The Anarchist's Heart

The tiled kitchen floor felt terribly cold on my bare feet that morning. I kept shifting my weight from the right foot to the left foot, eagerly awaiting the promise of hot coffee as I listened to the coffee maker gurgle. The microwave said it was seven o’clock in the morning, which meant I had one hour to get ready and get to work. I decided on a bowl of Rise Krispies for a quick and easy breakfast. Jax was still asleep, and with how busy his days typically were, I figured he wouldn’t be too upset I hadn’t had the time to make a good, wholesome breakfast for us both.

I wasn’t two spoonfuls into my cereal when there was a pounding on the front door. My eyes shot up to where I could see the door and I stood stock still for a moment. The knock came again, harder. My eyes darted to the general direction of the bedroom and back again and slowly, cautiously, I walked towards the front door. I twisted the deadbolt and it clicked back into place loudly. After giving the knob a little twist, I pulled the door open just a crack. It wasn’t some cracked-out lunatic or a gun-wielding maniac, although either of those things would’ve been preferable to the storm I was staring down.

“Oh, you’re still here,” Gemma said rather placidly. “Where’s Jackson?”

“Sleeping,” I grumbled through the space between the door and the frame, which was slowly getting narrower.

Gemma stuck the toe of her boot out, clearly noticing my attempt to shut the door in her face. She raised an eyebrow at me, as if daring me to try something else.

“I need to speak to my son,” she demanded.

“Well he’s still sleeping, sorry.” I made sure that the tone of my voice seemed anything but sorry.

But just then I heard footsteps behind me and turned around to spot Jax, still in his pyjama pants, looking from me to the door with a sleepy, puzzled expression.

“Who’s that?” he murmured, nodding towards the door.

“Your mother,” came the unimpressed reply.

Jax heaved a sigh. His face plainly said he was not prepared for that so early in the morning. I gave a little shrug. As if I could send Gemma away.

“Shit,” he grumbled. He walked up to the door and opened it wide so Gemma could step in. I took a couple steps behind Jax. “What do you want, mom?”

“Clay needs you at TM in fifteen minutes,” she said crisply. Her eyes roamed to me and she lowered her voice. “There’s a shipment coming in at 7:30 sharp.”

“I thought that wasn’t supposed to be showing up until eight?” Jax asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah, well, as luck would have it…” Gemma groaned. “Anyway, there’s family dinner tonight at six-thirty. I’m gonna need someone to pick up beer and ice. Seeing as you’re the only one who’s ever managed to get the beer back to the house still unopened, you need to do it.”

“Fine,” Jax grumbled under his breath. “I won’t be able to stay long, though.”

“Why—?” Gemma’s eyes flitted back to me and narrowed. She knew why. I never asked Jax to come back early, he just felt bad leaving me here by myself all the time.

I braced myself, ready for Gemma to insult me and try to reclaim her son from the siren that stole him, but what came next was nothing quite like that. Maybe in the same tone of voice, but completely different words.

“I don’t see why myself, but if you need to, you can bring the crow-eater.” She nodded towards me.

Jax shook his head. “Hey—”

“I am not a crow-eater,” I spat, stepping up to Jax’s side. His hand instinctively reached out to grab my arm, just in case he had to hold me back.

I knew what a crow-eater was; hell, I’d grown up seeing dozens of them walk in and out of the clubhouse on a daily basis. They were just women who lingered around, waiting to feast on a club member if they were given the opportunity. They ran rampant any time there was a party at the clubhouse because with alcohol involved, their chances of bedding a crow were ten times higher. The notable sex was all they cared about, really. They could go back to their girlfriends and tell them all about how they laid with a member of a dangerous motorcycle club, and how they were welcomed to come back any time. They might make up some bullshit story about getting to ride on the back of one of the bikes—crow-eaters were rarely given that honourable position. Then they’d become obsessed with the life, or with a particular member. They’d want nothing more than to be an Old Lady and dote on their outlaw husbands for the rest of eternity. They were stupid, only good for sex, and the club members couldn’t give two shits about them after all that was done.

