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  The hair on my neck started to rise.

  In walked a teenaged hang around sporting Lobos colors – yellow undershirt with an oversized, open red button-down over it – but no MC vest around his shoulders. There was a bandana loosely tied around his neck, and when he bent over to grab a bag of chips, I could see the gun butt jutting out of the kid’s boxers.

  He put on a tough exterior as he was meandering around, but it was paper thin. The kid was all nerves.

  I knew immediately he was building up the courage to rob the place, and I scolded myself for leaving my knife in the cutting board.

  It was the middle of the day, and the store had half a dozen customers in it that all clearly saw his face as he walked in. He’d be crazy to try anything. I followed his glance out the window to see the real Lobos impatiently waiting for something to happen.

  Call it experience, but I knew in my bones that this was some kind of MC initiation test to see if the kid was hard enough for the Lobos. It was only a matter of time until this brainwashed sixteen-year-old did something life-altering.

  I was in the back of the store near the bathrooms and the emergency exit. The closest door to me was only a few feet away. I could just walk out, not get involved, and let the rocks fall where they may. That would be the smart thing to do. If I left right now, there’d be no blowback on me. I could say I went out for a smoke and wait for it all to work itself out. It made sense.

  I had no skin in this game.

  I don’t know why I stayed. I had ample time to bounce, but I watched as the little Lobo wannabe finally found his balls, pulled up his bandana, and whipped out his pistol. It was a gigantic revolver that was way too big for him. It had to be the kid’s father’s gun. Unfortunately, he didn’t pull his bandanna up till after the cameras would have caught his face, but luckily for him, our cameras were dummies. They were strictly for show because Moretti was too cheap to actually set the system up.

  “Everybody, get on the ground!” He licked off a shot into the ceiling to prove he was serious.

  That was his first mistake. He should have beelined to the cashier, quietly demanded the money, and left. This wasn’t a fucking bank heist. At best, it was a smash and grab, and this kid had already made a mess of things.

  Now everyone was screaming and reaching for their phones to text their loved ones, the police, or live feed on social media. If the police showed up, the Lobos outside would be long gone. This hang around would be on his own.

  Nervous at first, now he was bolstered by all the terrified civilians doing what he said. And of course, the gun made him feel powerful. Was that what the Lobos were teaching their potential prospects now?

  Fear as respect.

  The hang around shakily threw his piece up at Julia the cashier.

  Nearly hyperventilating at having a gun shoved in her face, she emptied the register drawer of everything as quickly as possible. Fucking kid didn’t even have a plan on how he was going to hold the money, so he told her to stuff it all into a plastic bag.

  The kid threatened her, and Julia dropped to the ground, terrified of being shot. The hang around strutted around like he was King shit with all the power in the world in his hands as he walked the aisles. He snatched the purse of one lady and took the wallet off another guy. He was getting comfortable and showing off for the guys outside.

  This was his next mistake.

  He was there to do a job and leave. Not to peacock around, terrorizing people for petty cash. Every minute he lingered, the more the odds stacked up against him.

  Inevitably, he walked over to me, all low-slung pants and attitude. “Your wallet,” the kid demanded.

  “No.” There was thunder in my eyes. I was angrier at how bad he was at all this than actually being robbed. There was a way to do this correctly. This was just insulting.

  It was as if a Subway sandwich artist walked into a Michelin-star restaurant and started running the show.

  “Give me your wallet, bitch!” He pushed the barrel of his gun into the side of my head.

  His last mistake, I decided.

  No.

  Remy, let this go, I told myself. This isn’t you anymore. I thought of Star.

  “Look at me.” I looked down, motioning toward my filthy apron. “I’m covered in dead chicken. You think a butcher keeps his wallet on him?”

  “Fuckin’ pussy.” The kid punched me in the stomach. It didn’t knock the wind out of me, but it hurt. The kid had a solid left hook.

  Forcing down my pride, I took a knee regardless. Teenager or not, I wanted to hurt him. Badly.

