Crew Series 1: Crew
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Tijan
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CHAPTER ONE
You arenât supposed to want to die.
That isnât what society wants to hear. Itâs not supposed to be felt or thought. Itâs supposed to be ignored. But here I was, watching my crew beat the crap out of a guy, and all I wanted was to trade places with him.
I knew that sounded morbid. It was true, though, and not like the off-the-cuff comment when you bomb your history exam and itâs âkill me now!â Or your boyfriend dumps you and âGurrrrl, I just wanna dieeee! WTF?!â
No. I was talking about the dark kind of wanting to die, where itâs in the back of your mind, where itâs a little door you want to open and disappear throughâŠ
Some days it was hard to suppress and harder to ignore, so right now I wasnât doing either of those.
âYouâre not going to touch my sister again,â Jordan growled before delivering probably his fourth punch. âGot it, asshole?â
It was my face getting bloodied. Not that guyâs.
Jordan straightened to sneer at the guy lying at his feet.
Jordan Pitts.
He was the self-proclaimed leader of our crew. Note here: self-proclaimed. As in, he announced it one day. No one objected and off he went, embracing his cocky swagger and thinking he spoke for our group of four. The truth is he does, I guess, but only when we donât have a problem with what heâs saying.
Our group isnât a dick-tatorship, whether he believes that or not.
Jordan bent downâwith his long, six-foot-two selfâgrabbed a hold of the guyâs shirt, and lifted him in the air. He shook him, growling again in his face, but the guy couldnât answer. His face was broken. Literally. Either Cross or Jordan had punched his cheek so hard it looked busted. His whole face was a mess of blood and bruises. I wouldâve felt sorry except for two things: heâd tried to rape Jordanâs sister, and when Jordan had asked him to report himself, heâd added a curse word and his middle finger, and spat on Jordanâs shoes.
Apparently this guy didnât know the reputation of our crew, or Jordan himself.
Which made sense because Mallory Pitts just started attending a new private school at a neighboring town and thatâs where this guy met her. If he had known, he wouldâve run the other way. You had to give the guy some props, though. Instead of lying, he was honest. He told Jordan exactly what he thought of that suggestion. And anyway, if heâd lied, we wouldâve followed up, and when he didnât report himself, this whole beatdown wouldâve happened anyway.
That was my crew.
Along with Jordan, there were two others besides myselfâCross Shaw and Zellman Greenly. My name is Bren Monroe, and even though Iâm in the middle of this whole dark diatribe, and even though we look like the bad guys right now, things arenât always as they seem.
Jordan slammed the guy back down to the ground, then bent over him to issue more threats.
Cross stepped back, and I felt his gaze on me even before I looked up. Yes, there it was. The tawny hazel eyes that so many girls loved. We were familyâand not that kind of family. But Iâd have to be blind not to understand why so many girls at Roussou High salivated over him.
Six-one. Lean, but built. Cross had a strong, square jawâone that would clench at timesâand a face that was almost prettier than mine. He wouldâve been gorgeous even if he was a girl, a fact I loved to tease him about. But teasing aside, Cross got the girls. He could just show up somewhere, and ten would appear around him. He could nod at a girl, and sheâd go to his side for the night, usually be down for anything he wanted.
Cross was the quiet, nice guyâŠexcept he wasnât really either of those at all. I mean, he was, but he wasnât. He was generally quiet, but he talked to me. And he was nice, but he could be lethal. Piss him off, and youâd never see him coming. He wasnât like Jordan with the growling and throwing people around. Heâd come right up to you, and then youâd be waking up in the hospital a couple days later.
And while I loved Jordan and Zellman, they werenât Cross.
They werenât my best friend, the guy whose closet I crawled into so many nights when I needed a sanctuary from my own hell called home.
I met his eyes as he came toward me. His golden hair and tanned skin made him every pretty boyâs nightmare. When would he wake up and realize he had more potential than all of us? He could go to New York and be a model, or go to Hollywood and be an actor. Why he stayed in Roussou was beyond me.
He wasnât messed up like the rest of us. He wasnât messed up like me.
âYou got the look,â he said, coming to stand next to me.
Yeah. I knew what he was referencing, but I didnât take the bait.
âOkay, fuckhead,â Jordan announced. âWeâre going to leave you now, and if you think youâd like to turn any of us in, donât forget what we have on you. Got it? Nod your head, dickwad.â
Jordan was the intellectual here. He was smart.
