Crew Princess Read online

  Truck one, no Jordan.

  Cross moved to stand next to me. “Which one are you on?”

  He knew what I was doing.

  “I’m on two now, going to three next.”

  He pivoted. “Working on the last truck then. Race, check the parking lot. Tabatha, study the treeline.”

  We worked as a team. Taz had started a Roussou cheer.

  Tabatha groaned under her breath. “Oh my God. What if something happened to him? Oh my God…” She wouldn’t shut up.

  Two was clear.

  Three, the same.

  Four, still no Jordan.

  Cross was counting down as he cleared the end of the line. “Eight. Seven. Six.”

  We both were on five at the same time. Still no Jordan.

  “He would stick out. He’s the tallest guy here,” Race said. “Fuck, guys.”

  It was decision time now.

  I had my phone out, typing a text as Cross pressed his phone to his ear.

  I spoke as my thumb moved over the keys, “Tabatha.” My voice was calm, but my blood pressure was not. It was spiking all the way up.

  “Yeah?” She rushed to my side. “What can I do to help? I’m so sorry, you guys. Honestly. He sent me over here. I didn’t think—I trust Jordan. He usually knows what’s best to do—”

  I cut her off. Her rambling wasn’t helping. “I need you to send a group text to as many people as you can. We need eyes on Jordan, now. Text. Then do group chats on all your social media.”

  “Okay. I can do that rush.” She pulled her phone out and dropped it in her haste. She picked it back up and dropped it again. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Okay.” She breathed out, exhaling deep. “I can do this. I can do this.”

  “YEAH, WE’RE ROUSSOU, AND WE’RE FUCKING PROUD!”

  Since she was already shouting, I tugged on Taz’s shirt and said, “Start cheering Jordan’s name.”

  “FUCKING PROUD—JORDAN! JORDAN! JORDAN!”

  Phones were lighting up. People were starting to look around. The word was spreading, and those who weren’t checking their phones started in with her chant.

  Cross turned to me. “Let’s move. It’s time to start looking ourselves.”

  I nodded, getting off my log.

  “What should we do?” Race stepped toward us.

  Taz was still thrusting her fist in the air, leading the chants. I gestured to her. “Watch over her. If Jordan’s actually missing, pressure is good against whoever might be hurting him, but if he’s not missing, we don’t want to give the wrong people ideas. You know?”

  He nodded, running a hand over his face. Bags seemed to appear under his eyes. “This whole rivalry thing is real, huh?”

  Cross grunted, his hand touching my back. “’Fraid so. And our crew did those car explosions. We have to go.”

  Tabatha joined us, exclaiming, “Oh my God!” Her hand flailed in the air. “Someone said they saw him heading into the woods.”

  “Uh…”

  We turned. Zellman had joined our group. He held his phone in the air. “Why am I getting texts about Jordan?” He glanced up at Taz, both her fists in the air now. “And when did your sister become a protest leader?” He looked around. “Where’s Jordan?”

  I fought the urge to clip him in the back of his head. “How drunk are you?”

  “I’m sober. I was getting frisky the whole time.” He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”

  I groaned. We did.

  “Tabatha, which side of the woods? Right or left?” Cross asked.

  “Um…” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, her fingers flying over her phone. “I’m asking.”

  And a second later, she jumped and pointed to the left. “Over there.”

  There were two main sections of woods, one that went up a hill and one that spread out over the back end of the field. There was a river beyond the treeline, but this was Frisco. We weren’t familiar with the terrain here.

  She pointed up the hill, close to the Academy Crusties.

  A whole section of people were going up the hill. And as we were watching, a guy turned around, made sharp motions with his arms and everyone quickly ran back as if nothing had been about to happen.

  “That’s not good.” Cross.

  Tab saw the group moving back. “Oh, fuck.”

  “JORDAN! ROUSSOU PRIDE! JORDAN! ROUSSOU PRIDE!”

  Taz had changed it up.

  Zellman shoved his phone in his pocket. “What are waiting for? Let’s fucking go. I ain’t scared of some damn Academites.”

