Crew

  I smiled.

  Taz was my only female friend. I liked how feisty she could be, and she wasn't all fucked up like me. I knew there was pain inside her, but she was spunky. If I wasn't already best buds with Cross, I might've considered Taz my best friend.

  Okay. If I was normal, she would've been my best friend.

  I knew she had a special place in her heart for me too, and a second later her fight was already gone.

  She groaned. "And you're smiling at me. Fuck, Bren. I'm like my brother. I can't stay mad at you for two seconds."

  Cross laughed. Seeming to change his mind, he grabbed his keys, shut his locker, and snatched a pen from me. Moving around me, he kissed his sister on the forehead. "I'll see you guys later." He nodded to me, heading down to the other senior hallway.

  She looked at me, her face reddening a bit. "He's going to check in with the other two, isn't he?"

  I nodded. She knew it. I didn't know why she'd asked.

  "We are in a crew together," I pointed out.

  "Yeah." Her lips pressed together and resolve flashed in her eyes. "That's up after this year. Thank God."

  I frowned at her, but didn't say anything. She went back to unloading the cart.

  Taz was excited for graduation. She felt she'd get her brother back, and in a way, I understood. She'd confessed this to me a few times after too much wine. See? She wasn't like us even with her alcohol choice. She was classy, preferring martinis and wine. She'd long graduated from wine coolers. I didn't even know when she'd had those, but she claimed she had. I preferred the hard stuff, like whiskey or bourbon, or beer. Straight beer. Anything beer. Jordan had been known to get his own pony-keg at times.

  But back to Taz. When she last got a little too tipsy, we'd been at a bonfire. We were all sitting on logs, and the guys had taken off, leaving Taz and me behind.

  Staring into the fire, she'd started complaining about the group:

  We took all of Cross' time.

  We took him away.

  He didn't even stay at the house much anymore.

  Thank God we would graduate and disperse.

  But not all crews broke up after graduation.

  Taz was banking on it, but she was forgetting that sometimes that didn't happen. It all depended on the group. My brother had one of the longest running crews in Roussou. The only other one to challenge him had broken up a while ago. Their leader got sent to prison for assaulting some of Channing's friends from Fallen Crest. He was mum on the details, and I didn't push. If I wanted to know, I could've asked around to find out. I just hadn't cared.

  I had a hard time imagining that our crew wouldn't last.

  "Is it just the crew thing? Or is it personal?" I asked Taz tentatively.

  Wide-eyed, she turned to me. "What?" I think she'd forgotten I was still here.

  "Do you hate the group, or is it me?" I rested my shoulder against my locker, facing her.

  "No!" Her mouth fell open, then closed. She shook her head. "No, no. I wouldn't want you to think that."

  "So, it's Jordan and Zellman? Or the group as a whole?"

  "Wh-what?" She blinked.

  I figured it was the crew as a whole, but I wanted to push some buttons here. They were part of my identity, and while I had a soft spot for Taz, it dug inside me that she had such venom for us.

  "It can't be Zellman," I mused. "He's a happy fly." Except in a fight. "Didn't you and Jordan work at the same place this summer?"

  "Wha--huh?" She gaped at me.

  "Taz!" a voice called suddenly.

  And she just got saved from a couple more uncomfortable questions I'd planned to toss her way. I wanted to poke her a bit about Jordan. That'd have to wait, but I could already feel my desire to push back at her fading away.

  Seeing that Sunday Barnes hadn't stayed at her locker, I knew my time with Taz was done for the morning.

  Sunday approached, wearing her cheerleading uniform, with half her group in tow.

  Smoothing a hand down her side, she perched her fist on her hip and smiled widely at us. "Taz, Mrs. Bellacheq said you left the squad this year. I was hoping to talk you into joining again."

  Taz and I shared a glance. We both knew I was out, and we moved as one unit.

  Taz stepped forward.

  I fell back.

  Call me unfriendly, but this was how I'd been all my life. I kept to my own, and my own consisted of my crew and Taz. That was it. I'd never played well with other girls, and I had no desire to talk to them. That wasn't a rule--I could talk to whoever I wanted--it was just my preference.

