“I’m telling you, man, it's all just a ruse made up by the chinese.” Kyle McGraith explained, shoveling prawn crackers into his mouth, as he and three others sat idly about a cramped little shack, which was no more than a few miles from the outskirts of Geurchville, surrounded by a particularly overgrown spot of swamp.

It was a rather bleak little shack, stripped of most furniture, and any kind of decoration, which existed mostly to hide the basement below. The basement in question contained a ceiling lined with garish UV lights, and the rows of cannabis plants, packed together to make use of as much space as was possible.

A few vagrants had been dragged in to tend to the plants, and stop the UV lights from overloading, whilst McGraith, David Shohola, Adam Morin, and Patrick Phan were being employed to protect the Laurent families property.

“No one wants to hear your tinfoil hat bullshit, Kyle,” David sighed, picking away at the plate of fried prawns in front of him “keep your fucking trap closed.”

“Hey, I wanna hear the fella out,” Patrick spoke up, taking a sip from his can of Bud Light “could be some wisdom buried in that brain of his.”

“If there ever was any wisdom in that shriveled old walnut, it died many, many hits ago.” David assured his colleague, frowning.

“Up yours, Shohola,” Kyle flipped David off triumphantly, before turning to focus on Patrick “basically, global warming is all this big lie constructed by governments who want to start taking away our freedoms and liberties. The same suits and ties who let fucking swarms of immigrants into our country.”

“Isn’t McGraith an Irish surname?” Adam spoke up, over his bowl of egg-fried rice.

“Yeah, what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Save your breath, Morin,” David laughed dryly “common sense is lost on this one; I wouldn’t expect him to understand irony.”

“You know, you act pretty -fucking- high and mighty for someone who spends half his free time shoving sawbucks into Bambi’s G-String.”

“Ah, fuck off, you miserable little cu-”

Just as the tension seemed about ready to boil over, a deep knock rumbled through the room.

“One of the kids from the day shift must’ve left their keys, or something,” Adam reasoned, rising to his feet, and pushing his bowl of rice away from him “I’ll take care of this.”

The lithe man wandered over to the motley wooden door, yanking it open with one hand.

“Yeah, wadday wan-”

The buckshot of a Remington 870 took Adam’s head clean off, blowing his upper torso into messy pulp, and sending his blotchy carcass flying back into the floor, splattering bright red blood across the wooden floorboards.

“Motherfucker!” Kyle let out a startled cry, and each man lunged for his gun, but within an instant a pair of giant men in biker leathers slipped into the room, spewing fire and shotgun shells down on the helpless thugs.

David’s hand wrapped around the handle of his Tarus 9mm, whilst his comrades were blown into sickly red kingdom come.

The hired gun managed to fire off a shot which clipped one of the attackers in the side of the head, knocking him back into the wall, with blood leaking from the hole where his eye used to be, but mere seconds later the boom of a shotgun blew a gaping crater into his chest.

David fell to the floor, blood pumping out of his mouth with each staggered breath, writhing in pain. Everything hurt, and black spots were starting to cloud his vision.

He heard another pair of boots enter the room, and watched the outline of a figure step over him, just as the last few whispers of life started to slip out of his body.

“Hello from the Bloody Moons, you meth-smoking cousin-fucker.”

And then the world went black for the last time.

23:12. Geurchville, main street.
It was cold and raining.

An antique, black Dodge Charger was cruising down the street, rain pouring down onto the pavement as numerous people ran back to their homes to protect themselves from the cold, searching what all humans needed most: Heat. The man inside the car adjusted his jacket, waiting in the middle of the street, in a junction. He didn't stop because the light was red or there was something off about the place, no, he was waiting. All it took was 5 minutes, 5 minutes for a man to turn the corner, keeping what seemed like a suitcase close to him, covered in a brown trenchcoat and a big wool hat. The dim clarity of the streetlights was the only thing keeping the "prey" from identifying the hunter, which kept himself in the shadows, made easier by the cold colors of his attire and vehicle.

The man in the car slowly started to turn, before stopping his Charger aside of the road, keeping himself from being seen by the man. He adjusted his gloves, before getting out of the vehicle and putting his hands in his pockets, the hoodie covering his head entirely, slowly making his way up to the man with the suitcase. Some cars continued to go on their way, some of them going into the nearby alleyways to do all sorts of nasty stuff in there, more than likely get aids. The man with the suitcase sat in one of the bus stops, bringing out his pocket watch and quickly taking a look at it as the other approached.
"Excuse me, may I know what hour is it?"

"Hmph?" He replied, his face instantly going pale as he recognized the man who had been watching him.

"Oh, nevermind, I remember now..." Óscar said, instantly grabbing him by the neck and pushing him against the glass wall of the stop "Time for you to fucking pay, bastard."

"Pl-Please Ömega, I j-just need more time, I'll pay you wh-" He instantly got cut as the bounty hunter applied pressure to his throat, leaving him gasping for air.

"Look amigo, we all need more time, but I don't work for free..." The Spaniard instantly took the suitcase with his free hand, opening it and checking inside: About a thousand dollars in small bills, plus what appeared to be spare clothing and whatnot. "I think this is mine..." he said as he took the money, closing the suitcase again and pushing it against the man's chest, bringing out a Ruger SR1911 up from the holster inside his hoodie, making pressure on his stomach with it "I'm a respectable mercenary and bounty hunter colega, but if I don't get paid, I can get quite cabreado, understood?".

"Y-Yes..." the man replied with a weak voice, more than likely induced by fear.

