a/n So this story popped to me in the oddest ways. It was a combination of researching for my other story Maybe this Time and watching Batman the Dark Knight. Trust me it all made sense in my head. So this story starts in 1993 right after John Teller died. I haven't seen season five yet as I am living in Central America for the past few months and was a workaholic back home in the States before that. So any information revealed in season 5 is not a part of this story. This will be a shorter story, I'm thinking 4-5 chapters tops. It will be a look at how Rane Quinn went from regular SOA member to Nomad President.
All chapter titles are songs that have been ranked on various top strip club anthems. Let me remind all the children back home this story is rated M for a reason. This is Sons of Anarchy.
Rane Quinn pulled his bike into the parking lot of an out of the way strip joint just out side of Baton Rouge Louisiana. He'd been riding for eight hours today alone same with the past three days. He may only be 39 but his body could feel the toll of the road after a couple hundred miles. Right now all he wanted was some hot pussy and a cheap motel. He figured he'd find at least one girl at a strip joint willing to assist him with both things. At least he could be honest about what he wanted here instead of trying to chat some girl up at a bar. For the thousandth time tonight he was glad he wasn't wearing his kutte. Most clubs and bars wouldn't let colors in and besides sometimes he relished the anonymity. He was proud to be a SON but right now he needed peace. He needed silence. Shit was still too dangerous to travel alone and in colors. That same shit had him travelling all the way across country to get away from it all.
As he walked into the club his nose was instantly assaulted by the smells of cheap perfume, old cigarette smoke and booze. The main stage took up most of the room toward the back wall conveniently fitted with two poles and lined by mirrors. Quinn could see the roped off area that led to the couches where a horny fuck could get a lap dance. Still beer was cheaper here than a regular bar and the women more honest about what they wanted. He slid into the closest bar stool and raised his hand to flag down the bartender. The bartenders back was to him and he could see her ass cased in skin tight blue jeans and when she turned he could see her just-too-perky to be real tits stretching the fabric of her black tank top taunt. Very nice tits if he did say so himself.
"Beer" he told her as she glided down the bar.
"Dark, light, imported, local?" The girl asked her pouted mouth twitching into a smile.
"Double Diamonds." Quinn replied looking around the place. Nicer than most he knew of. At least the dancers looked decent. He was sure more than a few of the girls here were desperate in one-way or another. Some were looking for the next fix, other for the next rent check. He didn't usually have to pay for sex but that doesn't mean he never had. Everyone had to make a living somehow. Hell he was a fucking outlaw his way of earning leaned toward the less than kosher end of things. Besides he felt fairly certain that at least one bitch in here was willing to fuck him in a cheap motel room for no other reason than to scratch her own itch.
"A man who knows his English brew's. Ambers a good color for a beer. Three dollars." The bartender slid an open bottle to him down the bar. "Wanna cold glass?"
"Nah I'm good with the bottle." Quinn said. "Happen to know if any of the girls here are up for a bit of after hours fun." Bartenders generally knew everything in a club especially clubs like this, which girls were prudes who kept their legs slammed shut and which ones were up for more. Which ones were shooting up in the back and which ones walked a straight line. Information was always easy to find. Just depended on whom you bribed with what. Everyone and everything came with a price. Some just cheaper than others. For some the price was enough cash for the next fix, for others it was a few bruised ribs and a nice black eye.
"None of my girls are. At least none that I know of." The bartender replied evenly leaning down on the bar top giving Quinn a spectacular view of her cleavage.
"Your girls?" Quinn asked finally looking from her tits to her face.
"Yep my girls. This is my bar." The chick swept her arms wide open gesturing to the entire bar. "Welcome to Heartland. Where you can buy all your heart desires for the price of a lap dance and a bottle." She ran a rag over the bar top as she glanced around. Screw it; she knew full well that at least half her girls would be turning tricks by the end of the night. Hell if they hooked up in the VIP room she took a cut of the pay but she didn't know who was a cop and who wasn't so she wasn't about to let that info slip easy. Not all strippers hooked but she might as well make a profit on those that did.
