Page 62 of Crew
"Wha-what?"
"Channing Monroe. He's a big fighter--"
"No, I know." He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "No. No, not at all. I just--I don't know. I wanted to help. Besides, when Cross' twin sister asks a crew girl for help with her charity event, word spreads fast." His eyes slid to the right as we passed some of Sunday's friends. "They sit behind me in chemistry, and trust me, they're not quiet. Just tell me the amount you need, and I'll email him." He added, "He'll do anything I want. He thinks I can talk my mom into going back to him."
"Yo!"
Jordan was moving fast behind us. He swooped in, and before Race could look behind him, Jordan's arm was around his shoulders, pulling him forward. He forced Race to move with him.
Zellman and Cross trailed behind him, and both sliding me looks as they passed.
Jordan had a bug up his ass. I didn't know what was going on, but I sighed and fell in line.
Jordan half-walked, half-dragged Race to the opposite end of the lot. Once we were tucked on the other side of his truck, he let him go.
Race shoved him away, scooting backward. Alarm filtered over his face, his eyebrows pinching together. "What's going on?"
Jordan bent down a little, so he was almost looking Race in the eye. He wagged his finger between Race and me, making a tsking sound. "Is this a thing? The two of you?"
I flung my arms in the air. "Again?!"
"Yes, again." Jordan's smile had an edge to it. His arm went around Race's neck before he could move out of the way. Race struggled, so Jordan tightened his arm. If he'd bent over again, it would've been a chokehold. "I called him out on Tuesday, and he didn't deny it. You did, Bren, but not him. He never denied a thing, and now he's sniffing around your pants again." He turned to Race, jostling him a little. "I'd really like to know why." He cast a look at Cross, adding, "I don't think I'm the only one."
Cross met my gaze, but his eyes were shielded. He wasn't letting me in.
I gritted my teeth.
I wasn't some helpless, hapless little girl. I didn't need this big-brother act Jordan was doing. He could watch Race. He could be suspicious of him, and hell, he could even give him crap. One time. Not a second time. And not when we were almost in front of an audience. We were hidden by his big truck, but people always watched us. People would've noticed Jordan's fast walk over here, how he'd had his arm around Race.
I was betting we had five minutes before Alex showed up.
Cross stepped up next to me, his arm brushing against mine. He lowered his head, but his eyes were locked on Race. "Jordan, you know why Race is in town? Why he's here in the first place?"
Fuck.
I recognized that tone. It was low and chilling. It was the same he'd been using in the library, and I realized now he'd just checked his attitude. He'd been waiting for this. And that fucker, he must've planned this during that time.
Jordan frowned, becoming still. "No. Why?"
I waited, wondering how he knew about the divorce.
Race started to smirk.
Jordan saw his reaction and looked back at Cross. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head.
Cross gestured to Race. "He's here for the underground fighting ring."
Jordan went a whole new level of still.
People from all over came to Roussou to fight, and to watch, and those who were serious about the ring were good fighters. Crew members could fight. We'd had our fair share of tussles, and we could handle ourselves, but underground ring fighting was a whole different situation.
Those guys were out for blood.
If someone fought there and stuck around, they could do serious damage outside of the ring as well. There were no official rules. They could fight outside the ring, and Jordan finally started to put two and two together.
He let go of Race and drew away from him. "You're a fighter?"
There was dark amusement in Race's eyes, and he nodded before skimming a look over Cross and me. His top lip curved, just a bit. "I am."
