The next morning, they called Julian. He answered with a hurried voice, eager to get back out there and figure out what to do next. Luckily, his ambitions weren’t as grand as theirs were, and he sounded almost relieved when they informed him that the plan had already been made. Arriving at Zachariah’, Griffin had been relieved to see that any cuts or bruises Julian had received were already patched up. That was good; it saved time.

 

Natasha shrugged into the bloodied vest of the Disciple she had killed. She knew that it was probably the most macabre thing she had ever done, but the idea behind it was sound. She knew that traditionally women who spent time around any sort of biker club were usually shunted to the side, but if she wore not only the vest, but the vest of the Disciple she killed, she knew that it would at least get some of the guys to look at her. Natasha wasn’t interested in being eye candy.

 

So far, the look worked. When Julian arrived, his eyes grew wide as they landed on the bloodied thing Natasha was wearing.

 

“Wow, that’s going to be your thing?” he asked. Julian had already seen her wear the vest so the impact wasn’t exactly the same. She mounted the Disciple’s stolen bike and nodded at him.

 

“Yeah, I figured I’d let them know what happens when a Disciple tries to fuck with me.”

 

Julian nodded his head in appreciation and moved to grasp Griffin in a close, brotherly hug.

 

“I thought you were a goner, man,” he told Griffin, his voice quivering with emotion he’d never let loose otherwise. Griffin’s mouth twisted in a grimace at how tight his friend was holding him. He was also uncomfortable with the feelings presented.

 

“Nah,” Griffin said. “Not yet.”

 

The two of them climbed on their bikes and put their helmets on.

 

“So, where are we headed?” Julian asked.

 

“Flores,” Griffin replied.

 

Julian laughed. “Getting the tough bastard out of the way first?”

 

“Figured it was for the best.”

 

The three of them started their bikes and sped off on the journey to Vallejo, the closest town out of the four charters to Brazos. Natasha felt energized, she felt excited, and in spite of her newfound confidence, she hated to admit that she also felt a little nervous. It was as though it was her first time on stage in a new role she had been cast in, and what if the audience didn’t like her?

 

Her concerns slowly began to fall away as they rode down the highway, and Natasha soon lost herself in the bright blue sky, the open road, and desert as far as the eye could see.

 

***

 

Natasha didn’t know what to expect when they pulled into Flores’s place of business, but part of her had been honestly expecting a clubhouse, just like the one in Brazos. Instead, they pulled into a place called “Speedy’s Auto Repair”—a rundown looking place of all rusted gray, boasting a cartoon of a mouse grinning broadly at potential customers. It took Natasha longer than she would have liked to admit before she got the joke.

 

Motorcycles were scattered this way and that in various states of repair, and a group of steely faced men—wearing the same exact leather vest that Natasha was wearing—hung out, enjoying the sunshine and drinking whatever beers they had. If this was their work day, they were pretty set, and an easy companionship hung between them.

 

Natasha didn’t know which one Flores was, but she knew that he was the guy that almost lost his leg in a trade gone badly, only to be saved by Zachariah’ quick thinking and combat medic skills. Griffin had decided that if he decided to follow them, the other presidents would probably follow suit. The group of men eyed the three riders as they drove up, and as Griffin took his helmet off, one of the guys whooped and got to his feet, tossing his beer can aside. He walked over to Griffin with his hand stretched out in friendship.

 

“Griffin! Long time no see, man. Sorry we couldn’t make it to the funeral.”

 

Griffin’s face transformed from the stoic badass that Natasha was used to seeing and into a happy, genial guy. Was he like this all the time? At least not when people were trying to kill him? She wasn’t sure, but she would accept him either way.

 

“Hey Elias, nice to see you. Is Flores here?”

 

Elias was about to open his mouth and answer when his eyes caught on Natasha as she took her own helmet off, her long blond hair flowing down her back. He stared at her, momentarily transfixed, before he turned back to Griffin again.

 

“Who’s she?”

 

“Natasha Morrison.”

 

It didn’t take long for Elias to put two and two together, and he covered his mouth in surprise, taking a step back and laughing his ass off.

 

“Natasha Morrison!? Like Emanuel Morrison?”

 

“The very same,” Griffin said, keeping his voice deadpan. Natasha dismounted her bike and walked over to them as they talked.

 

“He was my father,” she said.

 

“Damn,” Elias said appreciatively, his eye raking over her hungrily. “My condolences.”

 

Natasha didn’t respond, but she could feel the eyes of the others on her, and more importantly, on her vest. Good. Let them stare. Let them see what happens when someone messes with Natasha Morrison.

 

Julian also dismounted and greeted everyone, but he stayed a little ways back in order to let Griffin look as though he was leading. Natasha couldn’t help but think that while Julian might not be leadership material, he was the ideal kind of person to prop a leader up and make him look more powerful. She made a mental note to keep him close in the time to come.

 

“Flores is in the office,” Elias replied. “Going over invoices or some shit I don’t know, but he’ll be happy to see you. Rumor has it that you’re dead.”

