The plan was simple, but effective. Everyone had to move in pairs.
It was more of an encouraged guideline, but I noticed most everyone from Roussou followed it during the street dance that night. Moving through the crowd, Cross was my partner, and our job was easy: watch for trouble.
Of course, that didn’t just mean from the Academy Crusties. Cross and I were crossing the main road, a block down from my brother’s bar, when I felt him brush up behind me. “Moose.”
Shit.
I veered right, catching sight of my brother’s biggest enforcer on my left, but then I braked.
Congo, a smaller version of Moose, was there.
We went straight, and Lincoln was there, a scar running the length of his face, tattoos all around his neck and arm.
Backing up, I heard Cross hiss, “f**k!” Then he was shoved to
