“What’s going on at that end?” Channing demanded.

“We’re all arrested, but they haven’t asked us any questions yet.”

“Okay. Listen, I’m sending lawyers. Don’t say anything. Got it? Tell Zellman the same. Any other crew involved?”

“Some of Ryerson’s.”

Channing looked at me. “There was a teacher involved?”

I swallowed over a lump and nodded.

Cross leaned forward, hiding our hands, but also to speak for me. “The principal and a teacher, Mr. Jenston.”

Channing sucked in a breath, his hand rubbing slowly over his face. “Are you fucking serious? The principal?”

“They’re asking about Bren now.” Jordan’s voice came from the phone. We could hear conversation and alarms sounding in the background.

“Fucking hell, Bren.” Channing looked scared for the first time I’d ever seen. “What’d you do?”

I refused to hang my head. “I stabbed him.”

Channing cursed under his breath, walking away for a moment. He stopped, facing the kitchen, his shoulders rigid.

“Twice,” I added.

Cross glanced at me.

“I think I got his leg and then his chest.”

“His chest?” Channing turned back, his eyes bleak. His hand still covered his chin, and he closed his eyes. “Fucking hell, Bren. You messed up this time. Big time.”

Jordan spoke up from the phone again. “He’s arrested, though.”

“What?” Channing’s eyes opened. “What’d you say?”

“I was telling Bren and Cross before. He’s at the hospital, but he had cuffs on. He’s in police custody. As he should be.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He manhandled me,” Jordan explained. “He shoved me into a locker, and he called Bren a slut. I mean, those can’t be good things. Especially with him being the authority and all. You know what I mean?”

The bleakness in my brother’s eyes lessened, and a touch of relief shone like the sun breaking through the clouds.

“Jordan, you might’ve just saved all you guys, and my sister. Thank you.”

“I did? I mean, hell yeah!” Jordan paused a second. “How’d I do that?”

“Just don’t say anything if they pull you into a room. Don’t believe anything they say. Cops lie. You need to remember that, and I’m calling the lawyers right now. Hold firm and tell the others.”

My chest felt so tight. My throat burned, and my stomach tossed, but I sat forward and looked right at my brother. I was a Monroe. We didn’t hide. We fought.

I’d fight.

“What do I do?” I asked.

Channing sat down across from us, dialing his cell phone. As he put it up to his ear, his eyes fell on our hands. But he had no reaction, just began to speak after a moment.

“Yeah, hey. This is Channing Monroe. My sister and her friends are in some trouble. They’ve been arrested. Her friends—” The other person started talking, and Channing listened, adding a beat later, “Okay. We will.”

He hung up, his eyes never leaving Cross’ and my joined hands. Finally, he looked up at me.

“Tell me everything.”

I took a deep breath. “Before I start about today, you should know something about Alex’s crew…”

The next four months felt like I’d stepped into an alternate universe.

Channing’s lawyer did a sort of plea deal-compromise for me, where he mostly paid off anyone who could’ve made my life worse than it was.

My charge was assault with a weapon, but I was still a juvenile. Channing’s lawyer told me I could’ve been charged as an adult, but having the entire confrontation on tape—and because Mr. Neeon was the one abusing his authority—helped my case a lot.

Bottom line, I took a deal in juvenile court, and I got probation, community service, and I had to agree to talk to a counselor for a year. Principal Neeon was relieved of his job, and Channing paid his hospital bills.

On that note, either Channing’s crew was making money, or the bar was doing better than I’d realized. I’d always thought we were poor… We weren’t. Even Cross couldn’t hide his surprise when all the financial terms ironed out.

I was also suspended from school, so I took incompletes for the first semester. I’d be starting again after holiday break, which ended this weekend. In the interim I had spent my mornings waiting tables at Manny’s and the evenings doing dishes at Tuesday Tits. I wasn’t permitted to walk into the main bar area. I had to enter through the back door, which opened right to the kitchen, and I was only allowed to work in the kitchen. If I had to use the restroom, Channing had a Porta Potty installed outside just for me.

It was disgusting, but he’d only shrugged. “Consider it part of your punishment.”

But even with that, all in all, my brother hadn’t been that hard on me.

He’d been upset, but his cursing had been minimal. He’d never called me names. He never threw anything, threatened to kick me out, or blackmailed me into doing anything I didn’t want to. For a replacement dad, he was doing better than the real deal.

Most nights I was either at home with him or with the crew. And half that time, we were either at Manny’s or the guys were in the Tuesday Tits kitchen with me. When Heather and Channing thought they were getting one employee, they really got four of us.

Cross was almost inseparable from me.

If he didn’t pick me up, he always rolled in an hour or two after I got to my job. Today, for instance, I was finishing a case of glasses when he walked in, his hands in his pockets and a twinkle in his eye.

I paused before pulling another case through the washing machine. “You look happy.”

“I am.” He washed his hands, then came over and helped me put the dry glasses away. After I stacked glasses, he took them out front. Unlike myself, he could enter the bar area—because he had a dick. He wasn’t the owner’s little sister. Channing insisted I had special privileges because of that fact. I still didn’t see it. I did not consider the Porta Potty special.

I was piling up a bunch of plates when Cross returned. Loud music followed him, then faded as the kitchen door shut again.

“Jordan and Z are coming in a bit,” he announced.

He hopped on a stool near where I stood. He leaned back against the wall, and his legs could’ve touched me if he’d moved them over a little.

I tensed up.

That’s all I’d been doing since I’d realized my feelings for Cross.

I annoyed myself.

This wasn’t how I was.

I didn’t get shy around guys, especially my best friend and crew member. I didn’t get all tongue-tied. But these days I sure as hell didn’t know what the fuck to do when Cross got close to me. All the hand holding, shared looks, and double entendres had taken their toll. But with the upheaval after the stabbing incident, Cross seemed to sense that I needed space. He’d stepped back into the best friend role.

“What are you doing for your community service again?” he asked.

I shrugged, pushing in the last rack of dishes. “I thought Manny’s and this was it, but it’s not. Heather and Channing started paying me, so I’m assuming the judge declined their request to have this count as community service. I gotta start doing it, whatever it is, within six months. Why?”

“Taz is still asking about the charity thing.”

“Are you serious? Still? I thought that would’ve been done. She said end of September. That was months ago.”

“She said they’re doing one for the summer. She wants you to help with the planning.” His eyes softened. “It’s an idea. You’re not stuck picking up trash or mowing lawns. Plus, you can push the whole thing where you’re socializing with people who aren’t your crew. They said that was a concern—that you only spend time with us and no one else.”

Everyone else sucked. No one else mattered.

The machine beeped that it was done, and I opened it. “Maybe. I think Channing’s lawyer has to ask the judge for approval, but I’ll mention it.”

He nodded. “She’s been asking about you, you know.”

“The judge?” I reached for the last rack, pulling it out.