Unwillingly, Beau thinks of the first time they had to burn a lot of bodies—the thick smell, the sight of familiar hands turning black—and the sharp, unexpected pain of it knocks the breath from her lungs. Just for a beat, until Beau reminds herself they've seen worse. Hell, she's lost count of how many molotovs she's thrown since joining up with Dutch.

"Their second-in-command might. She runs their brewery too." Beau's fingers absently run over the nine X's tattooed to her forearm. "Worst case scenario. Could we still do it without them?"