CHAPTER 5
THE NEW KRAIT IN TOWN
Kait scanned the four men leaning on their bikes. “Friends or foes?”
Kolton was already thumbing his Nokia dialing Lane’s number, tension running down his spine. “Definitely foes. Reyes. They run this area.”
“Reyes?” she asked, though her gut already knew the answer.
“Reyes del Camino MC—the Road Kings. They’re tied to Talamantes.” His fingers shook slightly as he punched in the numbers. “Fucking great.”
Kait kept her voice steady. “You think they know about Laredo?”
“Maybe. Doesn’t matter right now.” Kolton exhaled and turned as discreetly as he could and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, man… I’m at Loyola right now with Kait. We got Reyes in the parking lot waiting for us… Well, my bad. Okay? Just, hurry.”
“You called Lane?” Kait asked even though she knew the answer.
“Yeah, backup’s on the way. Let’s go slow.”
Kait cracked her neck. “Slow?”
They reached the other end of the parking lot. Four Reyes stepped away from their bikes just enough to make it clear whose ground they were standing on.
“Oh shit… Krait recruiting mamacitas now?” one of them said, straightening up. His black eye looked fresh. “Damn, baby. Look at you.”
“We came here for some food, and now we’re leaving,” Kolton said carefully.
“Why so soon, Lil’ Prince?” the one with El Sargento patch asked with a mocking smile. “Haven’t introduced us yet.”
He eyed Kait with open inspection. “¿Cómo te llamas, hermosa?”
“Dane,” she said remembering some Spanish growing up.
He blinked. “Dane like… a Great Dane? Why, ‘cause you a mean bitch?”
“You have no idea,” she said with a smile.
“Danesa, güey,” Murrieta said under his breath.
The Reyes del Camino sergeant-at-arms stepped in closer, posture confident. “Well, since the Prince got no manners, I’m Roque. This is Chido, that’s Santos, and Murrieta.”
Kait nodded once, polite but unmoved.
Roque kept staring at her. “Damn… that’s wassup. So, you for real, huh?”
“She got the ink and everything,” said Santos from the back.
“That’s right,” Kait said watching all of them carefully.
“Cool. So, what you doing here, Prince? You’re far away from your redneck of the woods.”
The three Reyes laughed a little too hard at the remark.
“No culebras allowed, ese,” Murrieta chimed in from the back.
“I said we were grabbing food,” Kolton finally said, eyes flicking between them like he was counting angles.
“Well, I got room for dessert,” Roque purred, stepping closer to Kait. “And la Danesa looks bien buena right about now, ¿que no?” Roque looked back at his boys, and they all agreed checking Kait out hard.
Kolton was starting to get nervous at the numbers, but Kait didn’t flinch. She was figuring out every way to smoke all four Reyes and escape.
“So, we gonna dance or we’re gonna melt in this fucking heat?” she said meaning it.
Roque smirked and looked his way. “Oh, damn. It’s like that?”
Kolton took out his gun and cocked it.
Three more Reyes cocked theirs in response.
“Back the fuck up, papi,” Kait warned softly and cocked hers now and pointed right at his dick.
“Shit…” Roque stepped back, amused. “Okay, baby. You look like you like it rough.”
Kait scoffed.
“Yo! Roque…” Chido gestured with his chin.
Down the road, three bikes approached. Fast.
Roque scoffed. “Lil’ Prince called the Kount and Diablo for lunch, huh?”
Santos got in front of Kolton. “You always calling your cuz to bail you out, pinche culero.”
Kait narrowed her eyes at the remark.
Lane and Diablo rolled in, killing their engines.
Lane got off his bike slow, deliberate, unreadable. “Roque, ¿qué pasó?” he asked, eyes dropping to the swollen purple under Roque’s eye. “Damn, you still got that shiner I gave you. That was… what… two weeks ago?” He looked at Diablo, who nodded once. “Damn. You’re such a little bitch.”
People passing by began getting in their vehicles fast and leaving as soon as possible.
“Fuck you, puto,” Roque snarled. “So yeah, Kount? Y’all out of whiteboys and recruiting from the Dirty Alley or that’s your sister? What’s this Krait bitch you got patched in?”
Kolton tensed. Kait felt it radiating and gave him a look letting him know the comment didn’t bother her.
“You don’t wanna see me on bitch mode, Roque,” Kait said, voice cool enough to frost over steel.
Roque laughed and leaned in, invading her space for the thrill of it again. Kait turned her head slightly at him. Roque’s eyes moving to her lips.
Lane stepped forward not liking how close Roque was to Kait.
Roque’s attention shifted back where it belonged.
“Get on your bikes, and leave. I will even out your other eye.”
