Mercer raised an eyebrow.
"You sure?"
"I'm going alone."
"You want me to call anybody?"
Jackson thought.
Then nodded.
"Call Elena."
"Your lawyer?"
"Tell her I need her available."
Mercer smiled slightly.
Jackson noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"What?"
"You're learning."
Jackson glared at him.
Mercer lifted both hands.
"Go get your kid."
Jackson mounted the Harley.
The engine exploded to life.
Twenty-five minutes later, the final bell rang at Oak Creek High School.
Hundreds of students spilled from the buildings.
The parking lot filled with expensive SUVs, polished trucks, parents waiting in luxury sedans, and groups of teenagers planning Friday night parties.
Trent Harris leaned against his brand-new lifted pickup near the athletic entrance.
The truck had been a birthday gift.
Weston stood beside him throwing a football.
Three cheerleaders laughed nearby.
Trent looked perfectly relaxed.
That was because Cody Sullivan had not appeared yet.
"He better not have talked," Weston muttered.
Trent caught the football one-handed.
"He won't."
"Matthews was looking at us."
"So?"
"Coach isn't stupid."
Trent smirked.
"Coach works here."
Weston understood what he meant.
Everybody worked for somebody.
Principal Wallace worked for the district.
The district needed donors.
Donors liked William Harris.
The chain was simple.
Trent had watched adults bend around his father his entire life.
Parking tickets disappeared.
Construction permits accelerated.
Complaints became misunderstandings.
Problems became paperwork.
He had never been taught that consequences did not exist.
He had been taught that consequences were negotiable.
Across the courtyard, Brian stood beside Cody.
Cody wore sweatpants now.
He carried his backpack over one shoulder.
"I can take the bus," he said.
"No."
"Brenda's expecting me."
"I called her."
Cody looked surprised.
"She answered?"
"No."
"See?"
Brian ignored that.
"Your brother is coming."
Cody went completely still.
"You called him."
"I did."
"Coach."
"Cody."
"He's going to kill them."
"I told him not to."
"You told a Hells Angel not to get mad?"
"Basically."
"Great."
Cody started limping toward the rear gate.
Brian caught his shoulder.
"Where are you going?"
"Anywhere else."
"Stay."
"You don't understand."
"I understand you're afraid."
"No, I'm trying to protect him."
Brian studied Cody.
The boy was shaking.
Not because he feared Jackson.
Because he feared for Jackson.
"If he hits Trent, he goes back."
"Cody."
"If he goes back, I lose him again."
Brian finally understood.
Cody's silence had never simply been fear of retaliation.
It had been sacrifice.
He had accepted being beaten because he believed telling his brother would destroy the one person he loved.
Brian wanted to tell him that fifteen-year-olds were not supposed to carry that kind of responsibility.
Before he could, a sound reached them.
Low.
Distant.
Mechanical.
The growl of a large motorcycle.
Nobody paid attention at first.
Then it grew louder.
The engine note rolled between the suburban houses surrounding the school.
Students near the parking entrance turned.
The motorcycle appeared at the far end of the drive.
Flat black.
Low.
Heavy.
A Harley-Davidson Road Glide.