Jackson put on his gloves.
Then his vest.
He stared at the Hells Angels patch on the back.
For years, it had represented the worst parts of his life.
Loyalty.
Violence.
Pride.
Brotherhood.
But today it meant something different.
Today, it meant that someone had hurt his little brother.
Jackson started the engine.
The motorcycle roared.
He pulled onto the highway.
Thirty miles.
Twenty minutes.
That was all the distance between Oak Creek High and the man Cody had once believed would never come back for him.
Meanwhile, inside the school, Cody sat silently on Brian's sofa.
"You have to promise me something," Cody said.
Brian looked at him.
"What?"
"Don't let Jax hurt anybody."
Brian's expression softened.
"You trust your brother?"
Cody nodded.
"More than anyone."
"Then why didn't you tell him?"
Cody looked away.
"Because he's trying to change."
Brian waited.
"He got a job. He opened a shop. He's trying to stay out of trouble."
Cody's eyes filled.
"If I called him, he'd come."
"And?"
"He'd do something stupid."
Brian understood.
"You were protecting him."
Cody shrugged.
"I didn't want to be the reason he went back to prison."
Brian sat beside him.
"Cody, none of this is your fault."
The boy said nothing.
A distant bell rang.
Students began flooding out of classrooms.
Then the school parking lot came alive.
Cars.
Voices.
Laughter.
Doors slamming.
And somewhere in the middle of all that noise, Cody heard something else.
A motorcycle.
At first, it was distant.
Then closer.
The engine grew louder.
Students stopped walking.
Heads turned.
The motorcycle entered the school drive.
Black.
Large.
Aggressive.
It crossed the parking lot and stopped near the football field.
The engine died.
Silence fell.
Jackson Sullivan stepped off the Harley.
He was enormous.
Six feet four.
Broad shoulders.
Heavy black boots.
Dark jeans.
Black shirt.
Leather vest.
His arms were covered in tattoos.
His face was scarred.
But it was the back of his vest that made people move away.
A Hells Angels insignia.
Jackson removed his helmet.
His eyes searched the courtyard.
Then he found Cody.
Everything about him changed.
For one brief moment, the intimidating biker disappeared.
There was only an older brother looking at a wounded child.
Jackson walked toward him.
Cody whispered:
"Jax."
Jackson stopped.
"Hey, kid."
Cody tried to smile.
He couldn't.
Jackson looked at his leg.
Then at his face.
Then at the bruising around his neck.
His jaw tightened.
"Come here."
Cody stepped forward.
Jackson pulled him into a careful embrace.
The boy broke.
He began crying.
Jackson closed his eyes.
"I've got you."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"I didn't tell you."
Jackson pulled back.
"Why?"
"I didn't want you to get arrested."
Jackson stared at him.
"You thought I wouldn't come?"
Cody looked down.
"I knew you'd come."
That answer hurt.
Jackson touched his brother's shoulder.
"Then why didn't you call?"
"Because I needed you to stay free."
Jackson swallowed.
He looked over Cody's shoulder.
Across the courtyard stood Trent Harris and Weston Cole.
The two boys had stopped laughing.
Jackson stared at them.
Neither moved.
Then Jackson turned back to Cody.
"Which one?"
Cody hesitated.
"Jax—"
"Which one?"
Cody slowly raised his hand.
"The blond one."
Jackson nodded.
"And the big guy?"
"Weston."
Jackson turned.
He started walking.
The Boys Who Thought They Were Untouchable
Trent Harris had spent most of his life believing consequences were things that happened to other people.
His father had money.
His family had influence.
Teachers knew his name.
Administrators knew his father's name.
When Trent got into trouble, someone always made a phone call.
A warning became a conversation.
A suspension became a vacation.
A broken nose became an accident.
A terrified freshman became a misunderstanding.
Trent had learned the lesson early.
Power belonged to whoever could afford it.
Weston believed the same thing.
Together, they had become the unofficial rulers of Oak Creek High.
Until Jackson arrived.
Trent watched the biker walking toward him.
For the first time in years, he didn't know what to do.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Jackson stopped a few feet away.
"You're Trent."
It wasn't a question.
Trent tried to recover.
"Yeah."
Jackson looked at him.
"You've been hurting my brother."
"No."
"Don't lie."
"I didn't—"
"You locked him in a boiler room."
Trent's mouth opened.
No words came.
Jackson stepped closer.
"You took his money."
Weston looked at the ground.
"You beat him."
Trent swallowed.
"It was a joke."
Jackson's expression changed.
Not anger.
Something colder.
"A joke?"
Trent tried to stand taller.
"You can't threaten me."
Jackson smiled faintly.
"You really don't understand what's happening."
Trent looked around.
Students were watching.
Teachers were watching.
Even parents were watching from their cars.