La Hacienda sat practically on the border of Arizona and Mexico. “Sat” was definitely the right word to describe how it looked, too. It was a squat building made to look like a Mexican adobe-style house with its sand-colored walls, tiny, sparsely-placed square windows and flat roof—perfect for holding out when the bullets started to fly. A small courtyard preceded the front door, closed off by a low wall and a faux-wood gate flanked by two nasty-looking Mexicans, both of whom were packing the biggest handguns Layla had ever seen.

Everything about that place looked like it was made for holding out against an army, yet it somehow maintained all of the cheesy charm of a crappy Tex-Mex restaurant. Still, the quaintness of the place didn’t put Layla at ease—in fact, it only made her feel more on edge, like the way that a horror-movie killer takes on a new level of fucked-up when you put a clown mask on it. It just serves to ruins clowns for you for the rest of your life.

“I don’t like this,” she whispered as the boys all cut their engines and dismounted. With the sound of the motors gone, an eerie calm fell over them, one that felt almost threatening. Distantly, Layla could hear the wind whistling across the dusty plains, reminding her how far from home she really was. The only reprieve any of them had from the harsh silence was their own footsteps and the sound of mariachi music crackling through the cheap speakers inside.

“Me either,” Gordo muttered in agreement, glancing at Jesse. Despite all the firepower they were carrying, something about this whole situation felt wrong.

“It’s just nerves,” Gareth said, though Layla could tell by his twitching hand that he felt something was off just as much as they did. “We’ll get in, make the deal, then get out.”

Jesse said nothing as they made their approach, his face a mask of stony determination. It was a face he’d have to maintain in front of Nuñez, if any of them wanted to survive.

“¡Hola!” Gordo called to the two men manning the courtyard gate, doing his best not to sound like he was as terrified as he truly was. “Estamos aquí para ver el Señor Núñez. Él nos está esperando.”

The two guards narrowed their eyes at Gordo as he approached, waddling ahead of the rest of us. We hadn’t been off the bikes for more than a few seconds and he was already dripping with sweat.

“Señor Núñez is inside. Go,” one of the guards growled, nudging his head back toward the door as the other swung the gate wide to admit them through. Layla was surprised by how fluently he’d spoken, and it even seemed to take Gordo by surprise.

“I—right. Got it,” he stammered, moving aside to let Jesse and the others through before he waddled in behind them.

Another two guards stood on either side of the front door, this time carrying what looked like AK-47s. They wore tank tops that showed off their thick, corded arms and all the intricate tattoos that went with them. Layla wasn’t overly familiar with the language of gangland tattoos, but she was sure at least a few of those skulls meant that these men had killed more than their fair share of people.

Without a word, one of them pushed the door open as the others had, but instead of letting them pass, the two took up positions behind the rag-tag team of Marauders and escorted them into the large dining area.

No turning back now, Layla thought. Not unless they wanted to run into a wall of man-meat, anyway.

Sitting at a table in the center of the room was a thin Hispanic man, the fluorescent lights glinting off of his smooth scalp. At his right stood a woman in an white and lacy off-the-shoulder blouse and a black and red skirt that made her look like she’d stepped off of a package of tortillas. She turned her eyes up at the group as they entered, face pulled tight with fear as she set a plate of food before who Layla could only assume was Pablo Nuñez himself.

Nuñez didn’t even look up as they approached. His head remained bowed over the plate while his lips moved in a hushed whisper. It turned Layla’s gut as she realized that he was saying grace, thanking God for everything he had. Everything he’d gotten through rape and murder.

This guy is sick.

Almost as if he’d heard her, Nuñez lifted his head, giving them their first look at the monster they’d all been dreading the entire ride over. The fact that he looked like any other guy she might’ve passed on the street only made Layla feel worse.

“¡Bien vendidos, muchachos!” Nuñez said, opening his arms wide in greeting. His smile was charming and it came easily to his lips. “I’ve been very excited to meet you.”

“Hola, Señor Nuñez,” Gordo said, his accent getting a little thicker. “We spoke on the phone.”

“¡Si! Gordo! You’re a lot fatter than I thought you’d be!” the drug lord said, letting out a raucous laugh. It sounded a lot like machine gun fire. “Please, sit.”