"And what's your name doll?" Quinn asked. The bartender was hot. Tight little body and aforementioned big tits with a sweet ass. Tall to. Taller than most women in fact. He'd bet she came to just below his shoulder putting her at about five ten.
"Megan." She said, flagging the second bartender to tend to some other customers. "Nate they don't pay us if they don't drink!" She called down. "Yours?" She asked turning her attention back to him
"They call me Quinn. So how'd a woman end up running a strip joint?" Quinn asked sipping his beer.
"Got sick of dancing on the bar decided to work behind it. Brought the place." Megan said giving the giant in front of her a once over. Huge fucker. Broad shouldered with long hair and a beard. Tattoo's covered most of his left arm and more began the climb to creep down his right. Every bit the rough around the edges that defined her own personal sexual kryptonite.
"Really now and how's it working for you now?" Quinn asked flashing her a slow smile giving her an easy once over.
"Well it allows me certain privileges. Comfortable living being on the high end of those privileges. What do you do?"
"This and that." Quinn replied vaguely.
"Mhmmm… well I hope you find what you're looking for here tonight. You from round here or just passing through."
"Passing through. Plan on being gone by morning." Quinn said, "One more thanks." He held up his empty beer bottle.
Megan turned and grabbed a second beer from the fridge behind the beer. Expertly she opened it and slid it down the bar with one smooth motion.
"Decent place you got." Quinn said as he took a pull from his beer.
"Thanks. I worked hard for it. Excuse me I see someone needs a drink. Good luck finding what you're after." Megan went out from behind the bar and toward one of the tables where she could see two of the dancers were about to get into it. Luckily no one else had noticed it yet. God damn it. She was running a bar not acting as a therapist. Course she couldn't get too pissy at the girls in general. Hell she danced on that same fucking stage for ten years and got in many a catfight. That ust came with the job. Stripping was a business; you tried to have a better product than your competitors. In this business your product was your body. A fact that tended to make many a girl short tempered. Still in the five years she'd owned the bar herself she found she had less and less patience for the shit half the girls in the damn place pulled. Still couldn't get rid of them. She needed the girls to bring in the men who bought her booze.
"Serena, Blanca- cut this shit out. I don't know what it is tonight girls and I don't care. Honey is about to get on stage and you Serena are up next. Pull your shit together and go make some money. Blanca I know your son is turning 12 soon, you wanted to buy him a bike? Well if you don't pull your shit together you're both out for the rest of the week." Megan said in hushed tones while still smiling pleasantly being careful to not draw attention to herself or the dancers. Men didn't spend money to see unhappy women. A catfight? Yes they'd pay for that but dancers with black eyes didn't make money. Plus she didn't have that shit in her club. The minute she let that happen was the minute she let her bar go to hell. It might not be a fancy place- she catered to mostly blue-collar men- but it was a nice place.
The girls walked off still glaring daggers at each other but no longer close to blows. Hell Megan would take what she could get.
"What about you boss, you going to show us how it's done again? Its been awhile since you've been on stage hasn't it?" Megan spun around to see another one of her dancers, Lola asked.
"My dance days are over hon. You know that.I haven't come close to getting back on that stage for about five years." Megan smiled at her. Megan used to dance with the busty Latina in a couple of the clubs down in New Orleans. In the five years Megan owned the club Lola continued to dance for her off and on when she was in the area.
"Bull shit. You and I both know the only time your dance days are over are when you're too old to get hired anymore and your tits sag to your knees. You say it all the time yourself. Plus I know you still keep a bag of shit behind the bar for the really stressful nights. Why not break it out tonight while the damn place is open instead of after hours?" Lola asked hip checking her playfully.
"Nah, I got a bar to run." Megan said shaking her head at her friend.
"No honey you need to pull that stick outta your ass. You haven't gotten laid in weeks. Get your ass on that stage and find some hot guy in here and go get laid. You're allowed to get off with someone else a few times. You used to be fun girl." Lola chastised her.
