Crew (Crew Series Book 1) Page 14

  She sniffled, still gazing at her stuff.

  Ah. Shiiit.

  Cross and I looked at each other.

  This wasn’t really about getting a donation. I mean, it was, but there was more going on here. More with her, more with—I was guessing—Sunday Barnes and all the girls Taz was trying to impress. And if I dared wonder, maybe some of it was about us too.

  I was going to regret this. I knew that, but I still heard myself saying, “Look, if you still need a donation from Tuesday Tits, I’ll get it for you.”

  She looked up, her eyes wide and hopeful.

  “But not now.” I held my hand up. “And no one, I mean no one, can know I got it for you.”

  Cross glanced sideways at me.

  I caught the small grin. He was wondering how their donation would even be approved. Those sponsored ads have huge posters printed out. Tuesday Tits? Not really a brand an educational place would embrace.

  But that was a different problem for another day.

  She looked ready to argue, so I added, “A rough crowd hangs out here.”

  “But… Okay. Fine.” She bent back down to get everything scooped up and stood up with the tote in her arms. “I still would like help with sponsors. Race’s dad is a big sponsor, but he admitted at the end that we might not be able to count on him.”

  What a shocker.

  All this talk of sponsors and what that led to, for an event, with ads—it wasn’t what I was used to.

  She was talking like one of those girls, like a Sunday or a Monica, or… I had to admit, like a Taz. Because she was one of them, whether she was trying to forge her own path or not. She was normal. I was the outsider to that kind of life.

  Jordan’s truck roared up behind us, and Taz groaned. “Are you serious? Do they have to be here for this?”

  I didn’t trust Taz.

  Even if I got her to leave now, if I didn’t come through with the donation, I had a feeling she would come on her own—and that might be worse than things were in there now.

  “Hold on.” I pulled out my phone and leaned back in my seat, dialing the bar.

  A moment later I heard, “Tuesday Tits! Tonight is $2 Friday Night Titquila Shots.”

  It was Moose this time. “Moose.”

  “Bren? You still here?” He didn’t let me answer. “You want your big bro again?”

  “No. Uh, can I talk to Scratch instead?”

  “Hold on.”

  The line was quiet, then I heard a beep and my cousin’s voice came over. “You forget something?”

  “Hey.” Taz was watching me intently, so I turned around. “Cross’ sister showed up. She’s asking for donations—”

  “Sponsors,” Taz corrected.

  “Sponsors for some charity thing. I don’t trust her to let me ask Channing later. I think she’ll try again on her own.”

  “Hey!”

  I ignored her. “I was wondering if you guys wanted to give some money, and if you do, can you come outside right now so we can get this done?”

  “Oh.” He paused a beat. “You know, we’ve never done that, except for a bike rally or something. Yeah, I’d be interested in that. It’s for charity?”

  “It’s for charity, right?” I asked Taz.

  She nodded. “The children’s hospital.”

  Cross started laughing.

  I frowned. “We have a children’s hospital?” The hospital we did have was crap. Most didn’t even consider Roussou to have a hospital. Sane people went to the one in Fallen Crest.

  She hit her brother on the shoulder. “Yes. Well, it’s two hours away and in a different town, but yes.”

  I spoke into the phone. “The children’s hospital that’s a couple hours away.”

  “Yeah, I heard you. I’m heading out right now.” I heard a thud, then the line went flat.

  “He’s coming out.”

  Taz’s eyes widened, and the excitement was building. She rolled back and forth on her heels.

  It wasn’t long until my cousin appeared. He’d been wearing a muscle shirt going in, but he’d put on a short-sleeved Tuesday Tits T-shirt. Both Channing and Scratch wore whatever they wanted to work. Sometimes they looked professional. Other times they looked like regular customers, and sometimes they looked like the type of customers who never went home. He’d combed his hair back too, but his eyes were twinkling at us, and I knew some of this was for Taz’s benefit.

  She was gawking, checking out Scratch’s tattoos. He and my brother were both covered in them.

