Strays

Chapter Six

Jaycee

The sky hangs over us like a dirty bedsheet, bruised with storm clouds that never quite break. It smells like gas, rubber, and whatever the Grim Bastards had for breakfast. We're idling just outside Lodi, engines still rumbling under us like caged beasts. Jax pulls up next to T.O. and lifts his chin.

"We good?" Jax asks, voice clipped.

T.O. nods, his crew lined up behind him like dark smoke. "Yeah. We're strapped and ready."

There's a loaded silence between them. Not tension—something older. Respect earned the hard way.

I pull up beside Tig and park, my boots hitting cracked asphalt. A field of dry weeds blows behind us, the wind pushing heat off the road in slow waves.

"You gonna be all right?" T.O. asks me, nodding toward the patch of open road we're about to take.

"Better than the Nazis we're meeting," I mutter, brushing wind-tangled hair out of my face.

T.O. smirks. "That's what I like about you, Teller. You don't blink."

Jax signals, two fingers in the air. "Let's ride."

We roar out in formation—Sons up front, Grim Bastards shadowing tight. The ride is short but tense, the kind of stretch where every bump feels like a heartbeat skipping. The closer we get, the heavier the air gets. You can feel it—like riding into a rotting wound.

The gravel drive to the meeting spot is long and lined with dead trees and rusted-out machinery. A place that forgot how to grow a long time ago.

When we arrive, the Aryans are already there. Four of them. Shaved heads, denim, the stench of superiority rolling off them like sweat. One of them—Leland—smiles like he was born with teeth meant for biting.

As we park, I instinctively step in line with Jax. My eyes don't leave the one with the twitchy fingers.

"Well, well," Leland calls out. "You bring another police escort?"

Tig rubs his face and mutters, "Just us bad guys."

Jax stays calm, measured. "We had nothing to do with the sheriffs. You gunned them down, so now they're everybody's problem."

From behind Leland, another grinning idiot chimes in. "We hear the bitch lived."

"Yeah, unfortunately," Chibs deadpans. "But she's critical. Not talking."

Leland's eyes sharpen. "And if she does?"

"If she does..." Chibs shrugs, removing his glasses slowly, slipping them into his cut. "Then we'll take care of her."

My stomach turns. Whether that's truth or bluff, it sits wrong.

Jax cuts in, redirecting. "You talk to Tully?"

Leland squints as he removes his sunglasses. His beady little eyes are sharp with suspicion. "Yeah. How the hell did the chinks steal your heroin?"

Tig tilts his head. "Technically, it was their heroin. They just stole it back."

Bobby adds, "And now it belongs to the Sanwa D.A."

Jax lifts a hand. "We want to make it right. We can sell you guns."

"Nah," Leland replies. "I deal drugs, not gats. The niggers and wetbacks got a chokehold on H. You promised us two keys."

Tig rolls his neck like he's swallowing a punch. I clench my fists, eyes burning into Leland's face. I swear if this wasn't a peace talk...