Mafia in College - 1 (Patreon)

It was a weird feeling, watching the students trickle out of the classroom after an hour of pointless discussion about insights in a poem of which the writer long turned dust underground. If I spoke my thoughts out loud, people would've pointed out that it was a weird perspective to have for an instructor of sociology to have, and I couldn't be able to explain them.

Or more accurately, I wouldn’t. After all, it would run contrary to my aims if I explained that I was a high-ranked mafia that joined as an instructor under a fake identity. It had been almost a year since I disappeared, but I was sure that they were still looking for me. Trying to disappear with ten million unmarked cash had ruffled the feathers of the top guys, and the humiliating message I had left probably, certain of my success, didn't help any. It was a pity that a number of unfortunate events saw to that I was only able to get a small fraction of it, but I doubted the bosses cared much about that. For them, it was always about reputation first, and I damaged theirs badly. 

Of course, just getting a new job at the university wasn't the limit of my actions. I had established a fake trail of tickets that implied I had long gone to another continent, and was enjoying the sun and expensive cocktails as the money lasted. Also, I had ensured that I couldn't be recognized thanks to an extensive number of plastic surgeries, which cost me the majority of the money I took, and incidentally left me significantly more handsome than I was before.

And I couldn't say it was an unwelcome benefit. In the past, I wasn't someone that could be said to be classically handsome. Dark, tall, and mysterious, definitely, and the several deep wounds I had acquired in my career as an enforcer made a good opening for the woman that liked the danger enough to hang around lawless places, enough to overlook my big nose and pointy chin, but the same wounds would be nothing but revolting for the residents of the ivory tower named university. But thankfully, I had a much more proportioned face after all those operations, leaving me with a face that could be called classically handsome, which worked much better in the casual bars I tend to hang around. 

Distracted by remembrance, I didn't notice one of the students had stayed behind until it was only two of us that remained in the classroom. “Hello, Megan,” I said in an exasperated tone. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Yes, professor,” she said in a raspy tone. “I'm having some trouble with the material, but can we discuss it in a more private setting.” 

I sighed at her obvious display. It wasn’t that she was ugly. On the contrary, she was one of the most beautiful women I had the pleasure of seeing. Tall, thin, and appropriately curved, she was a redheaded bombshell. Her beautiful face and her sexy demeanor only made her sexier. Normally, it would be mad to reject her proposition. 

But one thing kept me behind. She had a reputation of messing with men, implying attraction, only to torture psychologically without allowing a touch. Normally, I wouldn’t let it bother me, as I knew how to handle girls with an overinflated sense of their abilities, but she was a drama queen. Her position as the head of the sorority only enhanced her ability to create drama, and her parent’s money was always there to save her from the consequences if her own connections couldn’t. I could handle them still, of course, a spineless dean and a father with more money than sense weren’t insurmountable barriers for my particular skill set, but it wasn’t worth the hassle it would bring. Not to mention that more attention I had over myself, riskier it became for me. 

“I’m sad to hear that you're having trouble with the material, Miss Dawson, but I'm afraid I don't have much time to discuss it today. But I hold open office on Wednesday's. We can discuss that there if you want.”

“Maybe,” she murmured, trying to act casual, but I could see her displeasure quite easily even if she tried to hide it. She might be good in manipulation in schoolyard terms, but I spent a decade of my life reading people, where a mistake could leave me cold in a ditch with a piece of lead lodged in my brain. Deciphering her petulant power plays was a child's play. 

“Is that all,” I said as I turned my back, but I continued to watch her from her faint, barely decipherable reflection on the window. She pulled her phone, too deliberate to be just a random check as she pressed on the screen a few times, and then she placed it on the desk. 

Then, her fingers reached her blouse, opening two more buttons, enhancing her cleavage even further. “That's good, professor. But I don't think I can pass this class even with the assistance in there. Maybe we can come to an alternate agreement.” 

I was struggling to hold back a sigh as I turned to face her once more. Her ploy was so obvious that it hurt. She would record the scene as she came to me with a script from a second-rate porn, then act like she had been harassed. A careful editing would make it look like I was at fault. Of course, she probably assumed that I was going to turn into an idiot the moment I saw a glimpse of her tits -which was frankly spectacular- making her job to ruin me even easier. For the management, it would be enough evidence to fire me, especially since the accuser was the daughter of a major donor and accused was just a poor instructor with no personal connections in the faculty. All because I rejected her advances a couple of times. Uppity bitch. “Unfortunately, there is no special arrangement in my class, Miss Dawson. You would have to study just like everyone.”