  Cross and I shared a look.

  If something was going on with Jordan, he’d need a getaway.

  “There’s a road back there?” I asked.

  Zellman grabbed a kid walking past us.

  “Hey!” The guy squawked, beer sloshing from his cup.

  Z ignored all of that. “You from Frisco?”

  The guy swallowed nervously. “Uh, yeah. Why? I go to your school now, though.”

  Cross pointed toward the hill. “Is there a road back there?”

  “Uh…” He looked, needing a second.

  Zellman growled. “Answer. Now.”

  “Uh…” His eyes darted to Zellman before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah. There is. The river cuts through the hills, but yeah, there’s a road. About a mile in, if you keep straight, you’ll hit it.”

  “Thank you,” Cross said.

  Zellman shoved the guy away, growling again, “Thanks.”

  The guy fell back a few feet, more of his beer spilling on his shirt. His eyes were wide as he took us in. “Does this have something to do with your crew member?”

  Zellman rotated, starting for the guy.

  Cross grabbed Zellman’s arm, holding him back, and stepped forward himself. “Maybe. What do you know?”

  “Uh…” He looked at his phone, back to Cross, to his phone…

  “Fuck’s sakes.” Zellman lunged, grabbing the phone out of his hands. He read what was on the screen, his entire body stiffening. “The fuck—”

  We could see the blood drain from the guy’s face. “I just got that text. Swear! I have nothing to do with it.”

  Cross grabbed the phone out of Zellman’s hand, showing me as he read it at the same time.

  Zellman lunged for the guy, but Race blocked him. “Hold up, Z. This guy might be useful.”

  The guy in question started to move for his phone. Race grabbed his shirt, holding him in place.

  Number unknown: Holy f***ck! Wolf crew member just got attacked.

  The guy pointed over Race’s hold on him. “There’s a video.”

  Cross clicked on it, and my stomach dropped, plummeting to the ground.

  Jordan was on the ground. Guys I didn’t recognize circled him, moving as one to punch and kick him.

  “We have to go! NOW!”

  “Get our truck,” Cross told Race. “Pull it up on that road. If he’s up there, we have to stop this. We’ll need a getaway.”

  Race jerked his head. “Got it.” He let go of Z and the guy.

  “Hey! My phone.”

  “I need it. You can get it back at school.” Cross was texting the person who’d sent the video, and we were already running.

  We could hear Taz, “ROUSSOU—WHAT the hell?!”

  Didn’t need a guess to know Race had grabbed her, then dragged her with him to the parking lot.

  Tabatha was running next to me, her face streaked with tears. “What can I do? Tell me what to do.”

  Cross threw the guy’s phone at her. “Text with the person. Find out everything you can and relay us the information.”

  She caught the phone as we sprinted away at full force.

  It was time to bash some heads.

  Tearing past people, I knew we were drawing attention. We didn’t care. Swinging left, we headed for the woods. A trail of people were going up the hill, and as we broke past the first trees, we could hear their yelling.

  I was straining, my heart pumpi
ng, but I couldn’t make out Jordan’s voice.

  We kept going.

  The trail was narrow. The trees blocked the moonlight, but there were lights ahead, and people on the trail had their phones out, helping to show the way. We sprinted past. A few people screamed, and a couple glanced back, then staggered out of our way. A girl gasped.

  Another, “Holy shit!”

  Then, “Slow down!”

  And the giggles. Some people thought this was funny.

  I wanted to pivot back and punch them, but Jordan needed us.

  Thank God Zellman had remained sober tonight. Thank God all of us had.

  Zellman and I were the ones who usually got into trouble. The rest swarmed in to save us or back us up, but not Jordan. Never Cross. This wasn’t normal. Then again, I had a feeling Jordan was jumped.

  It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, we were flying in to fight. No matter who it was against.

  Cross’ phone lit up and he read the screen, still running.

  “It’s some of the jocks from the Academy,” he said, not winded at all. “They’re ahead.” He put his phone away and picked up speed.

  We were right behind him.

