A/N : Warning : Short chapter ahead!

Kyla : Behind enemy lines

"Wake her up."

"I'm telling you, Kyla, she's a cop."

"Madison, just wake her up!"

For fuck's sake! How difficult can it be to just follow one simple order? My patience was wearing thin. Between Madison's paranoia and inability to listen, Ashley's constant stupidity, and trying to keep tabs on Spencer, my nerves were shot.

"What… happened?"

I didn't feel a slightest tinge of guilt for having knocked Spencer out with the handle of my gun – she had to know that I wasn't someone to mess with.

"Spencer, this is one of those times that you need to be very clear about what you say." I kept my face straight and stepped into the flickering streetlight for the blonde to see me, my gun pointing towards her, and Madison beside me, another gun pointed at the blonde. "Madison, help her up."

Madison grabbed Spencer's arm and roughly pulled her to sit up. She looked utterly confused, probably had a bit of a concussion after that knock. Good, let it hurt for a couple of days.

"Care to tell me what the fuck you're doing out here?"

I considered myself a pretty good judge of character. After years of dealing with scumbags, I've learned one very valuable lesson. And that was to take time and observe people's reactions, their body language, gestures, and facial expressions. I could tell liars from a mile away. And right now, all I wanted to know was whether Spencer was one of them.

I haven't used my gun in over a week. My fingers were itching on the safety switch and trigger. People had to understand how things worked around here. Stakes were high for me, and subsequently my family. I had to do whatever I could to protect the Davies name, street cred, and plans for early retirement . So getting rid of a threat was not a problem for me, I didn't care who that person was. And since Spencer made it so easy to come out here, to the slum of LA's industrial areas, it would be fairly easy to get rid of her body.

Spencer rubbed the back of her head, wincing noticeably. "I uh-"

The pause set off alarms. I watched her carefully, but realized she was still probably a bit out of it.

"Kyla, these guys… " Spencer started panting. She grabbed the back of her head again. "I'm sorry, I've been doing some checks on high purchases… I know it's a low thing to do…" More panting.

Her broken sentences didn't make any sense. But the pauses in-between wasn't long enough to validate Spencer trying to make up a lie. It seemed more like she was out of breath than anything else.

"I'm just trying to… get a bit of a head-start on Desert Quarter… I need to win Kyla, I need money to pay you… so I thought I'd check it out… Glen paid a lot of money today for upgrades…"

I finally started putting the pieces together. You sly bitch. "So what are you saying? Are you gonna go around and check everybody's shit out? One garage after another?"

"Just the big ones… " Spencer practically pleaded for her life. Our guns were still pointing at her.

I glanced at Madison, who was shaking her head in disbelief. "Bullshit. She's a cop, Kyla, I'm telling you."

Spencer looked me in the eyes and silently disagreed.

"She's a fucking cop!" Madison released the safety on her gun, and pressed the barrel against Spencer's temple.

I took a deep breath, holding Spencer's gaze. "Are you a cop, Spencer Wilson?"

Not as much as a flinch, or a twitch of the eye. "I swear, Kyla, I'm not."

I had my reservations, but decided to let things with Spencer play out a little. Maybe I could use her to get Ashley away from college and back into racing, just until we left for Mexico. It was so obvious that Ashley was smitten with her. What harm could it do? "Let's go take a drive."

Spencer was a little off-balance and dizzy by the time we reached a place I've itched to come to for a long time. I helped her up the fire escape and down through the skylight right into Carmen's garage. I jumped in after her, and Madison followed suit.

Fuck. Me.

I was stunned. Jealous, mostly, but stunned. This garage was huge. The floor was tiled and spotless. There were four hydraulic lifts, each sporting a race car. Three Civics and two Ferrari's were parked on the floor. We barely missed hundreds of boxes of what looked like sound systems when we jumped in through the window. I knew Carmen had money. She was born into a wealthy family, and beside that, she was always up to mischief, probably stealing more money from other people. So I didn't quite understand why she insisted on racing and doing the Desert Quarter for all these years, but hardly ever beat me. She had all the money in the world to rig out the cars. Shows you what a fucking terrible driver she is.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Spencer and Madison heading over to the Civics. The hoods were open, and it sparked my own curiosity .

"No engines," Madison observed at the gaping holes inside the compartments. No fucking shit, Sherlock.

"Kyla, we've got incoming, they're headed your way." Fuck. That was Clay, who was one street down on checkout.

"Get to the back!" I urged, running for cover to the back of the garage. Spencer and Madison barely squatted beside me when the garage doors started opening.

The familiar buzzing of Carmen's bike brigade signaled that they were inside. I dared to peek around the trunk of a Civic, and noticed that they had a visitor with them. It was another parts shop owner, who I never liked to deal with. Arthur had been good to us the past couple of years.

Carmen's voice filled the open space. "Bring him closer – show him the Civics. So… Joe, what do you see?"

"I see cars."

Slap.

"And what do you think is wrong with these cars? Because I can tell you, we have a major fucking problem here."

"Okay, okay, it's the engines! There's no engines!"

The guy sounded like he was getting a beating. He coughed and gargled. Disgusting.

"So are you going to tell me where they are, Joe? Desert Quarter is around the corner, and I'm getting really nervous here."

Another round of beating followed.

I glanced over at Madison, who looked ready to jump out and start shooting. Is she fucking crazy? When I got her attention, I gestured with both my hands and head that she put her gun away.

Spencer didn't seem too worried, she was calmly listening to the conversation.

"It's in the warehouse! In the warehouse, Carmen!"

So… it was set then. Both Glen and Carmen were rigging up Civics for racing. I suddenly admired Spencer for her clever thinking. She was an idiot for thinking she could get away with this, but the kid had some brains. If I could put Carmen in her place at Desert Quarter, my credibility would triple. And I'd rip Carmen's territory right from underneath her while I'm at it.