"Then I suggest you figure it out," Marcus sneered, turning back to his SUV. "Sunday."
Agrippa didn't go to the police. Men like Marcus owned the local precinct, or at least rented it. Involving the cops would only drag Child Protective Services into Agrippa's life, and he couldn't risk losing Larry.
There was only one way to solve a problem that spoke the language of violence.
Friday and Saturday were a blur of preparation. Agrippa didn't go to the gym; he went to the scrap yard behind the lumber mill. He lifted rusted engine blocks, did pull-ups on steel girders, and struck heavy oak beams until his shins and knuckles bled and calloused anew. He wasn't training to win a match on points. He was waking up the monster he had locked away. He was preparing for a war.