“Yeah. That’s the problem.”

Channing kept looking behind me to where Jordan and Zellman stood. I followed, seeing the reason for his concern. Some of the bikers had congregated nearby. Sometimes this wasn’t a bad thing. Most bikers were fine, but these weren’t. They were from a one-percenter MC. If they targeted Jordan and Zellman to hustle—or as hustlers—there’d be problems. The biker clubs were fiercer than us. There was no line they wouldn’t cross. We co-existed. That was about it, and even that line was shaky.

But this was one of those areas Channing handled for Roussou while the rest were kept in the dark.

“Your ex goes to school six hours from here,” Channing said. “I don’t want you driving there.”

“What?” I turned back to look at him. “Come on. Are you serious?”

“Chad had to take off. He’s in the same town.” Chad was another of Channing’s crew members. “He can find him and have the talk you need to have.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Channing went back to watching the bikers. Two of the guys approached Jordan and Zellman. The bartender had paused, looking from them to Channing. He was waiting for a signal. Another door opened from the hallway, and Congo, another member of Channing’s crew, came down.

He stopped right next to Channing.

Congo might’ve been short, but he was muscular, and he wasn’t someone to mess with. He was like a bald mini bodybuilder.

“Yes, Bren,” Channing repeated, cursing under his breath as he moved around me.

The bikers were now talking to Jordan, holding out a beer and gesturing to the pool table.

My brother started for them, then turned around and flung a hand toward me. “Get her out of here. Now.” Then he was back to closing in fast on the pool table.

I looked over in time to see his crew member lock the register.

Congo started forward, a metal bar in his hand. Where he’d gotten that, I had no clue. He didn’t have it when he walked down the hallway.

“Shit.” Cross moved closer to me. “Maybe you should go?”

I threw him an incredulous look. This was my crew, and my brother. I wasn’t moving.

I reached for my knife, tucked against my body under my shirt. I didn’t pull it out. My hand was there, just in case.

“Hey, fellas.” Channing walked up and threw an arm around Jordan’s shoulders. He was an inch shorter than, but he yanked him down like he was going to put him in a headlock. He maneuvered him back behind the table, taking his pool stick at the same time. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said to the bikers. “I gotta kick these minors out of here.” He shoved Jordan toward us. “You heard it, kid. Beat it.”

Jordan took a couple steps, frowning at us and then my brother.

Zellman stayed right next to him.

“We were going to play a game of pool.” One of the bikers picked up the pool cue Zellman had left behind. He had a scar that went down the entire side of his face. “They look like they have cash to burn. You don’t mind, do you?”

Channing stood directly between us and them, but more of the bikers had started to take notice. A few moved closer. My brother held his hands up. His voice came out smooth and almost cheerful, but his jaw clenched.

“I got a fine recently for underage kids. Sorry, guys. You’re going to have to play somewhere else.”

The biker with the pool cue pointed it at Jordan. “How about it? You guys want to go somewhere else to play?”

Channing’s shoulders tightened. “Somewhere in Frisco then.”

Not Manny’s.

Not in Roussou.

That was my brother’s message.

I waited to see their reaction, but Chan didn’t. He turned his back, and as soon as he did, his whole nonchalant fa?ade dropped. His mouth set in a furious line.

Jordan took a step backward, seeing it.

Channing would beat his ass if he didn’t leave.

Jordan cleared his throat. “Nah. Maybe next time. I think we got what we wanted.” He looked at me. “Right? You’re off the hook tonight?”

He widened his eyes dramatically.

I got his message too. “Oh yeah.” I smiled at my brother. “I’ll see you on Monday?”

I didn’t wait for Channing’s response. With Cross, Jordan, and Zellman behind me, I hurried out of there, veering right in the alley, past a couple more of Channing’s crew members and my cousin, Scratch. I recognized Moose. He was bald like Congo, but tall, with tattoos all over his head and neck. I didn’t recognize the other guy.

Scratch went right for me, not breaking stride. “Hey, little cousin!”

I had two seconds before he caught me in his arms and half-bounced me in the air.

Channing was a fighting machine, and he kept his body toned, but Scratch was almost as tough. He was the same age as Channing. They’d grown up together like brothers, except Scratch had been in the foster system. Well, to be more accurate, he’d spent his life everywhere, bouncing from his mom’s house to ours, then to other people’s. He and our half-brother had a similar upbringing, but Max was barely allowed to see us. His biological mom hated us, hated Roussou, hated our dad. It’d been a contentious life and because of it I barely knew Max. But for both he and our cousin, how they grew up had been for the best.

I knew Scratch said it helped mold him into who he was today.

“Hey, Scratch.” I couldn’t encourage him. If I did, he’d keep jostling me around. He liked to pick on me. I endured it as long as I could so he’d feel loved, but usually it wasn’t long before he got a good elbow to the stomach, neck, or junk. If he picked on me too much, the junk shot came quick and had some extra oomph to it.

He heard the warning in my voice and dropped me onto my feet almost right away. His hands went to my shoulders.

“What are you doing here? What are you up to?”

Moose and the other guy waited next to him.

“You getting in trouble already?” Moose asked.

Feeling Scratch’s fingers tighten on my shoulder, I moved to dislodge his hold. He stepped back like it’d been his decision to release me.

He gave me a half-smirk. “Should we expect your brother to be in a mood?”

Moose laughed. The other one remained impassive.

Cross moved forward, falling in line next to me.

Moose greeted, “Cross.”

“Moose.”

My cousin and the silent guy nodded to him. Cross returned the greeting.

“He should be fine,” I told Scratch. “It was crew stuff.”

Moose and the other guy’s gaze sharpened.

“Crew stuff?” Moose echoed.

“You’re in trouble?” Scratch asked.

I shook my head. “No. Ask him. It’s nothing big.”

Moose and the other guy shared a look, then headed for the bar. My cousin stayed, frowning at me.

“What’s going on?” His eyes narrowed.

“Talk to my brother.”

“I am your brother.”

Yeah. Yeah, he was. Sometimes I forgot he considered himself like a brother to me. He’d been around even less than Channing, but he was right. In some weird way, they’d both tried to look after me when they could, or when they remembered.

It got confusing to me sometimes.

I held up my keys. “It’s crew stuff. Channing will tell you.”

Scratch looked at Cross. “You’re watching out for her?”

Cross rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m watching out for her as much as she’ll let me. Let’s put it that way.”

“Are we going or what?” Jordan asked. Zellman waited with him.

Cross waved them on. “We’ll be behind you. Go.”

With a wave out the window, Jordan peeled out. Cross and I moved toward my Jeep.

Scratch had opened the door to the bar, but he turned again. “Be safe, little Monroe,” he hollered. “Got that?”

I held up an arm in an absentminded wave, getting inside the car. “See you later, Scratch. Give my brother hell for me.”

He grinned at us again. “I don’t have to. You do that enough!”

I had the keys in the ignition when a familiar Taurus pulled up behind us.

“What the fuck?” Cross leaned forward, peering ahead.

It was Taz. We watched as she got out, opened the back door, and pulled out a pink tote filled with papers and other items.

“What is she doing?” I groaned.