“All right, Gareth. Give us what you got on Camel.”

“Jamie at the Bottle Cap says he wasn’t breathin’ when we left, but one of the guys there started chest compressions soon as he could. Ambulance took him away to Oasis General. He’s in surgery now.” A beat. “He’s fucked up bad, man. They don’t think he’s gonna make it.”

Jesse flattened his lips and stared at the conference table that he and the rest of the Marauders—save for poor Camel—were seated at. Bear was at his right, his face grim as he listened to Gareth recount exactly what had put Camel in the hospital. He shook his head at every mention of Los Muertos and shot Gareth a glare. Although he never said it out loud, Layla knew what he was thinking. If Gareth hadn’t insisted on the raid…

“So Los Muertos are comin’ for us next?” Hollywood asked, nervously drumming his fingers against the table. “Do they know where the chop shop is?”

“If they don’t, it ain’t hard to find out,” Bear grumbled. “This ain’t exactly the big city, y’know.”

“Goddamn,” Hollywood muttered. He took his shades off and rubbed his face with his hands. “We’re screwed, man. We fucked up good.”

“Jesus Christ,” Gareth snarled, lighting up a cigarette. “What the fuck d’ya think this is? We’re a fuckin’ biker gang, dumbass. This is the kind of shit we’re s’pposed to be doin’. Did you think we were just gonna ride around puttin’ cherry bombs in mailboxes and drinkin’ at the Bottle Cap forever?”

“There’s a difference between makin’ your mark as men and doin’ somethin’ really fuckin’ dumb,” Bear said, shaking his head. “I told you this was a bad idea, Jesse. We’re in way over our heads now.”

“I gotta agree,” Gordo said softly. “Los Muertos don’t fuck around—and their leader, el Coyote? He’s fuckin’ nuts, dude. Worse than some of the cartels, even. He’d slit his own momma’s throat if he thought he’d make a nickel off it.”

“Bunch’a pussies,” Gareth mumbled, shaking his head in disappointment. “If this Coyote or whatever is the problem, we take him out. Cut off the head of the snake and the rest’ll die with him. Simple as that.”

“El Coyote’s not just some punk kid,” Gordo protested. “He’s a business man. He’s got dozens of guys workin’ for him—most of ‘em would lay down their lives for us, and the other ones he’d just use as human shields anyway. You can’t just take him out.”

“Why not?” Gareth countered. “He ain’t immune to bullets, is he?”

“No, but he’s a helluva lot better stocked than we are,” Bear said. He shifted, and the chair legs beneath him groaned. “Los Muertos weren’t just runnin’ meth—they were runnin’ guns, too. Not to mention that he’s probably got some Kevlar hangin’ around, too.”

“So we aim for his head,” Gareth said. He made a gun with his fingers and mocked firing it. “Boom!”

“Oh yeah? And how the hell are you gonna do that when he’s got six guys comin’ at you from all sides?” Bear turned to Jesse. “I know you wanna make a name for the Marauders, Jess, but this idjit is gonna get us all killed.”

“What if we had the cartels backing us?” Layla asked.

The whole table turned to look at her. She glanced at Gareth, who gave her a slight nod, before she continued:

“I mean… they all got what they wanted through violence, right? Won’t they respect a show of strength? Since we took out the Los Muertos warehouse, maybe we could use that to our advantage—you know, like proof that we’re more capable than they are?”

“The cartels got a long-standing relationship with Los Muertos,” Gordo explained gently. “They come from the same place. They trust ‘em. The warehouse fire was a setback, sure, but it’s not gonna trump years of service.”

“But what’s the alternative?” Layla asked. “Are we supposed to just apologize and hope el Coyote forgives us? You don’t think he’ll just kill us as an example?” The others looked at each other, considering the possibility. “I mean, I get it. We’re outnumbered and outgunned. That’s not an ideal situation to be in. But rolling over and showing our bellies… I just don’t see how that’ll get us any less killed.”

“Cinderella’s right,” Gareth said, focusing again on Jesse. “What’s done is done. We can’t just take it back, and there ain’t nothin’ we got to say that el Coyote is gonna wanna hear. We gotta strike back, and fast, man. The only way to do that and not get gunned down is if we got some serious firepower on our side—the kind that comes from runnin’ dope for the cartels.”

“Goddammit, Gareth, shut up!” Bear snarled. “Christ! Everything that comes outta your fuckin’ mouth is pure goddamn garbage, you know that? You got us into this mess with that kinda talk. You’re askin’ us to dig ourselves a deeper hole than we already have, and for what? A little notoriety?”

“What the fuck would you know about it, old man?” Gareth sneered. “When have you ever done anything worth talkin’ about?”

“I used to run with the Harrison brothers,” Bear said quietly, as if saying their names too loudly might conjure them out of thin air. “How’s that sit with you?”

Gareth’s jaw slackened and the color drained from his face. He leaned back in his seat, his cigarette dangling from his lower lip. “The Harrison brothers?”

“What’s the matter, kid? You deaf? Of course the Harrison brothers.”