With that, I started walking towards the door. I knew I should have gone away without anything extra, but I couldn't help but leave her a parting shot. Not just because I annoyed by her dismissive attitude, but also the sudden expression of outrage was too cute to ignore. She was like a well-groomed kitten trying her claws for the first time. I pointed at the phone, followed by a ridiculing smirk, pointing out her ‘genius’ plan had been deciphered.

Her expression of outrage and petulance rose unbidden when she realized her ‘genius’ plan had been deciphered, with the added effect of turning her previously cute expression into something sharper. Frankly, it didn’t look any more intimidating, but added a deeper allure, a striking sexiness that was previously missing. Sexy enough to tempt me for an action that would no doubt result in even more headache. 

I leaned forward and pressed my lips against her. She was frozen stiff under my touch as my lips danced over hers, enjoying the taste of strawberries that filled my mouth. “See you in the next class, miss Dawson, and try better,” I said with a cheerful voice, leaving the dumbfounded beauty behind. I knew that I shouldn’t have changed my mind about messing with her, that it would blow up one way or another, but I couldn't summon the energy to care. 

I didn’t double-cross the mafia just to become a toy for uppity socialites, no matter how sexy.  

    *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

My hopes for a silent hour between the lessons dashed as soon as I stepped to the corridor that led to my office. “James, could you come here for a minute, please.” 

“Sure,” I answered, doing my best to hide my annoyance as I stepped the room of my supervisor professor, Amelia. Under normal circumstances, I would have no problems spending time with her considering she was a beautiful woman that was yet to clear her twenties, with a significant margin, even. She was an assistant professor because she was an overachiever that finished college in nineteen, and completed her doctorate in twenty-three. Unfortunately, she had an annoying character trait, she belonged to the unpleasant group that went off the rails given a scrap of power. Even more, she was my direct supervisor so ignoring her was not an option, not with the thousand petty grievances she could raise which would take an eternity to handle. 

“Have you completed grading the papers I have you,” she said, her voice burning with glee. I couldn't help but sigh against her tone. I had hoped that after I left my previous life, I wouldn't have to deal with self-important people with a petty understanding of power, but not all hopes came true. At least, she couldn't order a swim at the river, ever helpful concrete weights around victim’s feet.

“Mostly,” I answered, well-aware that she wasn't going to be satisfied with it. But not all was bad, because when she leaned forward in anger, I was presented with a good view of her cleavage, not because she was wearing anything revealing, but thanks to my superior vantage point. Being tall was always convenient, except in the corner of flying hell they call economy class. Her short stature, and contrasting impressively sized breasts made the effect even more pronounced. The tightness of her blouse didn’t detract from the effect as well. 

“What do you mean by mostly,” she cut me off in a tone she no doubt thought as menacing. “A quarter, half, three quarters?” 

“More than half,” I answered, trying to hide my sudden amusement at the imagery that popped to my mind, a chihuahua barking against a wolfhound. She was just as cute, unaware of what she was facing against. And lucky as well, because I found her endearingly annoying rather than plain hateful, which would have resulted in me taking a few select actions against her, which would probably see her career wrecked.

“Since you already had enough time to complete half of them, why didn't you finish all,” she said, conveniently ignoring the fact that I still had a week to finish them.

However, I knew arguing over that point would make her even more annoying, something I have no need of. “I'll finish them tomorrow,” I said resignedly, not wanting to escalate the situation. For all the difference between the world of academia and mafia, one annoying thing was constant, the superiors’ vast ability and willingness to screw up your life. 

Thankfully, her phone rang, cutting off another five-minute tirade that she was building up. “Sweetie,” I heard of her speaking as I closed the door, leaving her alone to speak with her boyfriend. 

Her boyfriend was another source of annoyance for me, but this one was bad enough to tempt me to act. He was a biker that thought himself ‘edgy’ and ‘dangerous’ just because he had a Harley and belonged to a group that called themselves a biker gang. I would admit that I had met with truly dangerous biker gangs that gave the mafia a pause, but a bunch of trust fund kid with brand new bikes they used to break from the ‘stress’ of running their family businesses didn't qualify for the same category. Occasionally, I saw him walking towards the corridors, trying to impress undergrads in his ridiculous outfit, puffing his chest in a manner he thought intimidating whenever he saw me. I longed to pull him to the side and explain how the world worked, but once again, my cover prevented me from doing so. He was yet to annoy me enough, but I doubted that day was too far away. 

I shrugged, shifting my mind from the topic. I had papers to grade.