Óscar nodded, putting the gun back in the holster and putting his hoodie back on, before starting to direct himself to the car once again "Have a nice trip!" he said back to the man, giving him a wave, not looking back. The sound of a Dodge Charger was heard, leaving the vicinity and heading to one of the remaining open places at this hour: The Strip Club.

He parked his car near the entrance, where the man guarding the door recognized him "Poleo" the bulky black male said, nodding at him,"Hey Jim, how're Bella's classes going?" he asked, reaching up to his pocket and handing him the keys "Not bad, she got an 8 in her Spanish exam..." The Spaniard smiled at him, giving him a pat on the back before going in, putting off his leather jacket with the hoodie and going to the club's counter, showing off his black "Gl&Hf" shirt, ordering a black vodka with sprite, looking around the club.

Two bars. Four stripper poles. Six bartenders. Eight VIP rooms. Twenty sexy dancers, and two ugly ones. The Sin Den had most certainly earned its name. And tonight, the club was packed with belligerent men(and women) literally fighting to get to the stage. Fire code had been forgotten forty something people ago, money being more important than safety, and they were still pouring in to escape the cold and the rain.

The doe-eyed Bambi was nearly naked, working her way through the crowd with a tray of drinks. She would have rather been working the slick, silver pole. Sure, people were still shoving money into her hot pink G-string, but the real money was made on that stage. She needed to up there dancing like a stripper whose rent was due tomorrow, because…well…it actually was due tomorrow.

“Excuse me!” She was practically screaming. Even if the patrons could hear her, they couldn’t move. Besides, why the fuck would they want to? It was easier to get a handful of supple, tattooed ass this way.

“Fucking move!”

They stayed put; out of spite or out of the desire to grope her, she didn’t know or care. At this point, she was just annoyed.

“Motherfuc—“ Bambi’s words fell from her lips like broke glass, her body tensing as an overly tattooed arm wrapped around her throat only to pull her back as his other hand started teasing one of her breast. His cold, wet lips were too close to her ear. “How much for a night?” He sounded aggressively drunk.

“Eight hundred and thirty five,” which just so happened to be how much her rent cost. “You got that, sweetheart?” She looked back at the ‘gentleman,’ a questioning brow slightly raised. She was in luck. He wasn’t a Moon, just your average white trash.

He pushed her away, spit flying from his lips as he spat out his words. “Expensive ass bitch!” Like she hadn’t heard that one before. The sudden movement caused her to lose her balance, drinks sliding from the tray and crashing to the disgusting, maroon carpet bellow.

She would have to pay for all of those herself.

“Oh HELL no!” Her sentence was violently punctuated, the tray slamming into the bastard’s ugly face. “Fuck. You. You. Stupid. Fucking. Piece. Of. Shit!” Each word was marked with another smack. A plastic serving tray wouldn’t do much damage, but it would still hurt. He would at least have a few facial bruises, plus the emotional ones of being assaulted by a crazed stripper with a serving tray. That was probably the worst of it.

“Get this crazy bitch off me!” He was yelling, surprised by the vicious attack, hands raised above his head in an attempt to protect his ugly mug.

A second set of arms wrapped around Bambi, but this time they wrapped around her thin waist. “Bambi, that’s enough!” The tray was pulled from her grasp. “Go get your ass on the stage. Crystal is too drunk to dance, and I don’t want her puking everywhere.”

“Can I take the rest of her shift?” Bambi looked back once more, not surprised to see Sin Den’s owner holding her and her tray. He looked annoyed, but not angry. “I gotta pay rent!”

The middle aged man sighed as he nodded, smacking her ass to get her going. “You’re lucky I love watching you swing around that pole, Tara.”

She kissed his cheek, “Thanks, Dave!” With that, she made her way towards the stage to take Crystal’s place.

Chase lay on his bed with one hand behind his head, his naked form barely covered by the blanket. He was propped up just high enough to stare at Delilah as she made her way to his bathroom to get ready to leave. The girl wasn't one to stick around after their hook-ups, especially when it was the middle of the day, but that wasn't something he necessarily complained about. In fact, it made things so much easier.

"Are you sure your uncle isn't coming home soon?" she asked from the bathroom.

"I told you he's gone until tonight," Chase replied, pushing the bed sheet aside to get up. He had to start getting ready himself soon enough before he was late for class again. Not that it mattered since he was easily passing that class and additional effort wasn’t needed. Nonetheless, it was a bad habit he had to break. Procrastination never did anything but complicate everyone’s lives.

“Alright, well, I guess I’ll be on my way then.” Delilah said as she came out of the bathroom fully dressed, her complete and undivided attention on her phone as she headed towards the door. Chase couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, wondering just what was so damn important that she couldn’t even look at him as she was leaving. “You’re forgetting something,” he said, grabbing a handful of the girl’s hair and pulling her to him, although not too rough as to to cause a great amount of pain. He didn’t give her a chance to complain as he silenced her words with a deep kiss, then immediately let her go altogether. Chase smirked when he saw just how bad she was blushing, but he gave her a quick slap on the butt and sent her on her way.

“Call me,” he called out to her as she stepped outside. From the window, he saw that the girl was smiling to herself, her skin still flushed. He then buttoned the pair of jeans he had already put on, slipped a shirt over his head, and put on some socks and his grey pay of sneakers.

Chase then headed towards the kitchen to grab a quick bite, his midday snack consisting of a peanut butter and banana sandwich on white bread. That would be sufficient for him to hold him over for a couple of hours until his next big meal.

