It was surreal watching the gang sing “Happy Birthday” to Jesse over beef stew and ice cream cake.

Layla still wasn’t sure what to make of it all. She’d always considered herself something of a badass; a rebel whose cause was usually just getting her way. But she’d never struggled like these guys obviously had, and she sure as shit didn’t want to. She wasn’t saying that her parents were right, but maybe they weren’t wrong, either.

On the other hand, they were so nice. What little they had, they had to share, and they were more than happy to do so with her, even though she had much more than they ever would. Even though they were all from completely different worlds, they tried to ask her about her life and chime in with whatever commentary they could muster.

Except for Gareth.

He sat quietly at the table, staring at Layla in between spoonfuls of ice cream cake. She glanced at him as he licked his spoon, sensing some sort of invitation in the way his bright red tongue slid over its metal curves. She turned away quickly each time she caught him staring, only to look again to see if he still was. Something about the way he looked at her was both offensive and terrifyingly attractive all at the same time.

She leaned her chin on her hand and watched as Jesse opened up his gifts. They weren’t terribly impressive—a carton of cigarettes here; a baggie of weed there; a six pack of his favorite beer; and a book from Bear, Lord of the Flies. Layla clapped at the unveiling of each one anyway, watching as Jesse smiled wide and blushed whenever another gift was laid in front of him. Clearly, he wasn’t used to the attention.

She wondered what Christmas had been like for him growing up. Then another thought struck her: had he ever even had a Christmas?

“Ready to go?” he asked her, pulling her from her reverie.

“Yeah,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “But if you wanna stay a while and celebrate—”

“It’s okay,” he said, looking back at his brethren as they fought over the slice with the most icing on it. “I made you a promise. Thanks for keepin’ yours.”

Layla pressed her lips into what she hoped was a convincing smile. “You’re welcome,” she said as he opened the door to the chop shop for her.

Just as she was crossing over the threshold, she heard Gareth say: “Perfect. Now that Cinderella’s gone, maybe we can get back to business.”

“When I get back,” Jesse said, but Gareth wouldn’t let it go.

“What’d you bring her around here for, anyway?” he asked, dropping his spoon onto his paper plate. “Couldn’t get her tickets to the real circus, so you brought her to see the freak show?”

“I don’t think anyone here’s a freak,” Layla said before Jesse could stop her. “Except for you.”

“You have no idea, darlin’,” Gareth replied, leaning forward across the table. “I’d rip you up in ways you couldn’t even imagine.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jesse snarled. “She’s leavin’.”

“She shouldn’t have even been here in the first fuckin’ place!” Gareth replied. “This ain’t your fuckin’ love shack, Jess. The Marauders ain’t all about eatin’ cake and lightin’ candles and showin’ off your new bougie fuckin’ girlfriend to the guys. You’ve got a fuckin’ responsibility, here. And if you wanna be President—”

“If?” Jesse asked. His muscles bunched as he stared into Gareth’s eyes. “Who’s gonna fuckin’ take it away from me, Gareth. You?”

“Maybe no one’ll have to, if you can get your fuckin’ head out of her pussy and man the fuck up!”

“What do you want, Gareth?” Layla asked, stepping in front of Jesse before he lunged across the table and ripped his throat out.

“Shut the fuck up, beauty queen,” he growled. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Before Jesse could interrupt, Layla held up her hand.

“No, really. What’s got your panties in a bunch? Spit it out, or else pop a Midol and calm the fuck down.”

This time, Jesse said nothing. He hung back, arms folded, as Gareth stood up from the table and closed the distance between himself and Layla.

“What I want,” he began in a low, even tone that scared her a hell of a lot more than his yelling did. “Is to act like we’re a fuckin’ motorcycle club and not some little bitches playin’ house.” He breathed against her face, and Layla could smell not just smoke on his breath, but a touch of whiskey, too. “I wanna go after the fuckers who disrespected us at the Bottle Cap. I wanna teach ‘em that you don’t fuck with the Marauders.”

“And how the fuck d’ya wanna do that?” Bear growled from across the room. Apparently, he’d taken exception to the “playin’ house” comment that Gareth had made.

“Easy,” he answered, though he didn’t look away from Layla. “We hit ‘em where it hurts.” Briefly, he raised his coppery eyes to Jesse. “That fucker was Los Muertos, right?”

“Yeah,” Jesse said.

