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His eyes went feral—it was eerie to see it in someone else—and he growled. He lunged for Blaise, actually lunged.
“You motherfucker!” His hands were up, going for Blaise’s throat.
Someone knocked him around. Their body pushed in, giving him a hard hit to the side, and as Harper caught himself, rubbing at his face, he looked. Another snarl started to form. At this point, his frat brothers had moved to form half a circle, but they weren’t engaging.
I thought they would. That was something I would wonder about later, too. If it would’ve been a fight between us and Harper’s frat, but Blaise showed up, and his presence flipped everything upside down.
That body who had stepped in to block Harper? That was Zeke, and he was standing in front of his best friend, his hands in fists, and he was staring down at Harper like he was a bull getting ready to charge.
“You fucking kidding me?” Admonishment from Harper.
Zeke’s nostrils were flaring. His neck was locked and getting red. “You tried to throw me out of the house.”
Harper snapped upright. His gaze went over Zeke’s shoulder to Blaise, then scanned the rest of us and he looked at his friends. He turned back, losing some of his fight. His hand fell from his face. “Zeke. It was a conflict of interest. Even you have to admit that. I mean, look.” He gestured to Blaise. “Your best friend wants to ruin my life.”
Blaise smirked. “Because you make it so easy. Keep being a douche, and I’ll continue trying to ruin you.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
Blaise rolled his eyes. “I made a promise, just seeing that promise out.” He put a hand on Zeke’s shoulder and walked around him, taking point. His head angled down, getting in Harper’s face. “Look around you, bro. None of your guys are backing you against Zeke. Think on that.” He tapped the side of his head, and he reached forward.
We saw it happen.
Cross clenched his jaw. I tightened my grip on my knife.
And then, in slow motion, Blaise tapped the side of Harper’s head with his finger. And his trademark smirk appeared. “Get it?”
I checked.
Zeke looked shocked, his eyes wide and his mouth opened a small bit, then his gaze snapped forward to Harper.
I felt Jordan moving in behind me.
Shit.
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.