After about 10 minutes or so, Chase grabbed his black leather jacket which hung from the wall by the main entrance. He took out his keys to lock his front door, not that anyone would dare break into his apartment given that it was on his uncle's property. But hell, there was always one or two people who had the balls to go that far, and those were the ones that worried Chase. He headed towards his bike to ride to school, the slight afternoon breeze making him realize that it should be a pleasant commute.

5:48. Four goddamn minutes since the last time he'd checked his watch. A long-ass, shitty, fucked-up day sitting on this godforsaken piece of blacktop, ten miles outside the 'Geurch. Diggin' holes. Diggin' holes, fillin' holes. Laying culvert in the middle of fucking June, 90 degree heat, 90% humidity. Someone's idea of torture. "Honest work." Jesse didn't know what hurt worse, the sunburn, his back, or the idea that the day would net him only $75 after taxes. Fuck sakes. He rubbed at the sweat under his hardhat, and pitched in helping Julio load the Genny into the back of truck #13. They set out the after hours blinking LED warning signs, stating 'work zone, uneven pavement 2mi' They tossed their tools into the work box on the back of truck #4, the only other vehicle on the shoulder that day. Both were mid-90's Chevy's. Long-box, crew cab, 2500-series. Both had long miles on the odo and smelled of sweat and dirt constantly. Dropping the tailgate, Jesse hopped up, and opened his lunch-bag, drawing out two cold ones. Julio jumped up beside him, and Jesse handed over a can. No words were exchanged.

Both men were just out from long stretches (Julio 8, Jesse 6) and they knew enough to not pry into the other's existence. Jesse drained half his beer in one pull, silently hating his life and staring at the open road. All was silent except the noise of crickets and dragonflies buzzing in the marsh to the South. Jesse had long since stopped swatting at mozzies. What was the rad-blasted point?

In the distance, a new sound. Minuscule at first. Maybe it wasn't even real. No... there it was again. A drone. Getting louder now. Throaty. Reverberating. Sound bouncing off the trees and the water. All around them now. He knew what it was already, and they were still over a mile away. He lay back in the filthy bed of the truck, defeated. Why now? Why did they have to stab him in the senses when he was down? Julio leaned over. "Hey man -- you hear that? Sounds like..."

The bikes rounded a corner and roared toward the two trucks sitting at the side of the road. One, two, six, ten. They flew by, the sound so deafening it could be felt in your gut, like AC/DC on steroids. A beer can clattered onto the road as the last bike passed, and Jesse resignedly hauled himself up, out of the truck to pick up the litter. (It was part of the job.)

"Yeah, I heard that. Bloody Fucking Moons." He checked his watch. 6:01. Thank Christ. He piled into the cab of the truck, along with Julio and two other workers. The foreman and three more were in the other vehicle. "Let's get outta here. I got a cold beer at the Sin Den with my name on it... help me try and forget this shit..."

Charlie sat in the rusty beat up Chevy Nova that passed as his car, the sound of technical death metal blaring out of the window disturbing the otherwise relative silence of the swamp around him. He gazed out across the murky landscape glazing over somewhat as he watched the thin fog start to roll through the cypress trees, occasionally lifting a joint to his lips as he tapped his fingers absently along to the beat and waited. He glazed over as he stared out over the Bayou and watched the slight reflection from the setting sun bounce back through the beady eyes of the occasional gator or so he liked to imagine.

He glanced across at the duffel bag beside him, more-so out of habit than any fear of it going missing and he grinned at the thought of the contents. Tonight’s bag was filled with some of his best product, a rather delicious new strain that he’d painstakingly cultivated over the last few months as well as Taurus 605 and his new Sig Sauer P938. Suddenly there was a buzz from his pocket as his phone received a text message, he pulled it out and stared at the screen for a few moments. Seeing it was from an old fling he locked the screen and tossed it aside to the seat next to him – there would be plenty of time to reply to her later. Tonight he was just looking forwards to getting high as fuck and shooting the shit out of some junk with his buddies.

He had been waiting for about twenty-five minutes now and he checked the time on his phone once more. It wasn’t exactly like Adam and David to be on time, but usually they didn’t take the piss quite this much. After a few more minutes Charlie flicked through his contacts and hit call when the name ‘Adam Morin’ came up. The phone rang several times before it went through to voicemail.

“Morin you inbred fool” exhaled Charlie affectionately through a plume of smoke, “I don’t know where the fuck you and David are bro, but it isn’t here…obviously. I’m waiting ten more minutes then I’m gone, I got other places I could be man… just call me back whenever you guys surface.”

He hung up and sighed. It’d be much easier to be frustrated if he wasn’t quite so blazed, and even though he’d gone through all of the trouble to bring the best of his gear out to the outskirts of Geurchville it wasn’t like they couldn’t do this another night. Ten minutes later he fired up the engine of his Nova and sparking up another smoke he pulled out of the small clearing and tore down the narrow dirt road he had come down.

Soon he was in what passed as the ‘town centre’ of the stagnating village, his mind pondering over what exactly he was supposed to do now. Flicking through his messages again he this time opened the text from Angela, it was asking how he’d been and if he wanted to do something with her anytime soon. He smirked and closed the message – it wasn’t like he didn’t have a good time with her, in fact quite the opposite. He briefly thought about the fun in their relationship but after only a few moments his brain somehow flicked to thinking about Tara and how much more fun it was with her. He realised what he was doing and pushed the thoughts away quickly and convinced himself he had in fact been thinking about something else entirely. He focused on the road again as he sped around a corner and soon came to the small parking lot of the now closed convenience store where he came skidding to halt neatly inside one of the spots.

