Crew (Crew #1)

Cross went into that house, and…nothing.

There was no yell, no gunshot, not even a struggle. Just the same silence that always accompanied me wherever I was, whoever I was with. It was always there.

I stilled and finally said, “Alex would’ve heard us.”

His arms tightened around me. “Shit.”

He let me go, and we both scrambled up, running for the house.

I got there first, bolting through the front door. “Cross!”

All the lights were off inside. There was a cold feeling to the house, like no one lived here. In that split second, I took in the pictures on the wall. The blankets folded over the couch. A pink little backpack on the floor, next to a larger black bag. The tennis shoes lined up by the wall. The little glittery sneakers next to them. A piano in one corner of the living room. A table that had mosaic tiles on the top of it. A kitchen counter with mail in a pile, a bag of bread with the end tucked under, a bowl of oranges next to it. A coffee machine in the corner. A tray of the little coffee cups that go inside it.

A cupboard of mugs.

There was a staleness in the air.

People lived in this house, but that wasn’t the way it felt.

It felt cold—like death.

“In here!” Cross’ voice came down the hallway.

We ran past doors until we found him, in a bathroom off the hallway.

Alex was slumped on the floor, a bottle of pills and whiskey next to him, his head hanging low. His body was already pale.

“Shit.”

Jordan said that, but I didn’t recognize his voice.

Cross wasn’t standing over him with a gun. The gun was on the floor next to his foot as he knocked the pills and booze away and felt for Alex’s pulse.

He yelled over his shoulder, “Back the truck up. We have to take him. Paramedics won’t get here in time.”

He wanted to save his life.

Both Jordan and I were paralyzed a second, letting the scene register.

Cross looked up and barked, “NOW!”

Jordan hit the doorframe next to me, using it to push himself around in a tight turn, and he was off.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

My pulse was back to racing, but this was a different type of sprint.

Cross met my gaze. “He’s barely breathing, but he’s breathing. His pulse is slowing down.”

I nodded, my throat swelling. I couldn’t bring myself to talk, but I moved over him and jammed three fingers down Alex’s throat.

His body jerked against me.

Cross moved back, giving me space.

I yelled at him, “Get rid of that. Now.” I nodded to the gun.

He grabbed it, putting it in his pants again.

“HERE!”

Jordan pounded back inside, and with my fingers still trying to make Alex throw up, he and Cross picked him up. All three of us moved together, keeping Alex on his side as we ran through the house. We made sure his head didn’t hit any walls or doorframes, and once we slid him onto the back of the truck, Cross and I jumped up.

Jordan sprinted back inside, coming out with his arms full of blankets. He slammed the tailgate shut behind me, throwing the blankets at us.

“Jordan.” Cross held the gun out to him.

Jordan grabbed it, then leaped inside.

I had one second to grab one of those blankets, stuff it under Alex’s head, and grab hold of the side. We were off. Jordan peeled out of there, spraying up dirt and half of Durrant’s yard.

I didn’t remember the drive to the hospital. I’m sure it was dangerous, and maddening, and wild. I’m sure there were times we might’ve been flung from the back because Jordan didn’t slow down. He drove like he needed to save a life.

I didn’t give a damn that my hand was inside Alex’s throat half the time.

I remembered feeling such relief when finally he started throwing up.

I remembered looking up and meeting Cross’ eyes over Alex’s body and being so fucking grateful we were saving him and not burying him.

I remembered seeing my Cross once again.

Then we were at the hospital.

The doors to the ER slid open. A nurse came out, his eyes bulged, and he began screaming over his shoulder. He ran to the back with Jordan beside him, and all of us helped slide Alex to the edge just as a gurney appeared. I started to go with it until that same nurse touched my arm.

“We got this.” He nodded to all of us. “Thank you. You probably saved his life.”

There were two other nurses with him, and they pushed Alex inside, just as a doctor ran to meet them.

And I knew I would always remember that feeling—standing there, staring after them, with my guys right beside me.

I felt alive.





A nurse showed us to a room where we could shower and change into different clothes.

I was pretty sure it was a staff waiting room, and I was sitting on a bench between a bunch of lockers when the door opened.

“Bren?”

Cross walked inside. I didn’t move.

An hour ago we’d been going to kill Alex. Thirty minutes ago we were racing to save him. And now, I didn’t know. I just didn’t know. It was all such a whirlwind.

“Hey.” He kneeled at my feet, his hands on my legs, and he peered up at me. “Hey.” He touched under my chin, raising my gaze to his. “You okay?”

“You were going to kill him.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I was.”

There was no remorse. He didn’t regret it. There was no shame either.

“I would’ve, if he’d had an attitude, if he’d cussed me out, if he’d tried to fight me. I would’ve. I knew what I was going to do, and I’m not going to lie to you. I would’ve pulled that trigger.”

“What made you not do it?” I raked my fingers through his hair.

“You.” If possible, his eyes smiled at me. They warmed, and love shone through. “When I walked in there, he had no fight in him. He was trying to overdose.”

“How do you know?”

He reached behind him and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. It was wrecked, with blood on it. Cross unfolded it and gave it to me. “He left a note.”

I know I have people coming for me, and I didn’t mean to hurt her. I swear. An eye for an eye. I’m doing it so you don’t have to. Peace out—Alex I looked up, and Cross took the note. Folding it up, he put it back into his pocket. Then he stood. He grabbed my hand, pulling me up, and wrapped his arms around me, tugging me against him.

It was done. For now.

There’d be questions, probably suspicions about why we found him, but there was no evidence either way.

Cross dropped a kiss to my neck. “God, I love you.” He laughed a second later, tightening his arms. “You realize we never did the whole ‘I love you’ moment, right? You said it at Durrant’s house.”

“I said it because I hoped it would make a difference.”

He cupped the back of my neck and leaned away, just enough to see me. “It did. You have no idea how much. It did, Bren.” Then he pulled me in, hugging me almost delicately now. I felt him brush his lips against my forehead, and he sighed. “Everything you said, it’s the same for me. I’m saying it now. Everything, Bren. You hurt, I hurt. You bleed, I bleed. You smile, I smile. You’re happy, I’m happy. It’s almost ridiculous how much of you I am. It’s been like that for a while. Now it’s just official. You and me. We’re a we, and I don’t want anything to fuck that up. Anything.”

I nudged him with my elbow. “Besides what you almost did?”

He paused, then his body relaxed. His head dropped to my shoulder. He peppered some kisses there, his hands slipping to my back, sliding under my shirt. “I might’ve killed him if you hadn’t been there, and if you hadn’t said all those words. I just might’ve.” He paused, his lips on my skin. “You might’ve saved me.”

Maybe.

I hoped.

I rested my head against his shoulder, reaching up to run my fingers through his hair.

I’d told him everything. Jordan knew everything.

This was… I didn’t know how to feel. My walls were gone. I was exposed, but I didn’t feel like freaking out. The opposite.

I felt strong.

“You okay?” He pulled back, asking again. A softness sparked in his eyes, and he rested his forehead to mine, his hands falling to my hips. “You still want to die?”