Cross’ brother was going to force a fight. It was a different matter if Cross, Jordan, Zellman, or I did it, but someone not crew? Our hand was getting played without our permission. That would not fly, but we were here. We were in this situation. We’d do what we needed to do.

A primal sound came from Harper, but he only jerked forward and shoved Blaise back. “What is your issue with me, man?! Because of what I said about your girl? I was complimenting yo—”

He hadn’t noticed that absolute raw rage that was coming over Blaise.

Punch!

We all stopped for a second, because it hadn’t been Blaise who hit Harper. Or Zeke.

Standing at the side, the same twin-like, murderous look on his face was Cross.

His face was grim, his jaw set in stone, and as Harper fell down, Cross stepped forward, his foot coming down on Harper’s hand. He ground his heel over it.

Screams filled the air, sending chills down my spine as it mixed with the techno and rap music.

There was a pocket of silence and a snapping sound was heard.

I cringed. That was a bone being broken.

Some of Harper’s frat brothers started to move in, but Zeke threw his hands out. “No!”

The guys held back, but they weren’t happy. One snapped at Zeke, “What the hell, man?”

Blaise looked at his brother, a vein sticking out from his neck, and he shoved Cross back. “I don’t need you to do my work.”

Oh, hell no. Now he didn’t need us to do his work?

I moved in. Jordan was at my back, but Blaise bent down and scooped Harper up. He threw an arm around his shoulder and scanned the crowd. Ignoring the phones and cameras recording us, he kept looking, jerking Harper with him as if he were a rag doll. That told me Blaise’s adrenaline levels were off the charts. He might look like as if he’s tightly controlled right now, but he wasn’t. He was every bit as wild as Harper was looking, though Harper was starting to look green in the face. His hand was flapping in the air, too.

Spotting someone, Blaise pointed into the crowd. “Jessinda. Come here.”

A girl moved forward, stepping into our circle, and I recognized the handprint girl.

Unlike a lot of the other girls, she was wearing a dress. Strapless. White. As she moved forward, it shimmered. Her hair was styled so it looked natural, but hair like that was never natural. Diamonds were dangling from her ears, matching the diamonds on her sandals and around her wrists. She looked very classy, and annoyed, judging by the pinch of her nose.

“What do you want, Blaise?”