To survive where I live, you have two options.
You can be a Normal–a cheerleader, jock, member of the debate team, or on the yearbook committee. You pretend everything is normal.
Or you can be crew.
You insult us" We hurt you.
You hurt us" We really hurt you.
And if you screw with us, we will end you.
My name is Bren.
I’m the only female in the Wolf Crew–the best, fiercest, and most dangerous crew there is–and we have a rule: There’s no falling in love.
Well… too late.
*This book contains mature young adult situations.
*Full-length novel. First book in a series.
*Book ends at 95%. Two bonus chapters are at the end.Books in Series:Crew Series by TijanBooks by Author:Tijan
You aren"t supposed to want to die.
That isn"t what society wants to hear. It"s not supposed to be felt or thought. It"s supposed to be ignored. But here I was, watching my crew beat the crap out of a guy, and all I wanted was to trade places with him.
I knew that sounded morbid. It was true, though, and not like the off-the-cuff comment when you bomb your history exam and it"s "kill me now!" Or your boyfriend dumps you and "Gurrrrl, I just wanna dieeee! WTF"!"
No. I was talking about the dark kind of wanting to die, where it"s in the back of your mind, where it"s a little door you want to open and disappear through"
Some days it was hard to suppress and harder to ignore, so right now I wasn"t doing either of those.
"You"re not going to touch my sister again," Jordan growled before delivering probably his fourth punch. "Got it, asshole""
It was my face getting bloodied. Not that guy"s.
Jordan straightened to sneer at the guy lying at his feet.
He was the self-proclaimed leader of our crew. Note here: self-proclaimed. As in, he announced it one day. No one objected and off he went, embracing his cocky swagger and thinking he spoke for our group of four. The truth is he does, I guess, but only when we don"t have a problem with what he"s saying.
Our group isn"t a dick-tatorship, whether he believes that or not.
Jordan bent down"with his long, six-foot-two self"grabbed a hold of the guy"s shirt, and lifted him in the air. He shook him, growling again in his face, but the guy couldn"t answer. His face was broken. Literally. Either Cross or Jordan had punched his cheek so hard it looked busted. His whole face was a mess of blood and bruises. I would"ve felt sorry except for two things: he"d tried to rape Jordan"s sister, and when Jordan had asked him to report himself, he"d added a curse word and his middle finger, and spat on Jordan"s shoes.
Apparently this guy didn"t know the reputation of our crew, or Jordan himself.
Which made sense because Mallory Pitts just started attending a new private school at a neighboring town and that"s where this guy met her. If he had known, he would"ve run the other way. You had to give the guy some props, though. Instead of lying, he was honest. He told Jordan exactly what he thought of that suggestion. And anyway, if he"d lied, we would"ve followed up, and when he didn"t report himself, this whole beatdown would"ve happened anyway.
That was my crew.
Along with Jordan, there were two others besides myself"Cross Shaw and Zellman Greenly. My name is Bren Monroe, and even though I"m in the middle of this whole dark diatribe, and even though we look like the bad guys right now, things aren"t always as they seem.
Jordan slammed the guy back down to the ground, then bent over him to issue more threats.
Cross stepped back, and I felt his gaze on me even before I looked up. Yes, there it was. The tawny hazel eyes that so many girls loved. We were family"and not that kind of family. But I"d have to be blind not to understand why so many girls at Roussou High salivated over him.
Six-one. Lean, but built. Cross had a strong, square jaw"one that would clench at times"and a face that was almost prettier than mine. He would"ve been gorgeous even if he was a girl, a fact I loved to tease him about. But teasing aside, Cross got the girls. He could just show up somewhere, and ten would appear around him. He could nod at a girl, and she"d go to his side for the night, usually be down for anything he wanted.
Cross was the quiet, nice guy"except he wasn"t really either of those at all. I mean, he was, but he wasn"t. He was generally quiet, but he talked to me. And he was nice, but he could be lethal. Piss him off, and you"d never see him coming. He wasn"t like Jordan with the growling and throwing people around. He"d come right up to you, and then you"d be waking up in the hospital a couple days later.
And while I loved Jordan and Zellman, they weren"t Cross.
They weren"t my best friend, the guy whose closet I crawled into so many nights when I needed a sanctuary from my own hell called home.
I met his eyes as he came toward me. His golden hair and tanned skin made him every pretty boy"s nightmare. When would he wake up and realize he had more potential than all of us" He could go to New York and be a model, or go to Hollywood and be an actor. Why he stayed in Roussou was beyond me.
He wasn"t messed up like the rest of us. He wasn"t messed up like me.