He’d had no idea where he was really going but he found himself staring across the road towards the exit of the Sin Den as he once more checked the time. Her shift would be getting to the end now, her usual schedule embedded in his mind no matter how much he tried to forget it. He waited a while longer before he got out of his car and pulling up his hood he thrust his hands in his pockets and crossed over to loiter a short distance. As he waited his eyes went to the line of Choppers parked outside, no doubt the place was crawling with Moons as well as the usual hick clientele. Charlie rarely ever actually went inside the strip club, not that he didn't like the idea of naked chicks or was known to the Moons or anything - but rather he didn't want to risk causing any trouble with them - or at least that was what he told himself. He watched as Crystal came stumbling out, the bulky bouncer exchanging a few words with her and lighting her cigarette before she came walking none to gracefully in his direction.

“Hey Crystal” he shouted from where he’d been leaning against a wall “Ain’t Bambi finished about now?” The pink haired girl glanced blearily in his direction for a few moments before her face lit up in recognition.

“Oh hey Knight” she slurred slightly grinning as he came up beside her. “Nah, she took my shift tonight, but I’m free”. She wrapped one of her slender arms around him as she pulled herself a little closer, the smell of booze mixed in with the somewhat familiar aroma of the Sin Den was still thick on her. “You know I don’t know what you two got goin on, but for you I’ll do whatever the fuck you want for less than she charges.”

Her offer was accompanied by some less than subtle attempts at seduction as she groped at him and tried to pull him closer. He deftly extracted himself from her glittery embraced and as he moved away from her he shot back “Ah shit Crystal, I’d love to but I got things to do tonight y’know”.

She stared after him for a second before turning away she sulkily mumbled “Whatever…” and stalked away. He turned his gaze back to the Sin Bin and briefly thought to himself 'Well shit, what am I going to do tonight…' before he headed back to his car and tried to call Morin again.

Óscar didn't like stripper clubs, not even bars. He didn't enjoy drinking either, but there was not much to do here on this piece of land that God seemed to forget about. He took some gulps from his drink, some of the waitresses recognizing him as they gave him a wink, most of them smiling at him as he looked at them, the rest just giving him some looks that could only be described as "boner givers". "Guess they have to make money..." the Spaniard thought to himself, turning away from the counter and walking around the club, most of the time lowering his view to admire the (mostly) good and round bottoms of the ladies in there.

Bambi came up to one of the stages, her almost non-existent clothing barely covering her sensual and private parts, most of the guys there drooling as she started to work the pole: He found her attractive, but it had been so long since he felt anything for another person that his "Spanish Romance" was a bit off "Ay, Sandra..." he thinks to himself.. Óscar sat on a couch around the poles, his initial upbeat and happy mood from receiving the payment he deserved for the job he did some weeks ago surely raised the spirits, but he just wasn't feeling it. He finished his drink, leaving it on one of the girls' tray that walked by, before standing up and going inside the bathrooms, having to push his way up there: Drunk bastards (most of them Moons) and horny cunts blocking the way up to it.

"Hey, watch it coño!" He said, someone's drink almost being spilled right onto his head.

The man shook his head, continuing to go into the bathroom and opening the door, the stench of alcohol and what appeared to be sweat filling the entire room, he had to make an effort not to gag and enter. Walking up to one of the sinks, he took his phone out: No new messages. He felt good for a moment, then bad, then good again, then really bad. For once, he felt secure that no old contacts have tried to follow him, but he also missed the basic human contact. Not just greeting someone, Óscar needed to hold a conversation with someone, at least to let off some steam. Suddenly, the door opened again, a white male entering, he seemed slightly drunk but aware of his surroundings.

"Hello..." he said as he entered, walking up to the sink beside Óscar.

"Hey" the Spaniard replied, eyeing him for a moment, raising an eyebrow "Don't I know you from somewhere..?" he asked, turning on the faucet, in an attempt to wash his hands.

"Maybe, I'm the guy who gets paid less than you after working a shit ton of time for the Laurents..." the man replied, glancing at Óscar "You fucking spic, stealing our money...I'm sure you work for the Moons, y-you had something to do with the attack..."

The bounty hunter finished washing his hands, scratching his beard as he accommodated the pompadour on his head "Attack? Did the Moons do something?" He had no idea what he was talking about, but maybe the Laurents wanted revenge, and who'd do it best than him? He didn't mind the insult, he had heard it too many times to get offended by it. He started to walk out of the bathroom, going past the man "Tell your boss to call me..." he told him, giving him a pat on the back.

"Oi, get back h-here you bastard!" the man pushed Óscar outside of the bathroom by giving him a punch right on the back, the door hitting a pair of men talking about something important "I ain't gonna let a fuckin' orphan steal more of our money! I'm sure I could use it better with your mother's urn!"

The "Spic" managed to stay up, looking back at the man as he clenched his fists, looking around the place and noticing the bouncer from before, Jim, coming in. "Yo what's the matter?" he asked, looking at the Laurent's guy "None of your business, nigger!" he yelled at him, before giving him a quick headbutt: Jim fell back into a table, his nose bleeding as Óscar loses it "Oh that's it hijo de puta!" he yelled, taking a tray off of a waitress' hands, slamming it onto the man's face, throwing it aside as the man recoils into the wall, Óscar getting grabbed by another of Laurent's man as he just saw him attack one of his comrades, quickly attempting to get him into a headlock to choke him, some of the more drunk Moons going into the fight as everything just turns into chaos: The bouncers trying to stop the fight with more of it, Moons against Laurents and Óscar in the middle just punching and kicking everyone that tries to get close to him, getting hit in the stomach a couple of times, enraged.