Kait observed the exchange. She could see Roque’s body language change, submitting to Lane.
Roque clicked his tongue. Trying his best not to look intimidated by his Krait counterpart.
Lane didn’t blink, didn’t flinch, didn’t breathe. Only his jaw flexed once—barely.
“It didn’t go so well for you last time, Roque,” Lane said looking at the black eye again.
“Ya párale, there’s Bear,” said Santos, the Road Captain.
“Chingada madre,” protested Chido and elbowed Murrieta and he looked up at the driveway.
Murrieta whistled and jerked his chin at the white and green truck that was approaching and they slowly and discreetly put their guns away. “Come on, foo. Fuck these culebras. Let’s go.”
Lane said, “You should listen to Burrito. Y’all late for your coyote shift.”
“It’s Murrieta, güero pendejo.”
“Don’t give a fuck,” Lane replied flatly.
The Reyes began to roll out as the truck worked its way in.
The four Reyes began to roll out as the truck worked its way into the busy parking lot.
Out stepped Senior Warden Marc Bearcroft—“Bear” for short, Lane’s former academy instructor—followed by a young rookie, Callahan.
Bear scanned the scene with one look that said he’d broken up this exact shit more times than he remembered. “Were y’all in the middle of a peace treaty, or what?”
“You know it,” said Lane.
Bear looked unimpressed at Lane then back at the Reyes leaving, one after the other.
His eyes landed on Lane. “Westfall.”
Lane straightened—not scared, just conditioned. “Bear.”
“Hey, Westfall,” Callahan said staying behind Bear. Boots too clean.
“What’s up, man.”
Then Bearcroft saw Kait.
He paused.
His brows lifted one slow inch.
“Am I missing something? A woman,” he said. “In a Krait kutte.”
Kait met his eyes. “You’re not missing anything.”
“What’s your name?”
“Dane.”
“Oh, you’re just as funny as them. Name,” he said more firmly this time.
“Kait Lokken,” she said slowly.
“How you spell that?” asked the young warden taking out a small notepad.
Kait raised an eyebrow. “L-O-K-K-E-N”
“You ain’t from here,” said Bear measuring her, memorizing her.
Kait nodded. “Sure I am.”
“She’s been abroad. But now she’s back for good. We were just leaving, Bear, so are we detained or are we free to go? said Lane.
Bear looked over at Lane. “Damn shame you chose this path, son. You would’ve made one hell of a warden.”
“Only path I had, Bear,” said Lane putting his hands up.
Kait paying close attention at the familiarity between them and the remark ‘Bear’ has just made.
Bear told them to hit the road. “Welcome to Dryden, Ms. Lokken. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” he said tipping his hat.
“Thanks. Have a Krait day,” she said and Diablo laughed. Bear acknowledge the remark with a smirk.
On their way back to the Nest, Kait could see the look in Lane’s and Kolton’s eyes for their mirrors as she rode behind them.
Lane was tense and annoyed while Kolton seemed worried sick. And with good reason.
They pulled into the gates, then the parking lot.
“Get the fuck to the chapel,” Lane grabbed Kolton by the back of the neck and guided him into across the courtyard like a kid being dragged to apologize to their neighbors for breaking their window.
Inside, the clubhouse hummed with low conversation. Klaus looked up from the back bar when he saw Kait walk in with Diablo. He waved her over with a quiet smile.
“Everything cool?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She went behind the bar and grabbed a beer. “Made some new friends.”
“I heard.” He nodded, and offered her a cigarette. She didn’t take it.
“Over here, let’s give you the lay of the land,” Klaus said heading to the pool table.
Randy joined them. “Geography lesson, huh?”
“Overdue,” Klaus said, already pulling a map book from the shelf. The book was worn, ink-marked, stained pages.
Kait slid onto the edge of the table, crossing her arms. “I could’ve used this info a couple of hours ago.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” Klaus flipped open the book to a hand-marked regional map — crude, practical.
He pointed to the northern and central blocks shaded in black marker.
“Alright,” Klaus said. “Start with home. This whole stretch here — Deadwater down through Lowmarsh and Noria Pass — belongs to us. Krait MC turf. Our territory.”
Randy leaned in beside her, tapping the map with the back of his knuckle. “Don’s held this ground for damn near twenty years. Your old man helped carve some of it too.”
Kait swallowed, eyes tracing the black lines. Memorizing them. When she looked up, she found Diablo had joined in.
Klaus turned the page. “Now the south.”
The lower coastal region was shaded in a deep, violent red.
“That’s Reyes del Camino, your new friends,” he said. “They do Talamantes bitch work. Been running the southern coast a long time.”