“Well, sweetheart, the way I see it, unless there’s a ring on your finger and a chain around your ankles to keep you from running away, a crow-eater is all you’ve ever been and all you are.” Gemma said.

I didn’t reply. Jax’s hold on me was tightening and I knew that meant to just let it go. He’d deal with it later.

“We’ll both be there,” he said pointedly. “Tell Clay I’ll be at the clubhouse soon.”

“Okay, honey. Take care.” She kissed his cheek and left.

My hands were shaking so I ran them through my hair, taking a deep breath to try and calm myself. I heard Jax sigh beside me.

“Look, the best way to get Gemma off your back is to just not give her the satisfaction,” he said. “Don’t let her get to you. That’s all she’s trying to do is give you a reason to mess up.”

I didn’t reply for a moment. My mind was swirling with thoughts and then it all stopped and I was decided. A sense of strength and fierce determination filled me up and I raised steely eyes to Jax.

“No, the best way to get her off my back is to prove her wrong,” I said firmly. “That can shut anyone up, don’t you agree?”

His eyes got a tiny bit wider as he began to puzzle out what I meant. It took him all of two seconds before a wary smirk was blossoming on his face.

“So…you’re coming to dinner?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m coming,” I declared. “I’ll be back from work by 5:30, ready by six. You’ll be here by six or 6:30 and we’ll go. I’ll make her eat every shitty word she’s ever spoken about me, and I’m gonna be at that dinner table to watch it.”

He cracked a full smile and gave me a look that did little to mask to the bit of pride he was feeling at the moment. “Alright, I’ll be here with bells on. I think I’d like to watch that, too.”



I was just putting the final touches on my lipstick when I heard the front door open and close.

“Ella?” Jax called.

“In the bedroom,” I yelled back.

He walked into the room and his eyes widened when he spot me, a familiar smirk tugging on his lips.

“Jesus, El,” he said. “You’re going to dinner with a bunch of bikers. You look like you’re going to tea with the Queen.”

He was right, maybe. I’d put a nice turquoise dress on that fell down just past my knees and matched it with gold bracelets, earrings, and a necklace. I suppose I got a little carried away in trying to make myself look like much more than a crow-eater. In truth, Gemma’s spiteful remark had continued to play on repeat in my head the entire time I was getting dressed.

“Oh,” I sighed, looking down at myself. “Do you think I should change?”

“No, no, you look amazing,” Jax said, throwing his bag onto the bed and pulling out of his leather cut. “You’ll easily be the prettiest one there. You might even give Juice a run for his money.”

I chuckled. “He does like to keep up with his appearance, doesn’t he?”

“He does,” Jax answered.

Jax had a quick shower and changed his shirt, and then we headed off to pick up more beer and ice, like his mother had asked. I took my car, following Jax on his motorcycle. It was easier to transport the beer and ice that way and it also gave me a getaway vehicle if I should need one. Truthfully only one of us needed to go to the store, but Jax had already missed two calls from Gemma so it made more sense to head straight to dinner from the store. I felt a little safer guarded by Jax, but once I entered Gemma’s house, I knew that protection wouldn’t get me very far.

“Here, let me get that,” Jax said, hurriedly grabbing the beer and ice from me.

I followed him in through the door to the cacophony of noise that swelled in the kitchen. Voices were talking over voices, some dive bar-esque music was playing loudly, and the whole house smelled like cooking meat. I was hungry and the smell made my stomach growl a little, but I held my head up high, determined to not seem too eager to eat at Gemma’s table. The whole charade was silly and I knew it, but it was necessary. I relate it to the sort of pack mentality you see in wolves. There’s the alpha male (Clay) and alpha female (Gemma), and just below them in the ranking is the beta or, in this scenario, Jax. Then there is me, once a close second to Jax in ranking, but now shunted to being considered worthless due to mistakes: an omega. Therefore I needed to once again prove my worth and reclaim my “rightful position”, so to speak. To do that, I dared not falter in the eyes of the alphas. I must respect my current ranking but not let anyone doubt my ability to climb the ladder once more.