He motioned to the empty chairs set all around the large dining table before digging into his food. Layla couldn’t get over how at ease he seemed, especially compared to the tension that pervaded all of them. He had the air of a man who had everything under control—which was exactly the kind of person you didn’t want to negotiate with.

He was the kind of guy who, with a flick of his wrist, could turn the tables.

He knew it. They all did.

Which was exactly why none of them sat.

I don’t like this, she thought, glancing furtively at Jesse and Gareth. If they were as affected as she was, they thankfully didn’t show it. I don’t like this at all.

“So these are the infamous Marauders?” Nuñez asked, completely unfazed by their lack of adherence to his command. He chuckled as he shoveled a forkful of ropa vieja into his mouth. “You’re Jesse, right?” He waved his fork vaguely in his direction. “Just outta juvie and already starting trouble, huh? My kind of pendejo!”

Jesse still didn’t speak, just nodded ever-so-slightly. Good, Layla thought. Don’t give him shit to use against you.

“And you’re Gareth, the tough guy,” Nuñez continued, grinning wider as Gareth quirked the faintest smile in return. “Why so nervous?”

“We’re here to talk business,” Jesse said. It was the first thing he’d said since they took off from the Mirage, and it echoed through the empty restaurant like thunder. His voice was steady, even—it must have taken him everything he had not to falter.

“Business can wait,” Nuñez said, dismissively waving his fork again before scooping up some of his rice and beans. “I like to get to know someone before I jump in the sack with them.”

Layla swallowed nervously, watching as the drug lord’s eyes finally came to rest on her, dragging right down to her breasts.

“I didn’t know the Marauders had such a fine chica riding with them. What you here for, mami? Moral support?”

Color rushed to Layla’s face. She felt like she was in the sights of some kind of predator. When Nuñez licked his lips at her, a cold shiver ran down her spine.

“Mr. Nuñez,” Jesse said, his brow furrowing, “we really want to get on with business.”

“Pablo, please,” he said, that easy smile returning to his lips once more. “My father is Mr. Nuñez.”

“Pablo,” Jesse said after a calming breath. “We want to negotiate—”

“You want to take over for Los Muertos,” he interrupted, still enjoying his food at his leisure. “That’s a tall order to fill, especially since you’re down one of your boys—my deepest condolences, by the way. Que en paz descanse.”

“Thank you.”

“But I still don’t think you’ve got what it takes, my friends. You’re just four guys, and Los Muertos has been doing this for years. Why should I even consider putting my own loyal dogs out of the house?”

“Los Muertos can’t even protect their own warehouse,” Gareth said, drawing a glare from Jesse. Both of them twitched as Nuñez let out one of his rapid-fire laughs.

“And you should have seen el Coyote’s face when he told me what happened—I mean I’ve never seen him so cabreado! Priceless.”

“Does that mean you’ll consider it?”

Pablo fell silent as he moved some of his food across his plate before scooping it up and putting it in his mouth. Even the way he chewed gave off an air of deliberation. Layla could feel the tension between the boys as they waited for Pablo’s decision. It was palpable.

Sweat beaded on the back of her neck and she took a step back, right into one of the guards. He swelled into her, his groin right against her ass. She wrenched away and grabbed Hollywood’s arm.

Nuñez noticed. He smiled. Then he looked at Jesse and said, “No.”

“No?” Jesse asked, his eyebrows raised.

“I’m sorry, chico, but I can’t.”

“What?” Gareth barked so loud that it made Layla jump.

“It’s not a matter of what I want,” Pablo said, shrugging as he pushed his now-empty plate away. “It’s a matter of family.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? El Coyote is mi primo. My cousin.”

Layla’s stomach dropped, her insides turning as cold as ice. She looked at Gordo, but he looked just as pale. How could they have missed this?

“And I can’t just betray my own cousin, can I? Not when it’s so much cheaper to just kill you all.”

“You can’t—” Gareth began, but faltered as he watched el Coyote himself step out from the swinging door leading to the kitchen, a wicked grin plastered across his face.

