Ahhh. Now I got it. Zellman must’ve partied with these guys at some point.
Zellman’s eyes were cold. “This is my crew.”
Just like that. That’s all he said, but his sentiment was noted. His crew came first. Always.
Cross took a breath and stepped forward. “You came here. You said what you said. I’m guessing that was it?” His head lowered. “Or is there more you want us to know?”
The two guys looked at me. They seemed torn.
Cross’ eyes narrowed. “I’m going to be honest. I’m not really sure the point of you guys telling us this?”
That was true. If Harper talked, why were they here? Why not the cops ready to arrest us? Or if there was some other ramifications by them being here and the guys kept looking at me. I didn’t know if that meant Harper told them I’d been the one to beat him up? Would a guy like that willingly admit he got his ass kicked by a female? I couldn’t read these guys, but they looked like they were expecting me to be fearful of them. Or nervous, maybe.
I had to sigh.
These guys really did not know us.
I was probably just making broad assumptions, because who knew if these guys were actually like Harper? Zeke Allen also seemed on the same path as them, but again, he was a stay-tuned sort of situation and things could go sideways with that dude any day of the week.
I tuned back in, realizing that both Cross and Zellman caught on that I was not participating in the conversation. Both were frowning a little at me, and Zellman was now saying, “…we’ll be in touch, how about that?” Oh, yes. I missed a lot. Zellman’s sarcasm could cut a brick. “Thank you and have a great day.”
The two guys shared a look, both seemed confused.
Their whole tough attitude had faded. The bristling guy was no longer bristling and his hand came out of its pocket. It wasn’t fisted anymore either.
They had no idea how to handle us.
Okay. I was about to educate them. “Guys.”
All heads turned my way.
I tilted mine to the side. “We’re the rough-and-tumble type of people. You want to fight? We’ll throw down. It’s where we came from. It’s what Roussou is like. Want to know a bit more about us? There’s a whole documentary about us out there ready to stream. If you’re looking to scare us, it’s the opposite effect. We’re just different. We’re not going to react how you think. Like, take me, for example. I stabbed a teacher.”
Zellman coughed, covering up an abrupt laugh.
Cross was just watching me carefully.
I kept on, my tone all casual, “I did my time, got counseling. I’m better, but then again…maybe I’m not. I could slip back. I probably will. I mean, there’s my dad, too. He’s now a member of a motorcycle club, and yeah, it’s one of those that you should be scared of.”
The two guys edged back a step, looking way more cautious toward me now.
Me, I gave them a smile, almost upbeat. “And not to mention the whole reason he went to jail. For murder. He killed someone before I could finish him off. So my dad did my time for me.”
…my dad did my time for me.
My own voice was echoing in my head.
I was hearing myself, but hearing it at a distance, like I wasn’t connected to myself.
I kept on, but I was also reeling. “So there’s that, too. To summarize things up nice and tidy, you’re not going to get the normal reaction from us that I’m thinking you’re hoping to get. We,” I motioned to all three of us, “are not scared of you guys, or your house, or really anything.”
Here was the part that I was tired of: the talking, the words, the threats. These guys came over to intimidate us. We intimidated them instead, or at least I did because they edged back another step, looking at me like I was that wild animal I used to be. And I did used to be that person.
But I wasn’t anymore.
Jesus.
I was in my head now, and what was I even going on about?
I was suddenly over this whole conversation, this entire situation.
Fuck. I was growing again.
How’d that happen?
Cross sighed. “Get lost, guys. If Harper sent you here to test us, tell him we’re quaking in our boots. He’ll like that. It’ll make him feel better.”
At his words, their entire demeanor changed. They looked relieved, their shoulders relaxed, and one nodded. He nudged the other with his elbow, and both turned away. They were leaving at the same time Blaise joined us, still sweaty from the game, but he’d pulled some soccer pants and a dry shirt on. He scowled at the guys, watching them leave.
“What’d they want?”
Cross glanced my way, then turned to face his brother. “Why don’t you call your best friend and ask him? We are not your crew. You’re acting like we are.”