The moon was bright enough to turn the clouds silver. Gareth and Layla pulled into the Mirage Auto Shop, but this time the bay door did not immediately unfurl, and Gareth had to lay on his throttle to get someone to open it.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled as the crinkled metal began to recede, then ducked beneath it and skidded to a halt near the far wall.

“What the fuck?” Hollywood asked in his slow, surfer drawl. “What’s she doin’ here? Where’s Camel?”

“Where’s Jesse?” Gareth asked in response, not even thinking to help Layla get her helmet off this time. “We need to talk to him. Now.”

Hollywood hesitated, and for a moment, Layla thought he might ask another question instead, and that Gareth might just knock him out for it. But then he opened the door to the back, stuck his head in, and called out:

“Jesse!”

“I can’t,” Layla whispered, grabbing onto Gareth’s sleeve. “I can’t do this… I can’t…”

“Shut up,” Gareth hissed at her, pushing her away just as Jesse entered the room.

He was shirtless, his golden skin rippling in front of her like a gilt idol meant to be worshiped and adored, his perfection marred only by streaks of grease and oil it looked like he had been just about to wash off. She wished she could appreciate the view more, but all she could think about was Camel’s jaw splintering under the Los Muertos leader’s boot.

“Why’s she here?” he asked.

“Because I want her to be,” Gareth answered. “But that’s the least of your goddamn problems.” He paused and lit a cigarette to gather himself. “Los Muertos showed up at the Bottle Cap. I think… I think they killed Camel.”

“Holy shit,” Hollywood whispered, turning around with his hands behind his head.

“Start over,” Jesse said evenly, though the color had drained away entirely from his face. He looked like a sheet pulled tight by a harsh wind. “What happened?”

“They said they were coming,” Layla said. The toneless sound of her voice twisted her guts, but she barely felt it over the numbness spreading through her limbs. “They said they were coming for you.”

“I had Camel meet us at the Bottle Cap,” Gareth interrupted, taking long, frequent drags off his cigarette and pacing like a tiger in a cage. “I wanted to talk over some shit with him before I brought it up to you—shit I thought Cinderella here understood, so I brought her, too. I got up to take a piss, and…”

He looked at Layla. For a moment, shame skittered across his eyes.

“…and I got another drink,” he admitted slowly. “Camel was outside with her—I figured she was safe—that we all were. Then she starts screamin’, and…”

He paused, and the next plume of smoke from between his lips shuddered with his breath. “…if I’d just followed ‘em out…” Then he looked up, swallowed hard, and said:

“They made him bite the curb, man. They fuckin’ curb stomped him. All his teeth… there was so much blood… And he was just lyin’ there, twitchin’ and chokin’, and I couldn’t…”

“They told us to go,” Layla continued as Gareth trailed off into silence. “And Los Muertos—they were already gone. But they wanted me to tell you they were coming.”

She was trembling violently, even though she could no longer feel it.

“Their leader—he wants you dead.”

Jesse turned away and slammed his fist into the wall behind him, pistoning his arm as his knuckles crashed against it again and again, until finally, he made it through the soft, flaky drywall underneath. Then he freed his dust-covered hand, watching the sanguine rivers flowing between the hill of his knuckles as he glared at Gareth and asked:

“Why’d you even bring him there? Huh? To talk about me? To talk about how you could do a better job at bein’ president than I ever could? Is that it, Gareth?” When silence was his reply, he took a step forward and bellowed: “Answer me!”

“No,” he said quietly, licking his chapped lips. “I just wanted his support on an issue that I was gonna bring to you…”

“Lemme guess: you wanna go after the stake that the Los Muertos had in the cartel operations?” Jesse sneered, shaking his head. “You’re fuckin’ retarded, Gareth. Gordo told you it wouldn’t work. Bear told you—I told you. But you thought you were gonna change everyone’s minds once you had Camel and this fuckin’ whore at your back? This is what you got him killed for?!”

Gareth said nothing, quieted by the force of Jesse’s rage.

Layla, however, was not nearly as impressed. She’d seen what Los Muertos were capable of, and Jesse’s temper tantrum paled mightily in comparison.

“I’m not a whore,” she said quietly, raising her eyes to Jesse’s. “Gareth might’ve pissed you off, but he’s right. The only way to stop Los Muertos and ensure the Marauders’ future is to link up with the cartels. They have the guns, the ammo, and the cash we need to take Los Muertos out, and that’s the only way we’re gonna survive.”

“Us?” Jesse asked. “We? You think you’re one of us now? Just because I put my dick in you doesn’t make you a Marauder, beauty queen. It just makes you a slut like every other bitch I’ve bent over my saddle—”

Jesse’s head turned sharply to one side as Layla reared back and slapped him as hard as she could. The sound ricocheted off the clubhouse walls like a gunshot, and even Gareth cringed as she withdrew her reddening palm. She wasn’t sure which one of them she’d managed to hurt more: him, or herself.

“I’m not a bitch,” she said, voice quavering. “Or a slut, or a whore. I’m a Marauder, just like you. It’s your fucking job to keep us alive and protect us against threats like Los Muertos, and that means you have to listen to Gareth. We have to come up with a plan, or we’re all dead, just like Camel.”

Jesse closed his eyes.

“Is he really dead?” he asked.

“Dunno, man,” Gareth admitted. “There was so much blood… and he was makin’ this sound, like…”

Jesse nodded somberly. Then he opened his eyes again.

“All right. Gareth, you get in touch with the Bottle Cap. I wanna find out what happened after you left. Beauty queen…” His gaze ignited as he set his eyes upon her. “You come with me.”

Gareth hesitated, and Layla could feel the nape of her neck prickle as he stared at her. Jesse met his eyes, and a moment later, she heard him retreating outside the clubhouse, dialing a number on his cell phone as he closed the side door behind him.

