"These violent delights have violent ends/And in their triumph die, like fire and powder./Which as they kiss consume." - Romeo and Juliet, 2.3

HOUSE OF CARDS

Chapter One

The remnants of the warehouse were still on fire when he pulled into the lot to survey the damages. Not that there'd been any of hope of salvaging it—bits and pieces of the warehouse were strewn around the grass like, well, like a bomb had gone off. Smoke was still emanating from the crisp, black debris and he felt his blood boiling just from looking at it.

Jackson Teller liked to believe he was a man who practiced brains before bullets. It wasn't easy to control the impulse to smash someone's head through a wall but he'd always been able to pull himself back when the situation called for it. This was not one of those fucking times. Right about now, he wanted to stomp through the smoking wreckage and find a nice slice of glass he could stab right into Ernest Darby's heart.

This was a low blow even for the Nords.

He took a long, furious pull from the cigarette at his lips and blew the smoke into the air, watching as it mixed with the grey fog wafting from the remains of Samcro's warehouse. The last year had seen an on-again, off-again tension with the rival gang and the situation had been gradually escalating to the point of all-out war. Aside from the natural disagreement regarding race and the fact that the Nords had been trying to infiltrate meth into Charming for years, they'd somehow managed an uneasy co-existence. In fact, in effort to maintain some semblance of peace, the two rivals staged a Saturday night boxing league just outside of town on neutral territory but it had quickly corroded into an excuse to beat the shit out of each other without someone ending up in lock-up for the night, not to mention a healthy payday for the winning side.

This wasn't so much an act of war but a provocation—Samcro had just moved their supply to their buyer, rendering it empty and the damage in storage only. The Nords had obviously done their homework. It was clear Darby wanted to force Samcro's hand and make the Sons be the first to draw blood but that wasn't gonna happen anytime soon. They were smarter than that and the last thing they wanted was the culpability of bringing war to Charming's streets. But the Nords were bound to irrevocably fuck up beyond the level of Samcro's tolerance and eventually, Charming would only have room for one gang of outlaws.

As the streets of Charming came flying back at him, he felt more and more on edge. Clay wasn't going to be pushed to a retaliation because that was exactly what Darby wanted him to do—but that didn't make it any easier to stand by and watch Samcro property blown to pieces. His thoughts and his Dyna were halted by a red light at an intersection only a few miles away from TM. He recognized the choked muffler and the loud rumbling of an overheated engine before he saw the '97 Camaro pull up next to him at the light.

Eric Miles, second-in-command for the Nords, grinned back at him from the driver's side as he thrust a swastika-tattooed arm on the edge of the window, running his hand along the side of the car. Miles was under the impression that his barely running beer can of a car was worthy of street racing and was often heard bragging about how much he loved the piece of shit—it was more fun to let him think that than to take pains in correcting the mistake. The sun was just at the right angle to reflect directly off his shiny, shaved head and right in Jax's eyes, making him squint with barely restrained fury.

If there was anyone in Charming that was a bigger piece of shit than Ernest Darby, it was undeniably Miles—the poster boy for spewing the most bigoted, white supremacist bullshit he'd ever heard in his life. But more than that, the over-confidence, the cockiness, the self-satisfied smirk that reflected his unshakable, ridiculous belief that he owned this town—it all made Jax's blood simmer every time they were within eyesight of each other. At least Darby had the fallback of being old and set in his ways for his fucked up beyond all recognition outlook on society—Miles had no excuse.

"Heard about that little accident you guys had outside of town," Miles shot out from his shitty car. "What a shame, huh? All that storage space just blown to pieces."

Jax's upper lip curled up into a slight snarl as he eyed the adversary to his right. "A real shame. Guess we're just gonna have to start using your mom's basement—she seemed pretty eager to help me out last night; I'm sure she'd be willing to oblige me again tonight."

Mile's hand fisted into the side of the Camaro and Jax grinned back him as he basked in his easy victory. It didn't take much to ruffle his feathers and mother insults—albeit cheap insults—always seemed to get under his skin when Jax was too tired or lazy to come up with something more inventive.

At this point, the light had flashed green but both held their ground.

"Just keep talkin', Teller," Miles growled back. "We'll see who's laughing when those stupid Spicks drop your business like a bad fuckin' habit."

"Well," Jax shot back, his eyes glinting into a hard glare as he spoke. He could feel his blood pressure rising with each passing moment. "Considering that's the best you can come up with, I don't see any problems in our foreseeable future, do you?"

Miles opened his mouth to deliver what would've surely been a lesser, half-brained comeback of epic proportions but his mouth quickly snapped shut as Deputy Hale's Jeep pulled up across from them.

"Move along, fellas," Hale yelled out to them. "I don't have time to haul both your asses to the precinct if you idiots decide to start pummeling each other."