  That was one thing I had going for me—I could run almost as fast as the guys. Long distance wasn’t for me. No way, but I’d always been blessed with speed. We were getting closer to the crowd, and we could see the jocks ducking and dodging. A few were wading in for a punch, then darting back out of the way.

  Cowards. All of them.

  As we came to the clearing, we could see Jordan trying to swing at them. He was almost to his knees, but his head was up. His eyes were half-closed. Blood caked his face.

  He swung, his fist almost getting a guy by luck before another stepped in from behind him and punched the back of his head.

  He was going down.

  My stomach churned.

  A fist connected with the side of his chin. Blood splayed everywhere. His head jerked, and it was like I saw it in slow motion. His head whipped to the side. Blood. Sweat. Tears. All of it dripped down his face, and exhaustion.

  I didn’t know how long he’d been trying to fight them all, but his shoulders were dropping.

  He fell to his knees, his head down.

  It was as if he were asking for a break, a pause, so he could get a second wind. In some fights, this was granted. I knew it wouldn’t be with these guys. They were cowards. Not one of them would stand a chance against Jordan one on one. They had to fight in a pack, like hyenas, and they were cackling like them too.

  The closer we came, the more calm I felt.

  The rage was there, the need for vengeance, to protect one of ours, but I dampened that down. A whole storm twisted my insides, but over it, I found serene peace. I needed it. It was a skill I’d been developing. Silencing the mind. I could do the most damage like this. I would see things they wouldn’t see. Our opponents. Our enemies. Whoever was hurting us, they were going to be hurt. They were going to be ripped to pieces.

  We were going to shred them.

  We all moved to the edges of the pathway, coming in hot and fast, but silent—and on the side. If people looked back, they would look in the middle of the walkway. They’d look for a silhouette. The eye would automatically skip over the darkness.

  I braced myself, waiting for someone to shout our arrival, but so far nothing. Maybe the people we passed didn’t recognize us. Maybe we were just lucky.

  Maybe we were supposed to have the element of surprise.

  Maybe, just maybe, the universe was on our side with this one.

  We were almost to them.

  Jordan’s entire body jerked as he tried to gasp for breath. As we cleared the last of the pathway, one of the attackers broke formation. He moved in, his fist up and cocked behind him. He was coming at Jordan from his right-side rear.

  Jordan wouldn’t know the punch was coming.

  Then the guy looked up and saw us. His eyes widened.

  I saw all of this in slow motion as well.

  His mouth started to form a word, to yell and announce our arrival, just as his eyes skipped to mine. They caught and held, and I let him see the deadly calm in me. He got it. In that moment, he saw everything in me.

  This was not our first day with violence.

  We reveled in this.

  We excelled.

  I took another step, one more, and then I launched. Cross was taking down the guys with their backs to us, and as one started to go down, I used him as a stepping stool. I ran up his back, pushing off from his shoulders, and then I was flying in the air.

  The guy saw me, horror and shock forming in his eyes, and he couldn’t move. He was frozen, just watching me come. He tried to twist out of the way, but he had the thought to grab me at the same time. His hand came up in defense, but it wasn’t enough. It was a weak deflection, and my foot found him, my heel making a clean hit. With the force of my jump and my entire body behind the kick, his body fell backward to the ground. I went with him, landing and going with the momentum to punch him in the neck.

  He doubled over, gasping for breath.

  But I was gone, pivoting and grabbing the arm of his friend coming in to save him.

  I was smaller than most of these guys. They were athletes. Most worked at their bodies, lifting weights, and I couldn’t fight them on that level. But speed, grace, and knowledge? I could fight them with those qualities. And smarts.

  I was thinking, clear-headed. They weren’t.

  I’d look back later and realize there were no shouts. There should’ve been yelling, curses at least. There were none.

  They’d been cheering on their pals as they fought Jordan. But we showed up, and nothing. They were quiet.

  After I used the arm meant to hit me, I crawled up his body and threw myself backward so I could flip him over. Then I threw my legs up and scissor-kicked the next guy across the face—he was the third guy I knocked down.

  After all of that, I looked up.

  They ran.

