Always Crew by Tijan

BREN

“You want me to do what?”

In a perfect world, I would’ve waited. At least a week. I didn’t have a week. But I did wait until later in the morning. It’d been an early morning, a seriously early morning, but I’d been jazzed for it. And when I showed up at Coug r Lanes for my first day, they had not disappointed.

I met the whole group.

Hawk was there, her mouth pressed tight as I handed over the paperwork she needed from me.

Gramps and Bonnie were there, both dressed in black clothing. Everyone had been wearing black clothing, but they’d also been dressed in their vests, Taser guns on the side, their badges hanging over their chests from a chain. The only two people who had actual guns were Hawk and another guy, the Brock guy that I thought Hawk had been.

Brock was a guy, and he had classic handsome features. A square face, with an almost square-like jaw. Intense blue eyes. His hair was a strawberry blonde, a small amount of curl, but he kept it trimmed. If he’d let it grow longer, his whole head would’ve been covered in curls. He had the beginning of a dark beard, or maybe he just hadn’t shaved. Maybe six-three, he had a linebacker’s body frame. Lean build, but muscular shoulders, and his legs were ripped. He looked like he could tear through someone at a second’s notice and not break a sweat. There was an intensity to him, a look given to him from how his eyebrows almost overshadowed his eyes. Pretty eyes, but the strong forehead made him look like he was plotting someone’s murder, when he was more than likely thinking he wanted to get a donut. It was his own sort of resting bitch face.

Shetland was the other guy, besides Gramps, in the group and he was almost opposite Brock in every way.

Tall. Gangly. He had a bowl-cut haircut. Straight up. I had to laugh because it looked like someone had literally put a bowl over his head and cut around it. But he had the same hair color as Brock, so I wasn’t sure if they were brothers or not. Same blue eyes, too, but a different face. Shetland’s face was long and angular. His cheekbones were washed out, almost flat. His mouth tiny, like a bird’s. His nose was too big for his face, and he had the same forehead as Brock’s, but it didn’t work for Shetland. It made him look deranged and moody at the same time. His one redeeming feature was his smile. When he grinned, it was infectious and caused everyone to grin.

I even found myself lightening up, and as soon as he saw that, it was ‘Bren this,’ ‘Bren that.’ He was firing off lame, pick-up-line jokes and they were too ridiculous not to laugh at.

“Bren, is that a mirror in your pocket?” He leaned in, not giving me time to shoot him down. “Because if so, I can see myself in your pants.”

“Shet, stop talking.” Brock walked past, not breaking stride, and his palm came up the backside of Shetland’s head. He continued to their truck, checking his gun. “Channing Monroe is her brother.”

Shetland drew up at the mention of my brother.

The pick-up jokes stopped after that.

They had two other guys on their team, but both were big and quiet. They looked like Samoan enforcers. I was never introduced to them, but I heard one was called Big. The other was called Burly. Go figure.

Bonnie told me in the truck on the way to their first ‘round-up’ that they had another member of their team I hadn’t met. Bonbon—Bonnie’s daughter—and it was later when Hawk pulled me aside, saying, “Don’t ever be alone with Bonbon. She’s insane. Trust me.”

And that’s when I asked my request.

Hawk stared at me, long and hard.

We’d just come back from grabbing the first bond jump. It’d been anticlimactic, but I didn’t know what I had been expecting. I was told to stay in the truck, so I did. They went into a house. I heard shouting, but a second later, Big and Burly came out, pushing a guy in handcuffs. He was loaded into one of the other trucks. Paperwork was filled out, and Brock walked the guy to the jail thirty minutes later.

I’d remained in the truck the whole time.

We were now at a gas station. Everyone was filling up with snacks and coffee. I was grabbing my own when Hawk told me about Bonbon.

I replied, “I have to do something. I need a female to help out, and I only know one other girl here, and she’s not a fighter type. She’d more likely ask to read all their books than know how to back me up if things got dicey.”

Hawk’s mouth turned down, thinning. “I do not waste my time with sorority catfights.”

“How’d you know?”

Her eyes got big. “I was joking. Are you kidding me?”

I shook my head. “Are you sure?”

She swore. “No.”

“Okay, then.” Looks like I’d be going in alone.

Maybe I’d have Zellman sit in the vehicle, just in case.

Brock walked over, filling his own coffee. “Let’s go. We have a full day ahead of us.”

Hawk seared me with another look before turning and taking her items to the register. Brock was there, waiting, as everyone got their items rang up. When I waited, he had the clerk tally up what I was holding.

When they were done, he motioned for me. “Head on outside.”

I was learning that even though Gramps and Bonnie owned the business, Brock was the unofficial leader. When he said move, everyone moved. When he said breathe, everyone took in air. When he said to stand outside a door, no one moved an inch.

They weren’t scared of him. There was no argument. There was no flash of where someone wanted to protest. Everyone fell in line, listening to him with ease. They respected him. Even Shetland, who winked at me as I headed outside and veered toward Bonnie and Gramps’ truck.