Jax rolled his eyes to the sky and blew out a frustrated breath. Just when this exchange was starting to get interesting…Captain America had to show up and take the wind out of his sail. But for all intents and purposes, he and Miles were done here anyways. So instead of making a scene, he flashed Hale a mock salute and sent his Dyna forward and towards the clubhouse. Miles flipped him off as he turned the corner and although Jax knew it was intended to be taken seriously, he couldn't stop himself from laughing right in Mile's line of vision despite the spiking adrenaline running through him. Luckily, he only had to wait three more days until the next fight night. Miles was due to lose a few teeth.

By the time he pulled into TM's parking lot, all he wanted was a stiff drink—preferably Jack—and a croweater to work off some of this aggression and adrenaline—preferably a brunette…there was just a larger population of them in the clubhouse. Bobby pushed a shot glass his way when he settled into a stool at the bar with a grim smile.

"Even shittier in person, huh?" Bobby asked.

Jax just nodded a silent response and downed the shot, slamming it back down on the counter for another.

"Church in thirty," Bobby went on as he filled Jax's shot glass back up to the top.

"What's the point?" Jax retorted bitterly.

Bobby filled up his shot glass with a huff. "We've voted on this already, Jax—you know it, I know it, we all know it—until the day Darby brings meth into Charming, we gotta sit tight. No need to lose your head over an empty warehouse."

Jax tipped the glass back and felt a little less anxious as the shot burned down his throat. "At some point, the fucker's gonna take a step too far and then we'll be wishin' we'd nipped this in the bud when we had the chance."

"And when that time comes, we'll hash it out at the Redwood, Jax." Bobby pushed a beer bottle at him as he spoke.

"Now, I know today has been a little rough," Tig sat down next to Jax as he spoke, an evil, wily glint in his eye. "But the night is gonna be so much better."

Jax's eyebrows rose at the suggestion. Whatever he had in mind probably wasn't good. Besides, it was only a Wednesday. The club wasn't planning to let loose until Friday—which meant that this night was going to eventually lead them outside the clubhouse. It was usually in everyone's best interest if the drunken stupidity was restrained inside the walls of the clubhouse.

"Oh yeah?" Bobby shot back, slinging a towel over his shoulder in mild frustration. "Why's that, my sick, twisted friend?"

Tig smirked with an arched eyebrow and smacked his hands down on the counter. "A little bird told me Darby's niece got a job bartending at Lucky's—guess when her first night is?"

"Let me guess," Jax tilted his head to the side as he spoke, already liking where this was headed. "Tonight?"

"Right on the money, bro!" Tig clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I say we take a little trip down to Lucky's and see where the night takes us. Maybe a little heckling, a little trash-talking—we'll leave her a nice big tip of course—and maybe if I'm really lucky, I'll cop a feel or something."

"And have Darby kicking down your door in the morning?" Bobby shook his head. "That sounds like real fun, Tig, you stupid idiot."

Tig's hands shot up in the air in mock-defense. "Alright, fine. No grab-hands. But I can heckle her a little bit, right? That'll be fun…besides, I'm really itchin' to see what this broad looks like. You see her around town yet, Jax?"

He just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "Nah…I gotta say though, I'm kinda surprised Darby would let her work at Lucky's of all places. It's not really on his side of town."

"I don't really care," Tig shrugged. "I'm just interested in havin' a little fun with her tonight and gettin' under Darby's skin. Whatta ya say, brothers? You in? Let's round up Chibs, Ope, and the prospect too while we're at it. Make it more of a family affair."

"You really are a sick bastard," Bobby shook his head. "You go have your fun—I'm not interested in getting mixed up in that shit tonight."

Tig elbowed Jax with a suggestive wink. "You in or what, Jax?"

Jax pushed back on the edge of the bar as he weighed his options. He didn't know much about Darby's niece and he wasn't even entirely sure on her first name. He thought they were around the same age but again, wasn't positive on the details. All he knew was that Darby's wife had recently passed from breast cancer and now his niece was back in town. It was rumored that Darby had bribed her back to Charming with a rent-free house—but the reasons for the bribe went from everything to her prostituting herself for the Nords' profit to her taking care of her sixteen year old cousin. He figured the latter was probably closest to the truth and knowing Darby, he had no business being the sole care-taker of a teenager. But there'd also been rumors that Miles had taken an interest in her—which peaked Jax's interest as well.

As much as he wanted to do something, anything to lash out at Darby for his little warehouse stunt, he wanted to piss Miles off more. He took great pleasure in stepping into the make-shift ring with Miles any chance he got. They were pretty equally matched in both size and skill so it wasn't always a guaranteed victory but he relished in every connected punch because the fucker deserved it. But this trip to Lucky's could be just as satisfying as a turn in the ring with him.

A slow smile crept onto his face the more he thought about the prospect in front of him. Sure, he could stay at the clubhouse and fulfill his original plan of Jack and croweater. But this was a little more enticing. And Plan A would still be waiting for him when they got back from Lucky's. Besides, he didn't necessarily want to provoke anything with Miles that went beyond the boxing ring; he just wanted to piss him off.

