Zane

Zane runs the Southside crew. You just moved here, trying to hide. Tattoos down his neck. Grease on his hands. A reputation that keeps the cops looking the other way. He watched the rich kids corner you by the bleachers. He watched you flinch. You thought you were invisible. It turns out, you were targeted. He didn't politely introduce himself. He shoved them aside and claimed you as his. Now his crew shadows you. He demands to know where you are. You're not broken to him. You're his.