Page 108 of Claimed By the Bikers
“Agreed,” I respond, securing my rifle in the truck bed.
From the cartel vehicles, their leader emerges—Diego Morales, cousin to the soldier Ember killed with a broken bottle. Mid-forties, expensive suit that doesn’t hide the violence in his movements. Three bodyguards flank him, hands resting on concealed weapons.
Atlas and Garrett join me at our designated position, both armed but relaxed. We’ve done this dance before with other enemies, other negotiations. Sometimes words work better than bullets.
Sometimes they don’t.
“Gentlemen,” Teller begins, dismounting his bike with the careful movements of a man whose joints remind him daily of past battles. “We’re here to discuss terms that avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Los Serpientes has grievances. The Bishop brothers have territorial concerns. Let’s see if reasonable men can find reasonable solutions.”
Diego steps forward, his English accented but clear. “My cousin Roberto died protecting cartel interests in your territory. The woman who killed him owes a blood debt.”
“Your cousin died attacking innocent families in our restaurant,” Atlas replies calmly. “Self-defense isn’t murder, even when it involves cartel soldiers.”
“Roberto was no soldier. He was nineteen years old, trying to make money for his family.”
“Nineteen-year-old Roberto was carrying an assault rifle and threatening to kill children,” Garrett adds, his Scottish accent thickening with controlled anger. “Age doesn’t excuse attempted murder.”
“The woman who killed him—where is she now?”
“Dead,” I lie smoothly. “Died in an industrial accident two weeks ago. Federal investigation confirmed it.”
Diego’s eyes narrow as he studies my face, looking for tells, for signs of deception. “Convenient timing.”
“Inconvenient timing, actually. We lost a good employee and gained federal attention we didn’t need.”
“Show me the death certificate.”
“Show me a warrant. We’re not here to prove our employee’s death to satisfy your curiosity.”
Teller raises his hand before the exchange can escalate. “The woman’s death is confirmed by federal authorities. That grievance is resolved by circumstances beyond anyone’s control.”
“What about territory compensation?” Diego asks. “Los Serpientes lost six men in your attacks. That represents significant operational investment.”
“Investment in what?” Atlas’s voice stays level, but I hear the steel underneath. “Human trafficking? Drug distribution? Protection rackets that target small businesses?”
“Legitimate security consulting.”
“Armed robbery and extortion.”
“Business is business.”
“Not in Wolf Pike.”
Diego pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with deliberate slowness while he considers his next move. Smoke drifts between us like fog, adding to the surreal atmosphere of enemies discussing terms at an abandoned truck stop.
“What do you propose?” he asks finally.
“Complete withdrawal from our territory,” I say. “No more soldiers, no more operations, no more threats against our people or our businesses.”
“In exchange for what?”
“We don’t hunt down every remaining member of your organization and eliminate them permanently.”
Diego laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “You think four men can threaten Los Serpientes?”
“Four men backed by the full resources of the Black Wolves MC,” Atlas corrects. “Fifty fighters, unlimited funding, and twenty years of experience dealing with organizations that don’t understand boundaries.”
“Plus federal law enforcement who’d love nothing more than to arrest cartel members operating in their jurisdiction,” Garrett adds. “We make one call to the right people, and your entire Colorado operation gets raided within twenty-four hours.”
