Page 8 of Crew Princess
“Wait.” Zellman held his hand up. “I thought they were getting a divorce too?”
“They are, but they’re both still going.”
“Race’s mom moved there, and his dad is rich,” Jordan added. “He’s going to want to mingle with the Fallen Crusties for business.”
“Shit. That’s a good idea.”
Then both Jordan and Cross looked at me again.
A stone thudded to the bottom of my stomach. I was fairly certain what he was going to ask, but I rasped out, “You gotta say the words. I can’t do anything if you don’t ask me.”
Cross didn’t hesitate. “I want to break into her house, scope it out as much as possible.”
“Score,” Zellman breathed, already nodding.
This was what we did, our crew.
One of us needed something, and we were there.
Only problem was me.
I was still on probation.
But I nodded. “When do we go?”
I loved Cross.
Best friends since seventh grade, crew members—we’d been inseparable, but we kept things platonic while he’d been a slight manwhore. All that stopped at the beginning of the school year. Things went a way we could never take back, and that was the us we were now.
I rode alongside him in the truck. It was nearing ten at night. We’d talked Race into being our eyes and ears at the country club—because we’d helped him out last year, he returned the favor. He’d agreed to stay at the party (ignoring Taz’s requests to leave for the bonfire) and keep an eye on Cross’ dad and his date.
Cross’ phone buzzed once again. It’d been going off since we left Roussou. Jordan turned in to a ritzy neighborhood, high up on some hill. All the houses were fancy.
“What’s the latest?” Jordan asked.
“Thirteen,” Cross replied.
We all grinned. Taz had asked Race for the thirteenth time to go to the bonfire.
Cross sent back a text.
“What’d you say?” Zellman stuck his head in through the back window.
Cross put his phone back into his pocket, glancing over his shoulder. “I told him to give us thirty minutes; then they can leave.”
“Thirty?” I asked as Jordan paused in front of a mansion. “You sure about that?”
Just eyeballing the place, I could tell it had security. A lot of security. There was a gate, a camera at the top.
This was not a good idea.
“Shit.” Jordan hit the steering wheel, leaning over to get a better look. “Cross. Man—”
I finished for him. “We scale that fence, I guarantee an alarm is going to the police, and they’re not that far from here—just down the hill over there. We can’t get in here.”
Cross glared at the house, a vein sticking out from his neck. “This is the fucking address he gave my mom. It was written on the paper next to her computer in her office. What the fuck does his girlfriend do at Kade Enterprises?” He leaned out the window, as if the mansion or the ritzy street could give us the answers.
Me? I’d moved on. I knew we weren’t getting into that place, but this neighborhood? I couldn’t believe people actually lived here. Every lawn was manicured, at least the ones we could see through the gates.
