Fuck The Police

fuck the police

“ I ’m feeling much better,” I mumble around a mouthful of bagel. “Seriously. Don’t worry about it. Practice and my two classes will be fine.”

Morgana sips her coffee, already perfectly coiffed and outfitted in one of her sexy, badass suits. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I can feel you watching me like a damn predator.” Wiping my mouth, I wink at her. The big meeting yesterday laid out all our plans and I could also feel the relief spread through her once we had things settled. My new mate enjoys having specific directions and a structure to follow, though she prefers to come up with it herself.

The family thing will be a learning experience for her.

Her cheeks flush and she flicks her gaze back to her iPad in annoyance. “Fine. I am slightly concerned. If there are any issues, please let either me or Channing know, okay? I have bad thoughts about anyone giving you shit about the couple of days’ absence. It’s very odd.”

Covering my chuckle, I pretend to scratch my jaw as she scrolls through the schedule her icy assistant sent her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t be a shit,” Morgana murmurs as her brows furrow. Something has her attention now, and she doesn’t like it one bit.

“What’s got your tail in a knot?” I ask as I gather the breakfast stuff and put it in the dishwasher. “You look pissed suddenly.”

Sighing heavily, she looks up at me and her expression softens in a way that makes my chest tighten. “Nothing to do with you. I have meetings with several departments that I believe will be contentious. I’m sure Channing tried to space them out, but it was only a matter of time until a bunch of Magnus’ minions wriggled their way onto my calendar. They’re all afraid I’ll cut their budgets—and some of them should be.”

I grin, loving the evil gleam in her eyes. “Show them who’s boss, babe.”

“Oh, I will.” She pauses, then glances back at me. “Not because they’re his old friends or whatever… because the allocations for funding in this place were decided by someone who was more interested in getting his dick wet than actually running the school.”

Pressing my lips together, I wink. “Why not both?”

The look on her face is fucking priceless—I can’t wait to hear what she did tonight.

The Coach kept his mouth shut about the missed practices, and I’m not sure whether that’s because someone in Morgana’s circle handled it or if the Shark used his resources. Either way, he didn’t take it out on me and, surprisingly, the other players weren’t gunning for me. Practice went smoothly, especially because I dumped my water bottle out at the end to ensure no one caught me unawares again. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel safe leaving my shit in an open space again.

Holy shit, this is what women feel like in bars.

That hits me like a Mack truck and though I’ve never been that kind of douchebag, I feel the need to apologize to every chick I’ve ever met for it. It’s an anxious, sinking sensation in your stomach as you dart your eyes everywhere to watch for malicious intentions. What a load of centaur shit for them to have to deal with everywhere they go. I’m having a conversation with Nana about supporting more survivor charitable groups the second she calls. If I’m this big and this antsy, women as petite as Channing probably hide tasers in their damn bras, for fuck’s sake.

“Men suck,” I mutter under my breath as I stalk across campus to my Modern History class. Obviously, I know I’m one, but this revelation is really fucking unsettling and I’m feeling like shit on behalf of my whole damn gender. “But maybe I can help.”

“Who the fuck are you talking to, Wolfenberg?”

My eyes narrow as the loud voice of one of my teammates catches up with me. Brock Slater is the stereotypical jock bro, and I’m definitely not in the mood for him to pitch the winter sports frat again. He’s a sophomore, and I’d lay a fat Benjy that he gets points or some fucking reward for recruiting. “Myself, Slater. What do you want?”

“Bro, it’s not what I want; it’s what I can do for you,” he says. His dark hair is messy from the helmet, and he looks like he stepped out of a Land’s End catalog. His hand lands on my shoulder and I have to struggle not to shake it off. “ Tau O is a perfect fit for you, man. We’re all Society-bound men who have the right credentials. The opportunities are endless.”

I am in no mood to be hard sold a frat quietly referred to as the ‘assault bros.’

“Look, dude. I know I’d be a huge get for you and whatever system they have to push you into recruiting would reward you. But I’m not interested in any frat. I’ve got enough on my plate. Besides, wouldn’t this whole ‘murder’ thing make your efforts worthless?”

Brock snorts, then throws his head back and laughs. “Hell, no. Tau men frequently have to defend their honor from haters and slutty bitches. We won’t judge you, man. I mean, that asshole was French, wasn’t he? Serves his cheese eating ass right.”

I have to stop walking to process the many, many things wrong with that little diatribe. There’s so much to unpack that I can’t even move while I’m trying to work out how in the hell anyone is supposed to respond to such blatant…. everything. Misogyny, xenophobia, psychopathy…I mean, Brock Slater hit the fucking trifecta of crazy in three damn sentences.

When my internal outrage is calm enough, I shake my head at the Sasquatch shifter. “Still gonna be a ‘no,’ man. As… interesting… as that sounds, I’m not available for partying and pledging. Between practice, meeting with my legal team, and school, I’m booked up.”