Jesse arrived at the Sin Den a little after 18:30, and was welcomed by the usual pat-down at the door. Price you pay for wearing prison tats in "polite" society. Poor bastard at the door -- Jesse had come straight from work, and was likely smelling none-too-fresh. Guy doing the frisking was getting the worst end of the deal, that was for sure. Finally inside, his mind was next-to-switched-off. He walked to the bar, laying down a fistful of crumpled bills, and spoke to the bartender, pointing at a table in the corner furthest from the stage. "I'm gonna be over there. Let me get a beer, and just let me know when that **indicating the bills on the bar-top** runs out."

He moved over to the table, not sitting so much as collapsing into the plush seat against the wall. There was a girl of some description on the stage, and a few more working the room, though he didn't take much notice. This place had air conditioning, and he could drown his life in beer in the relative comfort of the bar (till it closed) before having to make his way back to the shitty trailer he called 'home' and not sleep for another night.

There was a disturbance over by the commode. Laurents. Moons, too. His body tensed, and he instinctively reached for the .45 at the small of his back, which wasn't there. Then he remembered. This wasn't his fight anymore, was it? He was a citizen now. Didn't matter if he was Moon blood. He was straight now. Didn't matter if every cell in his body strained to act. Ached for his former life.

He took another long pull on his beer, draining it, and signaled one of the waitresses that he was dry. Blessed black-out, fall-down drunk couldn't come fast enough. Maybe then his head would stop screaming at him...

Betty Lee was sitting on the porch outside of her and Caden’s quaint little house, smoking a lemon haze joint, when her phone started buzzing.

“I just want five minutes of peace and fucking quiet.” she grumbled to herself, spliff poking out from between her lips, as she pulled the phone out of her pockets with her chubby fingers.

Incoming Call: Marie .

“What do you want, slut?” Betty answered with soft humour in her voice, using one hand to press the phone against the side of her plump face, and the other to briefly pull the joint out of her mouth, as she blew smoke out into the air.

“Yo, Free Willy,” Marie’s voice crackled down the line “Mason’s busy perving on the girls at the Sin Den. You wanna hang?”

“Urgh, I GUESS I can spare some time for you, hoe,” she laughed, taking another drag from her joint “Caden’s busy doing big bad biker things, so the house is free if you wanna swing by.”

“Dope. I’ll see you in the five.”

Marie hung up.

Despite the fact that she was only dressed in pyjama bottoms, with her gut hanging out over the top of the band, and a much-too-tight t-shirt that belonged to her boyfriend, with messy uncombed ginger hair hanging around her shoulders, Betty Lee was in no rush to make herself look presentable.

Marie Ramos was the closest thing that Betty Lee had to a friend in Guercheville, and one of the other biker chicks that had been dragged along to this shit hole town by her boyfriend, when the Moons decided to try and claim it as their own.

Betty Lee was quite happy to just sit and smoke up, until Marie arrived. They’d probably just watch a film, and maybe get through what was left of Betty’s weed stash. The young woman knew where Caden kept his acid, so they might even drop a few tabs, if Marie was feeling up to it.

Rather unexpectedly, her phone rang again.


Incoming Call: Marie .

“You get lost on your way over, you ditzy bitch?”

“Word is that the Moons are butting heads with the Daughter-Fuckers at the Sin Den. Can you help me pull Mason out, before the idiot gets himself arrested?”

Betty Lee sighed loudly.

“I just want five minutes of peace and fucking quiet.”

It all happened so fast. Chase was slowly following the natural curve of the road when he noticed a car drifting into his lane. But given the close proximity of both drivers, he couldn't react fast enough. He was, however, able to catch a glimpse of the female driver who was looking down, and he was 99.99% sure she was distracted by her phone. He jerked his bike to the left before he felt the impact, the head-on collision sending him flying over her car.

Chase landed on the road with a hard thud, the force knocking the wind out of him. He was able to register the vehicle screeching to a halt, which meant he was alive. In pain, but alive, and that was good.

"Oh my god, are you okay?"

Such a stupid question to ask. Chase slowly rolled on his back despite of the fact that his entire body ached. He didn't dare remove his helmet nor did he want to move anymore than he had to as that may cause further damage, so instead, he gave the girl a thumbs up.

"Call 9-1-1", he told her as loud as he could. Chase noticed the girl's expression changing, and he knew she had just realized how much trouble she was about to be in. For peace of mind, Chase looked over at the girl's license plate number to try to memorize it as well as the make, model, and color of her vehicle. If she decided to run, she wouldn't get far.

But apparently it wouldn't come to that. Chase could make out the girl's distressed voice talking to the 9-1-1 operator and giving them the details of the accident. He hoped his uncle would be the one dispatched to the scene, just for the sake of having a familiar face there with him.

Before he knew it, Chase heard sirens slowly getting louder. He tried turning his head just the slightest amount and he was able to see a police car approaching followed by the fire-rescue truck. Now he could breathe a little bit easier.

Betty Lee and Marie arrived at the Sin Den about a quarter of an hour later, speeding into the parking lot on Marie’s Road Glide, with Betty Lee perched rather uncomfortably on the back, her large frame spilling over the sides.

The pair of them could hear the crashing and booming of the brawl thundering out into the night, and it only got louder and louder as they drew closer. Being in Laurent territory, the Sheriff would expect the family and their goons to settle this dispute, but there was only so much leeway that the so-called forces of law would give Geurchville’s underbelly, before rolling in to sort things out for themselves.

Betty and Marie hoped to get Mason out of there before that time came.

“Virgin Mary on a vibrator, was that really the fastest this thing can go?” Betty Lee grumbled “I thought you paid big bucks for this?”