"Used to be. Key word hon. I'm the boss now." Megan said as she made her way through the sea of men in the bar.
"So? Have fun again. All work and no play makes Megan a very unsatisfied girl. Which makes her grumpy which makes work not fun for the rest of us." Lola insisted as she followed her friend and boss.
"I'm not unsatisfied." Megan insisted smiling at her friend.
"Again I'm calling bullshit girl. Tell me. Whens the last time you got laid. Properly laid I mean. Toes curling, back arched, screaming loudly till you loose your voice laid." Lola demanded.
"It was… well… ok so what?"
"So let loose, let your hair down. Take home that tattooed six-foot plus giant over there with the curly hair. I saw you talking to him at the bar."
"I talk to everyone at the bar. A- I own it. B- I bartend it." Megan pointed out as she walked around the tables collecting glasses and beer bottles. She didn't know why it was so hard to bring glasses up to the bar. She'd asked the girls countless times to do so, yet half the glasses she picked up had lipstick stains around the edge.
"Oh for God's sake girl, give me those I'll cover for you at the bar for five minutes. Do a stage set, relax go home with the first man that catches your eye." Lola encouraged.
"I haven't danced in five years."
"I've seen you practicing your old tricks after hours. Stop bitching and get your ass up there now!" Lola stamped her high heeled foot for emphasis. Several men turned and laughed at the latina. Lola merely tossed them a smile. "Go."
"Alright, alright. I'm going just gotta run to the bathroom to change." Megan hated to admit she did indeed keep a bag stashed behind the bar. Every now and than after a long night at the bar after she sent the other bartenders home and all the dancers were gone she like to put on one of her old outfits and play one of her old songs and dance again. Hell things had started to change in the titty business. Outfits getting skimpier acts getting trashier. People were beginning to forget the teasing part of a strip tease. How to drive the audience to the brink and than hook them into giving you everything they had. Megan may still be young and hot at thirty-three but she could feel the wear on her bones after ten years of dancing and five years of bar owning. Still the idea of letting loose sounded pretty damn good.
She carefully slid into her old outfit. The white men's button up still fit perfectly. She still remembered getting it tailored. Well the first one tailored that is. White men's shirt subtly tailored to tuck in at the waist with a black skirt a tie, hair tucked under a fedora and black heels with leg wraps. It might be a cliché but the naughty secretary was a guys favorite for a reason. She slipped into the DJ's booth to hand him a CD.
"Tracks two and seven please" She told Garry.
"Nice look boss. Maybe you should wear it more often girl." The black man threw at her as he took her CD.
"We'll see about that Garry. Lets see if I still remember how its done first." Megan laughed.
"Get it girl."
Megan slipped out of the booth and back to the stage steps. She tapped Blanca's shoulder, "Hey I'm taking Lola's spot. You'll come on after me, is that alright?"
"What- but boss you never dance. What the hell are you doing?" Blanca demanded.
"Living a little I guess." Megan replied before climbing the stage. With each step she felt the same excitement she used to feel.
Ricky was a young boy
He had a heart of stone
Lived nine to five and worked his
Fingers to the bone
Just barely out of school
Came from the edge of town
Fought light a switchblade
So no one could take him down
Megan grabbed a chair she'd set by the mirror and dragged it to the front of the stage and threw herself into dancing. She moved fluidly between the chair and the two poles she stationed it between. She felt alive again. Sure she loved running the bar and the life it afforded her but she missed the rush of being on stage again. The strip industry attracted hundreds of types. She decided that she would take the business and make it hers. It took her ten years to do so but once she did she took it for all it was worth. Part of taking it all was making sure others saw her as professional. After all that's what she was.
She's my cherry pie
Cool drink of water such a sweet surprise
Tastes so good makes a grown man cry
Sweet Cherry Pie
Swingin' on the front porch
Swingin' on the lawn
Swingin' where we want
'Cause there aint nobody home
Swingin' to the left
And swingin' to the right
If I think about baseball
I'll swing all night
By the time her second song started Megan had tossed aside her tie, let her hair free of the fedora and unbuttoned her shirt. She teased the men and brought them to the end of "Sniffers Row"-the front seats next to the stage- wrapping her untied tie around their necks before pushing them away, letting them shove bills into her garter and leg wraps. As the chorus of the song came on again she turned to put her face to the mirror and her back to the audience.