Randy snorted. “Hit-or-miss club. Some smarter than others. Roque’s one of the dumb ones.”
Kait smirked despite herself.
Klaus tapped a circled point farther south near the coast.
“They run their club out of Sarita.”
His finger dragged southeast across the map.
“Now word is they relocated inland. Somewhere around La Gloria.”
Randy folded his arms. “And when clubs move, borders get weird. Motherfuckers keep claiming territory out of habit.”
“Or ego,” Diablo muttered.
Kait’s eyes stayed on the map.
Sarita made sense with Loyola.
La Gloria didn’t.
Klaus flipped east.
This region was shaded orange.
“These guys are Chrome Union.”
Randy snorted. “Fucking mutants.”
Kait tilted her head. “What’s their deal?”
Klaus sighed through his nose. “White-only club. Tweakers, supremacist trash, trailer-park gene pool, the whole parade of genetic disasters.”
“Not to mention PTSD,” Diablo chimed in.
“Yeah, but they ain’t organized enough to become a real power. Dangerous in numbers, though. And unpredictable.”
Randy nodded. “They eat their own eventually. Always do.”
Kait blinked once. “Good to know.”
Klaus flipped once more.
The next region was marked in soft blue.
“Crossaiders,” Klaus said. “Christian MC. Charity runs, disaster relief, community shit. They go to court supporting victims of violence, drunk driving, all that stuff. Neutral with everybody.”
Randy nodded. “But they ain’t weak. Lotta vets, firefighters, ex-cops.”
“Their president, Halo,” Diablo added. “Former prison chaplain. High School football coach too.”
Klaus smirked faintly. “They’re good people.”
Kait leaned slowly over the map, studying the lines. The ink. The distance. The overlap.
Klaus tapped Loyola Beach.
“That’s the spot from earlier.”
Kait looked from Loyola… to Sarita… then to La Gloria.
Yeah, that doesn’t look right.
“If they moved inland…” she murmured.
Randy looked at her.
And slowly grinned.
They heard the double doors swing open and Lane came in. He walked slowly over to them to see what they were doing.
“Good. Make sure you learn that shit. At least you can’t say you didn’t know when Prince takes you to Laredo for dinner.”
Kait scoffed. Randy laughed.
“No kidding,” said Klaus.
Kait looked down at the red borders one more time — but her mind wasn’t on what was drawn.
It was on what wasn’t.
reyes del camino clubhouse
llantera rangel - la gloria
The Reyes del Camino clubhouse sat behind a tire shop that never actually fixed tires unless they belonged to one of their own. Inside—past the garage and through a metal door—the air was thick with cigarette smoke curling under the low ceiling. A battered radio playing La Camioneta Gris, the sound loud enough to rattle the mismatched tables and chairs shoved into the small back room.
Roque slammed a beer down hard enough that foam spilled over the neck, running down his hand.
Murrieta brushed down his mustache, replaying the scene with Krait over and over.
Alacrán appeared from the bathroom, drying his hands with a rag. He looked at his men the way a wolf looks at a pack that came home with empty jaws.
“Y luego?” he said, cracking his neck.
Roque lifted his chin. “There were culebras at our beach today.”
Alacrán’s expression didn’t change, but the room tightened around him.
“Which ones?”
“Lil’ Prince and…” Roque hesitated, still irritated by the memory. “A girl.”
Alacrán’s eyebrows rose slowly. “Like, his girlfriend?”
Santos nodded. “I’m pretty sure but she was also patched. Krait colors. Blonde. Tall. Serious bitch.”
“Fine ass bitch,” said Murrieta. “Pointed a gun at this foo’s dick.”
The other three Reyes soldiers erupted in laughter. Roque grumbled and got shoved and made fun of by Santos and Chido.
Alacrán didn’t laugh.
“Krait patched in a woman,” he said, voice low, deliberate. “For real?”
Roque nodded.
“She had their ink?” Alacrán pressed.
“Yeah. Like, everything,” Murrieta said.
Alacrán leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “What’s her name?”
Roque looked at Santos. “What she say?”
“Dane,” said Santos. “She said she’s from France or whatever.”
The room fell quiet.
Alacrán tapped ash into a beer bottle. “No shit? That’s Rokkstar’s daughter then.”
“I don’t know who that is,” Chido said.
Roque frowned. “Me neither.”
Alacrán only smirked.
kleberg county game warden
The warden station sat low and square at the edge of town, all cinderblock and sun-bleached paint. A couple of trucks out front. Mud on the tires. Texas Parks & Wildlife stenciled on the doors like it meant something different out here.
Bear was at his desk, hat off, coffee gone cold, flipping through paperwork he already knew by heart.
