Because She's a Woman

“You know it’s not safe for you out there,” Juice voiced softly.

Laura stood straighter, bosoms out, pulling at the hem of her leather jacket. Her green eyes held a challenge. “Why, because I’m a woman?”

Laura was the only woman in her club. The partnership with the Sons wasn’t easy to come by because of it. Jax was stuck with the misogynist ideals of a woman and her place. He dished it, but she didn’t take it. Her president had to send her outside so they could deal with the negotiations. She was stubborn and stood her ground to a fault apparently. She hated getting bossed around. In the chapel, she was mere seconds from losing it, so she didn’t blame her prez for tossing her out. Juice had witnessed it all, thus leading to their conversation.

His gazed shifted down guiltily.

“He’s not right. Woman can have better roles than being old ladies and a hot piece of ass.” He looked at her then with an unreadable expression. “I put up with a lot of crap doing this, but I love it. A man and his words isn’t going to hold me back. He’s the ignorant one. I’m not.” She arrogantly grinned and turned to straddle her bike.

He watched as she made quick work of the thin hair tie around her wrist. Dark long locks were a low hanging ponytail. The red shine the sunlight gave it was hidden by her helmet. She started her bike with worn boots and gloved hands, a wink thrown his way before she took off.

It was another two days before they saw each other again. She was bruised, but equally so to her male club members. She had a scratched glock in a brown leather holster on her hip. There was a cut above the eye she used to wink at him. He wanted to reach out, touch her, to inspect the damage. Instead, he clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

There was a particularly large bruise on her forearm. It was obtained by blocking a hit. Her club had a tussle in a Lodi dive bar with a local gang. He was taken with that bruise more than the cut. He couldn’t stop staring at her in... awe.

“I’m not fragile.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re looking at me like I’m going to break. I’m not fragile,” she repeated.

“No, you are.” Before she could protest he continued. “We all are.”

She examined him thoughtfully for a moment. Amusement was in her green eyes and at the curve of her red painted lips. “I think you should get me a drink.”

He chuckled dumbly, ducking his head and nodding. She followed him up to the bar. They sat side by side on the bar stools as Juice had Chuckie grab them beers. Juice drank her in as she drank from her bottle. It wasn’t like he was eating her up with his eyes, which he was, but he was more curious about her than anything.

“Legal or illegal,” he wondered aloud.

The bottle was pulled away from her mouth with a pop. She rubbed her lips together, and he tried not to think much of it. Of what they would feel like.

She squinted. “What do you mean?” He pointed at her pistol. “I’m licensed. I try not to use it that much, but doing this…” She shook her head, dropping the subject.

He had so many questions he wasn’t going to get answered. At least not tonight. He didn’t know how to sound them out without them being condescending. She was on the defensive. Her guard was always up. He wanted to break it down and get to know her. It kind of scared him. Because wanting things in this business didn’t work out. Ever.

He watched her mouth as she quietly sang along to the jukebox. Her tongue came out to wet her lips and the bottle was brought back between them. She cocked an eyebrow, catching him in the act. The inquisitive look from under long lashes had his mind in other places.

She set the bottle on the table and turned fully toward him. “Your beer is going to get warm if you keep staring at me drinking mine.”

His mouth hung open, dumbfounded, barely registering her walking away. She was off talking to Chibs and one of the whores. He did his best to keep his eyes off of the rest of the night. It didn’t work out. Especially after he turned back to his beer to note that the only one on the counter was her empty. She had stolen his right under his nose. He was enamored by her. What kind of fool would he be if he didn’t keep an eye on her?

He was glad he didn’t stick to his rules, because halfway through the night of her drinking, chatting up the club, and flirtatiously touching the girls, he had to put a stop to her wilds. The shit was going to hit the fan, for she was drunk and approaching Gemma.

Juice grabbed her around the waist, trying to intercept the impending collision of large personalities. Gemma cocked a knowing grin his way. Laura leaned into him, her hands clutched his arm like it was a bar locking her into a roller coaster car. In a way it kind of was, but what should have been on lock down was her mouth. That damn, plump mouth.

Gemma stood in front of her expectantly, waiting for whatever was about to be thrown her way. Her arms crossed under her breasts, eyes holding a challenge.

“You’re an evil bitch,” Laura told her. Juice dropped his head to her shoulder. He didn’t want to watch the next part. She continued, “and I love it.”

Gemma huffed out a laugh. “Where did you find this one, Juice?” He looked up at the older woman, dumbfounded. It wasn’t because Gemma knew Laura was in a club of her own either, which she certainly knew. There wasn’t much that went on that the biker queen didn’t know. “Don’t let her go. We need more bitches like her around.”

Laura giggled. He couldn’t believe it. Not that Gemma was approving of someone who kneeled and bowed at her feet, but because this badass club member chick giggled. It was one of those girlish giggles you expect to come out of a little girl. Not someone in her… Mid twenties? Early thirties?

“Take her home before Tigg gets any crazy ideas.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gemma caressed his face and walked away. He tightened his hold on Laura and whispered in her ear, “do you think you can hold on to me long enough for me to get you home.”

“I live way the fuck out…” She looked around, letting go of him to flail her arms. “Somefuckingwhere. Just take me to your place,” she demanded. “As long as you have a comfy as fuck couch.”

She was a ridiculous drunk. And really fucking cute.