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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.”
    Gunner 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, Gunner 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.
    “Yeah?” Jesse said, whirling on her. “That’s what you want? 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.
     
    The Marauders rode at nine-p.m.
    It was exactly the time of her curfew, but it was too late for her to be thinking about that now. There were bigger worries on her mind—like being an accessory to arson in a turf war between the Marauders and Los Muertos.
    She clung to Jesse tightly as they sped toward the county borders. The desert was cold as hell at night, and she only had her tank top and Daisy Dukes to keep her warm. Bear had afforded her his old jacket before she’d gone—apparently, it was an honor he’d not bestowed to anyone else, no matter the weather—but it completely dwarfed her with its size.
    Still, it was better than nothing, which was exactly what Jesse was giving her.
    He hadn’t said a single word to her since the fight with Gunner. Though he’d seemed so self-assured when they were alone, it was apparently a different story in front of his club. Reputation was probably everything to them, and she’d tarnished his by stepping into the middle of a schoolyard scrap. Worse yet, she was a girl.
    Layla sighed and closed her eyes. She thought she’d left behind the most glaring of chauvinistic attitudes once she’d graduated from middle school, but if tonight had proven anything, it was that boys’ clubs were still alive and well. She felt so incredibly idiotic for wanting to be a part of it.
    But it was too late now. She’d made her choice. If she asked Jesse to take her home at this juncture, he’d probably just leave her on the side of the road.
    What the hell would I tell my parents? She wondered. Hell, what am I going to tell them now?
    Her car privileges were reinstated only on the condition that she meet her curfew and stay out of trouble. Right now, Layla was doing neither, and as far from town as they were, she couldn’t even tell if her parents had called while she was out.
    Fuck. They’re going to kill me.
    But only if Los Muertos doesn’t, first.
    Looking over Jesse’s arm, Layla could see the warehouse Gunner had talked about in the distance. Jesse cut his lights, and the rest of the club followed, swathing them in near-total darkness. Besides the light of the full moon