Callahan came in quiet, shutting the door behind him.
“You get eyes on her?” Bear asked without looking up.
“Yes, sir.”
Bear finally raised his head. “Let’s hear it.”
Callahan leaned against the filing cabinet, arms crossed. “She rolled into town about two weeks ago.”
Bear picked up his pen, tapped it once. “Interesting.”
“I pulled up a birth certificate and school transcripts. Apparently she was born and raised here but moved to Denmark in ‘92, She has dual citizenship through her father Gregor Lokken, who just passed. No warrants, no priors, no driver’s license. Used a U.S. passport to fly here.”
Bear leaned back slowly, chair creaking. “Interesting. So she’s staying here now?”
“I guess so. But, yeah, she seems to be a fully patched Krait member.”
Callahan nodded. “That’s probably what stirred things up at Loyola.”
Bear exhaled through his nose. “That explains the tension.”
Callahan shifted. “You think she’s going to be a problem?”
Bear shook his head once. “Not yet.”
He stood, grabbed his hat, and settled it on his head like muscle memory. “But she’s a variable. And variables get attention.”
Callahan nodded. “You want me to keep an eye out?”
He glanced back, eyes sharp. “We always keep an eye out on Krait. And get the McNeal on the line.”
“Yes, sir.”
the nest
Don made Kolton run a ‘good faith errand’ with the Crossaiders as punishment for being stupid enough to forget territory boundaries. It felt awkward for Kait to hear Don rip Kolton a new one earlier, but it was well deserved. He should have known better.
Kait decided to go for a ride on her own and made her way to the parking lot. She was excited to go explore alone.
“Where you going?”
Kait turned. It was Lane behind her, closer than she thought.
“Gonna ride around for a bit.”
“You should go grab that map, don’t end up in C.U. turf this time and turn into a crackhead.”
Kait smirked. “I’m more of a vodka girl. I’ll be fine.”
Lane looked at her until she took off. He was contemplating going with her but wouldn’t dare to ask. He didn’t have a real reason to.
Kait was curious about the rumor that Reyes may have moved their clubhouse so she went to the person who could help her.
Kode.
Kait arrived at Snake Eyes Bail Bonds and noticed the windows were still boarded up. The bell over the door of Snake Eyes gave its usual tired jingle as Kait stepped inside. The place smelled like old AC, coffee that had been reheated twice, and whatever incense Loraine had going.
Loraine was behind the counter with her readers halfway down her nose, stapling Bail applications she had just printed out. She looked up, brightening immediately.
“Well, hey, sweetheart. You doing okay?” she asked, already reading Kait’s face better than most people liked.
Kait shrugged. “Long day.”
“I heard.” Loraine slid the stack aside and leaned on the counter. “Kolton got in trouble?”
Kait gave a small laugh. “Something like that.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Loraine smirked knowingly. “Don should’ve sent him here to do this shit. Put him to work filing and answering phones.”
“Right!” Kait bit back a smile.
Loraine’s gaze softened. “You, though—you look good. More acclimated.”
Kait nodded. “I’m getting used to it. For sure.”
“That’s all anyone can ask.” Loraine caressed Kait’s arm.
I’m gonna go talk to Kode.”
“Go right ahead, sweetheart.” Loraine went back to her papers.
Kait found him in his corner office, half dismantled equipment spread across the desk like a surgery in progress. A scratched-up CRT monitor glowed green. Kode barely blinked when she got close.
“Got a minute?” she asked.
Kode looked up and removed his reading glasses immediately. “Oh, hey, Kait. What… uh, what’s up?”
“Hey. I need your brain.”
Kode sat back and gave her his full attention. “Shoot.”
She closed the door behind her.
“I need to know where Reyes moved their clubhouse.”
“They have a house in Sarita, last I heard.”
“Klaus said they may have moved. I need to know if they did.”
“I can make a call and find out. Got a girl that works for the county.”
“Great, thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Kait stepped out of Kode’s office and into the dull hum of Snake Eyes’ hallway. Voices drifted from the front—Loraine explaining the bail process to a client.
She waved at Loraine and pushed through the front door and let the desert heat slap her across the face. She knew it would be a while until she got used to the heat again.
Dryden was glowing in that late-afternoon gold, the kind that made even the shittiest buildings look nice for six seconds. She swung a leg over her bike and exhaled.
The engine rumbled under her, steady and alive. She let it take her through town—past Snake Eyes, past the courthouse, past the trailer parks where time sat still, past rows of dying businesses with hand-painted signs and sunburned awnings.
She rode past Dryden Lake, where the water was smooth and still, reflecting a sky that didn’t match the weather. A FOR SALE sign tilted in the breeze on a lake house porch. She slowed and checked the place out. She felt drawn to it somehow. It looked peaceful, quiet— the two things she never trusted.