"Yeah, bro," he grinned back at Tig. "I'm in."

Although Ava had worked in her fair share of dive bars in college, Lucky's was the dive bar to end all dive bars. The "u" in the fluorescent sign hanging above the entrance was flickering and the "k" was a complete lost cause. The inside, she remembered from her interview—and she was still a little surprised that the owner, Ray, had gone through that kind of formality at such a fine establishment—was comprised of sticky tiled floors, a musty-stale beer odor, peeling bar stools, and plenty of pool tables to spare. It was exactly the kind of bar one would expect to find in abundance in a town like Charming, albeit the kind of job she thought she'd left behind in San Francisco.

But, she reminded herself, she was here to make sure Allie made it out of Charming in one piece. And she'd taken this job to completely piss off her uncle.

She smiled to herself as she walked inside Lucky's for her first shift, remembering the absolute fury in her uncle's beet red face when she'd snidely told him where she would be working. He'd been appropriately infuriated by her choice to work closer to the south side of Charming—Samcro territory—as opposed to a more northern, Nord-approved establishment.

Of course, he couldn't have cared less that she would be bartending—which spoke volumes about his reasoning for coaxing her back to Charming…nothing but complete and total disregard for anyone but himself and his agenda. There was no love lost between her and Uncle Ernest and he'd all but ignored her presence until that asshole Eric Miles started eyeing her up. His eyes had roamed over her like she was something to be eaten, sending bile right up in her throat. If it hadn't been the shaved head and swastika tattoos enveloping his arms, it was the way he'd tried to lecture her about the "innate desire within each soul to be white" that sent her high-tailing it out of the room. But every time she'd been forced in the same room with him since then, she could feel his eyes on her with every move she made. She'd be lying to herself if she said it wasn't scary. It was clear, however, when good ol' Uncle Ernest practically pushed her into Miles' lap what his plan for her was.

And since he was basically holding his own daughter hostage, she rebelled the only real way she could—by making sure she'd be working in a place frequented by his enemy. She'd reasoned to him that there weren't that many places she could work in Charming where she wouldn't run into any members of Samcro. He bristled at that but eventually dropped it because she was right. He had launched into his usual rant and rave about how Samcro was the devil and nothing but scum who sold their merchandise to the highest bidder. She didn't bother pointing out that he was essentially doing the exact same thing with her but knew it was a moot point. She knew she'd bargained Allie's soul for hers and there would be no negating on that arrangement on either side.

Allie was only sixteen years old—barely had her driver's license—and she was innocent in all this. She didn't deserve the hand she'd been dealt in life or what her monstrous father was capable of. What she deserved was a fighting shot at a life free of Ernest Darby and his street gang of white supremacists and Ava knew her cousin didn't stand a chance if she remained in Charming by herself. So when her uncle had come to her with his proposition of free rent in exchange for 'helping him' with Allie, she'd read the sinister motive behind his words.

Ava knew well enough why her uncle had suddenly upped the ante and promised her Allie would be allowed to go to any college she wanted to after she graduated high school—she had to "play by his rules", as he'd said. And with that, she'd made an unspoken deal with the devil.

While she didn't need the free rent, she'd take it if he was offering, considering she knew exactly why she was here. She figured she might as well enjoy some fringe benefits while she could but at the end of the day, her chief concern was keeping her cousin safe and ushering her out of Charming the second she turned eighteen. She hadn't yet worked out an exit strategy for herself but that was the least of her worries at this point.

Her aunt, Anna, had been something of a guardian angel to her as a child. She'd only been twelve years old when her mom died and since they were the only other family she had in Charming, she'd moved in with Uncle Ernest and Aunt Anna. While Auntie Anna had been warm, welcoming, and protective, Uncle Ernie had only seen her as a potential bargaining chip—by the time she reached thirteen, he had her serving his men drinks at the Nords' headquarters in as little clothes as possible. While Anna hadn't been able to do much about that, she'd flown into a rage when she found out her uncle had pushed his fourteen year old niece into a secluded room with one of his 'associates'—she'd burst into the room and gotten her out of there but it still a few moments too late. She still wasn't entirely sure what Anna had threatened him with but, two days later, Anna was driving her to San Francisco. Anna's best friend from high school, Isabella—and years of therapy—were waiting for her.

And while she was positive her aunt had protected Allie with the same fierceness, Anna was dead now. There was no one there to make sure she had as normal and safe a childhood as possible while living under Ernest Darby's roof. Isabella had fought her tooth and nail on her decision to move back to Charming but her resolve had held strong. In the end, Allie was her last true family left and she couldn't sit back and allow her be marooned in Charming with no hope of escape. She owed Anna that much.

