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Vili sucks in a deep breath. “You allowed my son to leave after we specifically told you he must never leave the campus.”
The security guard flinches. “It’s only a guess. The boys left with their girlfriends—”
“Which girls?” asks the dean.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. “Charlotte Bress and Phoenix Stahl.”
The last name hits like a bullet to the gut. It takes every effort to stop my hands from curling into fists. I ordered her to stay away from the Bestlasson boy, and now the brothers will interrogate her about his abduction.
“Bress?” Odin hisses.
Even I know that’s a prominent name within the Irish mob. A man like that is probably already calculating the ways a rival gang might hurt his nephew. If only Odin knew the threat was coming from one of his long-standing allies.
“Stahl,” Vili says, but I barely hear the words over the roar of blood between my ears. “Why does that sound so familiar?”
Odin walks around the table. “More importantly, why did you not check that they weren’t sneaking my nephew out of the campus?”
Before the guard can explain that vehicle checks aren’t mandatory, Vili grabs him by the throat and slams his back into the wall.
Dean Westmore and everyone else in the room flinches. I’m only surprised that the brothers are being so reasonable.
“Where did they go?” Odin asks.
“It’s not in the rules to interrogate students—”
“Where?” Vili roars.
My empty stomach digests itself. In a minute, someone will suggest asking questions, checking emails, or calling one of the other band members for an update. Then they’ll identify the Whirligig and the abduction plan will turn to shit.
“Mr. Bestlasson,” Dean Westmore doubles over like he’s going to expire and grabs onto the back of Dr. Raring’s chair for balance. “Please remain calm, we’ll find your nephew.”
Odin turns to fix the dean with a glower that could slit throats. “You had better.”
Dr. Raring raises her hand. “If the band is already performing, we could catch up with the boys before they finish their set.”
“What do you know?” Odin advances toward her.
The dean steps back, and Dr. Raring rises from her seat, trying to put some distance between herself and Odin.
The part of me that might feel culpable for this mayhem slumbers. I have no sympathy for Odin, his brother, or anyone who would allow a man like Crius to ruin the lives of countless women in the name of profits.
Veer Bestlasson will be shaken up from the abduction, but Crius will free the boy as soon as Odin reveals the location of Seacroft Prison.
“Speak,” Odin says.
Dr. Raring folds her arms beneath her breasts, accentuating her cleavage. Even though the gesture distracts Dean Westmore from his meltdown, Odin’s gaze remains fixed on the woman’s face.
She licks her lips. “I overheard the students talking about a matinée concert taking place today. Now that I have more context, I can only assume it’s Tin Soldiers on Pluto.”
My fingers tighten into fists. If they reach the boy before Crius gets to him, I can say goodbye to any chances of ever saving Mother. After this, Dean Westmore will tighten campus security, and it will be impossible to lure Veer Bestlasson out for a second abduction.
“Call them,” Odin says.
“But I don’t have their number,” Dr. Raring whispers.
“Now.” He says the word with so much menace that my hand twitches toward one of the firearms I’ve concealed in my waistband.
My ninety-five percent pessimism warned me to come armed this morning in case Sunday lunch turned out to be an ambush.