Then she revved the throttle and moved on.
Downtown Dryden gave her its mix of grit and charm—pawn shops, BBQ spots, mechanic shops, and the steady churn of people who didn’t know her, didn’t care about her, and didn’t realize she could outshoot half the county.
She found Mag’s Alterations first—the place Lane had mentioned for patching and leather repairs. Brews N’ Crews was down the same block.
The store smelled like old fabric and steam—pressed denim and leather that had lived a life before it ever hit her table.
The door had a bell tied to it. Effective, timeless, like the lady standing there with a box full of spools.
Mag looked at Kait and froze.
Her eyes went straight to the patch.
Not curious.
Not confused.
Assessing.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Mag said quietly.
Kait didn’t move. “Hi. My name’s—”
Mag stepped closer, slow but sure, fingers already hovering near the stitching oh her kutte. “I know who you are. You put that on yourself?”
“Yes.”
Mag hummed once. Not impressed. Not unimpressed either. Just noting it.
“Mm. Pull it off.”
Kait blinked. “Huh?”
“Your kutte,” Mag said. “Give it here, I’ll fix it.”
Kait did, careful, handing it over like it mattered. Because it did.
Mag turned it inside out, squinting at the seams, thumb tracing the back of the patch. Her mouth tightened.
“You got good hands,” she said. “Strong ones. But you rushed this.”
“I guess.”
“I’ll fix it and get you the Texas flag you’re missing too.”
Kait hesitated. “You don’t have to—”
“I wasn’t asking. It’s crooked, Making my eyeball twitch. Give it here.”
Kait handed her the kutte and Mag set it on the counter and reached for her scissors. Sharp. Heavy.
Mag stripped the patch clean in practiced motions, threads snapping loose like they’d been waiting.
Kait flinched at the sight.
Mag noticed. She smiled and went around the sewing machine.
As she switched the navy-blue spool for a black one, she glanced up at Kait.
“You look like your daddy.”
Kait stiffened.
“Same eyes. Same hair. Same air about you. I bet you’re just as tough.”
She paused, looked at Kait’s stance. Arms crossed, one leg in front of the other. She shifted and adjusted her leather. “Rokkstar used to come in here all the time.”
Kait swallowed. “I’m sure.”
“Didn’t like him much at first,” Mag said.
That earned a faint smile from Kait.
Mag snorted. “So loud. Wild… that accent. Then he grew on me. Like rust.”
The machine hummed back to life. Slow. Precise.
“He had this charm about him,” Mag went on. “But my god, he could fight.”
“For sure.”
“You’re back for good?”
Kait narrowed her eyes.
“Yeah.”
“Good. I never knew why Greg decided to leave.”
“Me neither.”
The stitching finished. Mag cut the thread and turned the kutte back over, smoothing the patch flat with both palms.
“There,” she said. “Now it’ll hold when it counts.”
She handed it back.
Kait ran her fingers over the seam. Solid. Clean. Permanent. Then she put it on and ran her hands over her new Texas flag patch
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Mag waved it off. “That’s nothing. Come back in a few days. I’ll have something for you.”
Kait nodded, slipping the kutte back on.
As she reached for the door, Mag added, almost casually—
“And kid?”
Kait looked back.
“You don’t need to introduce yourself to anyone.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she said with a polite smile. The bell rang again as Kait stepped out.
Mag watched the door for a long moment after it closed, then went back to her machine like nothing had happened.
Brews N’ Crews sat on the corner like it had been there longer than the town itself. Weathered brick rose straight into a faded wooden facade, the paint peeling in long curls from years of Texas heat and lake humidity. Three worn wooden steps led up to the porch. An old rocking chair and bench lined the front beneath buzzing beer neon and crooked lanterns.
Country music hummed through the place—Travis Tritt singing about being somebody someday. Neon signs glowed low and steady over the bar, washing the room in tired reds and greens. The air smelled like beer, cigars, and old wood that had soaked up decades of stories.
A young couple slow-danced near the jukebox, pressed close, moving to another song no one bothered to name. Their boots scuffed the floor in a lazy rhythm, like they were trying to make up for arguments they hadn’t had the energy to finish.
A couple of old-timers leaned against the bar, hats low, eyes sharp. They watched everything and said nothing—men who had learned a long time ago that silence lasted longer than opinions.
The place didn’t rush.
It didn’t ask questions.
It just took note.
This was Dryden’s waterhole.
Kait felt the looks immediately.
Not hostile.
Just curious.
She took a seat at the bar and, without thinking too hard about it, swept her hair to the side, leaving her kutte fully visible to the room. No hiding. No apology.
