FIRE & RUIN
Chapter 12
WHEN YOU COME BACK
The truck stop sat just off the road, lights buzzing over cracked pavement and idling engines.
They made it there clean.
That didn’t sit right with anyone.
Too clean.
The black van was parked off to the side.
Three prospects inside waiting for Lane’s instructions.
Still.
Watching.
Lane stood near the edge of the lot, eyes on the road.
Hands loose at his sides.
Head working.
The others gathered around him without being called.
Blaze leaned against his bike. Diablo lit a cigarette. Trace and Koa stood a step back—not watching the road.
Watching him.
Kode checked his watch, then looked up.
Lane didn’t turn right away.
Then—
“If they’re at the line, they’re watching the border. If they’re watching the border, they’re watching us right now.”
Kode chuckled.
“So once that truck rolls through, they’ll move too.”
No buildup.
No hesitation.
“So, listen up.”
The air shifted.
“Middle stretch. No exits. No turnarounds. That’s where they commit.”
A beat.
“They wait until we’re locked in. Then they close.”
His eyes moved across them.
“They come from the sides. Maybe try to stall front.”
He shook his head once.
“When they hi, if they’re smart, they’re not hitting early.”
Lane’s gaze landed on Trace. Then Koa.
“If they try the same shit as the other night, they can’t rush it.”
Diablo gave a short nod. “Yeah.”
Lane didn’t acknowledge it.
“Formation holds.”
Flat. Final.
“No breaks. No chasing movement. No splitting off.”
His eyes moved across the group.
“You stay in position and you fucking shoot.”
Blaze smirked. “Fuck yeah.”
Lane ignored him.
“We keep that truck moving.”
That was it.
Everything else bent around that.
Kode nodded once. “Copy.”
No one pushed.
No one needed more.
The plan was simple.
That’s what made it dangerous.
A few minutes later, headlights appeared down the road.
Far off, coming in steady.
Lane didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
“We ride, we bite.”
“Fuck yeah!” said Blaze.
Diablo and Kode let out a war cry.
Koa and Trace nodded at each other looking forward to the action.
THE DIRTY ALLEY
The Alley was closing.
Lights dimmed just enough to signal the night was over.
Girl, You’ll Be a Woman Soon playing for the third time.
“You’re gonna make me hate you, Amber!”
Kait yelled from the bar.
“Last time, I promise!” she yelled back as she practiced in her Mia Wallace wig for the next night.
Last drinks getting finished.
Chairs scraping.
Ram leaned against the bar, laughing.
“I’m telling you, you should’ve said yes,” he said.
Dulce rolled her eyes, counting her tips. “To what? A ring from a guy who still owes for two dances?”
Ernesto chuckled from behind the DJ booth.
“Did I hear that right? Honeymoon in Vegas?” Jojo said.
Dulce rolled her eyes and nodded.
“That man had a plan,” Jojo added.
“Yeah,” Ram added, “didn’t plan for a wife who likes girls, though.”
Dulce snorted. “Surprise, surprise.”
Peaches laughed, tossing her hair back. “Poor guy, he’s legit in love with you.”
“Well, love doesn’t pay rent,” Dulce shot back.
Jojo wiped down a table nearby. “I would’ve said yes. Get a little house, couple dogs—”
“—and a lesbian wife,” Peaches cut in.
More laughter.
Easy.
Normal.
The kind of quiet that comes after a long night.
“I’m taking the trash out,” Peaches said again.
She pushed through the back curtain.
A second—
A thud.
Kait looked up first.
Ram turned right after.
A yelp—
The curtain snapped open.
Severino came through with Peaches.
Fist in her hair.
Dragging.
She struggled—he didn’t slow.
Then he threw her.
Hard.
She hit the floor, slid across it, gasping.
Forgotten.
Chido and Roque stepped in behind him.
Five more men followed.
Strangers.
Wrong.
The room locked up.
Ernesto came out from behind the DJ booth.
“What the fuck are you doing—”
Severino didn’t even look at him.
The machete moved.