The guy made a gurgling sound and managed to move his head a bit.
It sufficed for Jordan, and he nodded. âGood.â He turned, his long legs crossing the ground toward us.
I leaned against the bed of his truck, Cross still next to me, as Jordan opened the driverâs side door.
Zellman had been standing nearby at the ready. Thatâs what he tended to doâalways lurking behind Jordan and waiting. Since Jordan had come over to us now, so had Zellman. He launched himself up to the opened truck bed behind us.
I heard the cooler open, and he tossed a beer Jordanâs way.
âBren? Cross?â he called.
Cross shook his head.
I turned around to look at the guys. âIâm good. Thanks.â
âYou sure?â Zellman extended a beer.
âI am.â
Jordanâs eyes flicked upwardâhis response to a lot of the things I did. We had each otherâs backs, but to Jordan that meant doing everything he wanted. Sometimes we disagreed, and every time I didnât do what he did, he took that as disagreeing with him.
Family doesnât work that way.
I watched him, just for a moment.
One day we would battle.
One day it would be me against him.
One day his disapproval would make me snap, or one day he wouldnât just be a jerk because I wasnât doing what he wanted. He would go too far, and that would be the day Iâd meet him halfway.
I already knew how the lines would shift in our group when that happened. Cross would back me up. Zellman would probably back Jordan. Itâd be two against two. Even though I was the only girl in the groupâone of only two girls in the entire systemâI could handle my own, and I knew I would enjoy lighting into Jordan on that day. But that day wasnât today, and I hoped it would take a long time to come. I did care for Jordan like a brother, though he wasnât my actual blood.
âSo.â Jordan slammed the door shut again, the force rocking his truck for a second. He propped up a leg. âWhatâs the plan for tonight?â
This was the last night before our senior year started.
Sunday night. People had been to church this morning, and weâd beaten someone bloody this evening. There was irony in there somewhere. I was just too tired to find it.
âRyerson has a party tonight,â Zellman offered. âI say we go.â His shaggy curls bounced around as his blue eyes darted between us.
âYeah?â Jordanâs eyes lit up.
Zellman nodded. âIâm down to go. I think Sunday Barnes got new boobs this summer.â He grinned. âIâm hoping to check âem out personally.â
Jordan laughed. âIâm good with that.â He tipped his head back, finishing his beer, and then tossed the bottle into the trees behind us. âBren, Cross, what about you guys?â
Cross would wait for me, so I said, âIâm good for the night.â
âNo party?â
âIâm gonna head home.â
Jordanâs disapproval settled in the air over us, but no one said a word.
âThink Iâm down with you guys for the party,â Cross added after a moment.
Zellman thrust a fist in the air. âHell yeah. Take it.â He offered his half-emptied beer.
Cross laughed, but shook his head. âIâll wait for the good liquor there. Ryerson always has something.â
âYeah! Thatâs what itâs about.â Zellman finished his beer and reached into the cooler for a second. âJordan?â
âI gotta drive.â He glanced to me. âRide home?â
I looked over to where the guy still lay on the ground. He hadnât moved.
I shook my head. âThink Iâll walk. I can cut through the trees.â
âYou sure?â
Cross moved around us, clapping Jordan on the shoulder. âLetâs go. Bren can take care of herself.â He glanced back to me, circling around the front of the truck to get into the passenger side. He knew I wanted to be on my own tonight. He knew it because he could feel it. Just like I could almost hear his thoughts now.
She always has.
I finished in my own head, Always will.
Crossâ statement seemed to settle the other guys, and Jordan started the truck. He circled around me, kicking up a cloud of dust, and zoomed back down the way weâd come. He saluted me with a finger as he passed by. Zellman had settled into the bed, sitting by the cooler, and he held up his beer as his goodbye.
I shook my head, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at my mouth, but that was all the reaction they got.
Once they were gone, it was just me, the bloodied guy, and the same dark quiet Iâd felt earlier.
It came out of nowhere at times, swallowing me whole. Some days it would vanish just as quickly. Other times, like tonight, it lingered.
It used to scare me. I now missed it when it wasnât here, but I always knew it would move on. It was like a firefly slipping away into the night. When that happened, I was left with the feeling that Iâd let something slip through my fingers.
This night, that firefly remained.
It warmed me.