Ava had often wondered how a sweet, beautiful, and caring woman like Anna could've not only been married to someone like Ernest Darby but actually stayed with him as long as she did. But when she considered what her uncle was holding over her head, she realized that maybe the women in this family didn't have many choices. Women were just pawns to him, bargaining chips to serve whatever purpose suited him at the time and she wouldn't underestimate the fact that her uncle would not hesitate to serve his own sixteen year old daughter up on a silver platter if the situation called for it.

When she realized she still had a few minutes before her shift started, she darted into the bathroom to give herself a quick once-over. She didn't normally dress provocatively in her free time but she'd learned from plenty of experience working in bars that the more cleavage and leg you showed, the more tips ended up in your pocket at the end of your shift. It was pretty much the number one rule in the female bartender playbook. Rule number two: flirt, flirt, and flirt. Rule number three: always keep the bouncer within eyesight.

She carefully adjusted her black tube top that showed just enough of her midriff. Wanting to make a good impression on the regulars, she'd thrown on a tight jean skirt for good measure. After a quick reapplication of lip gloss and one more layer of mascara, she was satisfied with the image she would be projecting tonight—hot and accessible but not too accessible.

When she re-emerged from the bathroom and headed towards the bar, Ray was already there waiting for her. He immediately launched into a laundry list of tasks that needed to be completed before it got crowded and being no stranger to this, she easily fell into step behind him. When customers began to trickle inside, she knew that although it had been a little while since she'd worked in a bar, serving drinks was going to be like riding a bike. It was just something she'd always know how to do and she was good at it.

By 10:00, the bar was pretty crowded but between her and Ray, they still managed the in-flow of customers without the help of a third bartender. Her tip jar already had a nice stack of bills in it and she still had about four hours left to go which was a good sign for future shifts. The regulars seemed to like her and Ray had told her more than once how grateful he was to have an experienced bartender with him. Over all, she was happy with the decision to work at Lucky's.

But when the door swung open and five Reaper cuts passed through the threshold, she could feel a change in the air. The other customers didn't necessarily seem to mind that they were here and she figured it was most likely because they were used to Samcro's proximity. This was really more their side of Charming anyways so it was only fair that they were there. And she'd known this when she applied for a job at Lucky's. But now that she was actually faced with them being here, a fluttering of uneasiness shot down through her stomach.

As they staked their claim on a booth and a pool table directly across from the bar, she tried to figure out who each one was as inconspicuously as possible. She didn't really need them knowing she was observing them as their reaction to her being on their side of town still remained to be seen. But as she eyed them carefully from the safety behind the bar, the pieces slowly clicked into place.

Of the five Samcro members who'd entered the bar, she thought she recognized three of them. While it'd been eleven years since she'd lived in Charming, she'd still been aware of the MC's members, courtesy of her uncle drilling the roster into her so she knew exactly who to avoid in Charming and why. The older one with black wiry hair and even blacker beady eyes had to be Tig Traeger. She vaguely recalled her uncle saying that Tig was a loose cannon and certifiably insane but considering his own track record in that arena, she figured she'd make up her own mind regarding the characters who were currently setting up a pool game.

The tallest one with his hair tucked away in a brown beanie was probably Opie Winston and the one with shaggy blonde hair was most likely Jax Teller. She'd never officially met either of them as she had attended grade school on the north side of town while they'd went to the one in the south but if she'd stayed in Charming long enough for high school, they all would've been in the same class. She'd just gotten mere glimpses—the back of a head here and there and she vaguely remembered seeing Jax in the grocery with his mom but then she'd quickly steered them away from her and her aunt without so much as a nod in acknowledgment.

Opie had grown into a good-looking man but was still the quintessential image of a rough around the edges biker, a little greasy, a little dangerous but yet still maintained something of a teddy-bear quality. Jax, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. He looked more like he belonged on a billboard than a motorcycle and everything about him just screamed sex from the shattering blue eyes to the California-boy surfer hair to the cocky, self-assured swagger of a man who was used to getting what he wanted. And she hadn't missed the way his eyes had flicked up and down her body in an easy, experienced appraisal and she was well aware that his eyes had never seemed to stray too far from her after that.

"Hey, Ava?" Ray's voice startled her and she quickly turned on her heel to face him. "I think I just heard some glass breakin' back by the jukebox—would you mind cleanin' it up over there?"

She shrugged, grateful for a chance to get behind the bar and move around a little bit more. "Sure, no problem."

Then she realized that the jukebox was only about three feet away from the Samcro area of the bar. She could handle this and she'd known that working at this particular bar would put her right in their line of vision. This was what she'd wanted, right? She needed to own up to that and hold her own. Besides, she had a feeling anything they did or said would, for the most, be pretty harmless. Samcro was more known for gun-smuggling and not man-handling non-consenting women. They didn't scare her nearly as much as her uncle and his gang of bigots did.