  “Long time no see!” Scratch winked at me. He leaned in and whispered, “There’s shit going down inside. You need to get out of here five minutes ago.”

  I nodded, murmuring back, “We will.”

  He looked at me for another moment, making sure I knew he was serious, then turned. He had Taz eating out of his hand within seconds. She was almost giggling and blushing. Cross looked ready to lose his lunch a couple times, and so did Jordan, who’d gotten out of his truck and come to stand next to me. His arms were folded over his chest, and they stayed like that until Scratch pulled out his checkbook.

  Jordan grunted, touching my shoulder lightly. “We saw some different bikers headed here when we came back.” And as if on command, a couple bikes roared past the alley, followed by a couple more. Then three more.

  “I know.”

  My chest had tightened with the first warning. It was hard to breathe now.

  Scratch straightened, check in hand. When a few of the bikers came to the alley, looking down at us, Scratch shoved it into my hand. “Time to go, Bren.”

  “Wait. What about a receipt?”

  “Get her the fuck away from here,” Scratch said under his breath.

  Jordan moved ahead of Taz, saying, “We’ll give it to him later.”

  “But, my car—”

  “We’ll come back for it later.” His hands found her shoulders, and he began walking her backward, all the way to his truck.

  The bikers watched us. They didn’t approach.

  Cross and I were almost to my Jeep, but I paused a few feet away. “You need backup?”

  Scratch waved us on. “Just go. Your brother usually gets it handled. We’ll be fine.”

  Cross glanced to me, but I did as my cousin instructed. We drove to the end of the block and circled around with Jordan’s truck behind us. Zellman had jumped into the cab, and I could see Taz’s hands in the air. The pink tote sat on her lap. A stuffed flamingo sat on top, and she had to keep moving to see around it.

  Half the bikers were still outside. Another four joined them.

  Cross said quietly, “That’s an entire motorcycle club.”

  My mouth was dry. “I know.”

  “Scratch said they’d be okay?”

  I didn’t know what to say. So far my brother and cousin hadn’t needed to wade in against an MC, but this group usually came to party or relax. They were on edge today.

  I didn’t have a good feeling.

  I turned left on the road, away from them. And when we got to the main street through Roussou, I turned right.

  We were going to Manny’s.

  Cross got on the phone, relaying the plan to Jordan and Zellman.

  Though, to be honest, there wasn’t much of a plan. I was just going to see Heather. If Channing was in trouble, besides myself and his crew, she was the only other person I knew to reach out to. I didn’t know what she could do, but she might at least know what to do or not to do. I trusted her. If she said not to be worried, I wouldn’t, but I had a bad enough feeling in my gut to go the extra mile and ask her opinion.

  Heather’s house was behind Manny’s, so I parked in the back. Jordan pulled in behind me, and as everyone got out, I said to Cross, “Grab your sister and take her into Manny’s. See if Heather is there.”

  “I need to get my car,” I heard Taz saying. “What if those bikers trash it? Mom will be so mad, Cross.”

  I headed up to the front porch of Heather’s house and knocked
once on the screen. Sometimes Heather’s brother was here, sometimes he wasn’t. I didn’t hear anyone inside, but the front door was open, and the screen door wasn’t locked. I rattled on it again.

  “Heather! Are you in there?”

  A door slammed shut behind me, and I whirled.

  It was Brandon, Heather’s brother, holding a trash bag and standing at the back door of Manny’s.

  “She’s in here,” he yelled. “What’s going on?” Brandon was older than Heather and Channing, but he still looked young. He was probably close to his thirties.

  “I just gotta ask her something.”

  “Okay.” He waved over his shoulder, dropping the trash at the same time. “You want me to send her out?” He frowned, staring at me a little harder. “Is this about crew stuff?”

  Brandon wasn’t crew. Neither was Heather, but they knew enough to be wary.

  “Just something I have to ask her. That’s all.”

