Trent didn't wait for an answer. He threw a hard punch squarely into Toby's ribs. The 15-year-old collapsed to the wet pavement, gasping for air, clutching his side as stars exploded in his vision. Trent and his friends laughed, spat on Toby's ruined project, and jogged away to Trent's brand new lifted truck.
An hour later, Toby walked through the front door of his small suburban home, soaked to the bone, trembling with blood caked on the back of his neck and a massive blooming purple bruise on his ribs.
Sarah Henderson was sitting at the kitchen table paying bills. When she looked up and saw her son, the pen dropped from her hand. She rushed to him, her maternal instincts shifting instantly into a state of panic and rage. Toby tried to lie, claiming he had slipped on the wet stairs, but the handprint bruise on his collarbone and the sheer terror in his eyes told the true story. Breaking down in sobs, Toby finally confessed everything.
He told her about Trent, the months of torment, the apathy of the teachers, and the threat against his life. Sarah didn't call the police. She knew the Gallaghers had the best lawyers in the county and the local precinct in their pocket. She didn't call the school knowing Principal Higgins would just offer empty platitudes. Instead, her hands shaking with a fury only a mother could possess, she picked up her phone and called her older brother. She called Richard.
Richard Henderson was not a man who wore suits, played golf, or concerned himself with PTA meetings. To the rest of the world, he was known as Brick. Standing 6'4 with a barrel chest, arms covered in faded prison ink and a thick graying beard, Brick was a terrifying force of nature. More importantly, he was the sergeant-at-arms for the San Bernardino charter of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club.