Students in the classroom murmured, twisting in their seats to look out the large horizontal windows that faced the school's front parking lot and main gate. Trent dropped his chair forward, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Outside, rolling down the quiet suburban street in a flawless, staggered military formation, was an army of Hells Angels. 50 heavily tattooed, leather-clad bikers on massive custom-built choppers turned into the Crest View High driveway. The sheer volume of the engines was enough to vibrate the glass in the window panes. They didn't rev their engines aggressively or shout. They rode with a chilling, disciplined silence that made the display infinitely more menacing. Leading...