“Finally, you relieve us,” Tig said, pulling the beer and ice from Jax’s grip. “The stock ran dry ten minutes ago! It was awful.”

“Savour the beer instead of inhaling it, then,” Jax grinned. “Hey, Bobby, Chibs.”

The greeting sequence was less prickly than I’d been anticipating. Many of the club members embraced me in a hug, complimented me, or even told me they were happy to see me. I was so flustered I could barely muster any reply other than an uncertain smile. A lady I didn’t know strolled up to me, carrying a pail of vegetable peelings. She raised an eyebrow and her dark eyes traversed me, clearly questioning my outfit. I wanted to hide behind Jax, as cowardly as that sounds, but he was over talking to club members and thus I was left on my own. When her eyes met mine again I lifted my head and stared right back. She had marks on her face that were either acne scars or remnants of a drug addiction and wrinkles around her mouth and under her eyes. She wore a black tank top and Daisy Duke short-shorts, and she seemed to wear them proudly.

“Nice dress, what famous designer created that number?” she asked sceptically.

“It’s not brand name,” I replied hotly. Clearly I wasn’t a favourite of any of the women gathered there if they were willing to question my attire so quickly.

“Hmph,” She scoffed. “I guess after so many years anyone could forget how to dress around a bunch of bikers…” And she pushed past me out the door.

“Awesome,” I muttered under my breath, “really awesome.”

Not exactly wanting to be alone to be picked on, but not wanting to interfere with Jax, who had a very serious look on his face and was whispering in the corner with Chibs and Bobby, made me locate the nearest cold beer and start walking around the house by myself. I wandered into an unpopulated corner of the eclectically decorated living room and began examining the pictures that were hanging on the wall. I found the same picture of a much younger Jax with his deceased brother that I’d found in his bedroom. There were pictures from Gemma and Clay’s wedding, pictures of the First Nine, and plenty of candids. There were some pictures that I chuckled at and others that I found myself examining for longer than necessary.

“Are we reflecting?”

I turned away from the photos and dread chilled my blood. Gemma stood there with a cigarette between her fingers and a sceptical look in her eye.

I shrugged, refusing to bend under her influence. “Just looking,” I muttered.

She walked up to the wall and started examining the pictures beside me. The smoke from her cigarette stung my nose.

“Lots of important people on this wall,” she said with a false air of nonchalance, “very important to me…”

I didn’t say anything but took a long sip from my drink instead. There was a rather long silence as she sucked on her cigarette. The smoke came out in a sigh.

“The fact that Jax brought you tonight means something, do you know that?” she asked, still gazing at the photos instead of at me.

“It’s just dinner,” I answered quietly.

“No, it’s not,” Gemma retorted coldly. “It’s family dinner. Anyone in attendance is considered family.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I scoffed. “I know I’m not family.”

“You are now, sweetheart,” she said, with just a splash of distaste in her voice. “I sure as hell don’t think you deserve the niceties being offered to you here, but if Jax considers you family then you are. He doesn’t let many people get that close at all these days; it’s no question why.”

I ignored the snide remark about my ten-year absence and took another drink, trying my very hardest not to roll my eyes at the speech I was getting.

“We don’t usually offer second chances around here,” Gemma muttered around another drag. She turned to face me. “So you best keep that in the back of your mind. You’re either in it for the long run this time or you can drag your scrawny ass back to the dark hole you were hiding in for ten years, understand me?”

I gave a short jerk of my head that was meant to be a nod but my jaw was clenched so tight with restraint I couldn’t move as fluidly as I would’ve liked. I wanted to snap back a retort, but I knew it wouldn’t be in my best interests. I’d end up getting myself thrown out and then everyone would be mad at me again and it just wasn’t worth the effort.

