Page 36 of Crew Princess
“No stabbing people, especially school officials, and especially under video surveillance. You got me?”
Fine. I earned that one. “I hear you.”
“Good.” He let out a soft curse under his breath, eyeing Cross. “You’re a scary little shit.”
Then my brother rounded, slapping Cross on the back harder than it needed to be, but Cross barely moved. He took it, and with a nod, my brother went into his bounty-hunting office. His guys followed him, except my cousin.
Scratch stepped up next to me. “If there’s a situation you can’t go to him about, call me. Okay?”
I nodded.
He held up his hand, pinkie stretched out. “Promise me, Bren.”
I hooked my finger around his. “Promise.”
That was good enough for him. He turned around, his shoulder bumping mine, and he flashed me a grin as he moved around the beginning of the line, ducked behind the door bouncers, and slipped inside the bar he half-owned with my brother.
“Why do I feel I just escaped a grizzly bear’s hold on my throat?” Cross murmured.
I grunted. “Because you did.” I gave him a look. “That stuff about me…”
I stopped myself.
Cross waited, hearing what I couldn’t say. He reached out, taking hold of my neck and drawing me close.
“I got you,” he said softly before bending down for my mouth.
That was all I needed.
Relatively speaking, the street dance was uneventful.
I sayrelativelybecause it was Roussou, it was a street dance, and you know how our lives go. But as far as the town rivalry, nothing happened. There were a few sightings of Crusties, Academy and Public, but they kept to their side of the town, and we kept to ours. Just like the old days, or that’s what Heather once told me.
So now we were on day three of District Weekend.
The Frisco party was in the woods, similar to the bonfire Fallen Crest was supposed to do. Both had fires, but Frisco’s put Fallen Crest to shame. Their main bonfire was as tall as a building, almost lighting up the sky.
“I think I’m in pyro-love.” Zellman stopped in his tracks as we got closer. The parking lot was filled to the max, with cars lining the gravel road both ways for a full mile.
I glanced around, noting that there were no houses. There was a field on our right, and woods spread out on the left, with the bonfire in a clearing that attached the two. It had metal grates all around it to keep it contained. Trucks had been positioned around the field and near the woods, their gates down and the beds filled with coolers.
Rap music was playing, but not too loud. People were chatting, laughing, and drinking. As we neared the party, a guy was leading a girl into the field. Another girl was weaving around, her friends trying to hold her upright. A guy walked up to her, bent down, and threw her over his shoulder. Her friends started saying something to him, but he turned around.
“She’s drunk. She needs to go home and to bed. Take her, or I’m taking her.”
Two of the friends grumbled, but one grudgingly went with him. They passed us without a glance.
Zellman frowned at them. “I don’t recognize them. They must’ve been shipped to Fallen Crest.”
“Jordan!”
Turning around, we could see Sunday leading the charge, but it was Tabatha who had called out.
Sunday, Monica, Tabatha, Lilac?, and about four other girls had all come together. Taz was walking behind with Race next to her. More Roussou guys were behind Race, mainly athletes. I recognized Harrison trudging in the rear, pulling at his collar and frowning at his surroundings.
“Baby.” Tabatha moved around Sunday and Monica, going to Jordan’s side, snuggling into him. His arm rested over her shoulder.
Sunday stopped in front of Zellman, both of them sizing the other up.