  But this wasn’t my fight.

  “Yeah, you’d better sit the fuck down, old man. Fuckin’ Lobos run this shit, bitch! Remember that,” he rattled on.

  I wasn’t listening.

  Past him, the mother from earlier cradled her crying son and eyed the front door. They were close enough that she thought they could make a break for it. It was a bad idea. They’d make too much noise. They wouldn’t make it.

  But she tried anyway

  “Hey!” I said, trying to distract the hang around as the woman attempted to leave. “I have my wallet on me. Take it!”

  It didn’t work. The hang around ignored me and drew down on them. They disobeyed him, and he was losing control. He was committed now, and there was no turning back. If he didn’t feel like he was in complete control, he’d get scared and then… then things would real get ugly.

  “Stop!” the kid yelled, but that only spurred the woman to run faster.

  Don’t get involved. This isn’t my town. I didn’t know those people. I wouldn’t be here long. Dozens of rational excuses flooded my thoughts. Every single one of them was reason enough to do nothing.

  If I intervened now, I’d be spitting in the face of any attempt at a normal life. My resolve to try going straight for Star would’ve been just sanctimonious bullshit.

  If you don’t, you’ll have to watch a mother and her kid be gunned down by a scared, naive teenager poisoned by the Lobos.

  Sobbing, frightened people lay on the floor, too afraid to move. I thought of my town, Leslie, where our chapter of the Steel Veins was from. Was this what it would look like if the Lobos won and the Veins were pushed out?

  The woman had the door open. The toddler’s big, wet, brown eyes stared at me.

  “Stop!” the teen yelled again. He hadn’t planned on killing anyone, but the real Lobos, the men he wanted to be like, were just outside, and they were watching. They’d never let him become a prospect if he fucked this up.

  When he winced, then closed his eyes I knew what he was bracing himself for.

  I thought of Star. Would she be able to look me in the eye if I did nothing?

  Would I?

  Fuck. I kicked in the back of his knee hard enough to pitch his body back and to the side as he squeezed off a few rounds. The shots went high and the woman and her son escaped. I swung around, palmed the hang around’s face, and drove the back of his head into the glass drink cooler next to me. The glass cracked but didn’t shatter.

  The teenager crumpled to the floor, knocked out cold.

  “Shit.” I exhaled, sighing as I looked down at the stupid kid

  Bike engines roared to life in the distance as the Lobos predictably abandoned the now ex-hang around.

  The store erupted in screams as the customers rushed from the building. I looked down and stepped back to avoid escaping the small red pool that spread from the cut’s on the back of the kid’s head.

  In a town that probably didn’t talk to the police, if I got blood on my boots, forensics would be able to determine a lot about me by my footprints. That way of thinking was second nature to me. It was like breathing.

  More of my MC skills that weren’t marketable in the civilian world.

  The kid convulsed wildly on the floor. His eyelids fluttered, pupils rolled around disjointedly, and blood spurted from his mouth. He’d severely lacerated his tongue during the impact with the glass. I
pushed him onto his side with my foot to keep him from choking to death on the blood or his near-severed tongue.

  Sirens screamed through town. It was time to leave. I stepped over Julia on my way to the back to drop off my apron. She was physically fine, just traumatized. I couldn’t blame her for not being able to get up.

  Not everyone was as tough as Star.

  “This is all your fault! Grab your shit and get the fuck outta here!” Moretti appeared with wild eyes that now matched his bushy unkempt eyebrows.

  “That’s the plan,” I said, grabbing my hoodie.

  “You’re fired. Don’t ever come back!” Moretti’s drove a finger into my chest. His face was beet-red from screaming.

  “I did you a fucking favor.” I slapped his finger away from me. “You rather have a double-murder happen in your place?”

  “I see everything, you fuck!” His hands gestured loudly like only the Italians could. “If you just lay down like everyone else, he’d have left. Now I gotta explain alla this to the cops.”