    *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

I was halfway through the garden towards the library when I felt a familiar tingle on my sixth sense, as my subconscious registered the fact that I was being followed before my conscious mind did. An unusual sensation to happen in my new life, so when I looked around, afraid that mafia finally found me, my hand had already slid towards my bag, hovering over a compartment that cleverly hidden in a way that wouldn't be detected by a casual examiner. Normally, a delay from reaching the compartment would be a huge drawback, even if it was just a second, but it came handy this time, giving me time to recognize my followers. Two guys from the football team that I had flunked the last semester. Not because I had any respect for the post I was holding though. I would have passed them if they just said they needed it to keep the scholarship, and maintain a respectful demeanor that was passably human. But no, they had chosen to swagger into my office without even knocking, then subtly threatening me to pass them, or they would arrange something unfortunate. 

Needless to say, I flunked them. They were lucky that I had a role to play, because I have broken kneecaps for lesser disrespect. I didn't know whether they tried to talk with their coach or not, but they never failed to pose like peacocks whenever we met in the corridor like their blown up muscles supposed to scare me. However, this time, there was something different in their walk, which meant they might have different in mind than just useless posturing. 

I was curious why their modus operandi changed, but it was a low-priority thought at the back of my head, my mind busy analyzing their approach, strengths, and openings. I wasn't surprised when I noticed they were coming to a standstill a couple of feet away from me, throwing the limited advantage the ambush provided for useless grandstanding. Ridiculous, in a fight, no matter how unfair, one should never discard an advantage without a good reason. I could have dashed and surprised them of course, but letting people brag from a position they assumed strength was usually a good way of interrogation. One could never overestimate how easy for a man with more brawn than brain to babble vital secrets when drunk with power. 

“What's up guys,” I said, acting like an ivory tower academician supposed to do and missing the immediate promise of violence in the air no matter how much it grated my nerves. 

“Your funeral is up, teach,” the larger one said even as he pushed his fist into his palm in a gesture he clearly thought of threatening, but would have found ridiculous by a streetwise child.

“Yes, you had already pushed your luck by not giving us the grade we deserved,” the dumber one said, conveniently ignoring the fact that a three hundred word scrap in lieu of term paper didn't deserve anything other than an F. “But then, you made the mess by saddening a lady,” he added, though a look from the larger one made it perfectly clear that they weren't supposed to mention it. 

“Lady?” I questioned, despite having a perfectly good idea whom that title belonged to. It seemed she needed a lesson in scheming, to learn the importance of letting the anger cool down before making plans. Not to mention finding better help than a couple football player, easier than lemmings to lead to a trap.

“Megan,” the dumb one said, failing to notice the attempts to silence him. I couldn’t help but let out a sigh. People like him was the reason why everyone was prejudiced against the football players. Of near hundred boys playing football, most were decent boys that realize the precarious position of their life and did their best to focus their training, but then there were idiots like dumb and dumber, singlehandedly reinforcing the stereotype the others trying to erase in vain. 

“Idiot,” the other one murmured in resignation, mirroring my resentment before turning towards me, showing that he was nominally smarter. “Anyway, teach. You had already pushed your luck during the last semester, but we decided to be merciful. But you proved that you’re unable to learn you’re not supposed to mess with your betters.”

I might have egged them in any other circumstance, but that would’ve been useless in their case. I had already learned all I needed. I broke into action without a warning, throwing my bag at the face of the dumb one. Not expecting me to start the action before them, he wasn’t able to react before my bag, filled with several thick books, collided with his face. 

But I was only able to confirm the collision from the sound, already dashing towards the other guy. He reacted faster than I expected, throwing a right hook strong enough to whistle through the air, displaying his vast strength. But he also had put no effort to hide his tells, allowing me to slip under his punch before grabbing his overextended arm. I pulled and twisted, forcing him into a submission hold. He struggled, trying to get away, only to stop when I tightened my grip even more. I was tempted to start with breaking his arm before reshaping their faces, but that would bring too much attention on me. The attention that was best avoided. 

“Don’t take a step, or I break his arm,” I warned the stupid one. He stopped, and I started explaining what was going to happen, using my ‘business voice’ to make it stick. “Good boy. Now, let me quickly outline what will happen. You’re going to walk away, and from now on, you’re going to ignore me. I don’t even want to catch you looking at me in the corridors. If you try to take revenge, you will have an ‘accident’ that would leave you unable to play football. Understood.” 

I wasn’t surprised when both of them nodded hurriedly. After a decade spent intimidating little shits that thought themselves important just because they had been initiated and received a gun, teaching two football players with an overinflated sense of personal ability was a trivial achievement. “Good,” I murmured as I pushed the larger one on the ground, then walked to pick my bag, appearing uncaring the threat they presented as I walked towards the bag I had thrown earlier, my back turned. I could hear them scuttling away quickly, their courage failed against the threat of a real violence. 