  Brandon nodded. “Wait five minutes. Every ten minutes she gets all pissy and explodes.” He lifted both his shoulders up in a helpless gesture. “All the sugar is making her extra cranky.”

  “I heard that!” came from inside.

  He rolled his eyes and opened the door behind him again. “I know. I meant for you to hear that.”

  Heather came out as her brother went inside, her blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun, with the bottom half braided. Reaching for her pocket, she cursed and plopped down on one of the lounge chairs around a bonfire pit. She threw a leg up on the pit, exposing a good amount of her skin through the tears in her jeans as she lounged back.

  Zellman groaned. “Goddamn.”

  “Really?” I stared at him. “She’s practically my sister-in-law.”

  That was Heather. As long as I could remember, exuded this sexiness, whether she meant to or not. It was just her.

  He just shook his head. “Goddamn.”

  “Bren.” Heather patted her pockets again, then groaned herself. She motioned me over. “Your friend is accosting my brother right now. Should I know the reason?”

  I went over, but didn’t sit across from her. Heather still made me uncomfortable.

  “Just wait. She’s going to ask you too.”

  Heather grunted before tapping the armrest on her chair. “Okay. So. What’s up? It’s not normal for you to come look for me. Willingly.”

  Jordan and Zellman sat down. Both chuckled at what she said.

  I shot them a look. They shut up.

  Then I sat down. “An MC showed up at Tuesday Tits—like, the whole group. They didn’t look like they were there just to party.”

  “Shit.” She stood up, her hands patting her pockets again as she went inside. “I’ll be right back.”

  Jordan was watching her go. “What’s with the hand stuff?”

  “She quit smoking. It’s been a lifetime habit.”

  “Ah.” He nodded, knowingly. “I had an uncle who smoked all his life, until he was in his sixties.”

  “What happened?” Zellman asked.

  Jordan didn’t blink. “He got Parkinson’s and burned the house down trying to light a cigarette.”

  “Man. I’m sorry. He quit after that?”

  “Nah. He died.” Jordan added, “From the fire.”

  Zellman and I stared at him, but there were no words. Then we all heard Taz’s voice inside. Maybe it was the catalyst or maybe it was because I heard Heather snipe at her to “chill,” but for whatever reason, I felt calmer.

  Heather wasn’t like Channing.

  If I needed to know something for his safety, she would tell me. That was one thing—she never minced words. She didn’t seem to feel I needed protecting and shielding. She knew I had a crew, and it was a good crew. She would tell me if we needed to do something, so that issue moved more to the back of my mind.

  It wasn’t long until Heather came back. She waved her phone at me before sitting back down.

  “It sounds like they have it under control. There was a little hiccup, but I have someone who’s going to call me if I need to be worried. So, I guess stay tuned?” Her grin was lopsided. “Sorry. I know you were worried.”

  “I just need to know if we have to go in to help them. That’s all.”

  She shook her head, pulling her eyebrows together. “No. That’d make Chan even more worried. He’d call more of his guys, but I’ll let you know what’s going on.”

  Hearing Taz again, I gestured inside. “My friend wants you to sponsor something for a charity event.”

  “Right. She said something when I went in.”

  “Are you going to?”

  Heather reached down and straightened back up, her old smoker’s can in hand. She bit down on her lip, gazing a bit too adoringly at it. She murmured, distracted, “Are you asking on her behalf? Or are you asking for the sponsorship too?”

  “On her behalf.”

  “That’s funny,” Heather said, lifting her head. “She opened with a line that if I sponsored an ad, I’d be helping you out.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Her exact words were, ‘You’re dating Channing Monroe, and his sister needs your help.”

  “I—” I sighed.

  Jordan snorted in laughter. “That sounds like Taz.”

  Zellman kept looking at Heather’s exposed leg. I was almost sure I saw a drop of drool at the corner of his mouth.

  Cross came outside then, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. He had a burger in one hand and a small bag of fries in the other. He handed the fries to me. “That’s for you.” Digging into his pocket, he pulled out two packets of ketchup and handed those over too.

