Page 78 of Crew Princess
“Where’d you see the picture then?”
“My dad’s office.” Cross broke, a sly grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I went in and snooped another night. I took a whole folder he had on him.” His eyes flicked up. “Can you imagine? Having an actual folder on your kid? Like he was a patient or a client or something.” That sly grin turned to a hard smirk. “His name is Blaise.”
“DeVroe. That’s what that lady said your dad’s new woman’s last name is. Blaise DeVroe.”
Z shook his head. “Even his name sounds like money.”
They were all watching this kid, but I was still watching Cross. His eyes followed the kid as he walked across the parking lot, all the way inside.
It was almost eight. Fallen Crest Academy started earlier than the other schools. That gave us thirty minutes to get to Roussou and stroll right into our own classrooms.
“Well.” Jordan sat up. “There he was. We saw him, if that was him.”
“That was him.” Cross hadn’t moved, his jaw still clenching. “He looks just like my dad at this age.”
We all fell silent.
Cross’ hand had formed a fist, resting on his knee.
Zellman bounced when he was agitated. Cross got still, super still, when he wanted to tear someone’s head off.
“Oh, fuck.”
I was about to suggest we head out when Zellman swore, surging to his feet in the back of Jordan’s truck. That was all the warning we got. He pounded his fists on the top of the cab as Jordan jerked forward, swearing too.
Everything stopped as we saw Zeke and a whole group of his friends heading for us. They were pointing, and there was no mistake what they intended.
“Not this time, assholes,” Jordan breathed as he pocketed his keys. “It ain’t twelve on one, and I ain’t maced.” He looked over at us. “Let’s go.”
Zellman was already yelling, “You want some of us, huh? Odds are more even this time, fuckers.”
Cross didn’t say a word. He was out of the truck in a flash.
I stopped, just for a second, thumbing off a text before shoving my phone back in my pocket. Then I scrambled, because we weren’t waiting this time.
Zeke paused as he drew near, like he wanted to have words first.
Not us. Not this time. Not after Jordan.
Zellman jumped down from the cab, howling, “Let’s do this!”
Jordan stalked ahead of us. Zeke was focused on him, and I could see his snarl forming in slow motion. He was totally and completely captivated by Jordan, his friends too. They were huffing and puffing up their chests, pounding their fists together in front of them.
Cross was the one no one saw coming.
He came at them, running behind Jordan and Zellman. Then he weaved around, cutting in.
I darted to the side as he veered the other way.
Zeke never saw him.
Cross was on him, nailing him with a right-cross, using his entire body behind the hit. He was shorter than Zeke, more leanly muscled.
Time seemed to stop, and we all watched together.
Zeke’s eyes flared wide, shock and fear flashing, and then his head snapped to the left from the hit, and he couldn’t react. His body was going, going, falling, andbam. He was down, and he was out.
Cross had knocked him out with one punch, and as everyone was watching Zeke, Cross went on to the next guy, using his momentum.
