AN:Hi guys. Welcome to a new story. Once again, it's an OC story and it will probably not be very long, 20 chapters at the very most. Something entirely different from anything I normally write (as those who've read my other stories might know). Hope you enjoy it anyway and let me know what you think so far.

UPDATE May 12th 2017: Dear reader. Some reviewers notified me of some mistakes in the story concerning the niece/nephew vs. cousin difference. You are of course completely right! English isn't my first language and in my native tongue there's only one version (niece/nephew). I wanted to solve this problem sooner, but between my study and jobs didn't have time. The problem is, however, now solved! Thank you for bringing it to my attention!

Chapter 1.

I consider the first couple of years of my teens as pretty ordinary. I lived with my Mom in a small town where she worked as a nurse in the hospital, I went to high school, got okay grades and although I was never popular, I had friends. And even though I hadn't had a father figure for many long years, my Mom and I managed quite well.

My mother, Clarice Louise Winston, worked long hours at the hospital, regularly taking double shifts to pay for our bills. In the meanwhile, I helped around the house, cooked dinner and on the odd nights she was home, we would watch chick flicks on the television. Like I said, we managed quite well.

My life being as ordinary as it was, I think might have been one of the reasons why I did not see it coming. But then again, in hindsight I suppose I could have never seen it coming. My Mom had been what you could call "healthy as a horse". She was never sick, never stayed home from work and in the rare occasion that she did come down with a common cold, she would simply go on with her life as if nothing was wrong.

The 23st of October started off as any other day. I got out of bed, dressed and went to school. After class, I went to the grocery store and picked up the ingredients for our dinner that evening.

The moment I came home, however, I knew something was wrong. I didn't hear the sound of the television as I stepped into the hallway. I didn't get any response as I called for my mother. When I moved into the living room, I understood why.

She had died from a ruptured aneurysm in the left hemisphere of her brain. Later, one of her colleagues told me that she had mentioned a persistent head ache that particular day and that that was why she'd gone home early. It was of course all too little too late.

After that, everything was a blur, of which only some scenes were clear in my mind. I remember standing over her casket, looking down at her pale, cold face, thinking that this woman looked nothing like my mother. A couple of days later, I had been at her funeral, but for the life of me, I could not remember who had been there or who had spoken. It was only afterwards that the reality had really sunken in. My mother – the only person I had left in the world – had passed away.

Having no father anymore, it was decided that I would be placed under the care of my mother's older, estranged brother. I didn't know him, maybe didn't care that much, and before I could full well realize what was going on, I was shipped off to Charming.

He waited at the bus stop to pick me up and as I got off the bus, I knew it was him without ever having seen him before. My mother had not often talked about her older brother, preferring instead to leave "the past in the past where it belongs", as she would often say. On the rare occasion that he was mentioned, however, she had described him as a gruff old man who, after he had returned from service, had grown bitter and angry. Although my mother and him had never been particularly close because of the large age gap separating the two, she had said that she'd never resented him for leaving the family. Nevertheless, she had not seen or spoken to him in many years.

Piermont Winston was, as my mother had said, an older man, probably already in his sixties if I had to guess. He was sat on a motorcycle, an oxygen tank hanging by his side looking awfully out of place, and he watched me as I stepped into the light of a lamp post.

'Eliza?' His voice was rough, unforgiving and I felt as if he had already disapproved of me, even before I had had the chance to open my mouth. So I didn't.

I nodded, pulling my jacket a little tighter around myself. Despite it only being seven o'clock, the wind was cold and I resented myself for not dressing any warmer.

Without speaking, he handed me a helmet, which I put on rather hesitantly, and pointed over his shoulder. 'Sit down, it's only a short distance.'

Awkward wouldn't even begin to cover how uncomfortable I felt, clumsily stepping on the back of the motorcycle of my estranged uncle who I had never met before. In the meanwhile, I tried not to let reality set in. I did not want to think about how this was now my life; living with a man who I had never met, who probably wanted me around him just as much as I wanted to be around him. Tears pricked my eyes and I let them wander downwards, taking in the back of my uncle's jacket. "Sons of Anarchy" it said, the image of a reaper holding a scythe printed below. The information in itself wasn't new – Mom had told me was part of a notorious motor club – but it was suddenly so close, so real. 'I'm ready.'

The ride was indeed, like he'd said, short and before I had fully grown used to the wind hitting me in the face, we had already stopped before a house and I got off quickly. We entered the house in silence and I waited for him to turn on the lights. Taking a look around my new surroundings, I felt my heart sink even further at the sight of it's cold, impersonal interior. 'It's nice,' I tried, but the words sounded fake even to my ears.

'Your room is up the stairs to the right. There's a bed and a closet, if there's anything more that you need just buy it and I'll pay you back. Now I..' he actually looked uncomfortable now; a strange sight on his hardened face. 'I actually need to go to the clubhouse..-'

'I'll be fine,' I quickly supplied 'Don't worry about me, I don't mind being alone.'

For a moment, he looked convinced, but then he shook his head and muttered something to himself. Then, seemingly having made up his mind, he turned back to me. 'Get dressed. There's a party at the clubhouse, might as well introduce you to everyone.'

