Grant Garcia was a loyal brother to the Bengal bikers. He gave fifteen good years of service to the club, and had become close to everyone in their crew. He was that guy that you could call when things in your life went wrong. He would get up, stop everything he was doing to help someone he cared about. The Bengals were his family, the life of a biker was all that he was. More so he mattered to Teddy Garcia, his little brother. They'd been close since children, neither of them knew what a healthy family looked like until they joined their MC. Their parents hated each other, and a dangerous war was raging still within the Garcia families. Life had been hard for the boys, they couldn't have slumber parties or game nights at their house. Their home was a war zone, fleeing for their lives at the ages fifteen and sixteen. Their brotherhood bond was stronger than their fear of death, than their hatred for the family that had caused them so much damage. They had help create The Bengals, a biker group dedicated to helping children in bad situations and helping their community. They started this when they had run away, got their licenses and emancipated, they lived on their own. They built their charter, went to college and found a way to get rich fast. All of their ranch houses and farms went to help others. Many people flocked to their charters, and eventually a charter was opened in every single state in the US. They'd done very well for themselves. It tore Teddy's heart out when he found Grant's body in a ditch. Run off the road by another biker and then shot six times, the brother that was with him only saw the image of a reaper on the back of the vest that the shooter wore. They were on their way up to Washington to meet up with a charter about a few issues that they were facing and reunite with 'the family'. They had to make a few stops in different states to meet up with other charters, Grant and David were on their way through Oakland to pick Katie Holland up. They had no beef with anyone, The Bengals made their profit by legit work. Some of it was dirty but still nobody was hurt. They sold parts and produce, owned farms and crops all over the states. They did well for themselves, and aided their communities. often times they were out doing charity work, they hadn't stepped on people's toes. So when one of the founding members were found shot up in a ditch and a brother laid in a hospital in critical condition, it came to more than a shock to The Bengals. There was only one group in Oakland that had the symbol of the reapers on their vests, and while in the past they'd been known to be very dangerous they had crossed the wrong group. It was why that bright sunny day that five members of the Bengals rolled into Charming. They had all the charters on speed dial, ready to come armed and numbered, ready for war. They had no idea which one of the Sons of Anarchy had killed their brother and injured the other, but if the Sons didn't give him up Charming yet again was going to turn into a blood bath, and this time would be laid waste. Getting off his bike, a man wearing the patch of the Bengals (an orange tiger snarling with skulls around the circle) gazed around the city. He leaned against the road king he rode, popping out a cigar. He was sitting there, studying the town. People were weary of motorcyclists in this town and for very good reason. They were going to find out where the Sons were residing, Teddy and his president Antonio Mendez would be arranging a sit down with the Sons current president. Things were going to get very serious for them. The death of one of the founding members was going to be an open wound for years to come.