Ladies and gentlemen, the long awaited third installment in the College Girl series: Not Just His College Girl. Thank you for your patience!
"Hey, baby," a voice purred in my ear as I stood outside the funeral home. I knew it wasn't Juice as soon as I heard the voice and felt the hot breath on my ear. The voice was too deep and the person smelled of beer and garlic. I looked around frantically. Juice was standing fifteen feet away, talking to Opie. I took a deep breath and turned to face the man standing in front of me. He wasn't very large, but once a person has been around Opie, they never consider anybody large again. He was only an inch or so taller than me and he reminded me of a beardless gnome. He was round with a red, fat face and thick, fat sausage fingers. His hair was going gray and his face was criss crossed with scars.
"I am not your baby," I said, making my voice as cold as possible.
"Come on, darling. All this death hanging around? You need somebody to comfort you. To keep you warm," the man said smoothly.
I sneered at him and leaned away. I informed him, "I am not interested."
I should have brought up my old man instantly. I should have thrown Juice's name out there and let the guy know that I belonged to somebody. But I had too much pride for that. I didn't want to have to depend on Juice for everything. Especially not when I was already depending on him for the house and, after only one month, I'd be depending on him full time. I was prideful.
"I don't see no ring on your finger," he hissed. That was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard. Just because my engagement ring wasn't a wedding ring did not mean that it didn't count as a ring on my finger. "And I ain't seen you around the clubhouse. Come on, croweater. One crow is just like another."
"I will only tell you this one more time," I growled, "I am not interested in you, you portly dwarf!"
That was the wrong choice and I knew it. I was just heart broken. It had been a week since Half Sack died. The funeral should have been instantly but the fucking ATF agents wanted to investigate and wouldn't hand him over. By the time we got him back, things were already in the shitter. Juice was barely speaking to me because I refused to go back to Berea until after the funeral, and I told him that I was coming back early. I'd already talked to my professor's about taking my exams early. For two classes I only had to turn in final papers and for the other two I just planned to study really hard. Juice was sending me back but I would only be gone for two weeks. With Abel missing and Gemma on the lam, my place was with SAMCRO. If I'd been in my place since the beginning, the dwarf wouldn't be hitting on me because he would know that I was an old lady. Which was why I didn't even flinch when he raised his hand to me. I simply stared at him, daring him to hit me. Unfortunately, it was Tig that rushed to my rescue. He raced over and grabbed the dwarf's arm.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he growled.
"Bitch is disrespectful to a member. Showin' her a croweater's place."
"Look, Tom, that's all good and well if it's a fucking croweater but she's not. That's Juice's old lady, dumbass. That's his fiancé, you stupid mother fucker."
"Well I didn't fuckin' know," Tom spat out. "Bitch don't look like no old lady I ever seen."
"Call me a bitch again, Dopey," I snapped. "I dare you."
"Moon, shut the hell up," Tig ordered. "Tom, go the fuck away. The sluts in the bikini tops and shorts at a funeral, those are the croweaters. Go get some snatch from them. Leave this little pussy alone."
"Tig," I warned.
He reached over and smacked my arm. Tom wandered away and Tig turned on me. He demanded, "What are you doing fucking with members? Why didn't you tell him straight off the bat that you were an old lady? Do you really think that this is what the club needs right now?"
"Oh yeah, Tig? You're one to talk, huh? It's not okay to slap an old lady around but if you shoot her that's completely fine. In that case you can just blame somebody else." I hadn't spoken to Tig since the night I found out he killed Donna.
"Moon, I'm sorry I killed Donna. I hate that I did that and I will live with that for the rest of my life. I've done a lot of sick, twisted, fucked up shit in my life and I'm the first to tell you that. But I regret killing Donna. I have to see you and Opie and Piney every day, knowing that I took somebody from each of you. A best friend, a wife, a daughter. But you have to get past that. That's not helping anybody right now."
"It's helping me," I snarled. "I can't give my identity to this club. If I forgive you for killing her, I have to forgive you for anything that happens to any of us. If you hit Tara with a car, I have to forgive you. If you stab Lyla, I have to forgive you. If you beat me, rape me, leave me for dead in a ditch, I have to forgive you. Because none of us are better than she was. None of us are worth any more than she was."
"It was a mistake, Moon. I don't care if you forgive me. I just need you to move past it."
"I'll move past it when Opie does."
Tig's eyes flashed to Opie, who was standing with his arm slung around Lyla's shoulders. They'd hired a local teenager to babysit Kenny and Ellie that night so the kids wouldn't have to go to Half Sacks' funeral. Tig whispered, "He looks like he's doing fine."
"Then you don't know your 'brother' as well as you think you do, Tig. Because he's dealing. He is not over it, nor has he moved on. He is doing the best he can every day. Just like all the rest of us."
"Moon, just be careful. Juice loves you. If you have to use being an old lady in your favor, then do it. If you have to hide it, then do it. But do not put yourself in danger because of your mother fucking pride," Tig said seriously. "I know you won't do it for SAMCRO, so do it for Juice."
"Don't tell me how to love my man, Trager," I spat. "When have you ever loved anybody in your life?"
"Then take care of yourself and take care of him, Moon."
With that, Tig spun on his heel and stormed off. I turned to walk in the opposite direction and crashed into Juice. He wrapped his arms around my waist quickly and asked, "What was that about, Laura?"
"Just some friendly conversation with Tig," I lied.
"Didn't sound friendly."
"When does 'friendly conversation' with Tig ever sound friendly?" I replied. "He's the same guy who told you that you'd be best friends forever if you let him dip his nutsack in your mouth."
"Laura, don't lie to me," Juice said solemnly.
"We were talking about Donna," I admitted.
Juice sighed and pulled me tight to his body. He buried his face in my neck and held me for a long moment before he pulled away and stated, "I still don't want you here, but I have to say that it feels good to have you in my arms."
I smiled up at him and, for a second, things felt normal. It felt like everything did before the Mayans blew up the gun warehouse and before everything went to shit. Then, we heard the first gunshot and Juice flung me to the ground and crashed on top of me. He wrapped his arms around me tight and ordered, "Stay down, Laura. Don't fucking move. Stay down."
Around us, things were hectic. More gunshots filled the air. People screamed. People ran. The wail of a heartbroken mother filled the air and I lifted my head enough to see a neighbor woman holding her son. He was just a little boy. Only nine or ten years old. Then, I watched Jax make his way across the lawn where a Hispanic man was on the concrete. I should have been disgusted by the sick, wet sucking sound Jax's fists made as they connected with the criminal's head. But I wasn't. I was only focused on the fact that he was going to kill the man who hurt that little boy and I was completely okay with it.