As I trudged up the stairs, my duffle bag slung over one shoulder and my jacket in the other, I pondered over what it had meant. Then, after opening what was the only door on the right, I concluded that he must have not wanted to disrespect my mother's image on the very first day. It was good to know that he at least felt such moral emotions, given that I would have to spent three more years with him before I turned 18.

Searching through the limited contents of my bag, I eventually came up with a black, snuggly fitted tank top with black lace details and a washed grey skinny jeans. Pairing the clothes with my favorite black ankle boots, I quickly swept up my dark hair into a high pony tail, applied some eyeliner and mascara, and headed down the stairs.

Piermont Winston, in the meanwhile, seemed not to have moved at all. He was still dressed in his faded jeans, black shirt and club jacket and with the grim look on his face, I could not help but think of how accurate my mother's description of him had been. He looked me over once, then turned to the door. 'Come on, kid.'

It was a short ride to the Sons of Anarchy clubhouse, but nevertheless, I was glad when we arrived. Or well, I was for a moment. The moment I got of the motorcycle, however, I wanted to tail back home – or well, what was supposed to be my home now – and hide under the covers for the rest of my miserable life.

The few people that held themselves up outside what I could only presume was the clubhouse all turned to stare at us (or more specifically: me) and I was more than happy when uncle Piermont led me past them towards the door. Once again, however, that relief was short lived because the moment the door opened, I had a sense of déjà-vu. Only a lot, lot worse.

The room we entered was full of rough, unshaven men, drinking bear and playing with scantily dressed women that sat boldly on their laps leaving hardly anything to the imagination. And they all turned to look at me the moment we entered.

After some short introductions made by my uncle to anyone who dared to ask him directly for my identity ("She's my sister's daughter"), he dropped me off by the bar. Maybe he had forgotten that I was old enough to drink yet, maybe he did not know my age to begin with and maybe he just did not care all too much about what I did or did not do. It was apparent, however, that he felt that he had somehow fulfilled his duty as my guardian by not leaving me alone at the house for my very first night. I sighed softly, wishing that he had.

I stood there for what might have been half an hour, maybe longer, forgotten in the corner, attempting for all the world to not look as miserable as I felt inside. No one attempted to talk to me, no one spared me a glance unless it was to look at me with disapproval. And why would they? I asked myself. These people were strangers. Strangers that hardly cared whether I, the fifteen year-old girl who had just lost her mother, felt bad.

'Well hello there, girlie,' a deep voice spoke suddenly. If I had not been the only one in the vicinity, I would have thought him to have spoken to someone else. As it was, however, there was little chance of that as everyone seemed to be avoiding me like the plague. Well, except this guy perhaps.

'Hi,' I said softly, turning to look at the owner of the voice and immediately regretting doing so. He was an older fellow; maybe not as old as my uncle, but still old enough to be my father. He had black, greasy, slicked back hair and a unkempt beard to match it. As I'd turned to him, his breath fanned my face and I was about ready to vomit. He leaned over just a little bit more, invading my personal space to the point that I took a small step backwards, hitting the wall.

'What's a beautiful lady like yourself doing here?'

'Just tagging along, you know.' I shrugged, trying to sound more confident than I felt. In the meanwhile, I tried not to panic. My eyes scanned the area for anyone to save me, but then the realization hit me: No one here knew me. No one cared.

'Well, why don't we two go somewhere more.. private and then you can tell me all about that.'

He leaned in again but before his face could get anywhere close to mine, I ducked under his arm (for once using my small stature to my own advantage) and speed walked back to the bar, where I dropped myself on one of the stools. My heart was still racing and I looked over my shoulder anxiously. I did not trust myself to speak, so when the barman turned to me, I simply pointed to a bottle of untouched Coke I saw in one of the refrigerators.

Taking a sip from my glass, I closed my eyes and for a moment pretended that I was somewhere else. The spell, however, was soon broken.

'You're new,' a female voice declared and I opened my eyes to see that one of the scantily dressed women had sat herself down on the bar stool next to mine. She was tanned, heavy on the makeup, with her dark red hair falling in waves over her shoulders.

'I am.'

She stayed silent for a moment, looking me over with pursed lips. 'You're very young. I didn't know that… Well, I suppose to each his own.'

Not knowing what she expected me to say, I simply nodded in agreement, taking another sip from my Coke. Apparently, that was not the answer she'd been hoping for.

Her eyes narrowed on mine and she put her own drink down, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 'Well aren't you a little self-entitled bitch.' She leaned forward, her face only inches from mine. 'We don't want you here, outsider. If you want to be one of us, I'd better watch that attitude.' With that, she stood and reached for her drink. Instead of grabbing it as I'd expected her to do, however, she wiped it off the bar. And right into my lap.

I jumped up from my seat, quickly putting the glass back on the bar but the damage was already done. The front of my tank top was completely soaked through and there were some splashes on my pants and even on my suede ankle boots as well. The boots that my Mom had bought me on our last shopping trip.