“I didn’t even know that,” Jesse said, frowning at Bear.

“I wasn’t ever gonna mention it,” Bear answered. “Those days’re gone, and so’re they.”

Layla looked around the ashen faces gathered around the table. “Who’re the Harrison brothers?” she asked.

“John and James,” Jesse answered. His tone was laden with a reverence Layla had no idea he was capable of. “They’re sorta legends throughout the outlaw MC community—particularly here in Arizona.”

“They came outta Tombstone,” Bear intoned gravely, almost like he was telling a campfire story. “Just two poor kids condemned to life in a tourist trap. But then they started realizin’ how gullible tourists can be, and eventually, they robbed enough of them blind that they could get some bikes and ride on outta there. Showed up in Flagstaff shortly thereafter, callin’ themselves the Blackwater MC. They were a force to be reckoned with, I’ll tell you what. Guys like me were linin’ up around the damn block to join ‘em—everybody wanted to be a part of that club. Hell, they were runnin’ crystal before the cops even knew what it was.”

“That was—what, the seventies?” Hollywood asked, folding his arms.

“Uh-huh,” Bear answered. “Those guys were smart. They hit the rural communities first. Most of those people were too poor to afford cocaine—the drug of choice back then, and in the eighties. They knew they’d have a good market there, and it ain’t like there were undercover cops just waitin’ to bust ‘em. Nobody cared about the shit neighborhoods, the trailer parks, or the tent city folks crammed together under the overpasses. Those boys knew that from experience, so those deals were safe.

“But then they wanted to get bigger—started fuckin’ around with the cartels, runnin’ huge amounts outta California, maybe fifty pounds in a weekend. That shit’s unheard of now, in case you didn’t know,” he added, casting a glance again at Layla. “But you can’t sell that much crystal to the poor—you gotta go into the cities to move that kinda load. And that’s when those boys got caught.”

“What happened to them?” Layla asked. “I mean—to you?”

Bear chuckled. “Got a little too big for our britches, I s’pose,” he said, smiling wryly. “The Harrison brothers thought they were untouchable. Started gettin’ sloppy; takin’ risks. Eventually, they wound up in a police shootout. Killed two officers, injured a third—a woman cop. That was enough to land ‘em in the state pen, and that’s where they remain to this day.

“As for me…” He trailed off. “Well, I got lucky, is all. That was right around the time I started gettin’ sick. Bum liver and all. I couldn’t ride no more. So when I heard the news, I high-tailed it to Oasis where I knew nobody would be lookin’ for me.” He smirked. “And now I play den mother to these idjits.”

How the mighty have fallen, Layla thought to herself, looking around at Gordo, Hollywood, Gareth, and Jesse, their eyes all trained on Bear’s grizzled face.

“So I guess that’s a cautionary tale?” she asked. “You’re telling us about the Harrison’s mistakes so we don’t make the same ones?”

“That’s right,” Bear answered. “I already watched one MC get taken down by their own hubris—I won’t sit here and watch it happen again.”

Jesse was quiet for a time, his brows knit together in silent contemplation. Bear’s words seemed to press down hard on him, slumping his shoulders and pulling down on the edges of his lips. Finally, he looked up and said:

“Gordo, call a meeting with el Coyote. Tell him we wanna settle this, but on neutral ground.”

“W-where?” Gordo asked.

“I dunno,” he answered. “Maybe… Maybe the Bottle Cap. Call them first, make sure it’s okay. If not, we’ll figure out some other place. But make it quick.”

Gordo nodded. He stood up and left the table, cell phone in hand as he disappeared through the doorway.

“I can’t believe we’re doin’ this,” Gareth muttered, stubbing out his cigarette on the conference table. “Might as well just tell el Coyote to come take over the chop shop, while we’re at it.”

“That’s enough,” Jesse said. “I’m doin’ what’s best. Whether you choose to see it that way or not, that’s your business. But you’re not the one who has to make the call, and I don’t wanna see anyone else die over this.”

“You’re so worried about killin’ somebody that you’re gonna end up killin’ the club,” Gareth said, standing up from his chair. He regarded Jesse for a moment longer, then turned to Layla. “C’mon, Cinderella. Party’s over.”

Layla flicked her gaze to Jesse. He was staring at her, waiting for her to make a move.

“Gareth’s right, Jesse,” she said softly and watched his face fall. “You can’t have a motorcycle club that rolls over at the first sign of trouble. If you let el Coyote see you’re weak, he’s gonna go in for the kill. And it won’t just be you—it’ll be all of us.”

She stood up, took off Camel’s jacket, and laid it down on the table in front of her.

“Camel’s in the hospital right now ‘cause of them. El Coyote probably killed him. And you really think he’s just gonna… forgive and forget? If he’ll kill a Marauder to send a message to you, what do you think he’ll do to send a message to the rest of the MCs out there?”

Jesse didn’t answer. He stared solemnly at Camel’s jacket as Layla followed Gareth through the open door and out to the back lot of the chop shop.