Always Crew - Tijan Page 0,23
hit.”
“Fuck yeah.”
I frowned. “Why now? Why use us to get at him?”
He was quiet a moment. “I’ve got my reasons, but know this. I’ve been jonesing for the right time to go at him. This is the right time. I’m in.”
“And Zeke?”
“Zeke’s my best friend.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? This guy is in his fraternity. They’re called brothers for a reason.”
“Shut up.”
“No—”
“Shut up, for you. You’re showing your ignorance right now, but don’t worry. You’ll get it one of these days.” He didn’t sound pissed, just amused.
I cursed again, shaking my head. “You are annoying.”
“You know we’ll have to kill each other one of these days. There’s only supposed to be one of us.”
“What?”
He laughed. “Just kidding.” He hung up after that.
He didn’t sound like he was kidding.
And with that unsettling thought, I headed inside.
Jordan was going to go apeshit.
BREN
Jordan went apeshit.
He threw the recliner into the kitchen.
That wasn’t enough. He went for the other recliner.
That recliner went into the hallway.
The couch was flipped over.
“She—” He was red in the face, bending because he wasn’t content with the couch how it was. He flipped it upright, but shoved it toward the kitchen. I had no idea where he was going with it. “She—” grunt “—thought—” more grunting, shoving. The couch was now past the dining room table. “—she could whore herself out? For WHAT? FOR WHO?” There was roaring as he climbed over the couch and kicked open the back door.
Zellman, Cross, and I stood in a straight line. I think we were all of the same mindset, simply waiting for him to tire himself out.
Jordan went back to grunting and cursing, and soon the couch was through the door and out onto the patio. That couch wasn’t ours. If we damaged it, who was I kidding? If we were able to stay here for all four years, the couch was going to be replaced. Probably multiple times.
“Her father fucked up.”
He was kicking the couch over to the lawn as he talked.
“So he took a bad loan out from Harper, Sr.”
Another kick. A shove. More grunting and cursing.
“And fucking Harper, Sr. is going to cash it in, I don’t know what the fuck that means, but Tabatha being Tabatha—” one last heave and Jordan throws one end of the couch over the other and it tumbles all the way to the street. And we’re also on a slight hill. “—being fucking Tabatha, decides to whore herself out to Harper, Jr. to get the Dad Douchebag off her own douchebag father’s back, and for who?” He stalked to the street, lining up on the other side of the couch as he bent down. “For her mother! All this shit is for her own mother. Not for her dad, not for herself, not for either Harper Fucktwit, but for her mom. She doesn’t want her mom getting sick from worrying, from the shame? That’s the catalyst for all of this.” With a roar, he picked up the couch and began walking back to the house. With the couch. Over his shoulder and over his bent back.
As if we were one person moving in tandem, Zellman, Cross, and I shifted, stepping back.
Jordan went past, still with the couch on his back.
He dropped it, straightening.
The guy wasn’t even fazed.
I glanced at Cross. What the hell did they do in the gym all those hours? Could he do that, too?
As if sensing my thoughts, Cross shot me a look, his eyes darkening. Not now.
I grinned back, but he was right. Back to Jordan.
Instead of starting to toss it, because that’s what I’d been expecting, he righted it back up and dropped down onto it. Burying his head into his hands, he leaned over and yelled, “FUUUUUUCK!” Looking up, his face was stricken. “Did she sleep with him? Why?” His voice hitched. “Why didn’t she come to me? To us?”
Zellman coughed. “Uh, I’m not trying to disagree with you or set you off so you’re all Hulk again, but what could we have done? What could we do? None of us have parents who have connections.”
Well…
Jordan glanced at me, his eyes sliding to Cross.
I followed his look and yeah. That wasn’t technically true.
Cross noticed and backed up a step. “What?”
Jordan stood, but he did it slowly. He was being smart, though his words came out hurriedly. “Bren’s connections are to a motorcycle club and bounty hunters. Zellman—Zellman’s connections are to us. And my parents own a small construction company, emphasis on the small