Always Crew (Crew Series Book 3) Read online

  Copyright © 2020 Tijan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created by the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Cover designers: Hang Le, TJ Designs

  Photographer: @heyksenia

  Edited by: Elaine York

  Proofread by: Paige Smith, Kimberley Holm, Virginia Tesi Carey, and Chris O’Neil Parece

  Beta readers: Crystal Solis, Eileen Robinson, Amy English

  Formatted by: Elaine York

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Epilogue

  Another Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  For More Reading

  Rich Prick Sneak Peek

  To everyone who has loved Bren, Cross, Jordan, and Zellman!

  I hope you enjoy the conclusion of the Crew series.

  BREN

  “Dad?”

  This couldn’t—no.

  How?

  I glanced at Channing. His jaw was clenching. His eyes fierce, and he was glaring a hole in our dad’s head.

  “What?” I moved forward a step. “How?”

  “Honey.” His voice was choked up. “Bren.”

  It was night, but the full moon was out. A few streetlights shone over us so I could see him good enough. He seemed taller. Was he? More thin. But he was more refined. Or maybe I wasn’t remembering him right? He looked good. I mean, good for coming from prison.

  Wait.

  Prison.

  My head was spinning. I turned to my brother. “Chan?”

  He reached out, closing his eyes as he placed a hand on my shoulder. He visibly shook himself, so when he turned to me, he’d gone through a complete transformation. The tension wasn’t reflected anymore and his hand trembled from the effort it took to contain his reaction.

  But his eyes were gentle on me. “The dirty cop from Fallen Crest. You remember?”

  I nodded. It’d been a big deal.

  “He had a part in Dad’s case.”

  Our dad stepped forward, his voice coming out rushed, “I want to be the one to tell her.”

  Channing ignored him, his hand tightening just a little on me. “Well, some of Dad’s–”

  “No! That’s for me to explain, Channing.”

  Channing stopped, skewering him with a look before he turned back to me. A vein stuck out from his neck and there was a tic there. He kept on as if Derrick hadn’t spoken a word. “–new associates have some good lawyers. They got it overturned.”

  He didn’t say anything after that.

  Neither did I. I was confused.

  “So? What? What does that mean?”

  “Bren–”

  Channing spoke over our father, “They threw the case out.” A beat. “They threw it out. They don’t want to deal with the scandal if it got retried, or spend the money to fight against Dad’s new lawyers, so it’s done. He’s out.”

  Retrial.

  Case was thrown out.

  New lawyers.

  Dirty cop.

  All those phrases were bouncing around in my head.

  I heard my brother speaking. I knew he was explaining it, but nothing was making sense. I couldn’t connect all of the dots together, and because of that, I just stared. I stared at Channing. I stared at my dad.

  “Bren?”

  I looked behind me in the direction of a new voice.

  I stared at Cross, who’d come down the sidewalk behind us.

  “Cross–” Channing started, his hand leaving my shoulder and holding it toward Cross. His voice was a reproach. He was going to tell Cross to leave us alone.

  Cross heard it before it was said and cursed. “Like hell, Channing. I’m here.” He came forward, stepping to the side, and as he saw my dad, his hand slipped into mine.

  His body tensed.

  He had the same look on his face that Channing did. And I noticed that almost belatedly, as if it were an afterthought, but I don’t know what it was an afterthought for? What thought I had before it, I didn’t know.

  “Bren.”

  That was him.

  My father.

  The guy who took the knife that I used to stab the guy who assaulted me. The same guy who then stepped forward, knelt down, and sliced his throat. That guy was standing in front of me, saying my name, and nothing was making sense.

  I heard Channing murmur from a distance, “She’s in shock.”

  Cross cursed again, moving his arm to wrap around me. He pulled me into his side.

  My dad was supposed to get out when he was sixty, but that didn’t happen. He got out after three years, and he was standing right in front of me.

  And I had no idea how I felt about that. Not one bit.

  BREN

  Two months later

  I was standing outside a bowling alley with a red neon sign that said Coug r Lanes. Cougar Lanes. The first A wasn’t lit up, just blacked out.

  Okay, then.

  Coug r Lanes.

  Channing: 4 pm. Cougar Lanes. Ask for Brock or Hawk. Steer clear of Shetland. Watch his hands.

  As I stood there, a truck careened toward the front door, stopping right in front. Doors quickly opened and two guys exited and walked inside, dressed in full bounty hunting gear. Bulletproof vests. Handcuffs in their back pocket. Radio on the side. Gun holsters. Stun guns on the hip. Their badges hung over their chests on a chain that went around their necks.