Fast.
Across.
A clean slice.
Ernesto stopped mid-step.
Hands coming up—
Too late.
Blood poured.
He dropped behind the stage.
Gone.
Ram lunged—
Roque’s gun snapped up.
“Don’t.”
Ram froze.
Jaw clenched so hard it shook.
The girls screamed.
Chido laughed.
Like it was nothing.
The music kept playing.
Soft.
Wrong.
Severino wiped nothing.
Didn’t care.
His eyes found Kait.
A crooked smile appeared on his lips.
“Buenas noches, culebrita”
ROMA TRUCK STOP
The Texaco off the 281 was half-lit and mostly empty.
Buzzing canopy lights. Two pumps working. One truck idling near the side.
The convoy pulled in clean.
Engines cut one by one.
The driver climbed out, already moving for the bathroom. “Dos minutos.”
Lane didn’t answer.
He stepped away from the truck, eyes on the road.
The others closed in.
Blaze rolled his shoulders. “So what the hell was that.”
Diablo flicked his lighter, didn’t spark it. “Bunch of nothing.”
“Playin’ games it’s all it is” Blaze said.
Kode checked the road, then the horizon. “Maybe they were bluffing.”
Trace looked back the way they came. “Too bad, man.”
Koa said nothing. “Night ain’t over.”
Lane kept listening and analyzing everyone’s theories.
None made sense.
“Maybe they got pulled last second,” he said.
Blaze frowned.
Kode shrugged. “BP’s been hot all week. Patrol’s all over the place. News picked it up. Maybe it was too much heat.”
Blaze exhaled. “That makes sense.”
Lane didn’t respond.
“Or maybe…”
His eyes stayed on the road.
Then past it.
Then somewhere else entirely.
A small patch off the edge of the lot.
Wildflowers pushing up through dirt and oil stains.
Lane stared at it a second too long.
Something shifted.
He straightened.
“They weren’t planning on hitting the truck tonight at all.”
Lane put his helmet on.
“Severino’s going after Kait.”
Blaze’s head snapped up. “Fuck.”
Lane was already moving.
“Diablo,” he said, sharp.
Diablo stepped forward.
“Handle the convoy. I’m riding ahead.”
No hesitation.
Diablo nodded. “Got it.”
Lane was already at his bike.
Blaze didn’t ask.
Just moved.
Koa and Trace watched, understanding hitting late.
Kode muttered, “Shit…”
Engines fired.
Lane kicked up first.
Blaze right behind him.
No more talk.
No more plan.
Just speed.
They tore out of the Texaco like something was on fire.
Back toward Dryden.
Back toward the Alley.
The dirty alley
Severino and Kait sat at one of the small tables near the stage, facing each other.
“It’s very simple, mija. Stop running for Mondragón. No more trucks, no more routes. Or we take you all out, one by one, until there’s no one left.”
His gaze moved once around the room.
Ram, the girls, the blood still spreading behind the bar.
Then back on her.
Kait didn’t follow his eyes. She stayed on him, studying, listening, taking him apart piece by piece.
“And you came to tell me this?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “This message is for me?”
“For you. For your club, anyone who makes a move again the Talamantes family.”
She exhaled through her nose.
“No…”
A faint smile touched Kait’s lips. “I think you’re here for me.”
Severino frowned.
“You wanted to see me, Severino?”
Something shifted there. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t look away either. He couldn’t.
Kait leaned forward just enough for him to notice. His eyes dropped to her cleavage, and she caught it.
“You got your message across,” she said quietly. “Now let them go.”
Her hand slid forward across the table and found his. “Deal with me.”
“Toast,” Ram snapped.
She only glanced at him, then returned her attention to Severino.
He was staring at her hand on his, focused, almost still.
“You came for me, didn’t you?”
His eyes lifted. She tried to pull her hand back, but he caught her wrist, tight.
“Hey!” Ram barked.
“Cállate, pendejo,” Chido shot back.
Severino pulled her toward him, slow and deliberate, forcing her up with him as he closed the distance. His arm wrapped around her waist, firm, possessive.
