More than anything, Melena hated this godforsaken hick town. She hated the tacky-as-hell, wooden sign that had greeted her days ago, the way the heat toppled clumsily on top of her. Melana loathed the way everything was independently owned, and more so than that, the fact that everyone fucking called her darling.

Walking through A&M Liquor, Melana felt comfortably out of place. She'd be dead before she was caught in jean-on-jean or faux leather pants like the bitches in here. Everything about this town was trash. Absolute trash. The girl stopped, flicking a strand of espresso brown hair from her eyes, and examined the booze in front of her. The best they had was Sailor Jerry's, and Mel had to admit, she didn't expect anything more. She picked up the bottle, tucking it beneath her arm, and kept walking until she hit the counter.

Mel refrained from rolling her eyes at the fat, miserable schmuck behind the counter. He had a heinously receding hairline, and his beard was no better. The faded plaid shirt fit snug on his belly and was tucked partly into his Levi's. His belt buckle had a bull on it, for fuck's sake. Tacky, tacky, tacky. "Camel Crush." she pulled her wallet from her purse, raising an expectant eyebrow.

"All out."

Of course they were. Mel smiled bitterly. "Alright, Marlboro Smooths."

"Blue or green?"

"You have both?" the man shook his head. "Then whatever one you have." she deadpanned, dropping two twenties on the counter. "Keep the change."

The man regarded her with a nod and bagged her purchases. Her fingers drummed the wooden surface of the counter impatiently. "Here you are, darlin'." she made a face and plucked the plastic tote from his hairy-knuckled hands, and spun on her heel before walking out. She despised this place. She reached the door and considered spitting on the ground, but thought better of it. It was best for her to lay low, and after seeing the bastard behind the counter, she had no doubt he was connected with the kuttes.

Melena shoved the door and into the inky darkness of the parking lot. Fucking deadbeat couldn't even afford to keep the lights on? A disgusted scoff passed her lips, and Mel shook her head. Mel fished in her purse for her keys, head bowed for half an instant when she felt the smoothness of leather pressed against her mouth, the smell wafting to her nostrils. Mel shrieked, and thrashed, fixing her keys between her knuckles. Melena stopped panicking for a moment and struck, piercing the skin of the arm around her waist. She withdrew her keys and brought them down again. The man threw her on the ground, and threw a swift kick to her ribs. Melena gasped, sputtering on her own blood.

"Yuppie neo-nazi bitch, you ain't welcome here." he man grumbled upon lifting her. Mel laid limp in his arms for a good three yards before rolling out of his grip. "Fuckin' damn it."

Melena stood, gasping at the sharp caused by the blow to the ribs. She sucked in a deep breath and ran, clutching her torso in her attempt to get away. It wasn't long before he had her again. She'd dropped her purse far back, gun and all. Melena cursed herself mentally upon seeing the outline of a semi-auto in the darkness. The man raised it, and in slow motion, it came toward her head. Then, with a searing pain in her temple, Melena was out.

-o0o-

It was a good thing he'd been driving the tow truck, because otherwise, he'd have deadweight riding bitch. Tig took a final drag of his cigarette before stubbing out what little remained. He looked at the wounds in his arm and chuckled. Bitch shanked him with keys. The wiry haired man shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd been impulsive. Reckless. He didn't consult the club. But he'd done right. By everyone. They'd wanted this Aryan-affiliated gash since she was here six years ago. Sure, things could have been a tad more graceful, but grace never had been a real Trager trait. What a damn shame.

Tig killed the engine, lighting another bitch stick. He hated menthols. Nicotine was nicotine, he couldn't complain. He pulled his prepaid from his pocket and held down one. Three rings later, he heard a breath. "Killa', I'm outside. It's serious."

The line went dead. Tig stood, leaning against the back of the pickup. Moments later, the Tacoma Killer was in the doorway, clad only in low riding jeans and leather gloves. An apron was draped over his shoulder. Tig grinned and shook his head. "My man," he said more to himself than Hap. The hulking man walked to the truck.

"Whatcha get me?"

"It's a conditional gift. I know, real Indian-giver, but I need your help."

"Alright." this was why Tig loved Happy. He helped him out, no questions asked.

"We gotta wait to take this to club. I just need the rest of tonight to figure this shit out."

Happy raised a brow. "Keepin' secrets from the club?"

Tig sighed. "In the back. Precious cargo." Happy walked to the back of the pickup truck. The click of the hatch opening caused Tig's heart to skip a beat. A few seconds of shuffling, and-

"Fuckin' Trager." he was pissed. Tig smiled and walked beside him, putting a hand on the larger man's shoulder. Hap shrugged him off, turning to him with a fierce glint in his eye. "This looks bad on me, you're a dead man."

"I figured."