Gareth turned over his shoulder. “Gordo—don’t they got a warehouse near the Bottle Cap somewhere?”

“Well, yeah,” Gordo said, frowning. “But you can’t just—”

“The hell I can’t,” Gareth hissed before he could finish. He turned his attention back to Layla. “We ride there. Tonight. And we burn the fuckin’ place to the ground.” Once again, he looked at Jesse. “Unless you’re scared?”

“What’re you, twelve?” Jesse asked, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not fuckin’ scared of Los Muertos. I went to juvie over that shit, remember?”

“Yeah, but this ain’t gonna be like juvie,” Gareth said. “This is real shit—if you get caught, you’re goin’ away for a long time. I hear that fucker Arpaio don’t too kindly to arsonists burnin’ up his state.” He cocked his head. “Can you handle that? ‘Cause if you can’t, then it’s time that somebody else stepped up.”

Jesse ran his fingers through his hair and gripped the short strands at the nape of his neck, sighing hard through his nose. He didn’t look like he wanted to do it, but he didn’t look like he wanted to step down, either.

Layla watched a myriad of emotions play out across his face, most of them some variation of reluctance and anger. The rest of the club all stared at him, awaiting his final say as Gareth lit another cigarette.

“C’mon, Jess,” he said, and the flame from his lighter flickered violently. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Fine,” he said at last, though Layla could tell from his tone that it wasn’t. “Lemme just take her home first.”

“Go ahead,” Gareth replied, sitting back down in his chair. “Take your bitch home.”

In the time it took for Layla to blink, Jesse was on top of Gareth on the floor, pounding his head into the concrete.

They writhed like a pair of serpents, twisting and turning against one another, each getting in a single blow before the other momentarily overpowered them.

Layla stared at their violent dance, her jaw loose and her eyes wide. Were they really fighting over her?

Blood spurted suddenly from Gareth’s nose, and as he recoiled to bring his knee up into Jesse’s face, Bear stepped in and yanked both of them into the air.

“Goddammit, stop!” he roared, suspending each boy off the ground as if they weighed nothing at all. “I’m tired of this high school bullshit! You boys are far too old to still be at each other’s throats like this. What’s done is done, and all that matters now is the welfare of the Marauders.”

Once they stopped moving, Bear set them back down and clutched his stomach, grunting as he stumbled backward into his seat. Camel was on his feet in a flash, lifting up Bear’s wife-beater to take a look at the old incision running across his abdomen.

“It’s fine,” Bear assured him as he pulled Jesse’s half-eaten bowl of beef stew toward him. “Just phantom pains, is all.” He took a mouthful of potato, then glared at the two of them again.

“Gareth’s right,” he said, then added: “In part. We gotta do somethin’ about the Los Muertos before they do somethin’ about us. That warehouse is full’a product, and half of it is outta Mexico City. Fuckin’ with their supply won’t just cripple ‘em; it’ll put a black mark on ‘em as far as the cartels go, too. You wanna make a statement, that’s one helluva way to do it.”

He took another bite, this time of the soft, tender stew beef he’d so lovingly prepared for the occasion, and said: “But Jesse’s right, too. Shut the fuck up and leave the poor girl alone. And learn your goddamn place while you’re at it.”

Gareth wiped his bloodied nose on his jacket sleeve and licked the remainder off his lips. His eyes fixated on Layla for a moment, hungry and wild.

“Go wipe your face,” Jesse said, and this time, Gareth didn’t argue. He retreated from the room, kicking the door open and disappearing into another hall.

“You okay?” Layla asked, noticing the discoloration started to form around Jesse’s jaw line.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “But you shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t your place. You’re not one of us.”

Layla set her jaw. She was getting pretty tired of people making her feel like she didn’t belong.

“What if I wanna be?” she asked him.

“Yeah?” Jesse said, whirling on her. “That’s what you want? You wanna be some tough biker bitch, or maybe some sweetbutt who earns her stay on her back? Fine. Get your ass on my bike and fuckin’ wait there until I show up. You wanna be a Marauder bitch, then I’ll treat you like one.”

Layla opened her mouth to object. She didn’t want to be anyone’s bitch—she wanted to prove that she was more than that. But the look on Jesse’s face wasn’t one she wanted to argue with, and under the weighty stare of the rest of the Marauders, she obeyed him, waiting quietly on his bike with her face in her hands as she wondered what the fuck she’d gotten herself into.