That’s what I thought as I was now sitting between the guys in Jordan’s truck.

We were driving around Roussou. We were waiting to find out where Alex would be, and that was Zellman’s job. He was following Alex to wherever he holed up. Once he did, once he told us, he was supposed to go back to Taz’s side and not leave.

“Are you sure you don’t want to check on your sister?” Jordan’s voice was low in his cab, taking the same left he’d taken for the fiftieth time that morning.

We were on a continuous loop through Roussou, just waiting, just tense, just… There were no words to describe this morning.

Thinking about it, I stomped down the same shiver I’d been having since we left the house.

There’d been rage.

There’d been pain, inexplicable pain. Remorse. Rage again. A murderous rage. A quiet cold seeping out of my bones—a hunger to inflict what had been inflicted upon.

Cross had taken the gun out, but Jordan grabbed it, saying, “No way, man.”

“Jordan.” Cross had pushed him against the wall. He took it back. “Goddamn—you don’t know!”

“Yes.” He’d put hands on Cross, paused, looked at me, and then shoved him back. “My sister was almost raped, fucker. Raped! Yes. I do goddamn know, and Z took the gun out of my hands that night.”

I had frowned.

Jordan had laughed, sounding almost as harsh as Cross. He looked between us. “You didn’t know that, did you? You aren’t the only ones with secrets in this crew.” He extended his hand, holding it steady. “Z didn’t trust me then, and I don’t trust you now. Give me the fucking gun, Cross.”

Cross didn’t do anything. He stood glaring at Jordan, until—I was frozen in place for that moment—he finally held it out.

Jordan had snatched it, swiftly, and handed it behind his back to me.

I stepped forward, taking it, my eyes holding Cross’ as I did.

God.

My mouth dried.

She was in him too. She was blanketing him, protecting him, making him numb to feeling what had been in me for so long.

I paused, and without thinking, I pressed my palm to his chest. His heart lurched against it, pressing out to me, and it wasn’t just him and me there. I swear I felt her. She really was in him. My insides split in half—someone was tearing me in two and doing it so slowly that I could hear every tendon breaking, feel the rip as every vessel burst open.

I choked up.

If that’s what I felt, standing in front of him, looking into his eyes, and feeling his heart—I couldn’t go there. I wouldn’t. Not yet. Instead, I whispered, standing close until his forehead moved to rest against mine, “Just hold on.”

His heart pounded three beats, all at once, and he jerked his head in a rough nod. Then his eyes closed, and his chest lifted as he filled his lungs. He was in control. For now.

Jordan tapped the back of my elbow, and I moved in response.

We had to go fast.

He went with me, back into Cross’ parents’ closet.

Jordan grabbed the gun’s lock-box, bringing it down. It was still open. I put the gun in. Jordan locked it again, and I headed back. Jordan was right behind me, almost breathing down my neck. I was scared, for a split second, that Cross had grabbed a different weapon and gone on his own, but he hadn’t.

I had to stop, just the slightest of pauses, but enough where Jordan grunted so he didn’t run into me, and then I was moving forward again.

Cross’ eyes were dark and almost soulless, but he was focused on me. He was holding on.

I took his hand, lacing our fingers, and I was the one who’d led us outside. I was the one who’d taken us to Jordan’s truck. I was the one who’d made the decision that instead of one in the back and two in front, all three of us would sit together. And I was the one who’d decided when Jordan got in and asked, “Where to?”

“Just drive.”

Cross didn’t want to go to Taz. Not until Alex was dealt with. We all knew that, so we never offered. That’s why Zellman was tasked with staying there, until he got the call that Alex’s lawyer was at the station. How he knew, who called him, I didn’t know. I didn’t ask. No one did.

My phone pinged now, bringing me back to the present as I sat between these two.

Durrant’s house.

A second text: Alex let himself in with a key.

Mouth dry, hands sweaty, pulse pounding, I texted him back: Devil no sing till eyes.

“He’s at Durrant’s house,” I announced. “No one’s there.”

Jordan nodded once and swung around.

“You tell him to go back to Taz?” Cross asked.

I powered off my phone and put it in my pocket, feeling that locked gun box by my feet. “I coded it. He’ll be radio silent till we see him.”

Durrant was a Ryerson crew member, and apparently one of Alex’s most loyal friends. Either that or…

Jordan grunted. “I think I remember Durrant’s out of town. Someone in his family died. Sweets told me that last night. She was mentioning it because there’s talk about having a party there.”

I sucked in my breath for a second, but let it go almost as quick.

We were driving to let Cross shoot this guy.

Yes, we took the gun away from him at the house, but he’d released it only after Jordan promised to keep it in the box until we got to Alex. We were going with Cross because this was crew, this was having his back, but in this moment, knowing what he wanted to do, knowing what we were taking him to do—I didn’t want it.

I didn’t want any of it.

This was wrong.

This was a part of the crew life I didn’t want.

I felt a punch at that, realizing I wasn’t all-crew at that moment, but no. Fuck that. I was.

I was.

Cross stared straight ahead, locked down, an impassive expression on his face that sent shivers down my back.

I knew I had to speak up, or I was going to lose him.

I caught Jordan’s gaze. He lifted his eyebrows, a message there for me. He made a face at me. It was brief, but I knew he was with me.

Fuck.

Okay.

Icy dread began trickling down to my stomach, but I had to try. I had to.

“I love you, Cross.” My voice shook.

Jordan eased up on the pedal, his head turning toward us for an instant.

“Keep driving.” Cross’ voice didn’t shake. He knew what I was going to say.

Jordan didn’t, slowing the truck even more.

“Keep fucking driving, Jordan!”

Jordan was waiting for me, watching me. I gave him the slightest nod, and he pressed the pedal again. I had this time to talk. I would make it count.

“Mallory was nearly raped, and we didn’t kill that guy.”

“We should’ve,” Cross bit out.

Jordan winced.

“No. That guy turned himself in. Alex already went in too.”

“And he’s out on bail.” Cross was so rigid, so tense. His head whipped to mine. His eyes blazing. “What makes you think he’ll do any goddamn time? He fucked up her head. He broke her jaw. He broke her cheek. She has a concussion. She could have permanent fucking damage. She might have problems for the rest of her life—we don’t fucking know. What makes you think he shouldn’t pay for what he did?” He was glaring at me.

I felt punched with every word he said.

“If anyone deserves to hurt him, it should be Taz then.”

Jordan grimaced, and I ignored him.

Cross snorted. “Right. We should’ve let Mallory go up on that hill with us. Remember that night? I know you like to sit those beatdowns out, but fuck, Bren. I thought you were with us. I thought you were with me.”

I heard his accusation.

Icy dread swirled through me.

I heard his pain.

“What do you think I’m doing?” I burst out, my voice cracking. My chest heaved. Every vein was stretching, trying to explode. “I am here for you, and you don’t want to hear this, but you have to.” I turned, and I faced him head-on. “You’re going to kill someone. You don’t walk away from that! You. Not him. Not that fucker. You, Cross!” I leaned forward, almost lunging at him. I grabbed his shirt, and I was right in his face. “My mom is gone. My dad is in prison. My brother was gone since I was fucking eight years old. It’s been you. It’s been goddamn you all my life.”

I shook him with every word.