Then, much to my shock, Gemma leaned in and kissed me once on each cheek, whispering in my ear, “Tread carefully.” She gave me a restrained smile and walked away. I stood there rigid, still processing what had just happened, when I understood her reason to faking formal manners. Jax was walking over to me, worry creasing his forehead.

“Hey, what’d she want?” he asked, watching his mother walk away.

I took a quick second to gather myself and shrugged. “Just giving me the old pep talk, you know,” I took another drink.

Jax grumbled. “She needs to cut that shit out with you.”

“I’m not too worried. I mean, look at it this way: now that she’s got it out of her system the rest of the night should go swimmingly.”

He chuckled lightly and took my elbow, leading me away from the pictures. “C’mon, supper’ll be on the table right away.”

The meal didn’t go as bad as I’d been anticipating. For one, my food wasn’t poisoned, so that was a good start to things. Jax stayed by my side the whole time, and although he was conversing with club members for most of the meal, he always took a second to squeeze my thigh or put his hand on my knee, as if to let me know he hadn’t forgotten I was there. I had no problem with staying quiet for most of the meal anyway. I didn’t have much in common with the dinner guests so there wasn’t an abundance of discussion topics available for me. It suited me just fine; I preferred to listen. You learn a lot when gathered at a table with a bunch of drug and gun trafficking bikers and their women. I felt like Hunter S. Thompson when he was writing his biography on the Hell’s Angels.

After the meal a few people left but Jax needed to stay for a little longer to talk to Clay. I hung around, mostly twiddling my thumbs, but I managed to help bring dirty dishes into the kitchen. That was all I could do, though. I could tell by the way Gemma was eyeing me that she didn’t want my help cleaning up. Needless to say it was one of the most awkward and informative dinners I’d ever attended.

It wasn’t too much longer before Jax found me sitting on the front step by myself, finishing off my second beer. He gave me a sad little smile and I knew it bothered him that his family and I didn’t quite get along in the way that he hoped, but at least he knew I was making some kind of an effort.

“There you are,” he said. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

“Needed some fresh air,” I replied. “No offence, but the cigarette smoke was starting to give me a migraine.”

“Yeah, that happens,” he said, offering me his hand. I took it and he pulled me up. “Listen, I’ve gotta go to the clubhouse to grab a couple things. Do you want to come with me? It might not be home but at least you’ll be out of here. Plus there’ll be no one at the clubhouse but us.”

“Yeah I’m starting to think if I stay much longer my luck will turn and Gemma’ll come for me after all,” I agreed. He gave me a smirk and I followed him.

Once we arrived at the clubhouse I felt a little chill go through me. There was so much bad in that place, especially for me. It took me a moment to gather myself again. Jax had to go into the shop to find some paperwork and he told me to go into the clubhouse, he’d be there soon. I followed his order, although it felt like it took five years for me to reach the door and turn the handle. Walking inside, I felt almost like a ghost; as if I belonged and yet not completely. I felt a strange connection and a disconnection with the place. I was intrigued yet indifferent towards my surroundings. It was a strange feeling.

The clubhouse smelled like alcohol and tobacco, just how I remembered it. There were cards and poker chips left on one table, and a couple empty shooter glasses on another. Dust floated aimlessly in the light cast from the setting sun, drifting in from the cracks in the blinds. It was odd. It felt like a dead place; like no one had been there in years. And yet, there I was, standing alone in the middle of it all, feeling entirely out of place and lost. Despite all of that, however, I dared to take a few more steps inside. The bar top was coated with a little dust and a mess left behind from someone’s spilled drink. A lot of secrets had been shared in that area, drunken or otherwise. I could almost hear some of them if I was quiet enough. But once I thought of that I felt like I was trespassing in a private space, so I moved on.

There were wooden doors in front of me suddenly. They were heavily tarnished and beaten up, but they intrigued me more than anything else I’d seen so far. The mystery that waited behind them was practically pounding on the doors from the other side, begging me to come and explore it. Part of me felt like I shouldn’t open them, like whatever was behind there was not my place, and far too private for me to dwell in. But another part of me wanted to know. Desire took over and I pushed the doors open and stepped inside the club’s meeting room.

