Crew, Page 30

  He was inside.

  He waited for me to adjust, stretching me, and with a low, guttural groan, he began moving in me. Slowly at first, his hands finding mine, our fingers lacing together, he pressed my hands to the side of my head. There was nowhere else I wanted to be.

  In this moment, I felt more than I'd ever felt. Pleasure laced my insides as he thrust in, slid out, paused, and went back in.

  My hips moved with him as he started to speed up. I strained to feel every inch of him. I wanted him as deep as possible. I felt him in my fucking stomach.

  "Fuck, Bren." His hands moved to my hips, and he held me tight. He began going harder, a little rougher. My climax was building--whipping through me, making me feel feverish, but I couldn't do anything except go with him. I wanted it harder. I wanted it rougher. I wanted him to stay in me forever.

  My hands went around his back, and he tipped my hips up, thrusting deep and pausing. He ground in there, and I groaned. I felt myself coming, but I wanted to hold off. I wanted to go with him.

  As I raked my nails down his back, he let out a deep growl and began ramming into me.

  "Cross!"

  His mouth found mine again. His tongue was inside, and I opened for him, feeling him at both ends.

  He pummeled into me, and when he slowed, I felt him coming just as my climax ripped through me. We surged together, our bodies straining to get closer than was possible.

  Waves went through me, and Cross held me until my body stopped trembling. With a soft kiss to my lips, then forehead, he eased out of me.

  I ran my hands over his chest, feeling him tremble above me.

  This was unexpected, but so damned good.

  It was hot. It was fast. It was--he lifted his eyes to gaze at me, and I reached to touch his mouth. God, that mouth. How could I crave him so soon? I already wanted to be kissing him, to be holding him again, to feel his hands all over my body.

  "Holy shit," I breathed.

  I pressed my forehead against his chest, and he laughed, running his hand down my arm.

  He sounded just out of breath as I was. "You can say that again."

  He pulled off the condom and tossed it into a garbage can in the corner, then moved to lie beside me. He curled around me, holding me tight.

  He lifted his head to look down at me, his eyes darkening once more.

  A lone finger touched my stomach as he murmured, "We're not moving from this bed."

  I wanted that too. "Not arguing. I'm good with that."

  "Good." He kissed my shoulder, tucking some of my hair behind my neck, gently.

  I felt some stickiness between my legs, and as much as I didn't want to move, I needed to. "I should clean up."

  Cross nodded, raking a hand over his head. "Okay." He sat up as I slid from the bed and crossed to his bathroom.

  When I was coming back, after I'd pulled on one of his clean shirts, his phone buzzed from the floor. He bent to grab it, the screen lighting up his face.

  "It's from Taz," he said. His finger scrolled down the phone. He tapped on another text. "Race is fine. She's staying with him. Everyone else went to Manny's." Another text, another tap on his screen. "Someone saw Alex there."

  "We have to go."

  "Wait." Cross grabbed my hand. He was reading more text messages. "Jordan said to hold off. They're partying with the Normals, but will watch Alex if he's there. They won't move on him." Then he started laughing, putting his phone on the nightstand.

  "What?"

  "He asked if I could keep you away. He's still hoping for a shot with Tabatha Sweets."

  Typical Jordan. I laughed. "Of course."

  Cross tugged me to him again, his hand sliding down my arm and curling around my waist. His fingers moved up under my shirt. "And that means we've got the whole night to ourselves."

  And the whole house.

  "Where are your parents?"

  He grinned wolfishly. "Who the fuck cares?"

  The cough should've alarmed me.

  Cross was never sick, and I hadn't coughed. But it didn't. It only woke me. I was too sleepy to process it all the way. I opened one eye to find Cross sleeping, his face turned toward me. He was half-curled in a ball, his head missing the pillow. His long eyelashes... I reached out to trace my hand down his face.

  I'd always thought it, but it was only reinforced now: he had so much potential. He was smart. He was handsome. He was funny. He could follow, but he was a leader. He was my leader. I looked down over his strong jawline to the muscles that moved up and down with such ease as he breathed. He was a specimen, a perfect and masterful specimen.

  He was mine. That's what he was.

  "Are you done ogling Cross, Bren?"

  Both Cross and I reacted at the same time. I flipped around, one hand going for the sheet and the other for my knife. Cross merely leaped over me.

  It was Jordan sitting in Cross' desk chair, but Cross had lunged for him. He couldn't pull back, even after he saw who it was. They both fell to the floor, and Cross rolled away and to his knees. He'd had the foresight to put his boxer briefs on again, but not me. My underwear was on, but he'd talked me into letting my boobs breathe free.

  "Jordan!" Cross scrambled to his feet, breathing harshly, which highlighted every single one of the muscles in his chest and stomach. He raised a hand, but stopped. He looked from me to Jordan. His hand lowered. "Shit."

  Jordan wasn't smiling. His mouth was set in a firm line, and he looked worried.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "Put your clothes on, Bren."

  "Jordan--" Cross started, pointing to me.

  Jordan cut him off, waving his hand briskly in the air. "I don't care about that."

  I grabbed my tank and pulled it on. The same with my jeans. I couldn't find my bra, but at the moment, I didn't care. Something was wrong.

  "What happened?" I asked again.

  Jordan hesitated, glancing back to Cross. "Maybe you should sit for this?"

  No one sat.

  I rubbed a hand over my face. "Just tell us, Jordan." I looked to the open door.

  "No one's here," Jordan said. "Zellman's at the hospital." He started to say more, but stopped. His eyes closed, and he seemed to shrink in size, becoming half the guy he usually was.

  "Jordan." A low warning from Cross. "Just say it."

  He opened his eyes, first finding me. An appealing look flared for a second, and I stepped toward him. I felt like he was asking me to draw near, but that wasn't like him at all.

  "Race went to the hospital last night. He was there with your sister."

  "Yeah. We knew that." Cross was frowning. He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging with the movement.

  "And we all went to Manny's. We heard Alex was there."

  "We knew that too."

  A lump was in the back of my throat. "Why's Zellman at the hospital?" He wouldn't go to be there with Race. "Race would've been released last night. His injuries weren't that bad."

  Jordan kept on as if I hadn't said a word. He was no longer looking at either of us. He stared at a spot on the wall. "Alex was at Manny's. At first."

  "At first?" I prompted.

  "He was drinking. Brandon wouldn't serve him, but he got a bottle of whiskey. He was drinking in the back. Heather looked for him a few times, but he hid from her. Brandon finally found him and kicked him out."

  He looked at Cross then. His eyes were so strange, I almost gasped. They were bleak and stricken.

  Hurting. They were hurting.

  I felt a whisper inside me, a beckoning. He had the same darkness in him that I had felt, and as if on cue, I felt her wanting to come out. She wanted to rise and protect me.

  I pushed her down.

  Jordan took a breath, then spoke in a voice that was unnaturally soft. "I was making out with Sweets last night. Zellman was shooting pool. We were having fun, and we weren't watching. Everyone thought Alex would walk home, sleep it off."

  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 until 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.