With that newfound resolve, she gathered up the broom and duster and faced them head-on. Well, not entirely head-on because she did everything in her power to ignore them, focusing on anything and everything that wasn't the Reaper cuts next to the jukebox.

But their heads had still turned as she began to sweep up the mess next to them. She braced herself for the inevitable and, fortunately enough, she didn't have to wait all that long.

The black haired one—she was still thinking he was Tig Traeger—waved her over with a quick flick of his wrist and a slightly evil smirk on his face. She tried to hide the quick, anxious exhale of breath as she finished sweeping up the last shards of glass and headed towards their booth. Opie and one of the men she didn't recognize—she was sure she'd have remembered those facial scars—were in the middle of a pool game which left Tig, Jax, and a younger-looking one with the tattooed head sitting in the booth right next to the jukebox.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Tig purred when she was standing in front of their booth. She tried to hide the way her eyebrows rose in annoyance at his terminology and for a brief moment, her eyes flitted to Jax, who was smirking up at her with a predatory glint in his eyes.

"My buddies and I have been sittin' here arguing about somethin' since the second we walked in here," Tig continued. "And I was hopin' you could help us settle it."

She nodded knowingly and gripped the broom in her hand a little tighter. "And what's that?"

"Well, we were wondering if you were really Darby's niece because there's no way that ugly bastard could actually be related to someone as smokin' hot as you."

A round of laughter and snickers echoed from the men sitting in front of her as well as behind her and she pushed out an exasperated exhale, bringing a hand to her hip. That was the best they could come up with? She figured she had one of two options here; she could be offended and set herself up for an unspecified amount of hounding and heckling from here on out or she could play their game and just go with it.

"Well," Ava shot back with a playful shrug. "I guess we have Uncle Ernie's smokin' hot sister to thank for that one."

She smirked victoriously when Tig's eyes widened in surprise at her response—he'd clearly not expected her to actually play his game.

Jax barked out a laugh as his eyes danced with an interesting mix of appreciation and surprise. "Uncle Ernie?"

"He doesn't really like the nickname but I guess I don't really care." She shrugged, careful not to let her eyes linger on Jax for too long.

"I'm gonna have to remember that," Tig laughed, having recovered from his shock.

"But really guys," she delivered the next blow. "We all know you knew exactly who I was before you even got here—which isn't really fair since I haven't been formally introduced to any of you yet."

Tig made a tsk-tsk sound and quickly held out a hand for her to shake. "Well, sweetheart, let's rectify that situation right now. My name's Tig—welcome back home to Charming."

She good-naturedly extended her hand and shook his. "Ava-nice to officially meet you."

Jax's hand shot out to her and she gingerly slid her hand into his waiting one.

"Jax—nice to officially meet you too," he said with a wink. "You have a beautiful name, darlin'."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and took her hand back. Like she'd never heard that one before. Maybe someone who looked like him could afford to recycle old material but that was just plain lazy. She was quickly introduced to the remaining members of the party—Opie, the scarred man who she learned was named Chibs and had a thick Irish accent, and the tattoo head, who was introduced to her simply as 'the prospect'.

"So we gonna be seein' you around at the fight nights? Or is your uncle plannin' on keepin' you locked in your tower every Saturday?" Tig was asking her now.

She just shrugged. "I've been told to make some appearances, yes."

"Let me guess," Jax started with a smirk. "You'll be sittin' with the Eric Miles fan club?"

This time, she couldn't stop her eyes from narrowing. She knew better than to reveal this much, given her audience, but any mention of Hitler-in-training was enough to make her blood simmer.

"I'm not in anyone's fan club," she shot back icily.

Jax held his hands up in the air, his eyebrows lifting into his forehead. "Sorry, darlin'. Didn't realize he was such a sore subject for ya."

That didn't even begin to scratch the surface of the loathing she felt for Eric Miles but there was no way she was going to say that in front of five members of Samcro. But she reminded herself that they were also paying customers and she still needed to earn a tip from them by the night's end.

"Well," she plastered on a grin as she spoke to change the subject. "I need to head back to the bar—I think I've abandoned Ray a little too long. Any refills I can get you though?"

She mentally recorded their requests and carefully stepped away from their booth, leaving them back to their pool games and conversations even though she knew her interactions with them for the night were far from over. But all in all, it hadn't been that bad. They had, for the most part, been friendly and harmless, just as she'd thought.

"I see you met our distinguished customers," Ray muttered to her over his shoulder when she was back behind the bar. "They gonna be a problem for us tonight?"

"No," she quickly waved it off, not wanting her new boss to already develop some agitation over her unfortunate heritage. "They were fine. No problems here."

"Good to hear," Ray replied, gesturing with his head as he spoke. "Because you've got a customer waitin' for you."

She quickly nodded, eager to get back to work and when she turned in the direction Ray had pointed her, she found herself face to face with Jax Teller. He was waiting patiently for her attention, leaning against the bar on his elbows with a lazy, cocky smirk slipping over his features. It seemed he had no intention of letting her off easy on her first night.