She ordered a Coors Light first from the tired, middle-aged bartender. He didn’t ask her anything. Just grabbed the bottle, popped the cap, and slid it her way.
She appreciated that.
She took her time with her cold silver bullet. Let the bar settle around her instead of shrinking herself to fit it.
They could stare all they wanted.
She wasn’t going anywhere until she finished her drink.
At the far end of the bar, Chugs watched.
He didn’t stare. Didn’t squint. Didn’t whisper.
Just observed.
The way she sat.
The way she held the bottle.
The way she scanned the room once and then stopped scanning, like someone who didn’t need to measure exits.
Chugs had seen everything Dryden had ever produced—and everything it had ever chewed up. He knew posture. He knew confidence that wasn’t borrowed.
After a few minutes, Kait slid the empty bottle forward.
“Shot of vodka,” she said. “Straight.”
The bartender nodded.
That’s when Mitch leaned in.
Mitch was always there. Always drunk. Long gray hair hanging in his face like it had given up trying. Elbows planted on the bar like roots. He squinted at Kait like he was trying to remember her from a past life.
The shot hit the counter.
Kait took it without ceremony.
Mitch let out a low whistle.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he drawled. “You’re hotter than hell with the thermostat broke and the warranty expired.”
A couple of guys snorted.
Kait smirked but didn’t look at him. “That right?”
Mitch grinned, pleased. “Yep.”
She tipped the shot back. Calm. Clean. No flinch.
Chugs noticed that too.
No one asked her who she was.
No one asked her where she came from.
Dryden wasn’t like that.
And as Kait finished her drink and dropped seven bucks, she stood, and walked back toward the door—boots steady, shoulders relaxed, kutte riding her frame like it belonged there—Chugs finally put it all together. There was a new Krait in Town.
The door opened and she stepped back out into the Texas heat. The hot air rushed in, and then she was gone—lost in the sunset glare the way some things usually do the moment you look away.
Inside, the music kept playing.
And Dryden started whispering.
SNAKE EYES BAIL BONDS
Kode was waiting in his back office when she returned, door half-open like he wanted her to think he wasn’t pacing.
He spun toward her the moment she stepped in.
“Got it.”
He handed her a folded sheet of paper—crisp, edges sharp, handled like it was contraband.
“They moved,” he said. “My girl over at County found a filing tied to one of the legal names they use for renewals. January. New business registration popped under the same name. Rangel.”
Kait’s stomach tightened.
“Rangel?”
“Yep. Llantera Rangel. Tire shop” He smirked. “And the owner on file is… surprise… Juan Carlos Rangel, aka, Alacrán.”
“Nice,” she said.
“Yep.” Kode tapped the paper. “It’s a front. Has to be. So, you taking it to the table?”
Kait stared at the paper. “Of course. That means the beach belongs to us,” she said.
Kode nodded.
“Thanks, Kode. See you at church,” she said with a smile.
She slipped him a small smile and left.
the nest
Church had been going for almost an hour, the chapel thick with smoke and heat. The Judge’s tank glowed faintly against the wall, casting a ripple of amber light across the table. Everyone looked tired, or impatient, or both.
Blaze stood at the far end, one hand braced on the table, the other flicking ash off his cigarette as he finished his rundown.
“…and that’s the last of it,” Blaze said. “Talamantes is quiet. Too quiet. They shook the Laredo mess off way faster than I expected, but they’re staying south for now. No chatter pointing this way.”
Klaus frowned. “Quiet with cartels is never good.”
“Yeah,” Blaze agreed. “But for the moment? They’re licking their wounds or planning something bigger. Either way, nothing aimed at us yet.”
Diablo grunted. “Yet being the key word.”
Blaze sat, and Randy slid a ledger in front of him, tapping it with his knuckle.
Don tapped ash into the tray and let the silence sit before he spoke.
“Before we get into numbers,” he said, eyes sweeping the table, “I want to address what almost turned into a fucking mess at Loyola Beach.”
A few heads lifted. Kolton sighed.
“That was Reyes turf,” Don continued. “Doesn’t matter how pretty the weather was or who thought it was a good idea to grab a bite. You don’t wander into another club’s ground and act surprised when they push back.”
His gaze settled on Kolton. Not angry. Worse—measured.
“Lane and Diablo got there fast enough to keep it from getting stupid. That’s the only reason we’re not cleaning up after something bigger right now.”
Kolton nodded once. “Yeah. My fault.”
Kait looked at him. She could tell he was annoyed.
Don leaned back in his chair. “Yep. And that’s why Kolton spent his day helping out the Crossaiders run some errands.”
