It's hard for Rodeo to look his crew in the eyes from his vantage point, stomach-down on the ground, but if he twists slightly he can glimpse them and see that they know the same thing he knows right now. They have no choice. As prideful a lot as they are, as much as they buck against the thought of surrendering to this, they know that the choice they're being given isn't much of a choice at all. The death of all the crew bowed to their knees around them would mean the death of everything they've built, everything they've fought for, all in one fell swoop. No one to protect and provide for the Park, no husbands or brothers or fathers coming home ever again. It wouldn't be long before the cats siege what stands unguarded, taking their women and their provisions with wanton greed unchecked. No, there is no choice.
Besides, the patrolmen are making a grave mistake right now.
They should kill him while they have the chance. If he leaves this place alive, they better rest uneasy. To many La Quinta might sound like a dead end, but Rodeo knows better. There's always a way out. Even when they closed the gates of Huntsville behind him, there was always a part of him that knew he wouldn't stay. Hopeless on death row, trapped, pinned down and penned as he was, still some place deep within he knew that they couldn't keep him there. That there are no bars that can hold him forever, no jail that could cage a will as strong as his. They can put cuffs on him today, but tomorrow he'll break free. He will find a way.
He wants to consult with his crew before he surrenders them. He wants them all to give their consent. But what difference would it make? They know there's no choice. They know what must be done. Even in chains, they are better off leaving this street alive than dead. Maybe they are thinking the same way he is-- that they will find a way, that they always find a way. That they have the might of love, of brotherhood, of righteousness on their side.
There's just one thing that makes him hesitate: Teagan.
As much as every part of him revolts against the idea of being cuffed and caged again, he has survived one of the most deadly prisons before and he has no doubt he could do it again. Prison yard rules suit him well. There is not one man among them who is not a formidable force, and though beatings and hungry shivs undoubtedly await them, at least they will be together. But Teagan would be separated from them, and the worst that they might meet behind those bars pales in comparison to the fate that waits for Teagan there. He knows his Queen of Spades, and he knows that she will fight until they kill her before she submits to those lecherous fucking pigs. She will war and rage and she will make them kill her-- or they will have to break her so badly that she can't fight any longer. This knowledge makes him feel sharply nauseous, his stomach turning over violently so that he feels tempted to double forward and cough up last night's whiskey on the street. But if he pukes at these bastard's feet, what would that look like? Fear. Weakness. No matter how horrified he is at the thought of Teagan locked up in that place, no matter how he considers letting them all die now just to spare her that pain, he has to make a call. Many more than just the men here will die if he refuses this deal. What happens when those cats lay siege to their unguarded camp? The fate he imagines may be waiting for Teagan could come for all of their women then at the hands of those sick pussycats. The idea of them getting their hands on his sister seals the deal.
There's only one choice.
"If you got the balls to meet us again without all these guns around," Rodeo snarls, lifting his eyes to the commander kneeling in front of him, "how about you come in for a conjugal visit?"
It's the closest to an admission of surrender that he's willing to give, but the patrolmen seem to take the hint. They move in with handcuffs ready.