  I sighed. I had the right place.

  Channing said he
was going to hook me up for a job since my first one didn’t take. To say I’d been floundering the last two months would be an understatement. I was up a creek with no paddle. But if anyone asked how I was doing, totally fine, all good, all set, all smiles (said with a straight face) and yeah, totally lying through my gritted teeth.

  I wasn’t fine.

  I was so far from fine, but I didn’t know what to do about anything right now.

  This was foreign territory for me.

  I used to think I’d never leave Roussou. It’s where I grew up. I laughed, loved, cried, bled, suffered, and persevered through so much there. A future outside of Roussou was not something in my wheelhouse of possibilities, but then everything shifted, and somehow here I was. I was living in a house with Cross, Zellman, and Jordan. All of them were attending Cain University and seemingly loving it.

  Which I hated. Don’t call me bitter. Just call me the friend that feared was getting left behind. It was a lonely club, a table of one.

  But it was what it was.

  Zellman was the one who took to college like a fish in water. I think that surprised everyone because Zellman was never known as the academic one, but he loved classes. He loved the parties. He loved the football games. He really loved the college girls since he was officially not dating anyone. Now, don’t ask me how he was doing in those classes because I had a feeling that was a whole different story.

  Jordan and Cross seemed fine, but there were other issues going on with both of them. The most dramatic was Jordan’s breakup with Tabatha.

  She’d come to Cain for him. He ended things a week after classes started and the shit hath hitteth the faneth.

  Tab went back to Bitch Tab and that meant she became friends real quick with a sorority at Cain U, and guess whom they all hated? My crew. Our house. Jordan was banned from attending any sorority and fraternity party on campus. At first, she tried to ban all of us, and I have to include Cross and myself because we went to a few parties, but they weren’t really our thing, but it was really only Zellman who had an issue with her ban.

  We had a sit-down with Tab, reminded her of our crew roots.

  She then amended her ban to exclude only Jordan, which I didn’t think Jordan cared about. Lately he’d been making friends with other girls, the non-sorority type. That was the best way to explain them because they didn’t really look different than the sorority girls, or act differently, but they were just not in sororities.

  But again, Zellman was a lover of all parties and any parties.

  It still seemed weird when he’d go to a party without any of us, but I was guessing it was growing pains? We were in a new place, a new school (or they were), and a new stage in our lives. We were growing, but to me that just meant we were all going our own ways, which sucked. Majorly. But it was inevitable.

  So yeah, seeing as I was the only one not in college, I tried to go the mature route. I even took a course so I could get certified and work in a hospital. The job was boring, and I took attitude from some nurses. Some were cool. Some were snobs. Some were alcoholics. And some were like drill sergeants.

  That job just hadn’t been for me, that is, until I met some bounty hunters who came in with a knife wound.

  There was a conversation between us and now I was standing outside this bowling alley that needed a paint job badly. The trim was faded. The paint was stripped off in most places. The sign needed a tune-up.

  It was four in the afternoon, and there were six cars in the parking lot.

  I had no clue if that was good business or not.

  The front door was painted red, half of the color was gone.

  Add that to the missing A lighted letter neon sign, and I was sensing a whole theme. Desperation and apathy.

  I headed inside, hearing the squeak that mimicked the sound of a screeching cat. Heading inside was like night and day. The sun was blinding outside. Inside, hot and dark. They had no air-conditioning, hence the six cars, because I was seeing there were only two people bowling. A guy and a girl, on what looked like an awkward date. Stiff shoulders and all. The guy seemed like he had to adjust his hard-on when the girl bent over to bowl. In an un-air-conditioned bowling alley.

  Extremely awkward date.

  She came back, a shy grin on her face as he stood, his dick adjusted in a move she didn’t take note of but should’ve because it was hard not to be obvious about it. The lanes were all lit up, the same red neon lighting as the theme that mirrored the exterior, yet this ran the length of the place. Walls. Booths. Tables. The shelves for the bowling balls. All lit up with that red color. There was a snack bar in one section. The other section was filled with pool tables, air hockey, and other arcade games.

  Behind the register, which was a combination bar, a girl was reading over something on a piece of paper. Girl, or maybe a woman? She looked young, but there were some age lines under her eyes, as if she’d seen too much in the world. Hell, maybe seen too much in this place. Her face was striking, almost gaunt angles and oval-shaped. Wide-set dark eyes. Her eyebrows looked threaded, like they were braided, which matched her hair. I’d never seen eyebrows like that, but I was actually surprised. I would’ve thought they’d look stupid. They didn’t. They looked artistic, but like I said before, they matched her hair. She had an almost Viking hairstyle, with her hair shaved on the sides with a thick French braid crossing around and over the shaved sides…on both sides. And she had another at the top of her hair, mingling with the rest that was loose. Slicked back, even.