Folding her arms tight across her chest, Layla followed Jesse into the back room of the chop shop. There was an old, disused desk covered in dust and rotting papers, and as Jesse cleared it with a simple sweep of his hand, she watched as vagrant motes swirled up into the fluorescent beams above them.

“How much do you know about motorcycle clubs?” he asked her as he hefted himself up onto the edge of the desk.

“Besides this one?” she replied, careful to keep a significant distance between them. “Not much.”

Jesse nodded. “I figured,” he said. Then he looked at Camel’s jacket still hanging from her shoulders and pointed to one of the arms. “See that patch?”

Layla looked. There was a worn red and black patch near the shoulder. She nodded slowly.

“We call ‘em our colors,” Jesse explained, rubbing the back of his head. “That’s our insignia—what it means to be a Marauder is explained all in that one image. Kinda like a tattoo. I’m sure you noticed Gareth’s—the scorpion?”

She shook her head. “No. I…” She shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve only ever seen him with the jacket on.”

Jesse’s eyebrows raised just slightly. “Oh,” he said. Then he continued: “Well, that patch is what signifies that you’re a Marauder—a one-percenter. And most of those clubs don’t let women get patched.”

Layla felt a flare of anger just beneath her skin. “So just ‘cause I’ve got tits means I can’t be anything more than a fuck doll for the gang?” she hissed, but Jesse held up his hand to stop her before she could get truly heated.

“I said most of those clubs,” he repeated, then sighed and rubbed his grimy palms over his sweaty face. “But I can see why you’d think that way about us, after what happened…” He trailed off and averted his eyes. “That’s… not the way I wanna do things around here, y’know.”

“No,” she snapped. “I didn’t know. How could I? You know, I’m not even mad that you fucked me in front of everyone like that—that’s whatever in the grand scheme of things. But then you threw me aside like trash—like a fucking used Kleenex—when it was all done. I didn’t deserve that. Nobody deserves that.”

“I get that, okay?” Jesse sighed. “But you gotta understand. This ain’t exactly a country club, sweetheart. We’re bad men doin’ bad things—at least, that’s what we are to everyone out there.” He made an indistinct gesture meant to indicate the world outside the chop shop. “And I’m s’pposed to be the worst one of ‘em all. I gotta keep a tight leash on these guys, or else one of ‘em is gonna get the idea that I can be replaced.”

“Like Gareth?” she asked.

“Like Gareth,” he confirmed, leaning back onto his hands. “What I did to you was more about puttin’ him in his place than it was about you. But I used you to do it, and that’s fucked up. But that’s part of what we are, beauty queen. We ain’t the type of guys who’re gonna buy you dinner and flowers—if we wanna fuck you, we’re gonna tell you, and then we’re gonna do it. This ain’t some kinda fairy tale… and I think that’s the reason you came here.”

“Maybe,” Layla admitted, taking a step back toward the wall. “At first. But after what happened…” She hesitated. “I’m not so sure anymore. I thought…”

“You thought you were special,” Jesse said. “And you are. Which is why I’m thinkin’ that maybe you don’t belong here with us. Maybe you should go back to bein’ wined and dined and worshipped for bein’ the beauty queen that you are. Maybe that’s the world you belong in, princess.”

“No,” Layla said quickly. “It’s not. I mean, everything that happened before that was so… incredible,” she breathed. “I’ve never felt that alive before. Can’t I have that?”

“Sure,” Jesse said with a small smile. “For a price. But it might be more than you’re willin’ to pay.”

Layla sighed and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. “I just want to be treated like a human being, Jesse. Is that really too much to ask?”

“No,” Jesse said, and she heard him slide off the table. “It’s not. But I figure that part of you feelin’ so alive was the danger you put yourself in with us. I think you liked bein’ rode hard and put away wet, but I also think you like bein’ the head bitch in charge. Maybe we could compromise…”

Layla opened her eyes. Jesse was standing only a few inches away from her, looking down into her face with that boyish smirk that had first lured her into the world of the Marauders MC. He reached up and worked his fingers through her windswept hair, brushing it back into form where the helmet had done its damage.

“Don’t call me that,” she said quietly, though she didn’t pull away from his touch.

“All right,” he relented. “But just like any other Marauder, you’re gonna have to prove your worth if you want the same kinda respect that the boys get. If you wanna be more than just a biker slut, you’re gonna have to earn it.”

Layla opened her mouth to say something about how she was pretty sure that the rest of the gang didn’t have to pass a test in order to avoid being treated like a whore, but then decided against it. This was a completely different world than the one she lived in, and if she intended to make any changes, she’d have to do so from the inside. If she played along now, she might be able to rise into the position of power she needed to transform the MC from a boys club to an outlaw organization with more egalitarian views.

“What do I have to do?” she asked.

“Once Gareth gets some info on Camel, we’ll hold a meeting,” he answered. “I want you to sit in on it. Once we come up with a game plan, you’ll get to decide if you wanna be a part of it or not. If you do, we’ll talk a little bit more about patchin’ you. If you don’t…” He shrugged. “Then it might be best for you to run back home to mommy and daddy, ‘cause the only use I’ll have for you here is on your back. I can’t be lookin’ soft—not when all this is goin’ on.”

“Fine,” Layla agreed. “But just remember that if you’re gonna treat me like a slut, I’m gonna act like one. I’m not you’re your old lady. We’re not exclusive until you start treating me like we are. So if I want to go fuck Gareth in the bathroom, I’ll damn well do it, and you’re not gonna break his nose if I do. We clear?”

Jesse’s expression darkened. His brow furrowed into a deep ravine just above the bridge of his nose.

“Whatever you want, beauty queen.”