“It's not used to having half a metric tonne of trailer park whore on the back of it.” Marie snapped, as she killed the engine

Marie Ramos was by no means the smallest of young women, but she was still about ninety pounds lighter than Betty Lee. Dressed in her biking leathers, with her bleached blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, Marie leapt off of her Road Glide, and went bolting towards the Sin Den, whilst Betty heaved herself off of the bike, and went waddling after her.

Things inside the Sin Den had gotten more than a little chaotic, as whatever had sparked the fight seemed to be boiling over. A throng of punching, biting, kicking, and spitting was spread out across the strip club, with security trying desperately to pull the brawlers apart.

Betty Lee knew it was only a matter of time before either the police or the Laurent’s Elite showed up.

Marie spotted Mason amidst the carnage, slamming some poor sod’s head into a table. Screaming insults and obscenities at him, Marie went hurtling over to her boyfriend, whilst Betty tried her best to follow in her footsteps, without getting pulled into things.

Betty Lee was trundling uncomfortably through the mob, when she felt someone’s hand slap against her bum.

She whirled around, coming face-to-face with a bearded man in Moon’s leathers.

“Hey there, little la-”

Suddenly, his eyes went wide.

“Oh shit, Betty! Fuck, I’m real sorry, Miss. I didn’t recognise you. P-please don’t say anything to Caden, I’m proper sorry.!”

Betty shrugged past him, slipping through the crowd, until she reached Mason and Marie, who seemed to be mid-argument.

“I can’t -BELIEVE- you!” Marie was hissing.

“Hun, you gotta let me have my me time!” Mason squawked back “I don’t like bein’-”

“Yeah, can we have the domestic later, kiddos?” Betty Lee butted in “How about we focus on getting the fuck out of here, m’kay?”

“Chick has a point.” Mason nodded sagely.

“This isn’t over by a long shot.” Marie muttered, but otherwise stayed quiet.

“You two take the bike back to your place,” Betty Lee instructed “I’ll have Caden swing by and pick me up.”

Jesse was five beers into the night, draining the bottles like they were water, when Betty Lee and Marie entered the Sin Den. These fucking beers weren't doing anything except putting a dent in his pocket. Goddamn fight, fucking up his night. Coulda been he would have watched some peelers, finished a box a' beer, and gone home to fall onto his cot. But no, these assholes had to come in, start shit, and tweak his head. It was bad enough being close to the Moons, just working on the blacktop all day. But there was no fucking escape in this town. He saw faces he knew. Faces that he knew, knew him. But he couldn't speak to them. Couldn't have swung a fist even if he'd wanted to. Parole. Straight. Fuckers.

This had gone on long enough that the pigs would show soon, and that was a headache he didn't need. He was marked for harassment, it seemed. Every time a bronze badge even caught a whiff of him, he was being questioned about his business. No thanks. He got up, and drained the last of his Coors, tossing the empty bottle onto the table. He walked to the bar, paid for one more round, and began his walk through the Sin Den, to the door. Stepped over one pair of fighters, rolling on the floor. Side-stepped fists that were flying (not at him, but close by) and ducked a beer bottle aimed at a Laurent head, all while trying (and failing) to make eye contact with those he knew.

He managed to make eye contact with a Bloody Moon who was beating his opponent to a fine, misty pulp, and nodded once at Marie as he cracked his last beer, and took a long pull. Jesse cast a final glance around the bar, spotted Bambi, and half-smiled at her before pulling his hood up and stepping out into the hot night. Not his scene. Maybe never was. His shitty, rusted-out 67 Cougar was parked against the curb, and he opened the drivers' door, slumping heavily into the seat, finishing off the beer and tossing the empty onto the passenger footwell, beside five or six others.

He twisted the key and the engine roared to life, settling into a lumpy idle. Jesse reached into the glovebox, and pulled out what remained of a fifth of whiskey, biting off the cap and pouring a measure down his gullet. For a moment, he almost hoped the brawl would spill out, into the street. But it didn't. Shifting into reverse, he backed out, into the deserted street, and drove the two blocks to his trailer. He got out, leaving the door to the car open, and flipped an overturned lawn chair back upright. A couple more pulls on the bottle, and it too was empty, tossed into the grass.

He thought of something then, and got up, kicking the unlocked door to his trailer open. Inside, it looked as if someone had turned the place upside down, looking for evidence. But no, this was just Jesse's life. He found what he was after under the mattress. His 1911. Walking back outside, he sat on the bottom step of his stoop, cleaning the gun (chamber empty, slide back and locked, magazine ejected. Couldn't be too safe...) After the final wipe-down with fine oil (Louisiana moisture and humidity were terrible for firearms) he reloaded the weapon, and studied it awhile...

@Kingfisher @Valeriana @MegaOscarPwn @Lady of Lore

Charlie was sat in his yard, music again blaring as he downed the remainder of his bottle of beer and tossed it lazily towards the pile that had accumulated beside his porch. Knight’s house was one of a few dotted around the a somewhat remote dirt road along the outskirts of Geurchville, though far from the fanciest of dwellings they were certainly a whole lot better than many of the other ‘houses’ around and bigger to boot. But of course the main thing he had bought it for was the privacy – he’d always hated nosey neighbours, something that had only gotten far more prominent with his less than legitimate hobby.

Leaning back in the shoddy lawn chair he reached over and retrieved another bottle from the small mini-fridge that stood perched in the open window into his kitchen. His phone buzzed and he took a moment to twist open the beer and take another gulp before he pulled it from his pocket.

The caller ID showed that it was none other than Bobby Laurent, which caused Charlie to frown a little as he wondered what exactly he wanted.