Great.

Jax waited, unfazed by her stunted silence, and the longer he waited, the greater the thrill of the chase became. While he'd be the first to admit he'd only come to Lucky's that night for some fun and to ruffle Miles' feathers by their presence that was before he'd laid eyes on her. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting in Ernest Darby's niece but he'd been more than pleasantly surprised in what he'd found.

Tig hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said she was smokin' hot. But that labeling didn't completely cover the whole package. He had zeroed in on her immediately and had drunk in the sight of her behind the bar with eager excitement—long blonde hair that fell in loose ringlets down her back, a pair of blue eyes that sparked with she spoke, nice rack, nice legs, tight body and he appreciated every inch of creamy skin that she'd decided to show. Her flippant handling of Tig and their subsequent exchange was definitely a surprise; she had somehow managed to turn the tables on Tig, who for all his pomp and circumstance had most definitely not been expecting her to give back what he'd dished out inch for inch.

But what had really peaked his interest was her subtle digs at both her uncle and Miles. She was clearly not a fan of either but seemed to hold Miles in the lowest regard which made him rethink his original reasoning for coming to Lucky's tonight. From the little he'd already seen, he knew she was gorgeous and funny and smart and that Miles wanted her—it was easy to see why. And from the little she'd divulged it was clear that she hated him in return.

Even if Miles had had her already—and Jax suspected he hadn't—the prospect of fucking her right under Miles' nose was too good to pass up without at least trying. He knew he wouldn't be able to tell Miles outright—that would be overstepping the invisible line drawn between the two rivals just a little bit too far—but it was a small price to pay. He'd always have the knowledge that he'd gotten what Miles couldn't have—and maybe never would—and it would be a sweet, sweet victory. It would make his punches in the ring with Miles all the more satisfying and any interactions with him all the more entertaining because he'd know exactly what the object of Miles' desire looked like naked, what she tasted like, and the face she made when she came.

So he figured he'd throw out a line and see if she took the bait.

"Well, darlin'," he said finally. "Since we ordered such an obscene amount of alcohol, I figured the least I could do was come over here and help you carry it all."

She rolled her eyes but her smile still reached her eyes, which he knew was a good sign. "Thanks but I think I'll be able to get it all."

He leaned forward on his elbows with a smirk. "Well, I'll be right here if you need me."

She sent him an exasperated look from underneath her thick, black eyelashes and he felt his lips curl up into a sly smile. She was going to be a challenge but easy conquests weren't all that much fun anyways. It had been a while since he'd actually have to work for it a little and he knew he was up to the task. Besides, this victory over Miles would be all the more sweet.

"Thanks." She pushed out through clenched teeth.

Maybe he needed a different approach.

"I was really sorry to hear about your aunt. She was a real nice lady."

It was a different approach but it was still genuine too. Anna Darby had somehow managed to rise above her husband's reputation in town and in a lot of ways, had rivaled his mother in the competition to see which matriarch could do the most philanthropy work—between charities and fundraisers, she'd proven to be kind-hearted and generous where her husband was cold and hateful. That hadn't gone unnoticed by anyone in Charming, including Samcro, and whenever he'd seen her around town—which honestly, hadn't been all that often-he'd always made sure to show her the respect she deserved.

Ava smiled sadly and he was grateful she seemed to realize he was being sincere. "Yeah she was—thanks."

"So how you like bein' back in Charming?" He figured she needed the change in subject.

She just shrugged as she continued working on their drink order. "Well, considering it's exactly the same as when I left it—it's fine."

As he considered her words, he briefly wondered what it must be like to have Ernest Darby as a family member and then shuddered at the thought. He didn't envy her at all and as the mirthless expression in her eyes registered, he realized that having Darby as a family member was probably akin to a prison sentence. He wasn't about to make apologies for anything Samcro had done in the past—the gun-running, the necessary violence—it was all part of the life and they'd always been a family, albeit a dysfunctional one. But the Nords were a different story altogether. Darby enjoyed killing and he took pains to torture his victims as much as possible and had little care for the damage left in his wake. Of course, his outlook on the human race didn't make him any easier to tolerate. Darby was ruthless and cruel and Jax couldn't imagine a scenario where Ava was actually being treated well by her uncle.

"How long has it been since you were here?"

She bit her lip and maintained focused on filling the glasses in front of her. "Uh…eleven years."

"You know, I've been tryin' to think if I'd seen you around before you left town but I honestly can't remember."

"It was a long time ago," she shrugged. "But I think we would've been in the same class in high school if I hadn't left, though."

His eyebrows rose at that. So they were the same age. He wasn't sure why that mattered but he filed it away in his memory anyways.

"Huh," he offered and rolled back on his heels in thought. "So you must've gone to Charming North for grade school, right?"