  I started toward her and she glanced over.

  I faltered, seeing her makeup. Dark, smoky eyes and a matte-color red over her lips, making her look somewhat like a modern-day warrior. It was badass, that’s what it was. And I wasn’t someone who was ever impressed with other chicks.

  I lifted my chin in a greeting, my hands sliding into my back pockets. “My brother told me to ask for Hawk or Brock?” Was this Brock?

  Her eyes cooled. She turned to face me, a halter strap, black tank top that showed off two round tribal tattoos going around her biceps. “Who’s your brother?”

  “Channing Monroe.”

  Surprise flared before a more welcoming tone came from her. The chilly effect was gone. “Oh. Sorry about that. I’m Hawk.”

  Really? She was Hawk? I expected a guy, but okay. It fit her look.

  She held her hand out, and I crossed the last few steps, giving hers a shake.

  There I go. More adulting. I’d graduated onto actual handshakes now.

  “Bren Monroe.”

  “Yeah.” She motioned for me to follow her and moved down the bar. She said as we went, “You met Gramps and Bonnie, right? At the ER?”

  I nodded.

  She lifted up a counter and I moved past her, then she moved into a back room. She walked and talked, going down a hallway. “They said they met a girl who worked there. Don’t remember how they said the conversation went, but found out you were related to Channing Monroe. Your brother’s big in our world. He’s new but making waves, and people have started to reach out to him.” She paused outside a door, eyeing me, studying me. “Helps with your dad’s connections, too.”

  I didn’t blink, or move, or show any reaction, but inside, my lungs wailed. I felt like an invisible bat had been swung and got me smack in the chest. It was a dull hit, though. Not painful, but shocking. But all she saw was me, my mask always in place, and a faint nod back to her. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  I waited, studying her back as she was still observing me.

  Her eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, and then she chuckled softly to herself. “Right. Heard about his release. Gotta be something to celebrate, right?”

  My tone was dry. “Right.” I followed her inside the room.

  It was a small office, one that reminded me of Heather’s at Manny’s. There were a few filing cabinets in the corner, but mostly paper everywhere. The entire office was messy, and she grabbed a file off a chair, dusted off a few specks of dirt, and lifted t
he handcuffs that had been hanging over the back. Both items were dropped on her desk as she sat in a rolling chair. She nodded to the emptied chair. “Have a seat.”

  I did, taking everything in.

  There were plaques and framed photographs all over the wall, from floor to ceiling. I recognized the two I already met at the hospital, Gramps and Bonnie. They introduced themselves as a married couple, both in their sixties, but both who kept in shape. They’d been tanned and weathered, telling me they spent most of their time outside. Bonnie’s hair had been loose, but there was curl in it that I guessed had been from overnight curlers. A smattering of white hair showed me she needed a new dye job, but it was enough that also told me she didn’t really care about doing the dye job. The white had looked nice on her, made her almost elegant.

  Gramps had silver white hair, a hairy mustache, too. Neither was combed through.

  Thinking back to our conversation in the ER, both were cracking jokes the entire time Gramps was there to have a stab wound looked at. They had even caused me to break my typical Bren protocol. They caught me smiling at them, an actual genuine smile after one joke where Bonnie laid her hand and head on her man’s arm.

  I had that with Cross, and I hoped to always have that, but I felt my mom around me at that moment. I missed my mom right then, something fierce.

  Bonnie asked my name, asked my last name, and when they told me they were bounty hunters, I mentioned I knew a few. The conversation happened at light speed after that. I left work that night thinking I needed to find another job. It was a good job, but it just wasn’t me, and when I opened my phone, Channing had left a text. Gramps and Bonnie had gotten in touch after they were released from the ER, and he said they had a job offer for me.

  Hence me being here.

  “So, you’re technically an intern.”

  Well, fuck. I needed to get paid.

  Hawk’s mouth curved up. She held a hand up. “But don’t worry. That’s only the name of your position, but it is paid, and you’ll transition into an office assistant almost right away.” She had a pile of papers in her hand and her eyes narrowed, tracking my every emotion. Or would’ve if I had been showing any. I knew I wasn’t. I’d been professionally locked down since my mother died.

  So, I waited.