This is my first attempt at writing like this (a multiple part story) in over a year. I've recently started rewatching 'Sons' in preparation for Season 4 and this story just came to me. It has sparked life into an otherwise frustratingly blocked brain. I love feedback and constructive criticism! Thanks! _Cal
"Cough Syrup" by callanleigh
One.
A dark world aches for a splash of the sun
A gentle, spring breeze rustled through the moonlit treetops of Charming, CA. The otherwise still and silent town was punctuated fiercely by the bright lights and loud music emanating from the clubhouse of outlaw motorcycle club, the Sons of Anarchy.
A few blocks away, a young girl was approaching the building. She was a girl with a mission, but without a solid plan. She could tell she was nearby her destination when she heard the music and saw the bright lights far down the road. Swiftly but carefully, she continued to walk toward her target, occasionally stopping to adjust the bag slung across her shoulder which managed to barely contain all of her belongings.
As the clubhouse got closer, she could feel all of the blood rushing to her brain, her veins coursing with adrenaline. She felt her cheeks turning red and her head went hot. She tried to shove her apprehensions away by persistently repeating an encouraging monologue. Regardless of how terrified she was, she had to get this done.
Once she arrived at her vantage point across the street from the rear entrance, she knew she had a reason to feel uneasy. The entire building was surrounded by a menacing fence, with men perched on their motorcycles at every available entrance point. As she everything became even clearer, she froze in the shadows. What if this didn't work out how she was hoping, was the risk worth it? Either way, she was putting her life into the hands of fate. Taking a deep breath and wearing her most confident and flirty smile, she set off across the road. Deciding that the best course of action was a direct one, she approached the side gate without anymore hesitation. The entrance was guarded by a man with tan skin, tattoos and a mohawk. He looked close to her age which assured her to straighten herself out and continue to walk.
Juice, Intelligence Officer and hacker genius for SOA, sometimes took pride in being selected to the post of security at the clubhouse. He usually watched very carefully and tried his best to stay on constant alert, but today he only really wanted to be inside this party. Sighing, he chugged the rest of his beer and reached down for another when something in the shadow across the street caught his eye. He stared at it for a moment, immediately placing his hand on his gun before realizing that it was a girl. Her bone-straight, mid-length, dirty blonde hair was being tossed lightly by the breeze. Circling her head was two strands of thin, braided yarn twisted together in blue and brown with matching large, feather earrings. Her body was covered with a dark blue crop top, accessorized with a few necklaces and a floor length, gauzy light brown skirt. Juice thought she was pretty enough, but soon realized he had never before seen her around Charming.
"Hey, doll, are you lost?" He called out to her. She swallowed hard at his defense, but forced her smile.
"Not really," she replied, approaching. "Hey, uh, do you know where a girl can get some good smoke around here?" She batted her eyes at him which caused Juice to let out a laugh. He was impressed and assumed there had to be someone inside the party who would find her interesting for the night.
"Sure, sweet thing. Right this way," he reached back and opened the gate for her. She grinned widely at him, flashing a mouthful of straight, white teeth.
"Thank you so much!" She quickly went inside the gate before turning back to him. "I promise I won't tell you're the one who snuck me in. She flashed him a quick peace sign before making her way inside the clubhouse. She poked her head in the door, checking to see if anyone was around before slipping inside. She looked extremely out of place in her current location, but her looks were vaguely deceitful. She soon spotted a dark corner where she would be able to observe nearly everybody without being easily observed herself. She certainly would be an eye sore out in the light. From this dark perspective, she sat with her legs crossed and casually surveyed the scene of boozing, smoking and explicit sex happening before her eyes.
Across the room, SOA Sergeant-at-arms Tig Trager, stood holding up a wall and nursing a warm beer, monitoring the landscape. The party happening now was very much the same as all the parties before and normally, he would've been having the time of his life but tonight felt off for him. He had been waiting patiently all night for something bad to happen but nothing had yet occurred. He was thinking about calling it a night when movement in the far, dark corner of the room caught his eye. He set off for the corner cautiously; his hand automatically placed on the gun tucked into his dirty, faded jeans.
