"Any. Just look for a news station. You won’t have any problems finding this."
Fuck. If something's happened that's made it to all news stations across America, it must be big. I stab at the programming buttons on the bottom of the TV, searching, until I come across a stricken-looking woman in a pale green suit, staring straight out of the screen at me. She clears her throat, taking a deep breath, as though pulling herself together. "Again, eighteen people have died and seven further people are injured in what is perhaps the most violent gang shooting in Los Angeles for years. Eyewitnesses reported that at three pm this afternoon, a group of men dressed in leather jackets and black jeans entered Trader Joe's on Sunset Boulevard and began indiscriminately shooting at shoppers. It's unclear how many gunmen there were at this time, as security cameras within the store were shot out as soon as the men entered.
"Our sources have confirmed that the reason for the attack is most likely drug related. It is believed an undercover police officer working for the DEA was meant to meet with a handler at the grocery store. Police are yet to confirm if this is the case, or whether a DEA agent was in fact shot and killed, but the tightening of security around the crime scene and the LAPD's notable silence on the matter would lead us to believe this is correct.
"Once the shooting was at an end, the men involved in this senseless, violent attack sped off on motorcycles. Footage here shows three of the men celebrating as they prepare to flee the scene."
The image turns fuzzy as camera footage replaces the news studio, showing a clear image of the supermarket from outside. From the angle of the footage, this camera was covering a small food court outside the entrance, but you can clearly see three men emerging from the left, heads bowed, long hair ratty and hanging in their faces. One of them spins around, must hear something, and then there it is: The Widow Makers’ emblem. Our patch. Right in the middle of the motherfucker’s back. I can’t hear what’s being said between them, but they’re not fucking celebrating. Their wild arm movements, the way they’re shoving at each other as they hurry off screen—they’re arguing.
“Police are yet to release an appeal for information. Should a member of the public recognize any of these men, we at News 541 want to help. If anyone has any information about these individuals, call in on…” The newsreader rattles of a telephone hotline, the screen frozen on a shot of the three men, bodies all pointed in different angles as they survey the area, faces nothing more than charcoal smudges. The only thing I can make out clearly is that goddamn patch.
“Oh my god.”
I jump, hitting the mute button on the television. Sophia’s standing right behind me, her body wrapped in a towel, breasts crushed together by the way she’s fiercely holding the material tight around herself. Her bare shoulders are speckled with water drops, her hair almost black now that it’s wet. Once more, it hits me like a kick in the gut: the woman is fucking beautiful. And she’s staring at me like I’m some kind of monster. “What—what have you done? That’s your club, isn’t it? The Widow Makers? Why would you have all those people killed?”
SOPHIA
Rebel just sits there, a tiny wrinkle in between his brows the form of an expression on his face. His eyes somehow look even colder than they normally do, which is saying something. “This wasn’t us,” he tells me. He stares grimly at the television for a long moment, the muscles in his jaw and throat working, and then gives a small shake of his head. “This was a fucking punishment.” He lifts his phone to his ear—I didn’t even realize he had it in his hand—and then starts speaking into it. “You still there, man?”
I sink slowly to sit on the edge of the bed next to him, not sure if I should pretend not to be listening. If I should be sitting so close to him. If I should put some clothes on. I don’t know what I should be doing. All I know is the news has this story on repeat and for all the world it looks like Rebel and his boys have been out murdering people for fun in Hollywood.
“Yeah. I know,” Rebel says. I can almost hear his teeth grinding. “She obviously didn’t take our refusal as well as I’d hoped. Now she’s gone after her DEA agent and had him killed. And she’s pinning it on us publicly, just to fucking spite us.”