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“One of you should know this. It was in the reading assignment for this week.”
“Why don’t you ask Harleigh and her bodyguards the question,” one of the snooty girls from the front of the room asked him.
“Yeah, she’s the expert in here,” one of her friends agreed.
Whispered conversations started around the class. I knew bringing them here would cause problems, but Erik’s word was final. Everyone except me had concluded that I could become a target.
Professor Caruthers banged his textbook on the desk.
“How about we focus on this lecture and not the additional visitors we’ve had for the week?”
Caruthers knew enough information that he would allow me to bring my bodyguards, but not enough that he would be a liability.
“Professor Caruthers, I might not be an expert on the subject, but I did the readings as assigned,” I told him. “The two notions refer to organized crime groups and activities that are for monetary gain.”
“Very good. Can you be more specific?”
“The one type would refer to the Yakuza or Irish Mafia. The other would be criminal activities like human trafficking, arms deals, or even gambling.”
“Very good. Let’s pick on someone else now.”
One girl in the front put her hand in the air.
“Go ahead, Jessica.”
“Is one of those guys your pimp?”
“Jessica,” gasped Professor Caruthers. “I do not tolerate bullying in this classroom. I put up with some of the earlier comments because I assumed this class was mature enough to move on, but apparently not everyone is.”
She apologized to him and made an attempt at looking sorry, but she failed. As soon his back was turned, she rolled her eyes at me.
Whatever.
I had so much more on my plate than worrying about a couple of mean girls.
ChapterTwenty-Two
HARLEIGH
The next fewnights at the clubhouse were an exciting mix of energy, music, and conversation.
People were still buzzing about the events that transpired at the homeless encampment near the drop-in centre.
I used the remote to silence the thumping beats of the music in the bar at the end of the night. The regular stragglers who remained had already settled down for the night, their bodies slumped into their familiar positions. Gunner had traded up the pool table for a booth in the back corner, with a soft, worn cushion in the back corner. The only thing he didn’t change up was his bed partners.
Archer had the bar area looking neat and tidy, far beyond my expectations. He had really been pulling his weight around here. The rest of the place would be cleaned by the crew I hired a year ago. They moved quickly and quietly, avoiding any contact with the passed-out miscreants, while cleaning up the mess.
“I’m going to lock up,” I told Archer as I made my way around the bar.
I was in the process of bending down to turn the key at the base of the door, when a piercing screech cut through the silence, making me flinch. I opened the door to a horrifying sight - the large side door of a white van slid open, and a body was carelessly discarded onto the asphalt at the bottom of the stairs. I watched in frustration as the license plate blurred in the wind as they sped away from the scene. I looked down, taking in the sight of the person before me, groaning in pain.
I gasped.
My brother Brandt, all covered in blood, had just been tossed at the base of the stairs. There was so much that I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I gently lifted away his shirt and saw more than one puncture wound. Someone must have stabbed or shot him at least a half dozen times. I stripped off my shirt and pressed it against them. There were so many I didn’t know how much it would help, but I had to try something.
“Help!” I screamed, my voice shattering the silence.
The front door creaked open, accompanied by the sound of thundering footsteps.