"Right," she nodded with a slight smile and he was grateful he'd been able to keep her talking.

"Where did you live after you left?"

"I was in San Francisco, went to college there, and…"

"And worked in your fair share of fine establishments like this one," he cut in with a wink. This clearly wasn't her first go-round behind a bar.

Her eyebrows rose at his observation and she tilted her head to the side with a playful eye narrowing. "Oh really? What makes you say that?"

"Come on, darlin'," he leaned forward a little more. "A girl who'd never been behind a bar before might be able to figure out on her own to wear somethin' a little, I don't know, eye-catching, but she definitely wouldn't know to wear comfortable shoes."

She abruptly looked down at her feet—he'd immediately noticed the Puma tennis shoes the second she'd stepped foot from behind the bar—and then she was looking back at him, her bottom lip caught underneath a front tooth and her lips curled up in an almost sheepish smile. He felt a familiar stirring in his stomach at her expression and found himself rooted in front of her, willing to say anything to keep her talking to him just a little bit longer.

She held her hands up a little with shy smile. "Guilty as charged, I guess."

"Don't worry, darlin'," he grinned back to her. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Now I'll be able to sleep at night so thanks for that," she laughed.

There was something about the way her head tilted back when she laughed that made his heart clench in his chest and he subconsciously realized that the longer he'd been standing there talking to her, the further he'd been leaning over the edge of the bar.

"Glad to know you'll be thinkin' about me when you fall asleep at night." He winked which earned him a head shake and a low chuckle. "So you moved to San Francisco, went to college, and now you're back…any reason in particular or you just missed Uncle Ernie?"

"Well, someone has to look out for my cousin and I'm the only sane family member she has left." She replied with slight shrug.

"So the rumors are true then."

She frowned a little and then a look of realization crossed her face. "Ah…I forgot how small this town really is."

"Well," he replied good-naturedly. "Considering no one can walk their dog around here without someone knowing and talking about it, I wouldn't worry too much. People are assholes by nature—don't take it personal, darlin'."

She set another glass on the tray and he noticed she'd been moving a little bit slower as their conversation progressed. "So what else did you hear? Wait…let me guess, my uncle is starting an escort service and he recruited me as his first 'employee'? Or no...he's sold me into sexual slavery?"

"Sexual slavery? I don't know about you but I kinda like the sound of that."

He was testing the waters here and wanted to see how far she'd let him push. He got an eye roll for his efforts but she still hadn't completely blown him off yet which all in all, was a good sign.

"But seriously, darlin'," he went on with a chuckle. "Does it really matter what people are sayin'? You've got your own reasons for doin' whatever it is that you're doin' and I for one, am glad you're back in town."

Her left eyebrow arched up into her forehead and her lips curved into a sexy smirk. "Oh really? Why's that?"

He met her head-on and shrugged. "Because now I get to engage in stimulating conversations like this with ya on a regular basis—besides, this place was beginning to feel too much like a sausage fest."

"And my, um, relatives here in Charming—that doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it bother me?" He asked with a sly smirk. The way this conversation was headed—all signs pointed to a grand slam. "Do my 'relatives' bother you?"

She just shrugged. "Not really—but I'm also not mixed up in all that shit either. You guys have been at each other's throats for a while, right? Doesn't that make all interactions with the enemy off-limits?"

"I don't consider you the enemy, darlin'—just your uncle and his lapdog."

"Good to know," she shot back, her eyes sparking as she spoke.

Then she finished putting the massive collection of beer bottles, mixed drinks, and shot glasses on the tray, hoisted it up to her shoulder like the seasoned bartender she was, and stepped around the bar to deliver the order to their booth. He wasted no time in following closely on her heels.

The cool night air was a welcome relief as she stepped outside. Even though it was getting near closing time, Ray had gently nudged her outside for a quick break. When business had picked up earlier in the night, there hadn't been much time for her step away for anything other than a quick trip to the ladies' room. But now that it was slowing down, Ray insisted that she at the very least get some air. And after a whirlwind of a first shift, she was grateful for some time to just get out of there for a few minutes.

What she really needed right now was a cigarette. She'd slipped down the smoking rabbit hole during college and had promptly worked through quitting after her last bartending job. Now, it seemed like she was quickly falling back into old habits—even though she knew she had to be careful never to let Allie catch her with a cigarette.

She was making a mental note to swing by a gas station on her way home when the door breezed open, making her jump at the sound.

"Sorry," Jax smirked as he ran a hand through his overly long surfer hair. "Didn't mean to scare ya. You on break or you waitin' on a ride?"

"Ray pushed me outside for some air." She replied softly, carefully eyeing the cigarette he was currently brining up to his lips.

He must've caught on because he was now digging into his back pocket and held an open cigarette pack out to her with a knowing grin. She gingerly closed the small space between them to slide one out of the pack and he held out an open flame to help her light it.

