Tara lifted her head from the book she was reading as the door chime sounded, triggering a guitar riff instead of the electronic beep of most stores. It tended to make the customers jump, especially since she changed the tone regularly. The man who walked in seemed amused by it, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. She had never met the man, but she knew exactly who he was. Every person in Charming did, if they knew what really went on in their town.
Jax Teller was an imposing presence, though his face belied that force and the career he had made for himself. Just looking at his face, he seemed to be a handsome twenty-something that could use a shave and a haircut. Although, his blue eyes were deadly, showing little emotion. They scanned the shop in a way that said he owned the place. Then again, in a way he did. Looking at his clothes, the picture made sense. Ratty jeans, chains, steel-toed boots, leather gloves, and his leather motorcycle club jacket gave more power to his don't-mess-with-me attitude. Sons of Anarchy, SAMCRO, were feared by those who knew they existed. And here, in her tattoo shop, stood the president of the gang.
He walked over to the counter with a swagger that concerned her. It wasn't the exaggerated strut that men who thought they were tough used. No, this was predatory. He didn't think he was bad, it was ingrained in him. The type of swagger that couldn't even be trained. He commanded a presence that rivaled that of a marine. Only he was able to kill without remorse, and without orders. He stopped in front of her, leaning over the counter on his elbows. His face was friendly enough, with a sideways smile as he looked down at her.
"Nice door chime," Jax commented. His voice was gravelly in an interesting way, especially given how his enunciation was subtle, barely there.
"Thanks. Nothing worse than a boring tattoo shop, and the first impression is key," Tara replied with a small smile.
"Pantera's a hell of a first impression," he said with a nod. "Sign says you take walk-ins. I'm Jax Teller. You do touch-ups?"
"Of course, as long as you can pay. Which I'm sure you can, Jax," she replied. "You're in luck, too. Slow day in here, so I'm all yours. Pick a chain, tell me what you need done, where, and I'll get everything set up," she said, standing from her chair and setting her book on the counter. "I'm Tara, by the way."
Jax nodded before he stood upright. Sliding his jacket off as he walked, he made his way to the chair located out of view from the door. Under the jacket, he wore just a black beater. He looked around the shop again, more relaxed this time. "Nice place you've got here. Rock music and a kind of... gothic biker vibe," he said, looking over to her.
"Thanks. I pretty much live here, so," she paused, motioning to herself with a laugh. She wore all black, a pair of tight black jeans, a black leather vest, and even a black skull navel ring. Yet her hair was a light, tawny brown, probably her natural tone. It was braided to one side, a single blue streak woven through it. He could see bits and pieces of several tattoos, but not enough to tell what any of them were. "I made the place, me. So, what needs touching up?"
"The reaper," he said, peeling off the beater and setting it with his jacket, on the floor by the chair. He pulled the gun out of the back of his pants, setting it aside as well, before turning his back to her. His club tattoo, the hooded reaper insignia with their name across his shoulders, California across the small of his back. It matched his jacket with striking detail, but it was fading. Scars along his muscled back also marred the image.
Tara froze as he moved the gun, until her common sense kicked in and told her to be reasonable. He had yet to act threatening towards her and her assuming wouldn't help her any. Looking over the tattoo, she slowly raised a hand, her finger tracing over the faded sections and scars. "The fading is an easy fix. I can't do much about the scars, though," she said before moving away. She had assumed he wasn't the type of man to have colored tattoos, so she had brought over some black ink while he had picked the chair. Getting a tattoo gun, she began to prep herself and her tools. "Have a seat, or this really will hurt like hell."
Jax laughed before complying, sitting with his back to her. Cocking an eyebrow, he found himself looking into a mirror. "That's new," he muttered, giving her a quizzical look through the mirror.
"What can I say? I like to watch people squirm," she said with a wink.
"Oh, that's just sick," he jokingly replied, laughing softly.
"Shush," she tsked. "Nah, I just hate to talk to someone's back. At least now I can see your face," she said before laughing a bit. "And, you know, it was my genius idea to make sure I could see 'tough guys' cry over and itty bitty needle. It really never gets old."
Jax actually laughed over that. Shaking his head a bit, he looked at her with a smirk. "You expect me to cry?" he asked, his voice dripping of a tone that challenged or dared her to say yes.
"Of course not. Back tattoos aren't that painful, especially not to a man like yourself," she replied as she looked at him. "The infamous Jax Teller, crying over a little needle? I'm imaginative and all, but not stupid," she said before pulling off her leather glove, replacing them with black latex ones.
"Infamous, huh? And here I thought I was unknown to most of Charming," he mused before tilting his head to one side, then the next, cracking it. Rolling his shoulders, he then stretched his arms over his head, grunting as he loosened muscles that had grown to be quite tense over the past few months. His actions caused the muscles of his toned back to ripple in front of her, the reaper coming to life and moving along with them. He relaxed, clearing his throat as he let his head hang forward. "I probably don't even want to know what you've heard, and how much is true..." he trailed off for a moment. "Just know, I'm not here for trouble."
Tara watched him relax and was slightly shocked by his statement. Not the words, but his tone. Regretful, ashamed even. Gently touching his back, she bit her lip softly before speaking. "I figured you came in peace when you didn't hesitate to put your gun aside. Granted, that didn't stop me from being concerned," she admitted. Situating herself behind him, she pulled her gun into her lap. "That being said, I'm glad to have the chance to meet you for myself. I'm not one to take the opinions of others as my own."