“I can’t what? Kill you?” Pablo gave another laugh, this one cold and completely devoid of mirth. “Don’t worry. I won’t. No, I’ll leave that up to Ricardo—perdón, el Coyote. He asked so nicely to be the one who shoots you all in the head that I just couldn’t say no.”

“I told you I had a bad feeling,” Layla muttered, her heart pounding a desperate tattoo as she watched Nuñez stand. El Coyote took his place at Pablo’s side, his eyes locked onto her chest like he could see straight through to her beating heart. He looked very much like he wanted to eat it.

“Now, if you don’t mind, please stand up and walk outside with my cousin. I’d like it if you could not bleed on my floor when you die. Health codes, you understand. Those inspectors can be such a pain in the ass.”

No one moved as the two men who had accompanied them clicked the safeties off of their AKs. Gordo began to whimper a prayer to the Virgin.

It was Jesse who turned first, his fists clenched and hackles raised. After him, Gareth and Layla both followed suit, then Hollywood, though he did so at his own slow pace. The two henchmen motioned them toward the kitchen door.

Gordo was the last to follow, his face drenched in a nervous sweat as he continued his impassioned plea to on high. Even with the little Spanish Layla knew, she could hardly understand a word of it for just how fast he was speaking. His entire doughy body seemed to shudder as he spoke.

“¡Rápido!” one of the men shouted, nudging Gordo with the muzzle of his gun. But as he felt the tip of the AK press against his flesh, Gordo panicked and let out a shout before the sound of automatic fire filled the room.

The other gunman turned his rifle on Gordo as he watched crimson flowers blossom across his friend’s white tank top. But before he could squeeze off a shot, Gareth shoved his weight against him, knocking him off balance in time for Jesse to pull his Glock from behind his back.

Everything seemed to happen in slow-motion. Before she could react, Layla was forced down to the floor as Hollywood tackled her around her stomach. Jesse turned over the table, giving them a wide area of cover as he and Gareth ducked behind it.

Layla followed Hollywood, scrambling behind a half-wall where a waiters’ station normally would have been while Gordo laid himself flat on the ground, hands over his head.

El Coyote pulled a sleek, chrome pistol from his side and started to fire, his shots biting into the table, taking huge hunks of the wood along with them. A string of curses followed each shot, all in Spanish as a few more of Nuñez’s men entered from the kitchen, guns drawn.

When there was a momentary pause in the gunfire, Jesse popped up over the top of the table and took a shot at el Coyote, missing by only a few inches, but sinking right into one of the other men’s arms. He let out a scream as another hail of bullets rained down on them.

“This could have been so much easier, boys,” Layla heard Nuñez call over the gunfire. “But you had to go and make it messy. You disrespected me and my house, so I’m going to disrespect you and take your little piece of ass.”

Layla felt a pair of hands grab her as she saw Hollywood lifted off of his feet and thrown over the half wall. She’d never even heard them approach—the gunfire was so loud she couldn’t hear anything at all. It wasn’t like the movies. It was deafening.

She let out a scream, struggling against the henchman’s iron grip on her arm. She swung her free hand out toward him, but only served to put herself more off balance than she’d been before.

“Layla!” Jesse yelled as he ran from behind the cover of the table in an effort to save her from her abductor. But the moment he left himself open was the moment that el Coyote took his shot.

Jesse stumbled, his arm outstretched toward her as he fell, his gun clattering to the floor as a hole bloomed right through the shoulder of his leather jacket and sank into the wall right by her head.

“Jesse!” she screamed, pulling with all her might to reach him as he cried out.

She heard Gareth roar and saw him pop up over the side of the table, firing shot after shot right into el Coyote’s stomach. El Coyote hissed and staggered, and Layla watched as the other members of Nuñez’s gang open fire just as Gareth ducked back into cover.

She screamed again as she was dragged toward the front door. She kicked and gouged, twisting inside the vise grips of the arms wrapped so tight around her ribs she couldn’t breathe anymore. The gang member who’d dispatched Hollywood fired off a few shots, forcing the Marauders back into cover before she felt a sharp pain on the back of her head, scrambling her brains and vaulting her into cold, unknowing darkness.