Tears welled up in my eyes and the only thing I could do to save some of my dignity was to walk away from the bar and to a distant corner where the room seemed to be less crowded. I kept my face down, hoping that no one would see my tears, hoping that no one would try to make fun of me even more.

'Hey kid, are you okay?' A hand softly touched my shoulder.

I stiffened, wary of what this stranger would want from me. Another offer of sex – or maybe just a chance to screw me over. I held my breath, willing my shoulders to stop shaking and I looked over my shoulder fleetingly. 'I'm fine.' A sob managed to slip from my lips, however, and soon that same hand softly pushed me between the shoulder blades, towards a door that I had not seen before.

'Come on, let's get you out of here.'

He led me into another room, this one empty and silent, and sat me down on a bed. Before this could frighten me any more, he moved away and sat himself down on a chair across the room. For a moment, both us were silent and I looked down, watching as the tears rolled down my nose, then made the long fall to my hands.

'If you want to refresh yourself, there's a bathroom through that door.'

I nodded, silently moving into the bathroom that he had pointed me to. One look in the mirror confirmed how much of a mess I looked and I decided to avoid looking into that direction again. Instead, I peeled the wet tank top from my skin, taking comfort in the fact that at least my bra was not completely soaked. Then, I washed the sticky alcohol from my torso with cold water. It was not until this was all done that I remembered that I had, in fact, nothing else to wear. I shortly contemplated just putting the soaked shirt back on, but then, deciding that I had already embarrassed myself beyond measure to this man, thought of another idea.

'Do you perhaps have a shirt for me?' I asked through the open door, hoping that he would hear without me having to actually stick my head out.

Soon, a shirt was thrown into the bathroom and I gratefully pulled it over my head, watching it pool somewhere at my knees. Taking a quick sniff, I concluded that it was clean.

When I came out of the bathroom, I held my head down until I had resumed my seat on my bed, looking anywhere but at the man who had saved me.

'You're Piney's niece, aren't you?'

Unintentionally, I looked up at the sound of his voice – a deep, rough sound – and for the first time took in my rescuer. Blond, long hair, blue eyes, a baggy jeans and a white t-shirt underneath his Sons of Anarchy jacket. Furthermore, he was young as well – or at least compared to most of the other guys I'd seen so far – and somehow that thought comforted me. No more old perverts. 'Piney?'

'Piermont Winston,' he clarified, then took a look at my face, probably taking in the huge mascara smears underneath my eyes. 'Are you okay?'

I shrugged, trying to seem casual but at the thought of my recent misadventures, new tears already started forming. 'I'm okay. It's just been.. It's just not my day.'

He chuckled 'I would say so. Getting a drink dumped in your lap does not really strike me as a good day, either.'

I reluctantly cracked a smile at my own expense, but it soon faded at the reality of my situation. 'I just wish I was back home.. I don't belong here.'

'Eventually, it gets better, kid. Trust me.'

'Eliza.'

'What?'

'My name's Eliza. Constantly being called "kid" is making me feel like a 6 year-old.'

We sat in silence for a moment longer and it was almost.. Well, it was almost comfortable. For the first time since arriving in Charming, I did not feel quite so miserable. I laughed despite of myself. Here I was, sitting in a bedroom, in the clubhouse of notorious motor club, with a stranger. It was almost comical how things worked out like that.

A loud crash could be heard from the main room of the clubhouse and I jumped, although it did not seem to faze the man at all.

'Probably just an innocent fight; that's how most of our parties end.'

I wanted to laugh, but looking at his face told me that it wasn't a joke. I turned my eyes back to the door, the sobering realization that I would soon have to face the real world again dawning on me. 'I should probably go, uncle Piermont might be looking for me.'

He nodded and led me to the door.

'Wait,' I said as he was about to push the door open. 'I mean.. I'm sorry but I haven't even asked for your name.'

'It's Jax.'

And with that, he pushed down the door knob.

Outside, out in the main room, the party had much quieted down since we left. As Jax had said, two men were throwing drunken punches at each other, often too intoxicated to even come close to actually hurting the other. On the sofas, chairs and even the pool table, couples were making out unabashedly. I spotted the woman who had dumped her drink on me as being among them and I made it a point to stare at the back of her head.

'Piney's already gone home,' I was informed and I looked to see that my savior was, once again, by my side. 'Apparently he thought you'd left for home by yourself.'

'All right, I'll just go then. Should not keep him waiting, probably.' I started to make my way to the front door and was surprised to find that Jax stayed by my side, even opening the door for me. Once outside, I turned to look at him with a quizzical look on my face.

He simply sat down on one of the bikes, pulling out a helmet that he fastened over his head, then handing me another one. 'Come on, I'm taking you home.'

AU: So some short info. Yes, the OC is 15 at this point in the story. No, I'm not making other characters into pedophiles and have them fall in love with her. Next chapter is going to jump one year into the future (OC 16) and from thereon out I might make another time lapse until she's actually an adult. Also, I figured this is some time before the first Season, so I imagined Jax to be 26 at this point. Anyways, let me know what you think. I love reviews. (: