“Get your ass out of my way,” a girl snaps.

Cruz, the girl from my Shop class, shoves Shawn and heads in our direction. She’s wearing tight jeans, like most of the other girls here tonight. But with her high ponytail, black Lycra tank, and turquoise-silver-and-black Nike basketball high-tops, she comes off as confident and tough.

Abel points at her. “That’s the girl I met in class.”

Cruz looks at Abel like he’s an idiot and stops beside me. Not that she acknowledges my existence. It’s a replay of Shop class.

“Is this a private party, Turk?” She toys with the silver chain around her neck.

“Not without you, baby.” He stares at her chest without bothering to hide it. “Just handling some business.”

“When did you start doing business with the Royals?” She throws a disgusted look at Abel, Lex, and me.

“I don’t discriminate when it comes to money.” Turk rolls his shoulders in an obvious check-out-my-muscles move.

She smiles at him. “Then get your money and send them back to the Heights so we can have a beer.”

“I need some time. They’re short, but Sung’s gonna take care of it.” Turk’s cell rings, and he checks the display. “I gotta take this,” he tells Cruz, stepping away. “It’s business.”

“You owe him money and you don’t have it?” Cruz hisses under her breath. “Are you crazy?”

Turk’s rejects notice her talking to me, but they seem amused by the dirty looks Cruz keeps throwing my way. I’m not sure if she wants to help me or hurt me.

“My friend Abel owes him money. We brought it down here for him, but Turk changed the amount.”

“Shit.”

Turk pockets his cell and points at Sung with his beer can. “Go get my money.”

“On it.” Sung shoves Abel against the car and heads in my direction. He’s bigger than I thought, and his huge thighs make him bowlegged. As he walks by, his hand clamps around the top of my arm.

“I can walk by myself.” I try to pull away, but he jerks me forward.

Lex watches, frozen in place. I catch a glimpse of something behind her—two silhouettes moving toward us. One is closer and picks up speed.

“Cruz?” a guy calls out.

“Over here!” she shouts.

Deacon Kelley—the guy Miss Lorraine kicked out of the rec center—charges in our direction. He’s wearing a sleeveless black T-shirt, and the lights illuminate his pale skin. And his scars. The gnarled web runs halfway down his arm, twisting through a black tattoo as if it was designed around the scars. On his forearm, a withered hand reaches for a girl trapped in a birdcage inked on his shoulder. The hand strains against the scars wrapped around it like ropes.

Deacon stops short, his ice-blue eyes darting past me to where Cruz is standing. “What’s going on?” Without waiting for a response, he turns on Sung. “Are you assholes messing with my girl?”

Cruz rolls her eyes. “I’m not your girl anymore, Deacon. It’s been two years.”

Deacon takes off his baseball cap and chucks it at the ground, scowling. He paces in a circle, rubbing his hand over the inch of white-blond hair covering his scalp. It blends into his skin perfectly, and at first glance he looks bald.

Cruz’s comment clearly bothered him.

“Stop it, Deacon. Not now,” she says. “Get your shit together.”

Deacon nods, then picks up his cap and puts it back on. Okay, he’s officially crazy—and if his expression is any indication, seriously pissed off. He slides a toothpick into the corner of his mouth and turns his attention back to Sung. “You going somewhere?”

“Why do you care?”

Deacon’s mouth curls into a deranged smile. “I don’t. I’ve just never seen you with a girl before. Did you dose her drink?”

“What did you say just to me?”

The second figure emerges from the glow of the headlights behind Lex.

Marco.

He stops and stares at the spot where Sung’s fingers are pressed against my skin. “Take your hand off her now, or I’ll rip your arm out of its socket.”

Shit.

“I don’t want anyone fighting because of me,” I say. “I’m fine.”

Deacon frowns and hikes up the jeans falling off his hips. “I think we’re working off a different definition of fine.”

I need to get away from Sung fast. “Let go before this gets worse,” I whisper to him.

“Leone!” Turk calls out.

Marco doesn’t look up.

Turk jogs over, holding a beer. Cruz follows, dragging a dazed Lex by the hand, and Abel trails behind them with Shawn.

“What’s the problem?” Turk storms past us and heads for Marco and Deacon.

Marco keeps his eyes trained on Sung. “If he doesn’t let go of her in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to take him apart.”

Turk points at me. “Her boy owes me money. Sung is riding with her to get it. There’s no problem here. Don’t start shit we’ll all have to finish.”

“Twenty seconds.”

Turk and Shawn flank Sung and me like soldiers in a firing line.

Deacon turns his baseball cap around backward. It’s like watching Clark Kent change into Superman … if Superman was a bloodthirsty lunatic. He pounds on his chest. “Who’s up first? ’Cause I haven’t sent anybody to the hospital in a long-ass time.”

Lex gasps, and Cruz rushes toward Deacon like she’s trying to prevent a bomb from detonating.

“Eight seconds.” Marco sounds too calm—the kind of calm that comes from not caring what happens to you. “Seven. Six.”

Why is he doing this?

“I don’t need your help, Marco. Just leave.”

Cruz wedges herself between Deacon and his targets.

“Five.” Marco keeps counting.

“Shit.” Turk crushes his beer can and chucks it against the ground. “Turn her loose, Sung.”

“Four.”

The grip on my arm releases, and Sung backs away, holding up his hands so Marco will see that he isn’t touching me.

Is it over?

Deacon flips his baseball cap back around and points at Shawn. “You and me … we’ll dance another time.”

“Enough.” Cruz shoves Deacon’s chest with both hands, but he doesn’t budge.