  I'd begun to turn and head in the direction Cross had gone when Sunday raised her voice again.

  "Bren!" Her voice hitched at the end, and she cleared her throat. Her smile got even wider. "Hey. Hi. You weren't at Alex's party last night."

  I stopped, half-turned away from them.

  Taz stepped in front of me. "Come on, Sunday. You know full well I left the squad. You've had practice for two weeks by now."

  I glanced back, held Sunday's gaze for a moment, then turned and left.

  Sunday Barnes tried to talk to me.

  I frowned to myself as I moved through the second senior hallway. Other girls, no matter where they were on the social ladder, respected the system. They stayed away from us, but she'd violated that rule. Granted, it was an unspoken rule. There was nothing set in stone, but it bothered me.

  What I'd noticed earlier was right. Something was changing this year. The girls seemed braver.

  I was halfway down the hallway and could already hear Jordan's voice when a different one cut in. Someone grabbed my arm.

  "You didn't show at my party last night!"

  And all hell broke loose.

  When the hand grabbed my arm, I reacted.

  I reached back, took that hand, and flipped around so it twisted backwards. A guy yelled out in pain, but I wasn't listening. I was behind him, still holding onto his wrist, as I slammed him into the locker.

  I heard yelling.

  People were shoving.

  I was only focused on the guy in front of me.

  My knife out, I leaned in close, whispering into his ear, "You touch me again, and I'll slice your veins."

  I eyed him as I made my threat. This wasn't just a random person who'd reached for me. It was Alex Ryerson, leader of the biggest crew at Roussou High School. He was a stout guy, muscular, but short, and I swear, his attitude was caked on to make up for his height. His round face had wide eyes--a little too close together and sunken in. He turned so he could see me. There was scruff on his face, probably hadn't shaved because of the party last night. I felt the stubble against my arm as I pressed into him a little harder.

  Who he was didn't matter to me. No one grabbed me.

  I felt hands reach for me, but then they were ripped away. As Alex stilled under my knife, I knew without looking that I had three guys backing me up.

  "You touch me again, I'll make you bleed."

  He growled, but jerked his head in a nod, "Yeah. Yeah. Sorry."

  I waited. My heart slammed into my throat.

  Then I heard a soft voice behind me. "Let him go, Bren."

  That was Cross.

  His hand touched me.

  His hand, yes.

  Someone else's, no.

  "I'm sorry, Bren." Alex turned a bit more to see me better.

  I blinked a few times.

  Maybe he saw the crazy in me. Maybe he was nervous because my knife was still out. Whatever the reason, he was cautious as he began to straighten back up.

  I kept my knife to his throat, but I moved back with him. Once we were both upright, I slipped it away. "Don't touch me like that."

  "Yeah." He exhaled a deep breath. His chest lifted up, filling under his sleeveless shirt, and he held his hands up at hip-level. "I'm sorry."

  "Come on!" A guy came forward, but Jordan slammed him back.

  He was in the guy's face. "Come on what? You tell me."

  "Hey, he
y." Alex moved past me, keeping a wary eye on me as he went to his guys' side.

  Jordan fell back, his own hands up.

  Alex cleared his throat, his arms stretching between us and his guys. "We're good. Everything is good."

  "Touch one of my crew again, and we'll have problems," Jordan threatened under his breath.

  "Look..." Alex sent me a beseeching look. "I wasn't thinking. I was just going to give you crap for not being at my party last night. That's all."

  "You touch your own like that?" Cross growled, right beside me.

  His point was obvious: I wasn't a girl. I was crew.

  Alex had forgotten that when he grabbed me.

  "What is going on here?" a voice boomed from the end of the hallway.

  Everyone stepped back. It would've been comical if I hadn't been part of it. Backs hit lockers again, but this time it was on purpose. Arms crossed over chests. A few people shoved their hands into their pockets. Everyone tried to look relaxed, like we were all hanging out. Even Jordan pretended to look at his nails, a faint grin on his face.

  Principal Neeon shook his head.

  He was tall, his bald head towering over most everyone except Jordan. They were the same height, but Principal Neeon outweighed him by a hundred pounds. If anyone could manage our school, a retired linebacker from the NFL fit the bill perfectly. It didn't hurt that his entire family were cops either.