“Careful, Toast,” Ram muttered.
Kait didn’t fight him.
Kait didn’t fight him.
“Back room, and we’ll talk,” she whispered against his lips.
It wasn’t an invitation. It was a decision.
She took his hand from behind her back and guided him through the curtain. She knew exactly what room to take him to.
There was no hesitation. His hands were rough, pulling her in, trying to take control immediately. Kait hit the wall but didn’t resist, didn’t panic. His mouth moved along her neck, her jaw—hungry, impatient.
“Easy,” she murmured close to his ear. “You waited this long. Don’t rush it. You still have to make me scream, remember?”
That slowed him. Not much—but enough.
Kait shifted, closing the space and changing the angle. Now she was in front of him, not pinned, not trapped. Her hands came up, guiding rather than pushing.
“Slow… for now,” she said.
His breathing changed. His focus narrowed. He wasn’t thinking anymore—just reacting.
She moved him exactly where she needed him and eased him down into the seat.
She felt the moment—when control slipped.
That was it.
Kait moved fast. Her hand dropped under the cushion, reaching for the gun she had stashed there.
He saw it and reacted instantly, swatting it away before she could bring it up.
No time.
Her other hand went to her boot. Blade out. Up.
She drove it straight into his face.
He jerked, too late. The knife struck once.
He roared, hands flying up as blood poured, blinding him. He staggered, disoriented but still dangerous.
His arm swung wildly.
The backhand landed hard.
The world snapped sideways.
Kait hit the floor.
Everything went black.
Severino staggered back, one hand clamped over his face, breathing heavy, out of rhythm now. Blood slipped through his fingers. One eye was gone. The other struggled to focus.
Rage surged—but he forced it down.
He stepped out into the main room.
“Burn it down!”
Ram’s head snapped toward him. “Where’s Toast? Kait!”
The girls started screaming her name.
Roque moved first. Chido laughed.
The men spread through the room, splashing gasoline across the stage, the tables, the bar, the curtains, the doors. No hesitation, no panic—just execution.
Then the flames came.
They caught fast.
Heat surged. Smoke rolled.
The room broke into chaos.
Screaming.
Fire.
Severino stumbled outside, still covering his face, still standing.
“Chain the exits. Everyone in there dies…”
He looked around slowly
“Todos!”
The road into Dryden felt longer than it ever had.
Lane had ridden worse roads.
Places where the air itself felt wrong.
Where something was waiting around every corner.
He’d been there before.
Deserts that didn’t forgive mistakes.
Men who raised to kill him on sight.
He hadn’t been afraid then.
Not when rounds cracked past his head.
Not when things went sideways and stayed that way.
Not when Don caught him at sixteen, hands dirty, trying to strip parts off a bike that didn’t belong to him.
Fear wasn’t something he carried.
It wasn’t something he needed.
Blaze rode hard beside him, engines pushing, both of them eating up the miles back to Dryden.
Fast.
Too fast for most.
Still not fast enough.
Lane’s jaw stayed tight the whole ride.
Eyes locked ahead.
Just the road and the thought sitting in the back of his head.
Something’s wrong.
Not the run.
Not the road.
Something else.
Something he couldn’t see yet.
That was the part that didn’t sit right.
That was the part he didn’t like.
They hit the edge of town.
Lights.
Familiar.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
Lane slowed just enough to take it in.
Stores closed.
Streets empty.
Normal.
Should’ve felt normal.
Didn’t.
He’d rolled into places like this before.
After.
After something had already happened.
After the noise.
After the damage.
That same feeling sat in his chest now.
Heavy.
Wrong.
They turned toward the Alley.
That’s when he saw it.
White smoke beginning to rise up into the night sky.
Lane didn’t slow.
He twisted the throttle.
And for the first time in a long time… he felt it.
Not hesitation or doubt.
Fear.
Not of what may be there
But of what may not.
The dirty alley
Sunshine stood off to the side, wrapped in a blanket that wasn’t hers.
