Chapter 198: Touch Aunt Beatrice and you're dead

About a dozen people came in-a motley crew of young punks. Some had their hair dyed blond, others bright red, with ear studs and lip rings, leather jackets, and tight jeans-you could tell they were the lowest kind of street punks. To Oliver Morris, they were nothing-just insects. For Beatrice, though, they were a huge problem. The crowd suddenly parted, and a young man sauntered in. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, a cigarette dangling from his lips, swagger in every step. The moment he...