I do my best to smile at him, then turn on my heel to head towards the Beauregard Humanties building. Honestly, I want to put some distance between me and the mythical. I knew he was from the land of dueling banjos, but that was next level bullshit. The difference between his ‘offer’ and the thoughts I was having before it makes me even more adamant about convincing Nana to reallocate some shit. I don’t even fucking care if my name’s on it; I just want it done.

And I’m definitely telling Morgana about that goddamn frat.

My history teacher is a tedious, very monotone sloth shifter that is making me want to shoot myself in the eye. He’s been covering what led to the time the humans call the Civil War era for forty minutes. It obviously was not the cause they think—or at least, not exactly the cause they think. Nothing in our history is spot-on how the other biggest species on the planet describes it. Supes of all kinds have been working together to mask the magical world from them since time immemorial.

They definitely acted like super fuckwits during that time, but there was also a mass shifter enslavement as well because magic users are dicks. It spanned a lot more than just the US and the Society had its hands full quelling the kidnapping of shifter and mythicals. They were too damn busy saving our people to deal with the humans—who, of course, fucked everything up spectacularly.

Most kids learn this stuff in middle school, so I don’t know why Peabody is going over it with a fine-tooth comb.

“You will find out that my class is based on reconfirming the knowledge you should have been given in your lower form classes, then adding the mature context of adulthood to the situations we discuss.”

My brows furrow as I listen to him drone on. All I’m hearing is that this bastard is going to re-iterate the same shit we learned before. That’s a monumental waste of money and time—and this class is required. Just fucking peachy . Not skipping or falling asleep will be a challenge.

“Do you have a question, Mr. Wolfenberg?”

I blink, looking up to find the sloth glaring at me—I think, it’s hard to tell if he’s glaring or squinting. “Uh, no, Professor. All good up here.”

His expression is sour and I sink further into my chair. I don’t know if I made a face or if he’s more perceptive than he looks. Neither is a good prospect, so I need to get my shit together. The last thing I need right now is to draw negative attention to my academic performance. Coach might not have chewed me over the practices, but eligibility is no joke. Not to mention the issues it would cause Morgana if I end up on a list of athletes not pulling their weight.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, keeping it under sight line to make sure I don’t cause another disturbance.

Morgana: Everything okay so far?

Papa Bear: Right as rain. Modern History is a joke. Check on the prof.

Morgana: You think he’s one of Magnus’?

Papa Bear: If he’s not, he’s stayed under the radar in reviews. This idiot is teaching shit we learned in high school and it doesn’t feel like a review. It feels like the lesson plan for the year.

Morgana: At a college level?

Papa Bear: Yep. In a required course, no less. Just sayin’.

Morgana: What is that ridiculous name you have in my phone, Lucas?

Papa Bear: Gotta go, babe. Check on this guy. See you for dinner.

She doesn’t respond, but I feel her amusement in our bond. The more distance I get from that toxic shit, the more I can sense her inside me. I haven’t mentioned it because she might flip her wig, and we have plenty of other shit to deal with. But I wonder if she’s noticed it, too, or if she’s so focused on the next task that she’s missed it.

Maybe it’s why she texted me out of the blue?

Good thought; I’ll ask Professor Shadwell the next time we see her. She’ll definitely have some tips about what we should expect—at least from the bear perspective. Morgana might only get the gargoyle from her dad and fuck if I know who knows a damn gorgon. Maybe Iggy or the Prince can handle that research.

It occurs to me that for the first time in my life, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the other men orbiting my girl. I mean, I wasn’t ever serious about anyone in school, but I still gave a shit if other assholes got in their space. My bear’s always been possessive, but he’s okay with the men who crashed into our world in the past few days.

Okay, that’s only sort of true. He hates that dragon motherfucker, and I agree with him.

Honestly, that’s because I feel he’s going to hurt Morgana before he wises up. I don’t think Iggy or Slade would like that, and the Prince is a hard read. He’s friends with the dick, but he seems to have an old world gallantry about him. Maybe he’d slap the idiot, too. Staring at my notebook, I doodle a few thoughts, smirking to myself as I consider what kind of fun we could get up with so many supes in one room.

“Mr. Wolfenberg!”

My eyes fly up, looking to the angry voice at the front of the class guiltily. That’s when I see it’s not the lazy sloth professor, but that dingy detective—Kowalski—standing with his hands in his pockets, looking very smug. I don’t take my eyes off him as I send one word in a text to Morgana: nine-one-one. Carefully slipping my phone back in my pocket, I give the asshole a bright grin. “Detective Kaiser Roll! How nice to see you! I’m a little busy getting an education at the moment, but if you’d like to set something up with my lawyer…”

“Not this time, rich boy.” He looks over his shoulder and two officers in uniform come in, heading up the stairs of the lecture hall like freaking secret police. “This time you’re coming to my house when I say so.”

I’d love to kick these dudes’ asses, but this is not the time.

Standing, I look around as if I don’t have a care in the world. “Well, if you insist…”

“I do.” Kowalski smiles and I shudder as the crumbs clinging to his bushy beard practically tremble with his glee. “Because you, Lucas Wolfenberg, are under arrest.”

Shit. Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition—not even The Shark, it seems.