She looked at me.

“He’s family,” I said.

She turned back to him.

He smiled.

“He’s your brother?” she asked, but she knew us. She knew the truth.

“He’ll look away if I tell him to.”

She sighed and went out the door. The doctor didn’t blink an eye at Cross’ presence. He did all the usual exams, checking out my cuts and the bruises already starting to form. He pressed a hand over my stomach, listened to my lungs. He asked if I was having problems breathing.

Everything hurt, but my breathing was fine.

There were no knife wounds anywhere. I’d just been hit.

Thirty minutes later, after debating whether an x-ray was even needed, I was released.

“Clean bill of health?” Jordan asked when Cross and I got back to the lobby.

I shot him a look.

He laughed, and Cross answered for me. “She’s got some nice painkillers to take, but that’s it.”

I stretched out my arm. A nasty bruise was fully black already, taking the shape of a boot.

“Looks like Florida,” Zellman said.

“Or a boot,” I countered.

He grinned. “That too.”

“Who kicked you?” Jordan asked.

I had to think about it. It seemed like so many had taken a shot at me. “Alex maybe? I don’t know. He was there. A few others got me in the side. I didn’t even know someone had gotten my arm until the doctor saw it.”

They were silent, all three staring at me.

There were topics to discuss, big and bad topics, but I chose an easy one.

“Race got there before they could do a ton of damage, right?”

Jordan’s eyes grew suspicious. “What’s his deal, if he doesn’t want in your pants?”

I glanced at Cross, remembering the feel of his touch as he’d cupped my face.

Feeling an upsurge of tenderness, I shrugged in response to Jordan’s question. “He’s not said anything, but I’ve gotten the vibe that he and Alex don’t see eye to eye.”

Jordan grunted, looking around.

We were drawing attention, standing in the lounge.

The room was quiet for some reason, and all eyes were on us.

Cross cleared his throat, indicating outside. “Talk out there.”

One by one, we trailed behind him.

Cross had dropped me off at the entrance, and I followed him now to where he’d parked beside Jordan’s truck. The lot wasn’t too big, but both vehicles were in the back corner, so there would be a modicum of privacy unless someone was standing on the other side of the fence around the lot.

As if reading my mind, Zellman went over and scaled the fence. He grabbed the top and hoisted himself up to see over. “Clear.” He dropped back down, dusting off his pants. “We’re good. No one back there.”

Jordan sat on his truck bed as Zellman came to join him. He sat on the top, one foot resting on the bed by Jordan, and the other hanging off the back.

Cross looked at me in silent question, indicating the back of my Jeep.

I nodded, and he moved over, half-shielding me as I climbed up, and keeping a hand on my side. He seemed to stand point then, as if he was the leader.

Jordan picked up a stray stick and began breaking it into pieces. “So we need to decide a few things.” Here were the heavy topics.

“You want us to wait for this conversation?” Cross asked me.

If we went to my house, Channing would be there. If we went to Jordan’s, no one would be there, but I was longing for my bed. Here and now. It was better to get it done.

“Nah. I’m on the happy pills. Do it now before I get sober.”

I grinned at him, and he smiled back, his eyes lingering a moment before turning to Zellman and Jordan. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he leaned against me, but gently. I was tempted to run my hand down his shoulder and arm. I had to press it against my side to keep from doing that.

Jordan began tossing parts of the stick to the ground absentmindedly.

“Okay. So. What all happened exactly?” he asked me.

I relayed everything.

“Fuck.” Jordan glowered at the end. “Alex jumped you, but he got his ass kicked, and he pissed off your brother. So what’s the payback?”

Cross crossed his arms over his chest. He spoke in a low voice, a hint of warning there. “He’s going to get his ass kicked again. I don’t care if I have to do it my goddamn self. I am kicking his ass.”

“Chill out. You’re not doing anything alone. You know we’ll have your back,” Jordan hissed. “I’m not saying to ignore it, but we do payback on the Ryerson leader, and what then? It’s crew war. You guys ready for that?”

Cross was unnaturally still.

That told me plenty.

I craned my neck a little. The painkiller the nurse had given me was starting to kick in. I swear there was a little glow around Zellman where he was perched above everyone else, but I could make out the anger too.

Zellman was usually happy no matter what happened, so I had to do a double take. Nope. It was still there.

Noticing me, some of the anger fled, he said quietly, “He hurt you, Bren. He has to pay for it.”

“Some would argue he already has,” Jordan mused.

“What the hell?!” Cross growled, jumping away from the vehicle and shoving Jordan. It was fast and forceful. His shove pushed him almost to the ground. Jordan’s head whipped back, his face twisting in anger, but Cross didn’t care. He stood his ground, his hands in fists. “What? You got a problem with me, because I sure as hell have a problem with you. Say it one more damn time. One more damn time, Jordan.”

“Say what?” Jordan’s hand thrust through his hair.

“You fucking know.”

They were silent.

Cross was waiting for Jordan’s answer, and Jordan lowered his head after a second. He submitted, speaking quietly, his hand fisting in his hair. “Look. I’m just saying a crew war could mean more of us like Bren. I don’t want that.”

“He didn’t get hurt by our hands. He hurt one of ours. We have to do the payback. You know that,” Cross gritted out.

Jordan’s head lowered another fraction of an inch. “Okay. Yeah. I get it.”

“We have to, Jordan,” I said. They all turned to me. “He’s pushed it too much. He has to be hurt back. We can’t let it go.”

“Okay, but we have to be smart about it.” Jordan looked at all of us. “We hit him hard, and just him.”

“We can do political shit to lessen any blowback on us, but it will happen,” Cross said. “There’s no question of that.” He looked at Jordan, then Zellman.

“So what about Race?” I asked.

All eyes went back to me.

I added, “I don’t know what to say about him. Honestly, I went there for Taz.”

“We need to figure out how to deal with him,” Jordan agreed. “He’s been helping us. If he really doesn’t have an agenda with us, then what the fuck, man?”

Zellman snorted. “Everyone has an agenda. If it really was because Drake said to hang with us, and it’s not Bren’s cooch he wants, we gotta know this guy better.”

“Don’t talk about my vagina. Ever. And never refer to it as a cooch.”

“Huh?” Zellman blinked in confusion, glancing at the guys. “What’d I say wrong?”

Jordan and Cross started laughing.

“New crew rule: no one talks about my vagina, unless you want me to start referring to your two-inch, soft, limp dicks.” I growled. The happy pills weren’t helping.

“Cooch isn’t bad.”

“Say it one more time, and I’ll wait until you’re drunk, then tattoo the words 3 Second Man on your ass.”

“Dude. Just stop.” Jordan shook his head at him, half-laughing still.

Zellman frowned, itching his head. “I will. Yeah, but cooch isn’t bad. Is it?”

“Fucking A, Z!”

“Sorry. Sorry.” He ducked his head, holding his hands up. “I’ll stop. Sorry, B.”

“So we’re set?” Cross asked. “We deal with Race first, then figure out the best way of handling Alex?”

One by one, we all nodded.

“I want to be there,” I said.

They turned to me again. I frowned a little. “Not that you’d purposely cut me out, but I’m injured, and I know you guys might question him without me because you think you don’t want to bother me. But I’m there. I want to take part.”