“Heeey Bobby, what can I do for yah?” he chirped down the phone as he took another swig and leant back in the chair with his feet up on the porch railing.

There was a few moments silence before a rather monotone husky voice replied “Moons hit the op on Crabtree. Adam and David are dead, so’re the others. Product’s all gone n just a bloody mess left behind”

The words struck Charlie like a bolt.

“Dead? What..?” he managed to blurt as the news only just began to sink in.

“Listen, shit’s going down right now. O’Toole n the boys are headin to the Sin Den an that shithole garage they use to make those leather wearin bike fuckers pay in kind for what they done.”

Charlie tried to search for the words to express himself, but nothing came out of his mouth other than a little groan.

“Yeah” continued Bobby “so if that chick you seein is there I’d go get her out, you know what O’Toole is like”.

Dry mouthed and head still spinning Charlie managed to reply flatly “Thanks Bobby” before he hung up. His mind was racing at the thought of Adam and Dave being dead and the Laurents heavy hitters making their way to the Sin Den to cause who knew how much carnage. He knew things had been ramping up in Geurchville over the last year, but this was a new extreme level of violence he somehow never thought he’d see.

Charlie and the others had never seen or considered themselves actually getting killed – and for it to be over a grow-op of all things just felt like a big punch to the stomach. Gritting his teeth as his mind raced he thought about Adam, the two of them had been friends for more than ten years and now he was just gone. Charlie was gripping the bottle so tightly his knuckles were begging to turn white as he felt anger surging through him the more he thought about what had happened.

Swearing he threw the bottle as his blood pounded through him, the projectile shattering against the wall of his house as he jumped up and grabbing his bag he stormed over to his car as he wrenched the door open and threw it inside. He wasted no time in firing the engine up as he reversed and tore out of the long dirt track that led into his property before he screeched out onto the road and floored it towards the centre of Geurchville at practically double the limit – the whole while swearing and pounding his fist into the steering wheel as he worked himself up into quite the state.

By the time he tore into the centre he was downright furious as he came screeching to a halt haphazardly across two spaces in the parking lot. Reaching over he yanked his new Sig Sauer from the bag as well as a knuckle-duster from his glovebox, the knowledge that he was supposed to be shooting at bottles and random wildlife with Adam and David right now made it feel appropriate as he clambered out and stuffed the gun into his waistband and slipped the metal onto his fist.

He still wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do as he walked towards the entrance of the Sin Den, he could already hear the sounds of violence inside but it didn’t look like the Laurent's real muscle had arrived yet by the lack of pickups surrounding the place. As he walked past the line of parked bikes he took the opportunity to vent some of his anger as he kicked one of them which caused it to fall creating a chain reaction which sent them all crashing into the ground before he made his way inside – the doorman undoubtedly somewhere inside trying to quell the chaos that was unfolding.

As soon as he was inside he saw that things really were a mess already, the entire joint was starting to look a little trashed as Moons, Laurents and everyone in-between clashed as some tried to escape and others threw themselves into the fight with relish. After only a few steps a pair of brawling idiots crashed towards him, one of them wearing riding leathers and heavy boots – it was safe to assume he was a Moon from his getup. Without a pause Charlie launched himself into the guy, his knuckle duster making contact with his ribs which crunched sickeningly as he cried out and whirled around. The next hit took him squarely in the jaw only moments after he lunged at Charlie and he crashed to the ground like a sack of shit.

The other guy stared at him for a moment before he took the opportunity to make for the exit. Landing a swift kick into the unmoving goon’s stomach Charlie turned and stalked deeper into the Sin Den – far from feeling better his mood was now thoroughly foul as he half looked around for Tara and half looked for another Moon to vent his rage upon.

In the centre of the club he spotted Óscar Guijarro, recognising him from the few times he’d worked with the Laurents – though right now he seemed to be landing hits on both Laurent and Moon alike, brawling like a man possessed with a snarl covering his features he looked angry.

“Hey Óscar!” he yelled trying to get the Spaniards attention, but before he could repeat himself someone smashed into Charlie from behind sending him crashing into a table which gave way as he sprawled on the ground. Bearing over him one of the hairiest bikers he had ever seen, the man easily twice his size as he launched and array of heavy punches and kicks at Charlie whilst he tried to scramble to his feet whilst protecting himself. Springing up Charlie dodged a rather sloppy swing and landed his own punch catching the giant on the brow with his duster. This however only seemed to enrage the beast who with a roar charged forwards and snatched Charlie into a bearhug of sorts as they crashed into a small group of bikers and another booth sending more drinks flying as the impact drove the wind from him and sent his vision swimming as he tried frantically to escape the biker’s meaty clutches as he scrabbled to reach around for his gun - which he discovered unfortunately was now laying on the ground of the club out of his reach half under the overturned table.

The strip club was submerged in mayhem, everyone in there was already beating the shit out of each other or running out of there to not get shanked by the drunkest of the bastards that were continuing the fight, and among the midst of the fight, the Spaniard was fighting like hell. He wasn't the kind of guy to get angry easily, he preferred to do his jobs swift and without any kind of collateral damage, so being involved in a "bar fight" wasn't something he liked, but what he did like was breaking someone's nose for going into his personal life: Shit, he came to this exact place, the world's end, to not only end the war by any means he could but to try and turn his life away from...all of this. He did see the fat ass of Betty storm into the place, with an unidentified woman. Óscar knew Betty, and most importantly her boyfriend Caden, one of the big guys from the Moons. "Bastardos, you're all sick!" he quickly realized how much things had gotten out of hands, slightly covered in blood and with bleeding knuckles he suddenly heard a voice call for him. "Eh?" he called out, putting a hand on his head as he started to rush trough the crowd, recognizing the voice.

