Page 117 of Sacrifice
Every bike could be Los Coyotes.
The war's not over, just shifted to a new phase.
Magnus waits in the chapel with Runes and a few others.
Maps spread on the table, photos of hard-faced men.
The air's thick with cigarette smoke and tension.
"What've we got?" I ask, settling carefully in my chair.
"Confirmed Los Coyotes. Led by this charmer." Magnus taps a photo—scarred face, dead eyes, neck tattoos that tell stories of violence. "Vargas. They call him El Martillo. The Hammer."
"Cute. What's his story?"
"Cartel enforcer. Specializes in retrieving lost shipments and punishing those responsible for losing them." Runes lights a cigarette. "He's here for the drugs and our heads. Probably in that order."
"How many?"
"Ten confirmed. All experienced. All violent." Magnus slides another photo over. "They've set up in a compound outside Ocala. Close enough to strike, far enough to avoid immediate detection."
"So we hit them first."
"Not that simple." This is from Fenrir. "They've got connections. Political protection. We move wrong, we'll have feds up our asses."
"So what's the play?"
"We wait," Runes decides. "Let them make the first move. But we prepare. Every member armed at all times. Women and children under constant protection. Safe houses ready."
"And if they come for the loft?" I ask.
"Then we paint the walls with their blood," Magnus says simply. "Your home is sacred ground. Anyone breaches it dies."
"What about a leak?" I've been thinking about this. "First crew knew too much. Now this crew sets up exactly where we won't immediately notice? Someone's feeding them intel."
Silence greets this. The possibility of a rat is every club's nightmare.
"I'll look into it," Fenrir promises. "Quietly. If we have a leak, I'll find it."
"Do that." Runes stands. "Meeting tomorrow, full table. For now, everyone stays alert. Emil, how's the new place?"
"Secure. The women are settled. Got dogs."
"Dogs?" Tor asks, entering late. "What kind of dogs?"
"The kind that eat people who shouldn't be there."
"Nice. Always wanted a dog. Meghan says no."
"Meghan's smart," Magnus observes. "You can barely take care of yourself."
They banter, but my mind's elsewhere.
Ten professionals led by a cartel hammer.
Someone possibly feeding them intel.
My family in a loft that suddenly feels less like a fortress and more like a target.