Lane smirked. Ram chuckled and Mack shook his head.
“Well, at least Kait knows her borders and territories now,” Klaus said and Kait nodded. Don nodded and moved on like it was settled. “Good. Now let’s talk money.”
“Financials,” Randy announced. His tone wasn’t annoyed—just bone-deep exhausted. “Short version? We’re fine, but fine ain’t good enough. We gotta get more aggressive with collections. Some of the weekly dues ain’t coming in clean.”
Kolton sank lower in his chair.
“And,” Randy continued, eyes flicking at Don, “we need to keep getting creative if we want steady cushion money. Bail’s gonna keep slow for a while. We got our regulars but it’s always the families that make steady payments.”
“Kraitive,” said Kode.
Kait and Kolton chuckled.
“Kraaaitive,” said Diablo. Lane shook his head.
Don rolled his eyes. “Dumbasses.”
Kode and Diablo fist bumped laughing like eighth graders.
“Yeah, whatever you wanna call it, but fucking do it. I’m sure we’ll get the new glass it’ll pick back up. Alright. What else?”
Randy closed the ledger. “That’s all I got.”
“Before we wrap up,” he said, “Lane and Diablo are heading up to Huntsville for a few days.”
A few heads lifted.
“Barry’s been fucking off. Dues are late, meetings aren’t happening, and that charter’s starting to look like a joke. Too many tired shitkickers and old cowboys wearing colors they haven’t earned.”
He paused, letting it sink in.
“We gotta set them straight. Make an example out of them.” Don tapped the table once and scanned the table.
“That everything, then?” Don asked. “Anybody else?”
A couple heads shook. Blaze lit another cigarette. Mack leaned back in his chair. Lane tapped his fingers on the table—impatient.
Don inhaled like he was about to stand.
And that’s when Kait spoke.
“Actually,” she said, voice calm but steady. “I found something out today. With Kode.”
Kode pursed his lips and nodded.
Lane’s fingers froze mid-tap.
Kolton perked up instantly.
Kode straightened against the wall, quietly satisfied.
Don eased back into his seat. “Alright. What’s up?”
Kait placed the folded paper on the table.
“I can confirm Reyes moved their clubhouse,” she said. “They aren’t operating out of Sarita anymore. Kode’s contact at the county office pulled a change-of-address tied to one of their legal names. New business registration too, under the name Juan Carlos Rangel. Alacrán.”
A quiet ripple moved through the room.
“They relocated to La Gloria,” she continued. “Their clubhouse is a tire shop. Llantera Rangel. The registration went through in January. So… technically, Loyola is on our turf now.”
Blaze let out a low whistle.
“Shit.”
“Turf War?” Said Ram rubbing his hands together maliciously.
They all looked at Don.
Lane sighed.
“War for Territory,” Diablo muttered doing devil horns.
Klaus gave Kait a small, proud nod.
Kolton grinned at her like she’d hung the damn moon.
Lane didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Didn’t blink.
He just watched her, eyes sharp and unreadable, jaw tight enough to crack.
Don nodded a few times. “T-Dub it is. I’ll call Alacrán and we’ll set something up. Krait dismissed.”
“I could’ve told you they moved. All you had to do was pass by their old clubhouse,” said Lane ignoring the dismissal.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Don.
“Because it didn’t matter geographically,” said Lane.
“But that gives us the beach,” Kait said.
“Nobody gives a shit about that beach, it’s inconsequential.”
Kait scoffed.
“I still want the beach, go.” said Don.
“How did you get that info, Kody?” Asked Ram
“I have a lot of ways to get I want. So go ask her,” Kode said as a matter of fact.
Ram laughed and tapped him on the shoulder.
They all began getting up. “Don. A second?” said Lane and they remained.
Kait and the others went out to the common area and Kolton told them about how boring it was to load up canned food and deliver it to different churches for their food banks.
All I’m saying is that Loyola doesn’t matter, it’s a fishing spot. But anyway, what does matter is that after today,” Lane muttered, “word is gonna spread about her.”
“Good,” Don said, tapping ash into the tray beside him. “She’ll get some respect.”
Lane scoffed. “How? This shit’s out now. Everybody’s gonna know Krait patched a chick. Shit, even Bear knows now”
“So what, son?”
Lane sank deeper in his chair, boots planted wide. “I don’t want us being the butt of jokes in town. Or anywhere, for that matter.”
“That is not going to happen,” Don said. “You’ve got this fucked-up notion that she’s bad for the club. She’s already proven herself—Europe and here.”
Lane didn’t respond immediately. The tank lights flickered against his face—amber, then dark, then amber again.
“What about Kolton?” he finally said. “Have you seen him since she got here?”
