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My hand touches her picture in my jeans pocket, the tatty old Polaroid worn away from years of handling. I hope she isn’t. Part of me hopes she isn’t alive at all so she’s not suffering any longer.
* * *
Cyrus
Asher is right. We’ve not been back long, and we’ve spent the last week enjoying ourselves, but after tomorrow, it’s back to work. We have gangs to put in their place, money to collect, and places to buy. This city got a break from us for the summer while we went on the road to forget last year’s troubles, but now we’re back.
Harder. Stronger. Faster.
And our dark eyes are locked on our target—owning everyone and everything here.
I glance back to see Asher staring at the stars like he does every night. My heart pangs for my brother and what he’s gone through. Those who know us know he’s technically my half-brother, but that never fazed us. He’s Crew, blood in, blood out. He’s family all the way, no matter his past.
“Who is she?” Leigh sneers, making me roll my eyes as we head back into the party.
“No one you need to think about,” I warn. “Keep your nose out of Crew business.”
“Crew business? She’s business?” she snaps, glaring at me. “So that’s it, huh? I’m good enough to fuck and stand on your arm like a trophy, but not to know why my boyfriend is lusting after a fucking newcomer.”
Lowering my head, I step closer, letting her see the threat, the violence, in my eyes. “Get this through your tiny little skull. I am not your boyfriend. I’m not your anything. You are nothing more than a quick cunt. It’s not my fault you have romanticised us. You don’t get to know because you’re not family; you are nothing to me. Got that?” I growl. I’m not playing anymore. She needs to remember her place. I’ve never led her on or told her pretty lies. I warned her from the beginning I would hurt her, that I would use her, piss her off, and make her hate me.
I told her she was nothing to me.
Yet she still put her own expectations on me, projecting what she wanted while blinding herself to the truth. That shit stops now before it gets her dropped, or worse, killed by those who hate us and want to see us suffer. She doesn’t respond, but she swallows, and fear flickers to life in those once confident, cocky eyes.
“I said, got that?” I snarl as I grab her neck and squeeze, warning her. I let everyone see so the rumours will spread. So those who are always looking for a weakness, who draw a target on our back, know she is nothing to us and useless as a pawn.
“Got it,” she whispers brokenly.
“Good.” I release her neck and step around her. “Don’t forget again.”
Or it means her death. We made this choice. We understood the risks when we became Crew.
Blood in. Blood out.
Crew for life.