"Joder, Charlie!" he said, looking as the gigantic biker raised his gaze up to Óscar, grunting loudly and continuing to try and beat the other man to a pulp, just before a beer bottle collapsed on the giant's temple, the Spaniard quickly kicking him in the head to push him off of Charlie, quickly grasping the man's gun and helping him up "Goddamnit dude, you had to come didn't you?". He didn't know Charlie THAT well, but working with the Laurents can lead you to being involved in some serious shit, and the best of colleagues come from shitty situations, ain't that true?

Sirens started to be heard "Cerdos...", quickly attempting to find the nearest exit, having to push and tackle most of the people up to the way there, most of the people turning their heads and trying to push them back, before realizing the man having a pistol in his hands, quickly turning back around and beating the crap out of the next person that they saw, more than likely the guy they were fighting before. The Laurents heavy cavalry and seemed to have arrived in, presumably due to someone calling in for help. They stormed in trough some of the other exit doors, starting to make good work out of the Moons, who were still putting up some quite nice resistance.

The pair finally got out of the place, just in time to go into a nearby alley, in which they saw Jim, the bouncer, still bleeding from his nose but appearing to be taking a break. He looked at the two, raising an eyebrow "Need help?" he said, putting the cigarette on his lips before extending his hand, at which Óscar nodded and looked at Charlie, then back at Jim "Just...give me the keys, and go home, Sus' is gonna get mad if you don't show up at your hour." he told Jim, smiling and chuckling whilst the other man handed him the keys, nodding "Also, Poleo..." the Spaniard turned "Good work on that asshole.".



The two of them walked up to where Óscar's car was, a nearby street with not much lighting, almost pitch black. "Dude, you'll need to wait until the police's done with the raid, you won't be able to get your car outta there with them crawling around..." he says, advancing towards the black Dodge Charger and leaning on it, attempting to clean the blood off of his leather hoodie while putting it on. "I'll stay here a while, I want to see if someone made it out, you can 'tay here with me or piss off to tell your boss about what happened, we'll see each other in another job either way" he chuckled.

Alice waited for the tattooed figure to slip away into the realm of unconsciousness, before taking a moment to just relax, and breathe. The sirens were drawing closer and closer now, but the people coming to scoop up the young man’s body weren’t ambulance staff, anymore than the collision had been an accident.

Alice Herrera hadn’t wanted to be a part of this whole twisted scheme, but it wasn’t like they’d given her much choice.

If you want your pretty little sister to stay pretty, you’ll do -exactly- what we say.

Even thinking about it made her skin crawl, but what was done was done. She’d gone through with it now, and her baby sister would be better off for it. Maybe now that Laura knew the dangers of hanging around with these sorts of people, Alice would finally be able to help her sister get clean.

The ambulance that Laura’s “friends” had somehow managed to acquire came speeding to a halt, no more than a stone’s throw from the site of the alleged accident, and a handful of men in green overalls filed out.

Two of them worked on pulling the young man into a stretcher, and carrying him into the back of the ambulance, whilst a third man wandered over to Alice, who stood nervously by her car.

“I’d say that about makes us even, Miss Herrera,” he said with a nod, casting a glance back at the unconscious figure “hopefully this is the last time we have to conduct business together. You can tell Laura that she’s off the hook.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Alice blurted out, despite herself.

“Almost certainly not,” the man chuckled “best not to think about it, though. You and yours willbe okay. You’ve got that much to be thankful for.”

---

Betty Lee was outside, smoking a joint, when Caden finally showed up. The booming of the brawl was ever-present, thundering behind her, but the fuzzy nourishment of her Amnesia Haze joint helped to take the edge off of things.

Her big blubbery body was plopped down on the ground, just as Caden’s Black Convertible pulled steadily up into the parking lot.

“Heya there, sweet thing,” Her boyfriend called out, winding down the window “heard you could use a lift.”
Smirking slightly, Betty Lee heaved herself up off of the ground, and plodded over to the car, Caden popping open the passenger door for her, as his nineteen stone girlfriend squeezed inside.

“You’re a real peach,” she grinned, kissing him lightly on the cheek “the best a girl could ask for.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, sweet thing,” he laughed softly “now, let's get you out of here.”

Caden and Betty Lee sped off into the night, with the latter smoking calmly out of the car’s open window. Just as the Sin Den slipped out of view, the distant wail of police sirens began to flood the darkness.

The ambulance hit a small, yet sturdy bump on the road, causing Chase to slowly regain consciousness. He groaned in pain, the bright overhead light that shone down on him making him squint his eyes. Chase slowly started to realize he was inside an ambulance as he looked over to the paramedics sitting beside him. He went to move his arm, but it was secured tightly in place by his side. He chalked it up to proper procedure on patient safety. He then lifted his head just the slightest bit to see out of the small window of the back door, but he couldn't make out any police vehicles following the ambulance. Maybe his uncle was busy with other calls? Although it was a bit odd given that it was a relatively small department and everyone there knew him. Adam didn't have any other relatives aside from Chase living in Geurchville, so he should have at least been notified of the accident.

"Have you guys seen—"

Chase suddenly went into a coughing fit, very likely as a result of him attempting to talk to the paramedics. He turned his head to the side to clear his throat before trying again.

"Have you seen my uncle, Deputy Covington?"

His eyes had watered a bit from the itchy throat and the increased level of discomfort. The pain didn't help either, but hopefully the medication would kick in sooner rather than later.