The scrawny kid with the basement neck tattoo panicked. Seeing his alpha brought to his knees in a fraction of a second, instinct took over. He lunged forward, throwing a wild, looping right hook aimed at the back of Agrippa’s head.
Agrippa didn't even look. He sensed the shift in air pressure, the heavy footfall on the concrete. He released Trent with a shove that sent the larger boy sprawling into the dirt, ducked the wild hook, and stepped inside the scrawny kid's guard. A short, devastating elbow strike to the solar plexus followed.
The sound was like a wet heavy bag being hit with a baseball bat. The scrawny kid collapsed, gasping for air like a landed fish, unable to draw breath.
The remaining three froze. The illusion of their invincibility shattered against the reality of a man who understood the brutal mechanics of the human body. Agrippa stood tall, the weariness gone from his posture. His eyes were dark, flat, and terrifyingly calm.
"Pick them up," Agrippa commanded, pointing to the two gasping bodies on the ground. "Take your bike. Leave."