Hair a mess.
Face stained.
A deputy stood in front of her, notepad in hand.
“They just… walked in,” she said. “A group of men. I don’t know how many. Five… maybe more.”
Her voice shook—but not too much.
“They said something to Ernesto, the owner. I couldn’t hear what. Then one of them just—”
She stopped.
Looked down.
“They killed him.”
The deputy nodded, writing.
“And then?”
“They started pouring something everywhere…”
She swallowed.
“Gas, I think. I don’t know. I was covering my face the whole time.”
A few feet away, Dulce and Jojo were telling the same version.
Same story.
Same gaps.
Ram stood near them, hands still smudged, shirt streaked with soot.
Talking to another officer.
“…yeah, I’m her boyfriend,” he said, nodding toward Peaches. “I just got here, saw the fire, got them out. Don’t know nothin’ else, man.”
He didn’t overdo it.
Didn’t add anything.
Didn’t need to.
Everything else had already been said.
Or not said.
Across the lot, Don stood with Sheriff McNeil.
Klaus beside him.
Calm.
Too calm for what was behind them.
McNeil let out a short breath through his nose.
“Then take that war somewhere else,” he said. “I’m cleanin’ up your shit every time your boys decide to start swingin’ dicks.”
A beat.
Then, lower—
“Get those fucking wetbacks outta my town. Push it on their side. I don’t give a shit how.”
“I said I’ll take care of it,” Don replied.
No push.
No apology.
Just that.
McNeil studied him.
Long enough to remind him who had what on who.
“And don’t get greedy on me,” McNeil added. “You know your fee just went up for this shit.”
Don held his gaze. “You’ll get taken care of.”
That’s when the sound hit.
Two engines.
Hard.
Fast.
Don and Klaus looked up.
Lane and Blaze came in hot, cutting through the edge of the scene like they didn’t see the lights, the tape, the uniforms.
Lane killed the bike before it settled.
Already moving.
Eyes scanning.
Smoke.
Cops.
Don.
Klaus.
Ram.
Where is she?
Sunshine crying on Dulce’s shoulder.
Dulce on the curb, staring straight ahead.
Jojo arguing with a cop.
Where is she?
Then—
A stretcher being rolled out of what was left of the building.
He looked to the side and saw an ambulance and the coroner’s van.
Something in him dropped.
Blaze came in right behind him. “What the fuck—”
Lane didn’t answer.
Didn’t slow.
Didn’t stop until he was right there.
“Hey, where’s—” Blaze started.
Footsteps behind them.
Fast.
“Ram, what the fuck happened here?” Blaze snapped.
Ram looked at them.
Didn’t have it together.
“Fuck, man. Severino came in…”
Lane turned like a whip.
“Where’s Kait?”
Not a question.
A demand.
One that Ram couldn’t answer.
CHAPEL - LATER
The chapel was full.
Not loud.
Not chaotic.
Just… full.
Every chair taken, kuttes still on, smoke and soot carried in with them. The air felt thick, like it hadn’t moved since they walked in.
Don stood at the front.
Klaus at his side.
No one spoke until Don did.
“We got pushed off the scene,” he said recounting the events to the late arrivals after they settled in after the run.. “Cops cleared it. Fire department swept it. They’re saying no one else was inside.”
A pause.
“They’re wrong or they’re covering. Either way, we don’t know where Toast is.”
That landed.
Hard.
Lane stood behind his chair, grabbing onto the top of the backrest. Jaw tight, eyes fixed somewhere past Don.
The rest of the room were on their spots, no one moved.
Koa and Trace stood together, quieter now.
The rest of the room didn’t move.
Didn’t shift.
Just took it.
Don looked around once.
“Kolton doesn’t hear about this,” he said lifting his finger.
Flat.
Immediate.
“If he finds out right now, he’s gonna do something stupid. We confirm what we’re dealing with first.”
No one argued.
Didn’t mean they agreed.
Just meant they understood.
Lane finally moved.
Just a step forward.
Enough to be heard.