“Not a lot, but…” Don smirked, “we know why.”
“Exactly.” Lane leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “He spends every damn second with her. Hasn’t stopped by the bail bonds once since she got here.”
“Well, shit, you blame him? Besides, they’re reconnecting and all that shit.” Don paused. “You remember how he got when she left.”
Lane’s jaw shifted.
He remembered.
The drugs, the drinking, the fights.
Kolton had been a mess for months.
“It’s been six years,” Lane muttered. “He should’ve grown out of it.”
Don lifted a shoulder. “Some people don’t grow out of things. Anyway—just, relax. It’s fine.”
Lane stood, ready to bolt from the conversation entirely. “Just letting you know what happened earlier.”
“Yeah,” Don said, grounding the cigarette into the tray. “Don’t worry about it. Have a few beers. You got that trip to Huntsville coming up.”
Lane hesitated in the doorway.
Just a fraction of a second.
But Don saw it.
The tension.
The conflict.
The thing Lane refused to name.
Lane dragged a breath, nodded once, and left the chapel without another word.
LATER - KOLTON’S ROOM
03:04 AM
The ring cut through the dark like a blade.
Kolton jolted awake, patting around blindly until he found his Nokia. Kait sat up fast. Fully awake.
“Yeah?” Kolton answered, voice rough. A pause. His whole body went rigid. “Right now? …Okay. Shit. Okay, I’m on my way.”
He was already putting on his jeans.
“What happened?” Kait asked, heart already steadying into its battle rhythm.
Kolton shoved his boots on. “We’re doing war for Loyola Beach. Alacrán agreed. One fight.”
Kait felt that settle inside her—not fear, but something colder. Clearer.
She grabbed her kutte and followed him out.
The highway was empty at that hour, just the hum of engines and the rush of wind. The coastline grew sharper the closer they got — salt in the air, fog sliding across the asphalt like it was alive.
When they arrived, the others were already there—Lane, Diablo, and Don. Their bikes formed a crooked half-circle, headlights cutting through the darkness.
Kait dismounted.
Lane saw her.
His face went cold.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he muttered approaching.
He yanked Kolton by the kutte and hauled him aside, voices low and heated. Kait didn’t follow—she stood her ground and joined Diablo and Buster in the van. Diablo warmed up to Sepultura’s War for Territory.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” Asked Lane.
“What do you mean?” said Kolton in a high pitched voice.
“I called you. It was supposed to be Diablo, you and me. Alacrán just decided it’s going to be one fucking fight, and who the fuck do you think they’re gonna pick now?”
Kolton blinked, guilt already blooming. “Fuck…”
“Yeah,” Lane snapped. “One fight. That’s all. He couldn’t care less about the beach.”
Kolton grimaced. “Shit. I didn’t know, man… and she was laying right next to me, so—”
“Yeah, I’m sure she was.” Lane shook his head, furious. “Goddamn it, Prince.”
He didn’t wait for an answer—just turned and stalked back toward the bikes.
Kolton muttered, “Shit, man…” and hurried after him.
Don walked toward them, kutte heavy, expression unreadable. “All right. Move the bikes.”
Engines flared. Sand churned. Both charters formed the circle—iron boundaries in the fogged-up darkness, headlights pointed inward like a jury.
Kait had never seen one in person. Denmark never needed turf wars—different politics, cleaner lines. But Greg told her enough stories: presidents agreeing on terms, choosing fighters, fists only. No weapons. No interference. Honor among men who rarely had any to spare.
Tonight, she was standing inside one of those stories.
Don and Alacrán stepped into the center. Alacrán’s smirk widened when he saw Kait behind the Krait line.
“I think this is gonna go real fast,” he murmured to Don. “Good. I got shit to do this morning.”
Don didn’t blink. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
Alacrán shrugged like he already knew the ending and stepped back to his side. Don returned to Krait.
“Alright. Let’s make this fast,” Alacrán called out. “War for Loyola Beach. One fight.”
Kait kept watching Kolton. He was very nervous.
Alacrán raised his chin. “Turf is ours, so we pick.” He jerked his hand. “Chido. Get in.”
Chido strutted forward, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck, showboating like he thought he was on TV. The Reyes boys hooted behind him.
Alacrán asked, “Who you want?”
Chido didn’t hesitate. His eyes slid straight to Kait, hungry and stupid.
“Gimme la güera,” he said. “So I can go back to bed… or maybe take her with me.”
The Reyes exploded in laughter.
Kait didn’t flinch.
Lane didn’t laugh.
Kolton looked like his heart had just stopped.
Lane gave Kolton a look so sharp it felt like the air snapped in half.
You dumb motherfucker.