She twitched nervously when she realized Tig had spotted her. Placing her feet on the ground, she quickly grabbed her bag in case she needed to run. Tig's eyebrows knit together in concern as he strained to see who was in the shadow. Not wanting to startle him anymore, she stuck her right hand out in the dim light of the clubhouse in a non-threatening peace sign, hoping it would get him to take his hand off his gun.
"Relax, man. I come in peace," she giggled. Her dulcet voice carried across Tig's ears softly. He stepped warily into the shadow and rubbed his eyes hoping to see her more clearly. Her small, round face was lit cheerfully by a pleasant smile and she held her head cocked to the side as she stared at him. With only a moment hesitation, she patted the empty space beside her and crossed her legs again, covering them with her long skirt. Tig liked how the bangles and bracelets on her wrists all clinked together as she moved. Bewildered with his thoughts, he shook his head, snapping back to the situation. She couldn't have been older than 20, he guessed, and she looked completely at ease.
"Who are you?" He asked. Just because she was young, gorgeous and looked extremely fuckable didn't mean he should just automatically trust her.
"I said relax, okay, man?" she laughed, brushing her hair behind her right shoulder. "Name's Ánie. Please, sit," she once again patted the seat beside her. "You look like you could use a break, dude." Entranced, Tig took an awkward seat beside her. Usually, this meant the hard part was over. He already had her attention, the next part was supposed to be the wanton fuck session and a shove out of bed in a few hours but the words weren't coming to him.
"How, uh, how do you spell your name?" He had never heard a name like it before and honestly it was the only thing he could think to say.
"Á-N-I-E, but you say it like, 'a-ha-nee' but extremely fast. Ánie." She paused. "I don't know, they say my mom was tripping out when I was born." She looked up into his eyes and shrugged nonchalant adding, "She probably wanted to name me, like, Annie or something lame but she was tripping too hard and 'Ánie' came about instead. Who the fuck knows?" she laughed.
"That's awesome," Tig laughed. She smiled back at him. After a short pause, the pair continued to sit in the dark corner and make the smallest of talk, unexpectedly lost in each others presence, now unaware of the life beyond their new corner. Even at risk of losing this night, Tig diligently followed through with something of the norm for this kind of party.
"Would you want to move somewhere quieter by any chance?" Ánie felt her breath freeze for a brief moment. Was this part really this easy? Pushing her conscience far away to its normal location, she grinned and replied,
"Hell yeah." Tig stood hastily and held his hand out to her. He wasn't really sure where he was going with this. It would obviously be easy just to fuck her brains out tonight, but he wasn't sure he wanted to; he wasn't sure how to classify the type of arousal he was presently feeling. It was frustrating that he couldn't put his finger on it. Ánie placed her slender hand in his, immediately stimulated by his rough palms. He didn't say a word as he tugged her away from the cozy corner. Ánie watched nervously as they entered a hallway, the party growing fainter behind them.
Clay Marrow, President of the SOA, stood behind the bar drinking in front of two other members, Chibbs and Bobby, who were seated at the bar. Clay was a rough looking man, tall and sturdy with a dark, hard stare. Chibbs had a thick Scottish accent and two scars on his face while Bobby was a short, stout man with a thick beard. Clay's eyes widened when he caught Tig leaving the party with a young, blonde girl. Before they left, he pointed in their direction so his friends would look as well.
"Who's that hippie chick being drug away by Tig?" Clay questioned. They all looked at each other with raised eyebrows as the pair slipped out of view.
"No idea, don't see many of those types around here," Chibbs stated.
"Probably just a straggler looking for a quick dick," Bobby added, turning back and taking a deep gulp of his beer. Clay shook his head.
"Chibbs is right. She doesn't look like the type who just stumbles into Charming and right into the arms of our most violent member. I need someone to find Juice and tell him we need some scoop on this tart a.s.a.p.! I'm going home." Clay chugged the rest of his beer before slamming the glass down on the bar. He stepped away, patting his friends on their shoulders. They both responded with a nod as they watched him leave.
