Treacherous
Seven/Ten
By the third time I repeated everything that had happened to Clay and Jax, spilling out the entire sad story I found that the ache had lessened considerably, had become relatively dull.
It was beginning to feel like a story to tell instead of the worst thing to ever happen to me.
Jax nods once I'm done speaking before immediately vanishing again, and Clay-am I supposed to call him Clay?-places a gnarled hand on my shoulder, mirroring the earlier gesture from Dimples, the one he had walked up on. Touchy people, bikers. Who would have thought?
"We're gonna make this right."
Stupidly touched by this (or maybe it's the pot), I nod at him as he gives my shoulder a little squeeze before a smile plays across his face.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to see my Old Lady, in private."
He points two fingers at me as he drags a laughing Gemma into the office-
"Don't leave the lot. Make yourself at home."
The smile is replaced by a feral grin that would absolutely terrify me if I were to find myself on his bad side. "Welcome to SAMCRO."
I leave the picnic table before long, in search of a bathroom. Flicking the joint away absentmindedly I head into what is commonly referred to as 'The Clubhouse', hoping that this was an acceptable thing for me to do. I'd seen people coming in and out of this building all afternoon, so it seemed safe. Juice was leaned across the pool table, cue in hand talking to a man I recognized from over the weekend, the one who had drunkenly yelled about banana bread, Elvis, hanging around waiting to take his shot. Juice was clearly busy but somehow managed to catch my eye almost the same instant it lit upon him, causing me, absurdly, to blush.
He hit Elvis on the shoulder good-naturedly before ambling over.
"Hey. Having fun?"
I smile in a non-committed way.
"Sorry about earlier," I yell over the din instead of answering his question.
I don't know what I'm having, but at least I feel safe. "I'm Charlie."
Juice gives me a slow smile making my stomach jump violently.
He really is way too good looking for a hoodlum.
"Get you anything, Charlie?"
It's nice of him to offer, but I realize to my embarrassment that there's only one thing I need.
I could either ask Juice or hold it for another hour, wondering around this building-my options were limited. "Is there a bathroom nearby?"
Probably, he thought I was blowing him off or going to throw up or something, but he handled it with grace, God bless him, laying his hand on the crook of my arm (again, with the touching) while giving me directions. It was a strangely intimate gesture in a room full of strangers, and I can do is nod, letting him know I'm following the line of what he's saying.
"Thanks, Jui-"
"HEY LOVERBOY," Elvis bellows from the pool table. "We playin' here, or what?"
Incredibly, Juice seems to blush before squeezing my arm reassuringly.
This earns me a glare from every single female in a twenty-foot radius, but he just ducks his head, returning back to their game and mouthing off to the older man like nothing had happened.
And maybe it hadn't. Maybe he's just friendly, what do I know?
I make my way down the hall, past the wall of mugshots and a beautiful vintage teal Harley on display, and go into the bathroom. I immediately catch my reflection upon entering and cringe-my cheeks are flushed bright red. I can pretend it's only the tequila and by the time I'm ready to head back out into the lion's den I have convinced myself that it's a nice rosy glow and I need another shot or four. I was sure to not be leaving anytime soon, so why not?
I accost one of the scantily-clad women waiting in line for the bathroom and and inquire as to which one of these men is Piney, since he was the one with the stash.
There's a pause as she eyes me warily before speaking. "You a cop?"
I roll my eyes at her, fearless. "Do I look like a cop?"
The accosted one exchanges glances with an older, clearly superior, woman before shrugging.
"He's at the bar." Like there aren't 25 people at the bar at any given moment. "Oxygen tank."
She adds cryptically before brushing past me and in through the door.
"Oxygen tank?" I parrot dumbly, and then it hits me. Oxygen tank. I had already met Piney, at least long enough for him to direct me to the Porn-Skank's kitchen.
Okay. So, I'd go find Piney.
It was beginning to feel like a story to tell instead of the worst thing to ever happen to me.
Jax nods once I'm done speaking before immediately vanishing again, and Clay-am I supposed to call him Clay?-places a gnarled hand on my shoulder, mirroring the earlier gesture from Dimples, the one he had walked up on. Touchy people, bikers. Who would have thought?
"We're gonna make this right."
Stupidly touched by this (or maybe it's the pot), I nod at him as he gives my shoulder a little squeeze before a smile plays across his face.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to see my Old Lady, in private."
He points two fingers at me as he drags a laughing Gemma into the office-
"Don't leave the lot. Make yourself at home."
The smile is replaced by a feral grin that would absolutely terrify me if I were to find myself on his bad side. "Welcome to SAMCRO."
I leave the picnic table before long, in search of a bathroom. Flicking the joint away absentmindedly I head into what is commonly referred to as 'The Clubhouse', hoping that this was an acceptable thing for me to do. I'd seen people coming in and out of this building all afternoon, so it seemed safe. Juice was leaned across the pool table, cue in hand talking to a man I recognized from over the weekend, the one who had drunkenly yelled about banana bread, Elvis, hanging around waiting to take his shot. Juice was clearly busy but somehow managed to catch my eye almost the same instant it lit upon him, causing me, absurdly, to blush.
He hit Elvis on the shoulder good-naturedly before ambling over.
"Hey. Having fun?"
I smile in a non-committed way.
"Sorry about earlier," I yell over the din instead of answering his question.
I don't know what I'm having, but at least I feel safe. "I'm Charlie."
Juice gives me a slow smile making my stomach jump violently.
He really is way too good looking for a hoodlum.
"Get you anything, Charlie?"
It's nice of him to offer, but I realize to my embarrassment that there's only one thing I need.
I could either ask Juice or hold it for another hour, wondering around this building-my options were limited. "Is there a bathroom nearby?"
Probably, he thought I was blowing him off or going to throw up or something, but he handled it with grace, God bless him, laying his hand on the crook of my arm (again, with the touching) while giving me directions. It was a strangely intimate gesture in a room full of strangers, and I can do is nod, letting him know I'm following the line of what he's saying.
"Thanks, Jui-"
"HEY LOVERBOY," Elvis bellows from the pool table. "We playin' here, or what?"
Incredibly, Juice seems to blush before squeezing my arm reassuringly.
This earns me a glare from every single female in a twenty-foot radius, but he just ducks his head, returning back to their game and mouthing off to the older man like nothing had happened.
And maybe it hadn't. Maybe he's just friendly, what do I know?
I make my way down the hall, past the wall of mugshots and a beautiful vintage teal Harley on display, and go into the bathroom. I immediately catch my reflection upon entering and cringe-my cheeks are flushed bright red. I can pretend it's only the tequila and by the time I'm ready to head back out into the lion's den I have convinced myself that it's a nice rosy glow and I need another shot or four. I was sure to not be leaving anytime soon, so why not?
I accost one of the scantily-clad women waiting in line for the bathroom and and inquire as to which one of these men is Piney, since he was the one with the stash.
There's a pause as she eyes me warily before speaking. "You a cop?"
I roll my eyes at her, fearless. "Do I look like a cop?"
The accosted one exchanges glances with an older, clearly superior, woman before shrugging.
"He's at the bar." Like there aren't 25 people at the bar at any given moment. "Oxygen tank."
She adds cryptically before brushing past me and in through the door.
"Oxygen tank?" I parrot dumbly, and then it hits me. Oxygen tank. I had already met Piney, at least long enough for him to direct me to the Porn-Skank's kitchen.
Okay. So, I'd go find Piney.