It wasn’t much, but it was astounding to me. I’d never been allowed in there when I was younger. Pictures and slogans hung on the walls, motorcycle figurines could be found on ledges, and the centrepiece of it all was the large, oak table with the reaper carved right into the middle of it. I walked up to it and looked into the dark, hollow eyes of the skull. Jax had looked into those eyes and something had come over him. Every member of the MC had looked into those eyes and had become something else. When I looked into them, I felt rage and fear. I felt like it would eat me alive if I stared too long, but the longer I looked the angrier I got. Why did you do this? I asked it. If it weren’t for you, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have left Charming ten years ago. I would’ve been with Jax. We would’ve left together. But you…you ruined him. You ruined me. This is all your fault. Everything that has happened is your fault. Eventually I tore myself away from the skeletal carving. Anger never suited me. It made me weak more than it made me strong. I tried my best to keep it muted inside, regardless of how unhealthy that decision was. But I didn’t want to become like those I feared. The sour memories of all that had happened in my life because of the club, because of the reaper, were certainly on my mind. It took some effort to force them back, to forget about them for the moment, but I accomplished it somehow. I felt like I had something substantial in my life again and I refused to ruin it so soon over something so trivial that I alone could not fix. It just made no sense. At least that was what I kept telling myself.

My fingers brushed across the deep gouges left in the wood surface from what I can only assume was a very sharp knife. Oh, the secrets that table was harbouring were immense. I wondered if one day it might actually break in half under the weight of it all. Or maybe it’d break from another knife in its face, another gun rested on top of it, or another fist banging into it in anger or resolution. Either way, if it could talk I might just listen to what it had to say.

I walked along the backs of the leather and wood chairs, my footsteps echoing around me. There was a gavel at the head of the table, where the president sat I assumed. The varnish on the gavel was worn through in several places, like the handle. Not too many hands had gripped it over the years, but the ones that had held it plenty of times, and when it banged on the tabletop a decision was finalized. I wondered how many deaths had been decided by the bang of that gavel. I held it in my own hand for a moment, testing the weight of it. I didn’t feel powerful holding it. I felt ashamed. I had nothing to be ashamed of as far as I could tell, but that was how I felt nonetheless.

“Well hello Ms. President,” His voice startled me and I dropped the gavel back onto the table as if I’d been caught looting the cookie jar. Jax smirked at me as he walked over.

“I…I wasn’t trying to—” I stammered. What could I say about it? I was exploring. He’d told me to go inside, so I did. Maybe I went in a bit farther than he intended me to, but at least he didn’t look angry about it.

“It’s okay,” he affirmed. “You can be in here. There’s no one else around besides you and me.”

“But, what if someone else comes by?” I asked. “I mean, this is your clubhouse after all. Isn’t this where you guys are all the time?”

“Oh, we’re everywhere,” he replied ominously, still with that smirk of his. “Most of them got too drunk at dinner anyway and are probably at home passed out. I wouldn’t worry about it. If someone shows up it’ll just be to drink and smoke and all that other mindless shit.”
I chuckled. “Says a known smoker and drinker,”

“Hey, I never said I was perfect,” He held up his hands in defence.

I simply smiled and rested my hands behind me on the tabletop. My eyes drifted around the room, at the pictures and the stains and cracks in the walls.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets and looking down at me.

I took a moment before replying; actually thinking about how I could sum up all my thoughts as I walked through the clubhouse. I didn’t want to offend him, so I had to mind my words.

“It feels…haunted,” I answered quietly. Jax tilted his head. “Not by ghosts exactly, more by bad things. Bad things happen in here. Not just in this room, but in the whole place. All around me I see signs of violence, of power, of moral and integral losses, and of broken hearts. I see failed plans and even…death. There’s blood in here, I-I’ve seen it. I don’t mean to sound creepy and freakish or anything, I just don’t know how else to say it.” I swallowed, trying to keep the memory of the day Alex died at the back of my mind, despite how hard it was pushing to be noticed.