  “Tell the cops the kid slipped and took himself out. End of story.” I brushed past my former boss.

  “Yeah? Just like that, no problem? Cops start asking who was here today? Then they ask for paperwork, then they look through my books, then what, huh? Maybe I get a visit from the Lobos now, too. I knew I shoulda never took you in! You mess everything up!”

  Moretti was pissed, but I started to realize it was because he was nervous. I’d brought down a big spotlight on him

  If he was willing to hire me, no questions asked, then what other laws was he skirting? By paying me under the table, he was the very least looking at some sort of tax evasion. He’d made his bed. He could choke on the sheets for all I cared. Thinking about the boy and his mother not lying in red puddles on the floor made it very difficult to muster up any guilt for once.

  It was a good feeling.

  Confident I’d be gone before they saw me, I ducked out the back as the cops pulled in. All I had to worry about was how to break the news to Star.

  Chapter Four

  …

  Star

  “Rachel, hun,” Molly mispronounced my adopted name as “Rash-el” which drove me up a fucking wall. Absently thumbing through her phone disdainfully inconsiderate to the chaos all around her, Molly pushed through the kitchen doors with no regard to anyone in front of or behind her. “There’s a spill in the walk-in. Be a doll and take care of that for me?”

  The spill you caused.

  “Molly, I have three tables wait—” I replied. Both of my arms were full with trays. I was covering almost half the entire restaurant all by myself.

  “Thaaaaanks, Ra-shel.” She sashayed by not listening at all.

  Remy asked if I picked the name Rachel because of the Harper Lee character in the book To Kill a Mockingbird. Never having read that book or seen the movie, I waved his well-read notions away and told him I’d taken it from my favorite character in the TV show Friends.

  The blank stare he gave me filled me with such unbridled glee. I went out immediately and picked up the whole show on DVD from the Wal-Mart bargain bin. Over the weeks that he was forced to recover, we binged every episode. Surprisingly, despite hating Ross, Remy really liked Friends.

  Hearing Molly throw around my new name like a dishrag left a bitter taste in my mouth. I felt offended for Rachels everywhere, especially Miss Rachel Green.

  Molly callously tossed around commands and threats more than she made small talk. Every waitress, busboy, dishwasher, and cook was here to serve Molly Rodriguez first, and then the customers. No one called her out on it because she was Owner Santiago Rodriguez’s little angel.

  Frustrated, I glanced at Janet and Tonya, but they could only shrug. They shared my annoyance, but what could they really do? It was the lunch rush and everyone was busy – everyone except the hostess, Molly, who sat behind a “Please seat yourself” sign at the reservations desk and played on her phone.

  I could strangle that bitch. I knew I had it in me.

  Instead I had to physically shake my head to dislodge the cathartic thoughts. I quickly made the rounds, delivered the food, and headed into the back to clean up what was no doubt Molly’s mess. Spoiled Latina princes. She was paid the highest and never had to do a damn thing around here.

  “Ugh, that lazy bitch!” There was an open bag of chips on a shelf and guacamole all over the fucking walk-in floor. She’d obviously stopped in for a snack and knocked the tub on the floor, then just left. This was a ten-minute job when I had maybe thirty seconds in between tables.

  “Fucking wonderful.” I was going to get yelled at either from the customers for being late or from my boss for not doing what Molly asked.

  The walk-in door was spring loaded and the interior handle was busted, so to prevent myself from being locked in, I had to use something to wedge the door open slightly. I grabbed a thin block of hard cheddar cheese because I was feeling particularly petty and placed it in the gap at the bottom of the door.

  I sighed with resignation, grabbed some paper towels, and went to work cleaning up someone else’s mess in what was essentially a giant refrigerator. Silly me for not bringing my winter clothes.

  Over the hum of the walk-in’s refrigerator motor,I heard someone whistle. I peered through the crack in the door and notice the dishwashers clearing out. Then I saw the owner, Santiago, lean against the sink and start chatting with someone across from him.

