Page 7 of Gang of Roses: Rebel

“You already know the truth.”

“I wanna hear it from you.”

I let out a slow breath, stood up from the couch, and tossed the remote onto the couch before looking directly in his eyes.

“Fine. I walked into Titan’s bar because I wanted to confront his bitch ass.”

Crow didn’t interrupt.

“I tore that motherfucker up,” I said proudly.

“I bet you did.”

“But Gao and Rudy jumped in.”

His face hardened all over again. “So it was three against one. And all of them are so- called men.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of us spoke. After a few seconds, Crow dragged a hand through his hair.

“You should’ve called me.”

I laughed. “For what?”

His eyes locked onto mine. “Because I am your protector. Now that nigga gonna pay.”

“No. This between me and Titan.”

“The hell it is.”

“Yes, it is,” I told him.

“The second he put his hands on you...”Crow closed the distance between us until only inches separated our bodies. “He made it my business too.”

My chest tightened. There it was. Exactly why I hadn’t called him.

Growing up, Crow had been deep in the streets. Hustling was all he knew until that life finally caught up with him. Watching my best friend disappear behind prison walls had fucked me up more than I ever admitted out loud. I visited whenever I could. Answered every phone call and wrote every letter. I refused to let him think he’d been forgotten. When he finally came home, he busted his ass to build Crow Customs from the ground up. He had a real business now and still worked with us on our illegal shit because he wanted to stay close to protect me. Still, I wasn’t about to lose him again because of Titan.

“This ain’t your fight.”

“The hell it ain’t,” he spoke through his gritted teeth.

Before I could argue, Crow let out a frustrated sigh and walked past me into the kitchen. He yanked open the freezer, grabbed a bag of ice, then reached into the drawer for a clean dish towel. Wrapping the ice inside it, he turned and walked back over to me.

“Sit.”

“I’m fi⁠—“

“Rebel.”

He didn’t raise his voice. Never had to because I always showed him the utmost respect. And besides, one look told me he wasn’t asking. Rolling my eyes, I dropped onto the couch.

“There,” I sighed. “Happy?”

“No.”

He stepped between my knees, his broad frame towering over me. Up close, I caught the familiar scent of engine oil mixed with cedar cologne. Fresh off work, he still looked like he’d walked straight out of the garage. His fitted black T-shirt stretched across every inch of his muscular chest and arms, while tattoos disappeared beneath the rolled sleeves. His leather cut hung open over faded jeans that fit him a little too damn well. I hated to admit it, but that nigga was fine.