Page 16 of Her Crew

“You think I’m a sellout? You think that making my future better so that I don’t have to go back to a fucking trailer with no electricity or running water is selling out? So be it, Tegan. I guess I’m a sellout, then.”

He turns and heads to the next house, leaving me on the sidewalk. I take a few steps after him, but he spins on his heel and glares at me.

“Don’t follow me.”

So I don’t. With tears in my eyes and an ache in my chest, I watch him walk away.

Chapter 10

Alec

“Motorcycle and boating for you, and housekeeping for the missus,” I say as I pull out the order book and lay it on the table. “These will really help build those accessible bus stops in the city.”

These people are so stupid. Have they never seen a bus stop in their lives? Probably not. That’s why they believe me when I say bus stops need to be more accessible than a sidewalk. Whatever. It works, and I have the limp from my “fake leg” to thank for that.

As I sit inside the air-conditioned mansion while the husband fills out three different orders, I can’t help but think about Tegan. I was a dick, I know, but she hit a nerve.

Stacks once told me that I was a sellout, and it took everything in me not to kill him. He knew what I came from. When he found me, the rips in my clothes weren’t made by my hands. They were from years of use and few washes. When he found me, I was covered in old vomit and couldn’t be touched for the first three years because of a lifetime of fucking trauma.

But God fucking forbid I “sell out” to get away from that.

It’s an honor to pretend to be the person I ran from. My success is a big fuck-you to my stepfather, proving that his way wasn’t the only way to succeed.

Regardless, I feel bad for leaving her at the welcome sign. I’m the one who brought her into this. She just needs to accept our lifestyle. If not, she can go back to what she came from.

The thought of sending her back there sends a zap of discomfort into my chest. But what choice will I have? If she can’t get with the program, she can’t be part of the program, and I can’t fight for her if she won’t fight for herself.

I can only hope she learns to accept us. This lifestyle is better than she thinks. She just has to let go of her pride.

“Thank you, sir,” I say as I put the order book inside my bag and walk to the door. A hefty wad of cash rests in my pocket—payment for my performance.

Once I’m back in the heat, I head toward the welcome sign. She wasn’t left to her own devices for more than twenty minutes, but there’s a very real chance that she won’t be there. She seems like the type who would leave a situation she doesn’t like. I mean, she did, didn’t she?

But as I near the sign, I see her. She’s seated on the pavers surrounding the large stone sign. Her eyes don’t meet mine, and I can’t tell if her face is covered in tears or sweat. Her damp hair sticks to her cheeks.

“I’m too fat for this heat,” she says when I toss my bag down and sit beside her, and it draws a smile out of me.

“I like that about you.”

“What?” Her hazel eyes, flecked with gold, finally rise to me. “That I’m fat?”

“I like your snark.” I smirk. “Not everyone would say the truth with their whole chest.”

She averts her gaze and uses a stick to drag a line through the dirt. “Do you think that’s why I’m bad at this?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t think you’re bad at this, and I’m sorry I snapped at you. I just see how much this job can change your life if you just . . . learn to lie a little. Tell me, pup, have you ever lied?”

She squints as she studies the houses lining the street. “To get free meals, I guess.”

“What was the last lie you told?”

“That I was pregnant.”

My spine straightens. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You can tell people you’re pregnant, but hypothyroidism is going too far?” I say with a laugh.