He nodded for a moment. “I understand. I know what you’re feeling. When you’re in here alone it’s entirely different from being in here with a ton of your friends and family. You can feel the weight of guilt this club holds. It’s hard to escape it here when everything’s quiet. That guilt is still the only thing screaming, and it’s right in your ear.”

“Yeah. It’s a bad feeling, Jax.”

“I know. But good things can happen in here, too. It’s not entirely cursed.”

“What are some good things that have happened here?”

“Family, friendship, support,” he replied, moving closer to me, “love.”

“Love? Because there’s bedrooms in the back?” I smirked.

He grinned. “No. Because I’m here with you.”

I fell silent. I don’t know what I’d been expecting him to say, but that wasn’t it. The whole time immediately after Alex’s death, Jax hadn’t made many explicitly romantic moves on me. He’d mainly been nothing but a friend, a solid support system, and a protector. For a little while I’d forgotten our issues; I’d forgotten he still loved me. I even forgot that I still loved him. But, taking recent events into account, I could no longer deny that things were changing again. I was beginning to realize that the whole time after Alex’s death I hadn’t longed only for someone to lean on, I’d longed for Jax, as he was, as he had been: mine. It felt horrible to say, given the situation, but once I realized it I didn’t care too much. I had been sad for far too long. Nothing had made sense in the aftermath of Alex’s murder. But when I felt the front of his jacket against me, I had all the clarity in the world. I may not belong in the clubhouse, but I belonged with Jax, wherever he was. I’d known it since I was a kid and I’d tried to deny it so many times and once again I found that I had failed.

Very slowly, very cautiously, we kissed. It was like we were fourteen again and just kissing for the first time. One, two, three, four times it happened and it kept happening. When we broke apart for a moment my hands were shaking but it didn’t stop them from reaching under the lapels of his leather cut and pushing it off his shoulders. He kept his eyes on me as it fell to the ground behind him and his fingers pressed gently to my jaw, my throat, my collarbone, and the small of my back as his lips pressed to mine. His precious cut was disregarded; all his focus was on me. Without noticing I was sitting on the table, working at the buttons of his shirt until it too came off. We were still kissing, a little more intently now. The cool, dusty air hit my bare stomach, shoulders and back as my shirt was removed, leaving my skin prickled with goosebumps. The tabletop was even colder on my bare skin, and harder too, but Jax’s warmth heated me up before I could start shivering. All the stress caused by the club and by Gemma washed off of me. In the moment there was just us, and I didn’t even care anymore if someone should walk in.

One of the things that amazed me was that even after being apart for ten years with no physical intimacy between us, our bodies still managed to move in synchronicity. I didn’t do much to muffle my moans. I knew he had a tattoo of the reaper on his back, so I let my fingernails rake down from his shoulder blades to his pelvis, clawing out the dark eyes of that evil figure. It pushed Jax to move a little quicker, a little deeper, and groan in my ear. I kept doing it until I broke the skin and only then did I stop. I hated those eyes. I hated the reaper.

I’m not sure if it was ironic, what we did on the Sons of Anarchy club table, or if it was just another day in the life. After all, I hated everything about the club and yet I’d just had sex with its Vice President on their very own table, while the carved out reaper watched. There was something funny in that, but I kept my giggles to myself. If I laughed out loud I’d have to explain it, and quite frankly I didn’t know how. Regardless of that, however, something had definitely changed once we were finished and catching our breath in each other’s arms. I no longer heard the loud, angry voices or the whispered secrets coming from the clubhouse walls. I no longer felt like I was in a haunted, burdened place. All I felt was Jax against me and entirely at peace. Nothing scared me anymore. I wouldn’t run from him anymore. I would never love the reaper, but damn it, I loved Jax Teller. And I was done lying to myself about it or trying to trick myself out of it. So what if his mother and step-father hated me? So what if I hated his club? I was in. For the second time in my life, I was completely in.