Always Crew - Tijan Page 0,118
house?”
“Yeah. It’s Sunday.”
“The others?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see them when I left.”
“Okay. Just call ’em, but Bren, I have to ask…did you recognize any of those guys who took Harper?”
I didn’t answer. I made a vow last night not to tell anyone. The only person I was going to tell at a later time was Cross, when that later was going to be, I hadn’t decided. Knowing me, it probably would’ve been as soon as I got home after talking to Detective Brennan.
“Fuck, Bren!”
“They weren’t cartel.”
He was quiet. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. That’s—that’s better, at least. But I have to ask, is there anything I need to know? And I’m saying anything. Anything weird. Anything odd. Anything that doesn’t make sense to you.”
I frowned. “No—” Drake. “Wait.”
“What? Wait, what? What?”
“Drake.”
“Ryerson? Your ex?”
“Yeah.” My heart was beating fast.
“What about him?”
I ran down the phone call to him, and again, my brother did one of his silent spells.
It took until I was pulling onto the block for the house before he said, “Bren. If it was who I’m thinking you recognized, then word did get to them who the witness was.”
“That cop said the case was done. That the cartel wouldn’t let him testify—”
“But the information was correct. They’re like the cartel. They don’t let loose ends stay loose. You know what I’m saying, right?”
Fuck.
My palms were sweaty.
My heart was trying to beat out of my chest. “Channing—”
“No. No. Don’t get scared. I’m sorry. I’m reacting like this because you’re my sister, and you’re three hours away from me, but I’m leaving. I’ll be there in a few hours. Is Dad still there?”
“Yeah. I think.”
“I’m going to call him, see if he knows anything.”
And that just tightened my chest all over again. I felt like someone was squeezing my entire body in one giant grip. Squeeeeeze.
“Did they or whoever you saw think you recognized them?”
Again. No answer from me.
“Shit! No.”
I pulled into the driveway, parking beside Cross’ truck and I turned the engine off, leaving the keys in the ignition. Each outburst from Channing was setting me on edge. I was so far on the edge, I was off of it. I was in the air, hanging suspended over a cliff. And how I wasn’t falling, I didn’t have a clue.
“Bren.”
I did not like how soft my brother’s voice just got.
“Bren, you have to know that Brennan calling you down there today might’ve been a ploy.”
“I thought that guy was your friend.”
“Not anymore.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, a ploy?”
I leaned forward. From where I parked, I could see the backyard of the house. I couldn’t fully see the patio table, but there was a chair pulled out. And beyond, was that… I leaned even more forward until I recognized what I was seeing.
“They’re here.”
My brother had been talking. I hadn’t registered, and I was the one who cut him off.
I said it again, “They’re here. They’re in the backyard. They have Cross.” And I was scrambling.
“Bren!”
The phone was turned off as I was out the door and running for the backyard.
I had no plan. No weapon. No ways to escape. I just had me, a panicked heart, as I rounded the corner, my heart stopped.
The guys were home.
Or they were supposed to be home.
But no. No one was back there, except—“Dad?”
He was standing on the patio. Arms folded. Head bent down. No. He wasn’t standing. He was pacing, and he whipped his head up at my voice, then immediately shot a frown at the other guy with him. Maxwell Raith. Unlike my dad, whose shoulders were tight and he seemed strung-out, his MC president looked anything but. Feet kicked out. Head leaning back, his face up for the sun, and as he saw me, too, he lifted up his arms in a big stretch over his head.
“Bren.” My dad started for me, but stopped. He sent another glance to Raith.
I was looking.
There were three other guys on the far side of the lawn, but they were lingering and talking to each other. A few looked over, but went back to their conversation. One was on his phone and he lifted his head, shooting us a frown as if we’d interrupted what text he was sending. All of them wore Red Demons cuts, all looked rough. And all could’ve been the same guys I saw take Harper last night. Their body types fit.
“Bren Monroe.”
Maxwell brought my attention back to him, and he sat up, but kicked out the chair across from him.