  I wanted to gasp, but I knew it was essential to be extremely quiet when I realized who that person was.

  While he was recovering, Remy told me all the Lobos cabinet members’ names and rank. Directly across from Santiago was that one they called Spyder, the Sergeant at Arms. The Lobos MC’s enforcer. The Lobos was thoughtfully groomed with his long, slicked, tight ponytail.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been over to visit sooner, Santiago.” He clasped the man on the shoulder. “Club business, you know.”

  “Bones keeps you busy, I get it,” Santiago shrugged. He seemed unconcerned.

  “You’ve done a good job here, Homie. In such a short time, too! I knew it was a good idea to bring you in.”

  I was surprised to hear them talking about club business in English until I realized that all the dishwashers they hired only spoke Spanish. This was a good way for them to not worry about who might overhear them talking.

  They obviously never thought they’d have to deal with an eavesdropper like me who only spoke English.

  “I was ready, Spyder. I told you, you could always count on family. So what’s up? I love you, mi hermano, but I know this isn’t just a social call. What can I do for you?”

  “Yeah, not so much time for social anymore. The club is expanding, Santiago. Fast. We’re taking on more territory in the next few weeks, so we’re gonna need to clean a lot more money.”

  “How much more? I’m pretty full here.” Santiago regarded the man with a little worry.

  Spyder held up three fingers.

  “Mios dios…” Santiago exhaled and slid a hand over his head. The lines in his face deepened as he contemplated the enormity of the request. He paced for a few seconds, wondering how the hell he was going to accommodate that kind of demand. “Okay. Okay, but I’ll need another location. Fuck. I might even need two. Mierda. That means I gotta start looking at real estate. Nothing around here is built-to-suit. I mean between permits, new liquor licenses, inspections—”

  “Don’t get your panties all bunched, Little Brother. We got you.” Spider interrupted the man by patting the air. “We’re already closing on a spot for you. Twice as big.” Spyder pulled out his phone and showed Santiago a few pics.

  “I’ll have to get the specs but it looks good.” Santiago nodded, then asked “Where is this?”

  “Leslie, Oklahoma.” Spider’s voice lowered. He crossed his arms, his face growing severe. He knew what was going to be asked next.

  “Leslie?” Santiago leaned in and quieted his tone to nearly a whisper. �
��What about the Steel Veins?”

  I really had to focus hard to read their lips, but they were talking about Remy's home town! A chill gripped me that had nothing to do with the walk-in’s temperature. A rival MC moving that aggressively on Steel Veins turf was a big deal. That was going to be a bloodbath…

  “I said we got this.” Spyder smiled, looking confident. He resumed speaking at a normal volume.

  “Okay. I’ll need some time to train managers. How soon should I be ready?”

  “A month. Two, tops. We gotta wait till this thing next week shakes out to know for sure, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll be ready.” Santiago swallowed hard but was looking more confident. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Fix your fucking burritos, bro. They taste like dog shit.”

  “Fuck you.” Santiago snapped. “I got that recipe from mi mamá!”

  “Mi mamá was a terrible cook!” Spyder shoved his brother, and they both laughed.

  “I have to get back. This is a busy time for us.” Santiago cocked his head toward the front of the house. “And Molly is shit with the customers.”

  “She takes after her old man.” Spyder hugged Santiago. “Send my love to Frida and los niños.”

  “I will.” Santiago slapped Spyder on the back, and they both walked out. “Luis! Gino!”

  Whoa, that was heavy. Nachomama’s being a front for the Lobos’ money laundering and them setting up shop in Leslie. I had to tell Remy!

  Then the doubt set in.

  Should I tell Remy?

  We agreed to put all that behind us, and he’s been working his ass off to fit in to a normal life. What would he do if he found out? It wasn’t like we had any plans to return back to Leslie, especially with the Veins thinking he was dead.

  I was torn.

  I hated having secrets between us. And this was a really big one. A few more weeks and we’d be heading west out of Lobos territory. This whole thing would be just a violent memory.