"You take the bitch inside. The shed. I'll get the supplies" Hap looked over his shoulders, which were hunched over the back of the truck. "Keep her knocked out. At the very least, quiet."

When Happy entered the shed, there was not a shred of doubt that he was angry. Fuck that, the killer was livid. Tig took a drag of his cigarette and threw it on the shed's dirt floor. He rolled his eyes up to meet Happy's. "I got a lot of explaining to do."

"Yeah."

"I didn't go looking for the bitch."

"No kiddin'."

"She was in our backyard, Hap. A&M Liquor. She wasn't even trying to hide, that cocky bitch. Anyway, I spotted her from a mile away, look at her." and they did. Black cocktail dress, burgundy blazer, pointy bitch heels. She looked like she could be Stahl's hot sister. Her dark hair and fair skin. That ugly twitch in her lip people called a smirk. "I told Bart to kill the cameras, and stall her. I got her right by her car and I took her here. I forgot how resourceful Aryan bitches were. Little cunt stabbed her with her keys."

"What'd you think would happen?"

"After this? I thought we'd send a message."

Happy looked at him incredulously before pulling out his prepaid. God fucking damn it.

-o0o-

If Jax had learned one thing about the Tacoma Killer over the years, it was that his late night calls were not to be taken lightly. Especially when regarding Tig. Explaining to Tara wasn't easy, especially after his time locked up. Nevertheless, he kissed his boys and walked out that door, ready for business. It wasn't until he got to Hap's that he realized the magnitude of what Tig had done. The killer was on the porch, waiting, muscles rippling beneath his skin. He'd never seen Hap stressed out.

"I got here as soon as I could. What's the damage?"

Hap looked up from his cigarette. "There's a lot." without another word, he lead him to the shed. Oh good motherfucking God. What had he done? That was no normal gash tied to the chair, head back and bloody. That was Aryan royalty. He knew by the rounded edge of a clover's leaf jutting out from the rest of her skin, just under her collar bone that it was her. Melena fucking Mills. Jax grabbed the nearest thing and heaved it across the shed after running his hand through his hair.

"This," Jax seethed, motioning to the Aryan princess, "Is some serious heat. This ain't gonna come down on you, Tig, this is gonna bring a fucking storm to Charming. It's coming down on the club."

"Man, I-"

"You what? You didn't pick up some Aryan pussy. You fucked up. You," he shoved a finger in Tig's face, his chest heaving with anger, panic, and anxiety. "Take care of this shit. Clean up. Make it right. I don't know how, but you're gonna fix shit. Church in the morning."

-o0o-

Happy's back was slouched against the wall, his eyes fixed on the smoke bleeding from the cigarette in his hand. He'd been out the shed for a good few minutes, just in time to watch the sun peek its head from its bed of clouds. It was probably around six thirty. They'd been waiting for the Aryan bitch to wake up for three hours. Tig had asked to duct tape her mouth, and Hap had nearly bashed his head in. They were in deep enough having her tied to a chair in his torture shed with a head injury. He knew the gash would feel disrespected if she woke up with anything over her mouth, and a butt hurt neo-nazi queen was the last thing the club needed.

He was trying his hardest to be diplomatic. No, he was trying his best not to cut off Tig's beloved cock and choke with with it for good measure. God fucking damn it. The door creaked open and Hap refused to turn around.

"You know I meant to do right." he also knew the road to Hell was paved with good intentions. Hap nodded, but didn't turn. "I thought we'd be set. I thought we'd have leverage."

"You ain't wise enough to make those decisions, brother."

"Yeah." Tig muttered something under his breath that Happy didn't catch. "Yeah. Princess is stirring"

Happy stood and pushed past his brother to get into the shed. Aryan bitch was looking at the ground, where the chair had been welded to the metal slab on the ground. She was smiling. It looked sincere, too. Not the smile that holds back tears. Hap watched her, arms crossed. Bitch didn't struggle against her restraints, but examined their carefully, as though to admire the handy work. Suddenly, her eyes leapt to meet his. A deep, stormy gray. "I don't suppose you're the one who abducted me, so I presume this," she ran the flat of her hand over the knot around her arms, before her wrist locked. "Is your work."

Hap nodded. She smiled. "Well done. The brand could learn a lot from you." A frown settled onto Happy's lips. The princess let out a silvery laugh. "The AB are talented in many departments. Calculation and precision, I'm afraid, are not their strong points. Those motherfuckers will shank you, murder you brutally, but with ties like these-I'm sure you could do a lot worse."

"We didn't meet last time I was here. I take it you're not a Redwood Original." Hap stared at her emptily. "But, based on your title and Unholy One patch, that you're a transfer." he nodded slowly. Who the hell was this bitch? An instant later, the shed door moaned.