  They all ran, not one stayed to help their friends. That said everything right there.

  “Bren,” Jordan gasped, falling down.

  “Jordan!” I ran to his side, catching him just as his face almost planted in the ground. I knelt there, holding him. I cradled him against me, but I was watching Cross and Zellman. Both were fighting, making quick work of the remaining two guys.

  Zellman tackled his guy, throwing him to the ground and rearing back to land punch after punch. Cross’ opponent tried to rush him. Cross caught his arm and twisted, tucking his shoulder into the guy’s chest. He knelt, flipping him over, then landed one final punch. He knocked his guy out cold, then took stock. When he saw Zellman, he ran to tear him off of the guy.

  “Z.” He grunted, pushing Zellman back.

  “No. Let me at him! I hate these fuckers.” Zellman clawed at Cross, trying to break free.

  Zellman was charged. He wasn’t stopping, and seeing that, Cross yelled at the guy, “Get lost!”

  The rest had run off, except for those unconscious on the ground. He was the last of his friends, and he nodded, barely. Pushing to his feet, he started for the path we’d just used. He staggered, falling down, pushing up, and going some more before repeating the process. After we saw him fall three times, he managed to catch his wind and went off at a slow jog, disappearing around a bend.

  Cross let go of Zellman, who was still ranting and cursing. “What the fuck, man!”

  Cross ignored him, coming to me and kneeling down. “Jordan?”

  “Those assholes maced me. I didn’t know what was going on until I was already on the ground. I couldn’t fight back at first.” His entire right eye was swollen shut. “Cross. Bren.” His voice trembled. “I thought—I thought I was going to die tonight. If they hadn’t stopped… If they’d just kept going…”

  A shudder went through me. I held him tighter.

  Not tonight. Not on our watch. Cross and I shared a look—not ever.

  We we
re completely alone on the hill.

  “God! Fuckers! I just want to—why’d you hold me back?” Zellman’s arms were in the air. He was swinging them around, as if warming up for a race. His chest heaved. His eyes were wild. “I—”

  I pushed Jordan into Cross’ arms and stalked over to Zellman. “What the hell is your problem?! We fight with clear minds.” I wanted to wring his neck, and my hands jerked up, forming fists.

  Zellman saw them, the motion calming him for some reason, and he stepped back. His arms lowered to his sides. “Bren?”

  “What the fuck were you thinking? You just kept railing on that guy.” I remembered Zellman’s hostility from the day before. “You’ve been nuts since Tabatha’s party. What is going on with you?”

  Ring! Ring!

  Cross was helping Jordan stand up when his phone rang, silencing our fight. He pulled it out just as I saw the lights. Red and blue lit up the sky.

  I muttered, “Shit,” as Cross answered his phone.

  “Yeah?” He listened to whoever was on the other end. “Got it. Taz can link up with my phone, so watch my GPS.” He pulled the phone away and tapped a few buttons before sliding it back into his pocket.

  Zellman stepped back into me, cursing under his breath.

  Cross said what we all knew. “Cops are here.” But then he added what we didn’t know. “They have thirty cars down there.”

  My mouth almost fell open. “Thirty?”

  His jaw was tight, his face grim. “Race saw them pulling in just as he turned onto the road up ahead. They saw the flashing lights, but not the actual cops when they were leaving the lot. My guess is that they got out just before the cops came over that last hill.” Cross motioned behind us. “We can’t go down there. They’ll arrest us.”

  Which meant we had about a mile hike ahead of us.

  I remembered what the Frisco guy had said. “He said go straight and we’ll hit the road. Right?”

  A mile hike was fine, in the daylight, when one of us wasn’t struggling to stand.

  As if reading my thoughts, Jordan grunted and shoved Cross away. “I can stand on my own.”

  He couldn’t. He started to go down.

  Cross grabbed him as Zellman, and I rushed forward.

  “I got it. I got it.” But Jordan was panting as he said it, and knowing he wouldn’t listen to reason, Cross and I simply stepped up on both sides of him. We threw his arms over our shoulders, and Zellman took point. He had his phone out to light the way.