Page 28 of Crew Princess
There were the nicknames again. Except it wasn’t cute this time because Sweets was pissing me off. I had a tendency to hate when people told me how I was, especially when I never asked for it.
He murmured, “Bren’s not on probation for having no bark. You might want to remember that.”
She jerked.
I waited. There was another thing she needed to remember: my hands on her. Violence might be distasteful to the likes of her, but it was our way—good, bad, dirty, or just bloody.
“Oh.” Her smile slipped.
She remembered.
She blinked a few times before edging back a step, further into Jordan. He folded his arms around her, lifting his head to wink at Cross and me.
“How about you and me go somewhere private?” he asked her. “I need some time with my girl.”
He pulled her away, nodding to us. “Z’s outside,” he said in parting. “He already did two kegstands.”
“Shit.” Cross’ jaw firmed, and he started forward.
There were people everywhere. It was nearing four in the afternoon, and I wondered when this had started. Probably this morning. Normally people moved back when they saw us. Not today. They were everywhere, running, jumping, dashing, falling back, stumbling. Drunken laughter and shrieks, and slurred conversations. We caught the end of one girl telling her friend to just do it, “break the ass seal.”
Cross shot me a grin over his shoulder.
I shook my head. Not solid advice, on any day.
Outside wasn’t any better. Tabatha had a pool and a massive backyard. A small white shed stood in the far corner, with a literal white picket fence around it. A tanned, athletic guy came through the gate next to the house, a bong in hand and a long hose for funneling. His hat was on backward, and he wore a tank over beefy muscled arms and swim trunks. Behind him were about twenty friends who looked just like him.
“Hell yeah! This is where the party is.” He bobbed his head. “Nice.” He wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, and at first, no one paid him any attention, but he kept on. He walked into the backyard as if it were his own. “Who’s ready to party? We need to kick it up a notch. Yeah, man!”
Again, he wasn’t talking to anyone. His eyes moved over the group, and one by one, people started noticing him. His grin grew, his head still bobbing.
I checked, but there were no headphones in his ears.
He spread his arms wide. “So this is a Roussou party? Where are the greeters? Where’s the shots? Come on, people. I thought you all were so badass. I feel cheated.”
Cross stopped beside me.
Zellman was off by the keg, but he moved closer now, his eyes on this guy.
“What the fuck?” Zellman growled.
I almost blanched, the beer smell was so strong.
That’s when the Douche Guy saw us and did a double-take. He held up his funnel and pointed at me. “I know you. You’re Heather Jax’s sister, ain’t you?”
Another growl from Zellman, but deeper. He moved forward a step.
My eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“I’m Zeke.” He bounced his chin up as he said his name, and then nodded toward his friends who had started to fan out around him. “These are my boys.”
Zellman went another step, one of his hands in a fist at his side. “You’re from Fallen Crest Academy.”
Zeke gazed at him a second, nonplussed, then his mouth broke out in another blinding flash of smile. “Hell yeah, we are. You heard of us, huh?”
Zellman, normally happy-go-lucky, just wants to drink and get laid, raised his head. His tone was ice cold. “I know you’re the fuckers whose cars I exploded.”
Had he…