My mind was already on the ways of paying back the princess for her daring gift, my desire to avoid attention unable to balance against my pride anymore. 

I never liked being in debt. 

     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

I wanted to teach Megan a lesson about messing with her betters, but I needed something to prevent her from escalating, which was why I was walking around the sorority house that was her residence, identifying the angles of the security cameras. Surprisingly, there wasn’t any gap in the initial layout of the cameras. But lucky for me, the maintenance had been less professional. Three of the cameras I could see were broken badly, leaving me an easy access route from the first floor after a short climb.

I was even dressed to avoid being recognized, but in a divergence from my usual colorless and unmemorable drab I preferred when I sneaked in, I chose to dress in jeans and t-shirt, complete with a ridiculous ski mask, careful to look like frat boy in his initiation test, allowing me to escape without raising the alarm if, by any chance, I got caught. Frat boys did stupid stuff all the time, uncaring about the consequences, aware that they could hide behind their father's money if things went awry. Donations were surprisingly effective in covering felonies, especially if the offender was a white boy from 'good stock'.

I pulled my attention from the relative unfairness of the American college system and focused back on the environment. The fact that I had a solid plan to cover my track was not a reason to be sloppy and got caught in the first place. I walked through the garden, careful not to let my clothes get caught in the shrubs. When I arrived in front of the wall, it took a few seconds to plot a safe route to climb, darkness, while useful to keep my indiscretion hidden, making it more difficult to finish it without an injury.

Still, it was an old, ornate building with more than enough options to guide an experienced hand. Soon, I was safely at the first-floor balcony of a room with no lights. "Jackpot," I whispered when I checked the door, only to find it unlocked. It wouldn't have taken long to unlock the old-fashioned lock that was supposed to bar my way from entering, but I preferred not to deal with it in any case. I was careful as I pressed the door handle, just in case there was someone inside, but my caution turned out unwarranted when I found myself in an empty room with garish pink walls, annoyingly bright even with the lack of light. The furniture was equally tasteless, and old movie posters on the wall -selected in a failed attempt to look intellectual- failed to remedy any of the flaws.

Still, I had more important things to think about the decorative taste of a sorority house, so I walked past the room and pressed my ear to the door, checking whether the corridor was clear. Earlier the day, I had managed to learn where Megan's room was by talking with one of the sorority members without making her suspicious. It wasn't a difficult achievement, a certain deficiency in intelligence, combined with her adoration towards the sound of her own voice made her a prime target for information gathering. I just needed to probe her offhandedly about the living conditions in the sorority house, a careless dropping of my target's name, and she told me all I needed and more, like most of the sorority would be away for an out-of-campus party.

I listened for more than a minute, in which the corridor stayed blissfully silent. The fact that they were supposed to be away didn't necessitate carelessness on my part. Only after making sure the corridor was empty, I walked out to the corridor, looking for the stairs. Luckily there were empty as well, so I climbed the stairs as fast as I could without making a discernible noise.

Finding Megan's room hadn't been difficult since it was supposed to be at the end of the corridor. I listened through the door, making sure it was empty before trying to open. I tried to turn the handle, but the door was locked. My hand slid to my pocket, coming with a small set of lock-pick. I was a bit rusty as I didn't have the occasion to pick a lock since my disappearance, but thankfully the lock was not difficult, yielding to my efforts after a minute of uninterrupted attention.

"Nice," I murmured as I stepped inside the room. Seeing the room, I could better understand the jealousy of the other sorority girl. The room was better than what I got as a member of the faculty. It was a fairly large, decorated with furniture that was old, but well-maintained and expensive. However, I didn't waste time gawking in her room, walking towards her laptop instead. I wasn't surprised when I met with a password screen when I turned her computer on, but it would have been a lie to say that I wasn't disappointed. I was expecting her to ignore it.

Still, it wasn't an insurmountable problem since she was using the default password. I plugged a USB stick with another operating system already installed, then rebooted her computer with it. This time, it turned on without an issue, showing it was never a good idea to rely on the default security options. I quickly installed a small program that would give remote access to her computer as well as allowing me to use her computer as a conveniently-located camera and listening device. Since I wasn't willing to risk staying for an hour browsing her computer, I copied all of her personal files to the storage I brought just for that purpose.

I decided to check her room while the computer was busy with copying. First, I went through her drawers. Several of them contained nothing interesting, while the others, like her lingerie drawer, was interesting but not compromising. I was about to move on when I realized the table was much thicker than it supposed to, and a few knocks revealed a hollow compartment inside. Naturally, I started searching for a way to open it.

