Page 137 of Wicked Ends
“What are you doing here?” I asked Cole.
“Got a meeting with the dean,” he said smoothly.
“What? Why? It’s all worked out with that asshole,” I muttered.
Cole shrugged and started toward the school.
“You coming?” he threw back at me.
Fuck. I had to hear Eastwood ream me out for the second time today. Wonderful.
I followed him to the dean’s office, and then inside when he called for us to enter.
“Ah, you must be Mr. Bailey Sr.,” Eastwood said after he got over his initial shock at seeing a real-life, tattooed and violent biker settling down across from him.
“That’s my father. I’m Cole.” My brother held out a hand to shake the dean’s and waited while Eastwood collected himself and then reached out.
The sound of bones grinding filled the air, and Eastwood fell back against his seat, his face paler than before.
“Well, yes, you wanted a meeting to discuss Marcus and the stunt he pulled in his music class.”
“Wait, you asked for the meeting?” I turned to Cole.
Cole nodded coolly.
“So, I’m not sure what Marcus has told you, but I’m afraid it’s quite damning.” Eastwood started to ramble on about Photoshop and Ari’s reputation.
Just hearing someone say it made me feel like shit every time.
Cole reached into his cut pocket and took out a shiny photo, then laid it on the table. “Forgive me for interrupting you, Dean, but I actually didn’t come only to talk about Marcus. I know what a fucking idiot he was toward his favorite professor. I came here to talk about you.”
Silence fell.
Eastwood frowned, confused. “Me?”
Cole nodded and then glanced down at the table.
Eastwood picked up the photo. The remaining color in his face drained away. “How did you get this?”
“How else? Friends in low places. You see, what you need to understand about Marcus is that he’s not just some kid with an absentee jailbird father who can’t fight in his corner. He’s a kid with me as a big brother—and no one upsets my brother, except me.”
I could see a little of the picture. It looked like Eastwood at a strip club, getting a lap dance. It was the kind of picture that could sink a guy like Dean Eastwood, in a small town like Hade Harbor.
“So, to be clear, Marcus is off-limits. He has me, and I have whatever information I need to have on anybody at any given time. He’s not off the team. He isn’t suspended, or benched, either. He’s going to do what he does best, hold the fucking team together and help take them all the way, get recruited, and fuckoff out of this town. Nobody, not you, and not me, is getting in the way of that. Do you understand me?”
I couldn’t tear my eyes from my brother. He oozed power sitting across from Eastwood, all nonchalance, and lethal in his confidence.
Eastwood nodded and tucked the photo into his pocket. “If I follow your demands, I trust that there will be no more pictures like this circulating?”
Cole stood and folded his arms across his chest. “There are always more pictures, Dean Eastwood. But as long as you don’t make me unhappy, I’ll do you a favor and keep them to myself.”
Then he leaned one hand on the desk and lowered his face until it was level with Eastwood’s. If this had been an encounter with a violent animal, there’d be no mistake about who was the dominant one.
“But you owe me, Eastwood. Got it?”
The dean nodded jerkily, tugging at his collar as if it were trying to strangle him.
Cole flicked his head toward me. We were done here.