"Thanks," she exhaled after blowing out the much needed intake. She could immediately feel herself relaxing despite the underlying nagging at her conscience for taking up smoking again. But, she figured, she'd already made some decisions in the last few weeks that were most likely going to prove to be bad for her, so why not add one more?

"No problem, darlin'," he grinned back to her.

They puffed away in silence for a few moments and there was something oddly comforting about his closeness to her now. It was a strange feeling—her heart was still thundering in her chest in response to his being a mere foot away but it didn't overwhelm the calm enveloping her. Maybe it was just the effects of the cigarette playing with her head.

"Hey," Jax started quietly, his body shifting towards her so she could see the flash in his eyes. "Can I ask you a question?"

She shrugged and took another quick pull from the cigarette at her lips. "Sure."

"You don't really seem to like your uncle, do you?"

She frowned and wondered what exactly would possess him to ask her a question like that. It was no secret but that didn't necessarily mean she should be discussing that with him. But there was something in his eyes she couldn't quite place and that prompted her to answer honestly. "No, not really."

"And I'm assumin' you have no use Miles either." It wasn't as much a question as statement of fact.

"You mean Baby Hitler?" She threw back and her smile widened when he chuckled at her side. "No, I can't say I care much for him either."

He nodded carefully, a slow grin spreading across his lips. A moment later, he tossed his spent cigarette into the cement at their feet and shoved his hands in his front pockets. "Let me guess, you took this job just to piss them off, right?"

"I was aware my uncle wouldn't be too happy about this choice, yes…Eric was just kinda icing on the cake, I guess."

"But you did it anyway."

She eyed him cautiously as she pulled in the last bit of the nub between her fingers. "Why does it matter?"

He shrugged and stared out into the night sky before casting a sideways glance back at her. "Just wondering how far you wanna push it. I mean, workin' on the south side of Charming is one thing but come on, if you really wanna stick it to them, you can do better than this."

"So basically you're telling me this is a pretty lame attempt at pissing my uncle off, huh?"

He shrugged again. "I wouldn't necessarily say that. I mean, you still have to be careful around him—he's a pretty unpredictable motherfucker. But you could probably get away with a little more if you wanted to."

For some reason, she was intrigued. "What would you suggest? Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Well," he blew out an exaggerated exhale as his lips curved up into a grin. "Let's just say, hypothetically speaking of course, that you decided to take it a step further. You know, as well as I do, that Samcro and the Nords have been at each other's throats, as you said earlier, and, no offense, it's common knowledge around here that Miles has been sniffin' after you like nobody's business."

He paused for a moment to see if she was following him and her head tilted to the side as her mind wrapped around his words.

"Now, let's say…hypothetically," he went on, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "That you could give Miles and your uncle the ultimate fuck you behind their backs—nothin' sweeter than that, darlin'."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "And what exactly would that entail?"

"It would involve an…uh…arrangement, so to speak, between two consenting adults who just want to blow off a little steam. The fact that no one would ever know is just…icing on the cake, like you said before."

"Let me guess," she cut in as she crossed her arms around her chest. "There might be a member of Samcro willing to help me out with that?"

He shrugged, his lips curling into a sly, almost triumphant grin. "Maybe. What do you think?"

"I think that sounds incredibly stupid. And I don't think I'm desperate enough or pissed off at my uncle enough to venture down that road."

She wanted him to know he'd overstepped and that this needed to be the end of their discussion. It was a stupid, if not poorly veiled suggestion and she didn't see the need to intentionally do something so risky. The odds of no one ever finding out didn't come close to the likelihood of her uncle's immeasurable and unpredictable wrath. Any arrangement with Jax, as begrudgingly alluring as it sounded, would be as dangerous as trusting a flimsy house of cards to stay upright. It would crumble and collapse eventually, leaving infinite damage in its wake. But for some reason, though, she wasn't as offended by the suggestion itself as she probably should be.

"Well," he shrugged. "Consider that offer indefinitely on the table, Ava. If you ever change your mind, I'm sure you'll have no problem findin' me."

She huffed a little at his bluntness and started heading back towards the front door, having heard enough.

"Thanks for your help, Jax," she called out over her shoulder with faux-sincerity. "I gotta get back to work."

He waved brightly as she pushed open the door. "Anytime, darlin'. See ya on Saturday."

A/N-I had planned on posting this in early September but after sitting on these chapters for over a month, I got a little impatient. I'm currently working on Ch. 7 and feel pretty good about the direction this is going, thanks to a lot of help from my awesome beta, dreamer-girl-reana. That being said, I'm really looking forward to seeing this idea through-the Romeo and Juliet inspiration will be sprinkled throughout and exploring the ripple effects of the relationship in the MC world (as best as I can). There's more info about this first story on my profile as well as my plan for a trilogy if you're interested or feel free to PM if you'd like.

I'm really looking forward to seeing what you guys think...love it, hate it-please let me know!