It took me almost fifteen minutes to figure out how to open the secret compartment. I focused on it despite the risk of being caught, because I knew that with their ridiculous traditions, a secret compartment would be the place to store something compromising.  "Jackpot," I murmured when I heard a click that filled me with satisfaction, and a secret compartment, filled with CD's, slid open. I was struck with indecision. If I had the time and equipment, I would've copied them, but that was not an option. I considered leaving them there, wanting to keep Megan unaware of the intrusion, but a more interesting idea appeared in my mind.

I went to her table and quickly scribbled a note saying that she needed to reach to this number if she wanted to see those disks ever again, together with the number of one of my burner phones. I put the note in, took the material, and closed the compartment. Kirsten was into an interesting shock the next time she needed those items, whatever they contained.

For a moment, I wished that it was the good old days where I could wait for her to come back, then explain to her in a choice of words that why it was a bad idea to mess with me. Nothing unsettled someone as bad as finding someone in their bedroom, a place that was supposed to be their safe haven. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any friends in the police anymore to make sure the following complaint about the break-in was conveniently ‘lost’ in a pile of old paperwork on the way of recycling, never to be filed. 

I moved to the first floor, about to leave the house when I heard a very distinctive noise. I felt alarmed, and aroused as well, a normal reaction to a loud, feminine moan that left no doubt about its source. It was easy to identify its location as downstairs, which is why I hadn’t gone into hiding in a panicked rush. 

Tonight’s objectives were already complete, and I even managed to find some unexpected but very promising treasures. The sensible thing would be to leave the house rather than risking to get caught. However, letting a sorority girl have her petty victory instead of breaking and entering to a communal house was equally sensible. Sensible, but not as fun… 

So I carefully sneaked to the ground floor, going down the stairs as silently as possible, following the sound of wordless female moans, one that sounded surprisingly familiar, which was why I hadn’t been too surprised to see a familiar redhead sitting on the couch, her legs parted wide, her eyes closed in ecstasy. She was wearing a bra, and only a bra, her skirt and panties were thrown haphazardly on the floor. Another head was positioned between her legs, preventing me from getting a full sight of the scene. Still, I couldn’t say that I was bummed about it, as watching two girls together, one doing her best to service the other while the other moaned in an unbroken string of ecstasy was clearly superior to casual nudity. Still, it was an interesting surprise. I didn’t peg Megan as interested in girls, she was clearly interested in men, although she expressed it in an utterly broken manner. But apparently, she was bisexual. 

I had no intention of missing such a poetically incriminating moment, so I pulled the phone, and started recording the scene, glad that I had recently upgraded my phone, its camera up to immortalize the moment with all its clarity. 

They continued their twisted embrace for a while, and I continued recording, barely suppressing a desire to pull my shaft and start masturbating. “Megan-” said the girl who was busy servicing, but before she could complete her sentence, Megan grabbed her hair tugged it hard. Hard enough to hurt significantly if the following cry was any indicator. I quirked an eyebrow, recognizing the voice. It belonged to one of the first years, and if I remembered correctly, she was a scholarship student, an ambitiously nerdy girl with an extra-milky-chocolate complexion, intent to prove the emptiness of the racist remarks against her. I remember the first papers she did was exemplary, though, during the last few, the quality started to suffer. I had a feeling that I managed to find the reason. 

“What did I tell you about calling me when we’re alone,” Megan said in a voice that wasn’t too loud, but nevertheless managed to cut the air commandingly. I was impressed. I didn’t expect her to have such a commanding presence. 

“Sorry, mistress,” the other girl answered meekly. “But we need to stop, the others could come back any minute.” But before she could say anything else, Megan tightened her grip around her hair and pushed her towards her task once more, but nevertheless, she opened her eyes and started to watch the entrance, showing she was also quite concerned about getting caught. Even better for me, as it increased the value of the material I had. More she was afraid of getting caught, easier it would be for her to fold against the threats. 

I stayed at the corner, watching and recording, until Megan’s eyes closed in an obvious rush of pleasure, the cries filling the room, all safely recorded in my phone. I was tempted to stay and watch, curious about the dynamic between them, but unfortunately, it was too risky even for me. They weren’t distracted anymore, and all it would take was an errant glance, and I would be caught. I would have managed to escape, of course, but they would know that someone had their recording, which would reduce the impact when I eventually tried to cash it. 

I escaped from the same route I had entered, satisfied with what the incursion brought. My phone was comfortingly heavy in my pocket, and I couldn’t wait to check the material I had just acquired…