  His eyes narrowed on Jordan and Alex.

  "Mr. Pitts."

  Jordan's eyes lit up, like he'd just noticed our principal standing there. He straightened from the locker. "Oh hey, Mr. Neeon. How are you this fine morning?"

  Mr. Neeon was unfazed. "Are you going to pretend an altercation didn't almost happen here?"

  Jordan opened his mouth.

  Mr. Neeon pointed to the right corner of the ceiling. "We had cameras put in over the summer."

  Jordan's mouth closed with a snap.

  "Surprise." Our principal's smile didn't reach his eyes. He raised his voice, booming again as he scanned the entire hallway. "That message is for everyone here. Roussou High School will not tolerate violence. Any violence! No violence." His eyes fell to me. "That goes for anybody, crew or Normals."

  I didn't react. I didn't even blink.

  Alex coughed, clearing his throat. "As an honorary member of Student Council, I think we need to make sure students' rights aren't being violated as well."

  Principal Neeon turned, his hands going into his pockets. "An honorary member? Did you just nominate yourself?"

  Alex grinned, a twinkle in his eyes. "I doubt they'll kick me off, and I'm serious, Mr. Neeon. We need to make sure our privacy and confidentiality are maintained."

  The principal just stared.

  Alex didn't buckle. He kept that cocky smirk on his face, and along with us, he was one who could. His group had around thirty members, ranging over all the grades, so he was protected. His older brother had established their crew, and when Drake graduated last year, Alex stepped into the leadership role.

  It didn't always happen that way, but it had with their group. It was good as long as the previous leader okayed it, and he had. I would know. I'd dated him until he decided he was done with everything in Roussou. Everyone too.

  "Bathrooms and locker rooms are protected. There is no surveillance in those places, but everywhere else?" He stepped closer to Alex, towering over him. "You're damned right I put those cameras up."

  Alex's twinkle looked a bit more forced. "Well, thank you for that respect of privacy."

  "The times when you guys could walk around this school, literally shoving around your weight, is over, Mr. Ryerson. When you're on my grounds, there is no crew system."

  "That's just--" Alex swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Wonderful."

  Principal Neeon looked at Jordan. "I am going to review those tapes, and if I find any violence on there, the appropriate persons will be penalized." His gaze fell to me. "Now!" He glanced back to Alex, his tone lighter. "Mr. Ryerson, if you could come with me to my office. There's someone here to see you."

  "What?" Alex frowned. "I didn't do anything..." His voice trailed off as he gazed down the hallway where Principal Neeon had come from.

  The rest of us looked too.

  And there, standing unperturbed by the attention, was a guy.

  His dark hair was rumpled. He had a bulldog-type face, with his mouth pulled close to his nose and his eyes set close to each other, but with a square jawline. He shouldn't have been good-looking, but with his broad shoulders and athletic build, he was. It was also in the defiant way his nostrils flared, his head rising as he looked at everyone staring at him.

  There was something about him...

  The way he stood there, a backpack thrown over one shoulder, his hand in his pocket. A familiar feeling tingled at the back of my neck.

  When Alex said his name, it all clicked.

  "Fuck, Race. What are you doing here?"

  Race Ryerson.

  This was Drake and Alex's cousin, the one I'd never met.

  "Language, Mr. Ryerson." Principal Neeon extended a hand toward Race. "And this is why I asked for your presence. I'll let, uh, your cousin give the explanation." He looked at Race. "You have your schedule?"

  Race came over to us, nodding. "I do. Thank you, Mr. Neeon."

  "Yes. Well..." Our principal scanned the group one last time. "I'll leave you to it then."

  Alex didn't look like his cousin, or his brother either. While both of them were dark and somewhat rugged, in their own way, Alex's hair frayed at the ends. It fell to his shoulders, but he had it pulled back today.

  Race's smirk never faltered, but a coolness came to his eyes as he looked from Jordan to Cross, then to me.

  "Family emergency, cousin," he answered. His gaze left me as he turned to Alex. "You got yourself a roommate."

  "What?" Alex straightened to his fullest height. "What happened?"

  Race looked over his shoulder at everyone.

