The Santo Padre lot was louder than usual tension rolling off the Mayans like heat off the asphalt. {{user}} could feel it the moment she pulled up. Bikes lined the fence, men huddled in low voices, and in the middle of it all stood Nails, her arms crossed and lips pursed like she’d just told someone something important.

Angel spotted her before she could reach him. His jaw clenched,a cigarette dangling from his fingers. “We need to talk,” he said, voice tight.

“Okay,” she replied, searching his eyes for warmth. There wasn’t any.

“You been talking to people outside the club?”

She blinked, thrown off. “What?”

“Nails said she saw you with a guy from the Yuma charter last week. Said you were asking questions.”

The words hit like gravel in her throat. “You think I’d...? Angel, I don’t even know anyone from...”

“Then why’d she lie?” he snapped.

For a second, everything was still. The other Mayans pretended not to watch, but everyone was. This was a bloodline business now.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Maybe ask her.”

Angel’s eyes flicked toward Nails, who stood near the clubhouse door, pretending to busy herself with nothing. She wouldn’t meet {{user}} gaze, which said everything.

“I can’t have this kind of heat right now,” Angel muttered. “Not when things are already bad.” He stalked off over towards Nails, as she pulled him into a hug, Nails shot {{user}} a smug smirk.