"Wish more people thought like that," Jax sighed, giving her a nod. "Ready when you are."
The sounds of the needle started, and she leaned in to begin her work.
"So how did you find my little shop, anyway?" Tara asked as she cleaned up the station she had used. The retouching had taken a bit longer than expected, nearly an hour of work on his back. They had had some small conversation during that time, but they both knew how awkward and uncomfortable it was to hold a conversation while a needle was going in and out of your skin.
"I noticed it a a few days ago while I was out riding. I figured I was about due for a touch up, so here I am," Jax answered as he stood. He was a bit stiff from sitting, a little sore from the ink, but he stretched out anyway. She handed him a mirror so he could angle it to see her work. Taking it, he held it near his face before turning so that his back was facing her. Looking over his tattoo, he grinned and let out a low whistle. "Looks better than ever," he admitted.
It was true. The artist the club usually went to wasn't that keen on detail. He used the more crude version of the reaper. Now, though, it looked as though she added the detail of the original drawing. The reaper looked as though it could be real, yet remained true to the insignia he had grown up with.
"I just thought it would looked better with more detail," she said with a shrug. She stood next to the mirror and smiled a bit. She always took pride in her work, but she was enjoying the view of his toned back, too.
He saw her looking him over and raised an eyebrow at her, turning to face her. "What?"
"Just enjoying the view. It's nice to work on someone who looks better with his shirt off for a change, if you catch my drift," she admitted rather shamelessly, causing him to chuckle.
A crooked smile appeared on Jax's face as he moved to stand directly in front of her. He towered over her small stature. The aura of power he gave off was suffocating. She bit at her bottom lip nervously as she looked up at him, meeting those searing blue eyes of his with her own. This man scared her, yet there was something about him that compelled her to trust him. He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against the soft skin of her cheek, tilting his head to one side. Eyes softening, he looked down at her with a raw intensity that sent a shiver through her. "I take it you like what you see?" he asked rhetorically before leaning his other arm on the wall above her head.
He had her trapped, his body caging her against the wall. Yet his touch was gentle; she didn't mind this situation, though her senses were dulled by his presence. He ran the backs of his fingers over her jaw before cupping the side of her face. Leaning down, he brushed his lips over hers before capturing them in a kiss. His other hand cupping the other side of her face, he ruled her with the kiss. He remained respectful, his hands staying at her face while his body moved to press against hers.
Her head swam. Damn, could he kiss. She found herself reaching up, one of her hands moving to the back of his head and her fingers buried into his hair. The other, resting against his ribcage. He slid his tongue into her mouth, tasting her as he pressed himself against her more. His left hand sliding down her neck, slowly down to grasp her hip.
He noticed how different their bodies were. She was small, short, soft, pressed against the wall by his lean, solid, tall form. Hell, she was different from most of the women he found himself with. They were so skinny, mostly fake, and "well-used," never a challenge to bed.
When she pressed her hands on his chest, it took him a moment to realize she was pushing him away. He took the hint and removed his hands, though he hovered over her.
"Wow," Tara breathed before rubbing her hands on her face. "I, um..." she seemed to be having trouble forming a complete thought. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him. "I'm not easy," she finally said. "And I don't do one-night-stands. If you're really interested, Jax, you know where to find me."
"Well, that's new," Jax said with a chuckle. He respected her honesty and he definitely liked the idea of of a challenge. Gently pushing some of her hair out of her face, a rather charming smiled crossed his face. "I might just have to take you up on that, Tara," he replied before moving away from her, grabbing his things.
She tried not to stare at him as he began putting his clothes back on. Clearing her throat, she straightened her clothing as she walked over to her central counter. She rustled around her papers, beginning to figure out how much the work and time would cost him, and if she could get away with giving him a discount, or if she even wanted to. Scribbling away at a piece of paper, she jumped when Jax tapped her shoulder.
"Here," he said as he handed her a clump of bills. Before she could protest or count it, he kissed her again, mercilessly, and left. Leaving her alone in her shop.
She blinked as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. A good-looking man with a bad reputation came into her shop, had work done on his tattoo, and then kissed her like crazy. Looking at what he had handed her, her jaw dropped. Three hundred dollars and a piece of paper with his number scribbled on it. She had to be dreaming. Stuff like this didn't happen, especially not to her.
Shaking her head, she pulled out her phone and added his as a contact. She looked at his payment and smiled a bit.
"You overpaid, Teller," was what she sent to him. Setting her phone down, she walked to the mirror and looked into her own eyes.
"You're crazy, you know that?" she asked herself, running her hand over her face. "Jax Teller isn't a man who wants a relationship, and you're not a whore."
Just then, her phone rang, the sound of Motley Crue's "Live Wire" playing. It was him.
"Hello?" she answered.
"I didn't overpay. Take the rest, buy yourself something to wear tonight. Nothing too classy, you're just gonna be riding with me on the bike. Pick something you like. I'll be there at 8," he said before chuckling. She could almost hear his grin as he added, "Later, Tara."
He hung up before she could reply, protest, or anything. Moving the phone away from her ear, she stared at it in disbelief.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she blanched. "You are crazy."