“Severino must’ve taken her.”
Not a question.
Don didn’t answer right away.
Blaze spoke instead.
Blaze spoke instead.
“It’s a possibility.”
Lane’s eyes shifted.
Then back to Don.
“When the time comes,” he said, voice low but steady, “Severino’s mine.”
Silence.
No theatrics.
No raised voice.
Just that.
Don held his gaze.
“All yours.”
Lane didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
“So, again, they left though the back? And you couldn’t see if maybe he took her on his way out?” Lane said.
“Yeah, not from where I was,” Ram said.
A beat.
Ram scoffed.
“He was all kinds of bloody, man” he added. “Face was fucked up. She got him. Took his eye out.”
That hit.
Different.
“At least she didn’t go down without a fight.”
Klaus closed his eyes.
Lane’s head tilted slightly.
Just enough.
“No. We don’t know she’s—”
Quiet.
Not loud.
Not emotional.
Ram blinked. “Kount. There’s no way he didn’t kill her—”
“No.”
That was it.
Nothing else.
No explanation.
No argument.
Just refusal.
Lane looked away.
Jaw tight again.
Eyes somewhere else.
Already moving ahead.
Already working it.
Because as far as he was concerned, she was still out there.
He just knew.
ALLEY - NEXT MORNING
Officer Michael Richter didn’t transfer to Dryden for the scenery.
The place looked exactly like what he’d been told it was—flat, tired, and forgotten just enough to make people think they could start over.
He knew better.
Still, it beat Dallas.
Dallas was too loud. Too much pressure. Paperwork stacked on top of problems that never stayed solved…
Domestic battery cases that would get dismissed anyway.
Repeat offenders getting probation only to violate within forty-eight hours.
The wrong parent getting full custody…
He didn’t want to think about that last one.
Didn’t let himself hear the judge’s voice again.
He adjusted his gloves as he stepped around the back of what used to be the Dirty Alley Strip Club.
Or what was left of it.
The fire had gutted the place. The structure was still standing, barely, but everything inside looked like it had been peeled open and left to rot.
Charred wood.
Twisted metal.
The smell lingered.
Richter had smelled worse.
Didn’t mean he liked it.
“Nothing back here but trash,” one of the deputies called from the side of the building.
Richter didn’t answer.
He kept moving.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Taking it in.
He’d been warned about this place.
About the motorcycle gang.
The one with the snake.
The way people talked about them didn’t sit right.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Respect.
Like they handled things before the department ever had to.
Like they were the ones keeping the town steady.
He didn’t buy that.
Didn’t buy any of it.
Law was law.
Didn’t matter what patch you wore.
A faint sound cut through his thoughts.
Metal.
Soft.
Out of place.
Richter stopped.
Turned.
There it was again.
From the dumpster.
He stepped closer, hand resting near his sidearm without thinking about it.
He grabbed the edge and pulled the lid open.
There she was.
Bracing herself.
Soot-covered.
Barely moving.
But alive.
For a second, he just stared.
Didn’t expect that.
Didn’t expect anything alive back here.
“Oh, shit. Hey—hey,” he said, dropping the lid and climbing up enough to get a better look. “Wake up.”
No response.
But she was breathing.
Shallow.
Uneven.
Richter reached in, careful—but moving faster now.
“Alright… alright, I got you,” he muttered.
He pulled her up just enough to get her out, supporting her weight as he lowered her onto the ground.
She didn’t wake.
Didn’t react.
Just… there.
He checked her pulse.
Strong enough.
“Jesus…”
He glanced back at the burned-out building.
Then down at her again.
Something about this didn’t match the report.
Not even close.
“Hey!” he shouted toward the others. “Need help back here—get medical, now!”
Footsteps started moving his way.
Richter stayed with her, one hand steady on her shoulder, eyes scanning her face.
Soot.
Bruising.
Blood.
Who the hell are you?
Then he saw it—
The tattoo on her forearm.
The patches… no flashers on her kutte.
He remembered it. From his briefing.
Krait Motorcycle Club.
