“See what?”

He gestured back behind me. “He admitted it, somewhat. He hates Cross. He keeps hanging out with us, or trying after we keep trying to tell him to take a hike. He waded into a big fucking fight for you earlier. I mean, Bren. It’s plain as day. How do you not see that? No guy is going to do all that shit unless he wants in a girl’s pants, and even then, this guy’s going above and beyond. I’d worry about you getting a stalker if the guy wouldn’t have to deal with Cross first.”

I was stunned. “Wha—how?”

The slight interest Race admitted earlier didn’t seem that deep, not what Jordan was describing.

He snorted again. “Come on, Bren. You’re not stupid. Or dense.” He paused. When I didn’t say anything, he laughed again. “For real? You really haven’t noticed it?”

Now panic was rising in me. If he hated Cross, that meant…

No.

No way.

I frowned. “What are you talking about?”

But the touches had been increasing.

The looks too. Cross had always known me, but it was different lately. Lately it’d been like I needed his touch, and he answered me before I’d even asked.

The shivers. The tingles. The throbbing.

I had started to ache in places I never had for him.

My heart was pounding fast and loud, thumping against my ribcage, and I bit back a groan. The pills were starting to wane. That must’ve been it.

“He’s jealous of how close you and Cross are.”

Right. Because—

“You and Cross are tight. He’s got your back. You have his.”

Jordan slowed, coming to the main intersection. The light turned green, and he flipped on his left arrow. The hotel was a block up.

“Any guy who’s going to look at you romantically is going to look at Cross sideways. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had something going on with him.”

He slowed, coming to the hotel’s parking lot.

“People outside of us don’t understand,” I told him. “That’s how it is.”

He pulled in, then drove to the end of the hotel. He parked in the very last slot. As he turned the engine off, he grinned at me. “Lucky for you, we’ll get all that straightened out tonight.” He wiggled his eyebrows and was out in a flash.

Cross and Zellman jumped out from the back.

I eased out, Jordan’s words still with me.

Cross migrated closer. “You okay?”

My words were stuck in my throat, and those tingles shot through me, zapping all over. I didn’t like this feeling—not knowing what to feel or how to feel, or even why I was feeling what I was.

“You guys coming?” Zellman bounced next to Jordan, going up and down on his heels.

We were about to make a move. Cross had questioned Race at school. That’d been his first shot to come clean. The Drake thing—I didn’t know. I was with them. It didn’t quite make sense. So this would be a second and more direct, more intimidating move.

The adrenaline was starting to build.

The anticipation of not knowing what we’d be walking into, knowing we couldn’t control certain situations, knowing that in those moments we had to go with it—it was addicting. It made us feel reckless, but powerful. We were going in, and it was going to be one huge ride.

This. This was what set us apart. This made us stupid, but it made us dangerous too. And though we shouldn’t—we knew we shouldn’t—we loved it. We hungered for it.

Not fear.

Normal people feared this shit.

Not us. We lived for this shit, whether or not it was a good idea.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

I saw the excitement stirring in Jordan and Zellman. Z’s bouncing had upped, and Jordan began to swing his arms around in small circles.

Cross was different. He’d crouch down, his head bowed until we were ready to go. He’d push off then, and that’s when we’d see the dangerous side of him, the side I loved knowing he had in him. It’s intoxicating to have your best friend be that fierce about you, that protective, knowing he’d go to any lengths and you would for him too. It was goddamn addictive.

This was my crew. My guys. Mine.

We were the ones no one wanted to contend with. As we followed Jordan to the side door, I knew we were about to prove that again.

He took out a key card, winking at us. “Compliments of a friend.”

Zellman grinned, but Cross kept his head down, standing right in front of me.

Two steps down the hallway, and we were at the room.

We could hear the television inside. It was low, but we could still hear it. We couldn’t see any light from inside, and there’d been none from outside, so maybe a lamp could be on? Either way, we expected it to be dark. We had to. Prepare and expect the worse.

Jordan used the same keycard for the door.

He released the lock, and like so many other times, we all played our parts.

Jordan held the door open, and Cross went in first. He was our weapon, the real one. He was the fastest, the best fighter, our wolf. Jordan went next, the oversized muscle, and Zellman was third.

Third was usually my place, but not tonight. Tonight everything was different.

I shut the door behind me. We were all in. Cross was already bearing down on Race.

Race gave a small shout, but it wasn’t that loud.

I saw him jump up. But as he swung, Cross dodged it.

Cross was ready. Race wasn’t.

There were no odds in Race’s favor.

Cross didn’t hit him. That wasn’t the point here. He tackled him instead, and Jordan was on him in the next second.

Zellman and I went to work. We put the deadbolt in place and turned on the bathroom lights with the fan. We turned up the television, but not enough to have the neighbors complaining.

The hotel room had a kitchenette, so we flipped the microwave on, heating up air. I spotted a fan in the corner by the bed. Moving around them, I turned that on too. Zellman had already pulled the curtains shut.

It was as loud as we were going to get.

Cross and Zellman pushed Race down on the bed, turning him around and yanking his arms up behind him. Jordan stood at the end, duct tape in hand. He wrapped it around Race’s hands and then his feet.

We waited, but Race didn’t yell. If he had, duct tape soon would’ve covered his mouth. The guys pulled him up into a sitting position in the middle of the bed. Cross and Zellman stood back, but they were ready on either side, prepared to jump in if Race tried to bolt.

“I’m not going to yell.” Race eyed the roll of tape in Jordan’s hands. “I know what will happen then.”

With that confirmation, Jordan stepped aside.

“We just want to talk to you,” I said from behind them. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

Cross grunted. “Unless we have to.”

Race started to lift his head to scowl at Cross, but I stepped forward.

I was the speaker this time.

I was the visual too. We wanted Race to see all the bruises on me. We wanted him to see what his cousin had done and yet, only a few hours later, I was standing here.

We wanted him to see what I’d endured and we would still come after him.

The scowl was forgotten. Race stilled, seeing me, and he cursed. “Fuck.”

Zellman jostled next to me. “Shut up and listen to her.”

The shock dwindled. Race’s features clouded with anger. He started to struggle, trying to get free. “My mom went to get ice. She’ll be back—”

“Your mom is getting shit-faced in Fallen Crest. She’ll probably sleep in some old rich dude’s bed tonight,” Jordan countered. He folded his arms over his chest, nodding to me. “Listen to what she’s got to say, and then we can go. No harm, no foul here.”

Race’s glare didn’t go anywhere, but I didn’t expect it to.

“You told me you came here to fight and because your parents are getting a divorce,” I began.

This wasn’t new to the guys, and no one reacted. All wore stone-cold expressions.