Her eyes darted from me to him. “Help.” A hoarse whisper. “Please.”
His face was impassive, and he shifted back, giving us some space. He crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s barely touching you. Stop acting.” “Cross!” Her voice sounded more normal there. “Why the fuck are you talking to me?” Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re going to let her touch me like this?” “Yeah.” Jordan spoke this time, leaning on his elbow against the truck. His eyebrows wiggled. “You chicks need to learn that crews don’t care about gender. Don’t matter if the person has a dick or a vagina. Crew is crew.” His gaze skirted to me. “She’s my crew.” “Mine too.” Tabatha’s eyes moved to Cross. She gulped, then came back to look at me. I removed my hand and stepped back. “I warned you earlier,” I told her softly. “Fuck with me one more time, and you’ll learn why I’m crew and you’re not.” She laughed harshly. “What are you going to do—” It wasn’t my hand this time, it was Jordan’s. He shifted so his hand was on the vehicle, but way too close to her. His finger pressed against her neck. His whole stance was meant for intimidation. “Crew is crew. Our enemies are shared. Why don’t you fucking get that?” Jordan loomed over her, twice her weight and probably three times her strength. No guy had ever dared treat her this way. He didn’t need to say anything else. Her eyes darted around the scene once more, and she gave the tiniest of nods. She’d gotten the message. Jordan stepped back and flashed her a bright smile. “Hope this doesn’t affect my chance of getting in your pants this weekend, but I’m glad you’re sorted. Don’t fuck with one of mine again.” He began walking backward toward the house. Taz remained frozen in place behind us, and she scooted to the side as he went past. He glanced at me. “I know you had to.” Yeah. He’d asked me to be nice. “She insulted me.” “I know.” There was no judgment in his eyes, just acceptance. With a wink, he opened the door and went inside. “Cro—” He cut her off. “Go inside, Taz.” Her mouth closed, but she didn’t go. “Go inside,” he said again. She bit the inside of her cheek, but did as he’d asked. Her shoulders hunched over as she went. Once the door closed behind her, Cross nodded to me. My turn now. I stepped forward again, and Tabatha flinched, her upper back hitting the truck. She bounced off, steadying herself. “You want to fuck him.” I gestured to Cross. Some of her color came back, pooling in her cheeks. “And another of my crew members wants to fuck you.” I folded my arms. I wasn’t going to put hands on her again. “To say things are a little complicated is an understatement.” I shook my head. “I have a feeling Taz has been telling you stories of how nice and kind I am, right?” She gulped, but lifted her head. Just a bit. “So she’s talking to you and making me look like a pretty princess, right? And somewhere along the line, you forgot your first instinct about me—you forgot to stay the fuck away. You started remembering how much you like Cross. You started remembering how great a friend he is to me, and you heard all these stories from Taz about how close he and I are. But we can’t be together, right? Because we’re crew. So you started envisioning yourself with him. Am I getting this right?” She looked down. “Yeah,” she said. I’d heard enough. “My ‘guys’ aren’t here to save the day,” I told her. “My crew is—which includes me. I’m not just the girl in their guy group. I’m one of them. They bleed, I bleed. I am here to save the day, just like they are. You get it? You’re talking to me like I’m one of you. Like I’m a fucking pretty princess who can’t fight her own fight. I’m not. I’m crew. Are you following me?” She refused to meet my eyes. “I don’t get what you intended just now,” I told her. “Did you just forget how things work?” Another wait. It wasn’t as long this time. “I forgot how things work.” Did I need to refresh her again? Cross did it for me. “Don’t fuck with us.” Her head had been so high in the beginning. Now she looked like we’d taken her favorite toy away. The transformation was remarkable. She could go cry to someone, say I’d put my hands on her. I had. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I knew what we’d done was bad. We did it anyway.