pushed her way through the crowd to her side. She wrapped her arm around her, pulling her close.

  Alex shook his head. "Why are you involved? We'll go to the street if that's the issue." He snapped his fingers at Race. "Come on. You heard him. We gotta move." He turned to go. So did his crew.

  Race didn't.

  His hands rested on his hips, and he seemed to be concentrating on steadying his breathing. Sweat trickled down his face. He wiped at it, almost angrily.

  Alex stopped, looking back. "You're not coming?"

  Race let his head fall back, his Adam's apple jutting out. "What do you think?"

  "So you're saying it has to be here?"

  Race didn't comment, still trying to breathe evenly.

  Alex pointed to him. "You heard him," he told Cross. "It has to be here or nowhere."

  Cross stepped forward again. He was fully in the fight now, almost side by side with Race. He held up a hand. "You back the fuck up or this definitely isn't a family fight anymore."

  The tension doubled, sweeping through everyone.

  Alex sputtered out a curse, raking his hands through his hair. "You're going to make this a crew thing? We outnumber you."

  A smirk fluttered over Cross' face before his mask returned. "You know how we feel about a challenge." He grinned. "It's the shit we live for."

  We all moved to stand with Race.

  If Alex came, he was coming at us.

  "This is bullshit!" Alex threw his arms wide. "This is a family thing."