 

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Griffin replied, as he walked away and started heading into the building. Natasha followed him, watching Julian stick his hand in his jacket pocket, clearly keeping one finger on his gun just in case things took a dark turn.

 

The auto repair shop was pretty standard, with the occasional mechanic working on one of the two cars that were currently being worked on. Griffin led Natasha to the back of the garage where an office stood. A short, swarthy man with long hair sat at the desk, pouring over papers with a quizzical look. Glancing up and seeing Griffin, his face went white, as though he had seen a ghost, but judging from the rumors that had been flying around outside, perhaps that was the case to him. He stood as they entered.

 

“Griffin! I heard you were dead.”

 

Griffin chuckled. “So they tell me, but obviously that’s not the case.”

 

Flores’s eyes flitted over to Natasha, taking her in with a lot more interest than he had done Griffin. “Well, well…how can you bring a woman like this into my establishment and not tell me her name right away?”

 

“I trust her to handle her own introductions,” Griffin replied. Flores moved around his desk and walked closer to her, picking up her hand and holding it to his lips. In a closer proximity, Natasha noticed that he was handsome in a Mexican-soap-opera-star way, and she was sure that got him pretty far with the ladies. Unfortunately for Flores, he had never had the pleasure of meeting Natasha before. She took her hand away.

 

“Natasha,” she said, holding it out for a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

 

He shook her hand but kept it slow, languid, and his eyes drifted downwards for more appreciation… until it snagged on the vest she was wearing.

 

“Playing dress up?”

 

She shook her head. “No, this belonged to the last guy who tried to fuck with me. I kept the blood stains because I liked the texture they brought to the ensemble.”

 

“What are you going to do to the next guy who fucks with you if you already have a vest to wear?”

 

Natasha laughed dismissively. “What’s the point of a girl having a walk in closet if she’s not going to use it?”

 

Griffin tried not to laugh, and his heart swelled with pride as the force behind her voice hit Flores. In spite of how completely hot she was, now that Natasha had fully embraced her role as Emanuel’s daughter, she looked like a full-on badass. The vest had been a remarkably awesome touch, and it worked. Flores’s eyes raked over the pins, trying to figure out which Disciple had been killed in order to outfit her, and Griffin took this as the proper moment to actually explain why they were here.

 

“So, Flores, has Damon spoken to you recently?”

 

Flores’s face twisted. Griffin could remember that this particular leader of the Vallejo Disciples hadn’t been impressed with the current president of the entire club, and he felt a surge of triumph at the idea that they might be able to sway him easier than he had thought.

 

“Yeah, that gringo spoke to me. What a trash bag. He said the Los Diablos attacked you guys when you were doing a raid, damn stupid thing to do, too.”

 

“Well, it came to a vote.”

 

“A damn stupid vote. I asked my guys if they voted on that, and they said they did. Apparently, they didn’t want to make waves.”

 

“That’s not really a stupid thing to do though,” Natasha said, entering the conversation as though she discussed this sort of thing all the time. “You stay out of the public eye if you just go with the flow, and it turned out to be a smart thing to do, given the fact that Damon is a big fan of setting up people to get killed.”

 

“What, he do that to you?”

 

Natasha nodded. “How do you think I got this sweet vest?”

 

Flores studied her face, as though trying to figure out what secret she carried that made her so important. Griffin had been under that gaze before, and it was no picnic, but Natasha stood up to it with a stoicism that impressed him.

 

“Why he want to kill you? Spurned lover?”

 

Natasha didn’t even try to hide her disgust. “No, he killed my father and then wanted to kill me so that I wouldn’t seek revenge.”

 

“Very Western film, like the Clint Eastwood, eh?” Flores laughed a little, but there was no mirth in it. “And who is your father?”

 

“Emanuel Morrison.”

 

If Flores had been surprised to see that Griffin was still alive, that was nothing compared to the look on his face as it slowly dawned on him that he was speaking to none other than Emanuel Morrison’s only child, and precisely what that meant.

 

“Are you telling me that Damon Stokes killed Emanuel?” Flores asked, his eyes widening as the implications made themselves clear.

 

“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Natasha said.

 

“Why would he do that?” Flores asked without thinking.

 

“I’m pretty sure the answer to that is obvious, but there’s more to it than that. The Los Diablos were working with him. It’s all been a setup; he’s playing us for some shitty power grab.”

 

Flores wrinkled his brow as he considered this. “It just seems insane. He’s just playing an insane man’s game. I guess that’s why it bothers me. But what do you want to do about it?”

 

Griffin shrugged. “At the moment our plan is to get guys on our side. Damon already has his own little army, and we need to take him out in order to bring justice—not only for Emanuel, but for the guys who died in that bullshit raid that Damon set up.”

 

Just thinking about the raid made Griffin’s blood boil, but he knew that it was probably the best idea to keep his cool about it.

 

“And so you came to me.”