  “What? We’re eating here?” Jordan asked. He looked at me. “We’re eating now?”

  I glanced at Heather. She seemed relaxed, though she was looking at that can almost the same way Zellman was looking at her. I shrugged. Why not? Taz was still inside.

  “I’m okay with that.”

  “Score.”

  Jordan jumped up. Zellman didn’t, still distracted.

  “Dude.” Jordan hit his shoulder with the back of his hand.

  “Huh?” Zellman blinked a few times. “Oh, hey, Cross.” He zoomed in. “Wait! You got food? We’re eating here?” And it was inevitable; his gaze drifted back down to Heather’s leg.

  “Boy,” she growled, her hand tightening around the smoker’s can. “If you don’t stop ogling me, I’m going to hit you upside the head with this can. Got it?”

  “Got it.” He jerked back, as if slapped, then rushed inside after Jordan.

  “Yesss.” Cross dropped down in one of their abandoned chairs. He lounged back, kicking his feet to rest on the empty bonfire pit.

  “Okay.” Heather stood, handing the can to me. “I have to go work or do something. You’d think I’d be over this shit, but nooo. A bad fucking habit for life really means a bad fucking habit for life.” Her eyes settled on me a moment as she headed for the door. “I’ll let you know if they call again.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re still worried?” Cross asked when the door closed behind her.

  “He’s my brother. I mean, that’s normal. Right?”

  Cross put his burger on the chair next to him. “He’ll be fine.” He looked over his shoulder to where Heather had gone. “If we’re really needed, she’ll tell us to go. You know that.”

  I knew he was right. Channing wouldn’t want us involved, but Heather wasn’t my sister. She’d send us in if she thought we needed to go, or she’d call in other guys to help back him up. Coming here just helped me know one other person was worried about him too—and shit, I just realized I was worried about my brother.

  My brother.

  I blinked a few times, straightening up in shock. “I’m worried about my brother.” How’d that happen?

  Cross bit into his burger, and he grinned at me around it. “I know. It’s like we’re in an alternate universe or something. How’s it feel?”

  “How’s
what feel?”

  “Feeling a little normal.” He swallowed his food, his eyes darkening, suddenly getting serious. “It’s typical to be worried about family.”

  It wasn’t in my world.

  I scowled at him. “You’re my family.”

  His tone quieted. “You know what I mean.” He bit into his burger again.

  I’d never offered to back up a crew with ours before. That was different too. Channing had stepped in to handle disputes between crews, but actually aligning my crew with his—it hadn’t happened. But we were related. It made sense.

  “You know,” Cross said. “If our crew and his crew were connected, together we’d be bigger than the Ryerson crew.”

  I did the math. Channing’s crew had twenty-six members. Our four brought that up to thirty, and some of his weren’t active. They’d moved away, gotten old, and started families.

  “Ryerson’s would still be bigger, by a few.”

  “But we’d be the baddest of them all.” He grinned, taking another bite of his burger.

  There was that.

  “Well, that hasn’t happened.” I could hear Jordan and Zellman coming back outside, and as they pushed the screen door open, I added, “I like how we are right now.”

  Cross grunted, and the conversation dropped.

  Jordan and Zellman sat down across from us with bags full of food. As they devoured everything, Taz came out with a soda and a chicken sandwich balanced on top of her tote bag. She took the last empty seat between Cross and Jordan, but she paused before she did.

  No one acted like they noticed, but everyone did.

  I glanced at Cross. He met my gaze. More food for thought.

  Taz placed her sandwich on her lap, then dug into her bag. “Thanks for coming with me. I got three big sponsors I know no one else will get. It’s a big deal.”

  She handed over some papers, but I declined to look at them, putting a fry into my mouth instead.

  “Yeah. And don’t forget about Race’s dad,” I told her.

  “I know.” Taz’s eyes rounded, like they had when my cousin came out. “Did you know his dad runs the Harley-Davidson dealership in Wakefield?”