The bell above the door rang behind me, and I heard Brock’s voice a second later. “No, Bren. You’re with me this time.”

I stopped, skimming over the group.

That’s when I saw Hawk already heading for Gramps’ truck as she gave me a big grin and a wave.

I faltered.

That wasn’t a good big grin.

Brock walked past me, nodding to the side of his truck.

Shetland was in the back, and as I got in, he was rifling through some paper.

Brock got in behind the wheel, putting his coffee in the middle compartment. He plucked out another emptied cup and tossed it into the trash. “There you go.”

I glanced at Shetland’s coffee, which he was holding in one hand.

Brock spoke, “He’s got a thing back there to put his coffee in.”

Alrighty then.

I climbed in, shutting my door and grabbing my seatbelt.

We took off and Brock said after we traveled a block, “So…Bren.”

Uh-oh.

The realization settled in my chest.

Hawk gave me an initial grill and everything had gone smoothly after that. Until this. Until I learned that Brock was the real leader of this group and so, of course, they’d all been waiting for his moment.

I prepared myself, having a faint assumption what was coming my way.

He started with, “I read your file last night.”

Lovely.

His voice was smooth, too smooth. “Your mother died when you were young. Your dad went to prison. Your brother is fast making a reputation for himself in our circles. Saw the first episode of that documentary, too.” He was turning right, but glanced at me from the corner of his eye. See. Smooth. He knew exactly what he was doing. “I reached out to a friend of mine. Know her from school. She teaches in Roussou now.”

I glanced at him, surprised.

He gave me a knowing grin. “Small world, right?” He looked back to the street. “I called my friend up last night and she gave me a bit of history about that school, the crew system. Your crew. You. She knows your brother, because the only one of us who has actually met your brother is Gramps. The rest of us only know of Monroe. My friend told me that to her knowledge, a Bren Monroe was never planning on attending college.”

What the fuck?

I kept a mask on my face, but I was frowning. I was frowning a whole bunch on the inside. I was scowling, actually.

“So, here I am. I’m the one who makes sure everything and everyone runs smoothly in our group. I take into account weaknesses, strengths, personalities. I don’t like having outliers or someone going off-book. You know what that means?”

This guy was starting to get on my nerves.

I answered, “I told my spiel to Hawk–-”

“Yeah. She told me.”

And he didn’t sound happy by my response.

Too bad.

I kept on, “The teacher I stabbed came at me and put his hands on my friend. But I did my time, and I’m rehabilitated.”

“You also have an extensive history of violence, which you just referenced.”

Well, crap.

“I can handle myself.”

“We ain’t the cops. We don’t have the authority they have, and even then, they get mouthed back. People don’t like getting hauled in to jail by us. If they miss a court date, there’s a reason. They’re avoiding going back, and they’re either stupid and running or they’re stupid and thinking they’ll fall through the cracks. We pick them up and they don’t roll out the red carpet for us. I need to know that if a guy says the wrong thing to you you’re not going to go maverick on us. Put a knife in someone as payback.”

Shit. That was my reputation?

I fought back if I was attacked, or if someone went after my loved ones. That was my rule.

Right?

But I was embarrassed.

I was shriveling up inside.

I spoke, making sure I was saying it clearly and strong, “Rules are different in the real world. I don’t know this world, but I know it’s not the same as Roussou High School. There aren’t crews like we had back there. You don’t have to worry about me going rogue.”

He was driving, but glancing over, weighing my words.

It still stung. That’s what he thought of me, that I was some hothead who just went off on people, and it stung even more because … was I? Had I done that before? I always thought it was because someone was coming at me first, but had I been wrong?

“We know the Red Demons.”

And no.

I wasn’t talking about them. I wasn’t talking about my dad. This conversation was done. I didn’t care if I was the new girl or not.

He was still watching me, and he said softly a second later, “But you don’t want to talk about them, huh?”

I looked at him, knowing my eyes were dead. “My father is not up for discussion. Give me crap all you want about how shitty a person I used to be, but don’t pimp me for information about my dad. I’ve had nothing to do with him since he went to prison, and I’ve had nothing to do with him, or his new group of friends since he was released. I’m the wrong person for you to be talking to about them.”

His eyes narrowed before turning back to the road, slowing outside a run-down house. Its shudders were off. The roof needed reshingling. The attached garage door had the windows shattered. Tape and cardboard blocked out the windows on the house, keeping the light out. The front porch had holes all over it. I could almost visualize the cockroaches scurrying inside.

This was a meth house.

Pulling in and turning off his engine, Brock didn’t move. “Stay here. There’s a Taser in the glove compartment if you need it.”

He got out, followed by Shetland getting out of his own door. I watched as they moved in on the house. There was no discussion. They all knew exactly where to go, what position to take, and a beat later, they were kicking in the door.