She's my cherry pie
Cool drink of water what a sweet surprise
Tastes so good makes a grown man cry
Sweet Cherry Pie
While she moved her hips to the rythem of the music she threw the shirt open and off, tossing it to the side. She than slowly began the shimmy out of her skirt. If the scrap of fabric could even really be called a skirt. Now standing in only her thong she moved back to the edge of the stage to let desperate men shove more money at her. God she loved the stage. It wasn't a glamorous job and it was hell on the body but damn she loved it.
She climbed off the stage to go change back to her normal bartending cloths. Before she could get to the ladies room a huge towering man blocked her way.
"Thought you worked behind the bar now a days not on top of it." Megan glanced up at the giant named Quinn.
"A girl's got to keep in practice. Never know when it might come in handy. Times are tough down here." Megan smiled up at him, damn the fucker was tall. She herself stood about five eight in her bare feet, damn close to six feet in her dance heels and the fucker still had her by a head.
"Well how bout you and I find a place more quite and you can tell me bout those hard times?" Quinn asked, bitch was hot and he needed to get laid.
"Better idea, come midnight you and I go somewhere and I help you find what you're looking for." Megan fired back.
"It gonna cost me?" Quinn asked, preferring to be up front.
Megan looked him up and down, "Na I stopped making my money on my back a long time ago. Just don't get so drunk you cant get it up anymore."
"Think I can handle that." Quinn chuckled from deep in his chest, "Gotta phone? Need to make a call."
"Pay phones right outside the door. Need to break for quarters?" Megan asked.
"I'm good. Meet me out front at midnight." Quinn told her. He went out side and grabbed the pay phone off the hook, dialing the long familiar number.
"Hello?" A tired voice came over the line.
"Clay, its Quinn." He answered.
"Where you at tonight?" His new prez asked.
"Just outside Baton Rouge. Stopping for the night here. Planning on pushing longer tomorrow." He said into the phone.
"Take your time brother. Shit's finally calming the fuck down up here. Keep checking in and I'll let you know if your needed."
"Thanks brother, I just need sometime. Fucking shit with the Mayans, John going like that. Think I might need to get out of Cali for a bit separates myself."
"Thinking of creating a Nomad charter. It this shit storms shown us anything we need brothers who are mobile. You think that might work?" Clay asked
"Honestly, I don't know brother. Maybe."
"Think on it. Take care of your head, see your family than get back here. We need you Quinn." Clay told him.
"See you soon brother." Quinn answered.
"See you by the end of the month."
Quinn hung up the phone and ran his hand down his face tiredly. Shit back home was crazy right now. Mayans at war with Sons and now John laying down his god damn bike and dying like that. Quinn knew he wasn't part of the First Nine but fuck, he'd been close to John. Helping him start the Belfast charter, fucking sponsoring Chibbs on nothing more than his Prez's say so. John found Quinn's ass strung out in a fucking San Diego gutter fifteen years earlier and cleaned him up. Gave him a mechanic job and later helped him become a prospect. Quinn had worn his kutte proudly for ten years but Johns death and Clay taking the gavel led Quinn down a road he wasn't sure off. Sure the club had been involved with some less than legal activities but it seemed Clay wanted to take that to another level. Shit didn't matter either way, he'd do what his president said. Not much work in the world for an ex-junkie who dropped out of school his sophomore year. Club shit was his life, it paid his bills and gave him a place to lay down at night. Couldn't change the fact that the club was his world and he loved it. Quinn shook his head telling himself to pull his head out of his ass, he had enough time for a couple more beers before he fucked a bitch into oblivion.
Midnight came and Megan grabbed her bag from behind the bar. She walked over to where Quinn leaned against the bar.
"You ready cowboy?" She asked.
"Are you?" He shot back.
"Follow me."