 

“We’re coming to all of the charter presidents, because we think you guys are basically the best of the best, and we want you to have our backs.”

 

Flores moved to sit down behind his desk again, and for the first time, Natasha noticed that he had a bit of a limp. Clearly, he walked in a way that hid it, and he also used his charismatic presence to compensate, but Natasha was impressed. He leaned back and studied the two of them.

 

“Who else you got?”

 

“Zachariah and Julian already know. Julian was actually at the raid if you need a second witness.”

 

“Nah, amigo, I know that you’re on the level…and you, chica, what do you think?”

 

It took a moment to realize that Flores was talking to her, clearly wanting to know her honest opinion. She looked at Griffin, who didn’t give her an expression one way or another. She would have to decide her own way of doing things. She nodded.

 

“Well, I think it’s smart. Clearly, if Damon Stokes is willing to kill off half of his best guys in a phony raid that he concocted, he isn’t the best leader. To make matters worse, he tried to kill me, who, by the way, was fully ready to go back to college the second the funeral was over and now is on a bloody rampage for revenge. Do I think Damon Stokes is stupid? Maybe. But I do know he’s crazy, and he’s also way too arrogant not to need to at least be taken down a few pegs.”

 

Flores’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “A college girl, eh? Nice. So what do you expect us to do, college girl? Sit down and talk to him? Try to get his side of the story?”

 

“No,” Natasha replied coolly. “I expect to fucking kill him.”

 

***

 

Natasha and Griffin walked back into the sunshine where Julian was waiting nervously for them. His broad face broke into a happy smile as they emerged, and he walked over to get the low down. Griffin looked positively beaming.

 

“We got him! We got him and it was mostly because of Natasha. He’s going to send us some guys in a couple of days to get things together.”

 

“Damn, nice work, Natasha!” Julian said, and she was touched by his sincerity. She would have blushed if she had it in her, but instead, she just held her head higher.

 

“Hopefully it’s as easy to convince the others,” she said, as they mounted their motorcycles.

 

“We’ll see,” Griffin said. “It could really go either way.”

 

The head of the Goliad Disciples was next, and he happened to be a big teddy bear of a man that reminded Griffin of Emanuel with his large beard and traditional tattoos. His name was Adrian. He had been a little harder to convince, but the addition of Julian was incredibly important to them, thanks to his time in the service.

 

Adrian always had a terrific respect for soldiers and often claimed that they understood the mechanics of the motorcycle club better than anyone else. Julian seemed bewildered by the attention but leaned into it enough to convince the man, describing in intricate detail what he had seen, how Damon had executed so many of his own men, and how he had set the Los Diablos clubhouse on fire to destroy the evidence. At first, Adrian thought it was some elaborate joke, but the look of seriousness on the faces of Griffin, Natasha, and Julian soon convinced him.

 

“I don’t know what you’re going to do about all of this,” he told them as they were leaving. “But I’m going to try my damndest to help out. Emanuel was like a brother to me, and I’d do anything to back up his only kid.”

 

The leader of the Mesa Disciples should have been easier, given the fact that Griffin had originally come from there, but instead, they were met with a slight, steely distaste. The leader’s name was Paul, and he was a tall, gruff man who used to work as a steel worker in Pennsylvania until he retired and moved to West Texas. Griffin remembered him from when he was just a kid, and he could always recall being a little scared of him. He often wondered if he resented Griffin for leaving, because usually the boys from Mesa stuck around, and Paul just had a cold way about him.

 

If this bothered Griffin, Natasha couldn’t tell, but they told their story to the best of their ability and had to end up calling Flores for backup. A quick five minute conversation with his fellow charter president and he had reluctantly decided to help.

 

“I don’t know if what you’re saying is true, but I don’t want to be the fool that gets it wrong, so I’ll do it.”

 

It wasn’t exactly a victory, but it was good enough for them.

 

The last president they spoke with was the Marfa president, a decent guy who went by the name of Brendan. Brendan had always been a bit of an eccentric guy, obsessed with playing video games almost as much as he loved riding his motorcycle. He was a really good leader though, which was why he was still a head of the Marfa charter in spite of his eccentricities.

 

Natasha, Julian, and Griffin met him in the basement of the house that he lived him, deeply engrossed in a video game that, according to Natasha, just looked to be about punching whores and stealing cars. Brendan listened with one ear open, and when they were finished with their tale, he made a face.

 

“You really think Damon is out to screw us all over?” Brendan asked, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he made the car his avatar had just stolen bank a hard right. “It just seems a little crazy, don’t you think?”

 

“That’s because he is crazy,” Natasha replied coolly. He had been fascinated when she explained that she was the daughter of Emanuel, and it seemed as though her opinion carried more weight than the others. Brendan spoke to her as a colleague, and by the end of it all, he had decided to help as well.

 

The three of them made their way back to Brazos, overwhelmed but pretty damn relieved about everything.

 

“Looks like we got a war on our hands,” Julian said.

 

He wasn’t wrong.