  We were all listening. Not even hiding it.

  "I'll tell you later, huh?"

  "Oh. Oh yeah." Alex raked a hand through his hair. "That's cool." He looked at me. "Bren, I am sorry about grabbing you. I know better. I just forgot." He glanced at Cross. "You disappeared too."

  Cross' arm came down around my shoulders. He raised his chin. "It was a crew thing last night."

  Alex's gaze flickered to Jordan and Zellman. A slight question lingered there.

  Jordan's eyebrows lowered as he nodded. "They had it covered." He jerked a thumb toward Zellman on his right side. "We were free to get wasted and laid." He held up a fist. "Thanks for that, man."

  Alex snorted, hitting it with his own fist. "Yeah. Any time. That's why I throw those parties, so you can get laid, Pitts."

  Jordan shrugged. "Seems a good enough reason in my mind."

  Zellman started laughing. "It's the new theme for every party now: getting Jordan laid."

  A warning bell sounded.

  Most of the students began grabbing things, hurrying around us to their classes.

  But not us. We stayed put.

  "Anyway." Alex touched Race's arm and jerked his head to the side. "I gotta talk to some guys. You'll be okay? You know where you're going?"

  "I'll be fine." Race's eyes were still fixed on me, blatantly staring.

  Cross' arm tightened around my shoulder. "Can she help you with something?" It was in the tone of his voice that stopped Alex, had him turning back to look between us. There was a dangerous note in Cross' voice, low and lethal, and it sent those same tingles flaring down my spine. He didn't say it in an obvious way, where there was a challenge thrown down between them. Those same words spoken by anyone else might've come off sounding like they were insecure, or threatened. Not with Cross. Not when he spoke.

  It was the opposite.

  And as the new guy took in the casual way Cross stood next to me, the deliverance of those words, and the way even his cousin faltered, he knew
Cross was someone not to cross. Pardon the pun.

  "Guys," Alex murmured.

  Jordan jostled forward to stand in front of me.

  Race dipped his head toward his cousin. "I'm good."

  "You sure?"

  Race's gaze skirted from me, to Cross, to Jordan, and then he nodded again. He said in a sigh, "Yeah. I'm fine."

  Alex nodded and began walking away. "Okay. I'll see you later then."

  His cousin nodded. "Yeah."

  Alex left the hallway, his guys following, though quite a few glanced over their shoulders, still watching us. It wasn't long until the rest of the hallway emptied, and it was just the four of us and Race Ryerson.

  He looked around. "You guys don't go to class or something?"

  Jordan ignored that, his eyebrows arching. "We're here because we're crew. You?"

  "What?" A question formed in Race's dark eyes, followed by understanding. His eyes widened a bit. "That actually exists?" He looked between us, ending with me again.

  "Fuck's sake." Even Zellman was fed up and moved to partially block me too. He was also blocking Cross, which didn't bode well.

  Cross kicked, hitting the back of Zellman's knees. They jerked forward from reflex, and he rounded on Cross, laughing.

  "Asshole."

  Cross hit him on the shoulder. "Stop standing in front of me."

  Zellman gestured to me. "I'm standing in front of her, but you know." He shrugged. "I don't want to piss her off at the same time."

  I rolled my eyes. I didn't need protection.

  "You should go," I told Race, moving around all of them.

  He stared at me without answering. No blinking. Nothing. He just...stared.

  Zellman growled, "Dude, move along. I don't care what your last name is."

  A normal person would've scattered long ago.

  But Race didn't move. He continued to stare long and hard at Zellman, then his gaze returned to me.

  As those dark eyes met mine, I felt a stirring inside. I didn't like it.

  I raised my head. "Do you have a problem with me?"

  His cocky smirk came back, a soft chuckle slipping out.

  The guys moved forward a step.

  "Seriously, man?" Jordan glared down at him.

  Still, Race didn't cower. "You're just like he said."

  He. I knew who he meant the second he said it. My fucking ex-boyfriend. Drake.

  "Who the fuck are you talking about?" Zellman demanded.

  Jordan ignored him and moved forward, almost invading Race's personal space. "I will light you up, fucker. I don't care if Alex is your family. We've told you to move along."