Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe, Nico and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.
A/N: I'm baaack!
I hope everyone is having a great summer. Mine has been soaked with blood, sweat and tears as I have spent night and day working on the second story in the 2 Sons Trilogy. This story, Dirty Love, No Romance, picks up several months after Call of Duty ended with Jax and the Club still invested in their gun running business with the Irish. In the meantime, Jax has managed to get the Club's second legitimate business, Unser Trucking, up and running.
This story will find Happy Lowman—the Club's Sergeant-at-Arms—reintroduced to an OC whose background and experience may prove to be advantageous to the Sons. With the Club taking its first steps on a path towards legitimacy, Happy fully supports Jax's ambitious plans for SAMCRO, but has yet to reconcile himself with leaving behind his outlaw ways. Determined to keep his word to his brother by helping steer the Club in a new direction, Happy is eagerly anticipating the end of gun running as the time for him to move away from SAMCRO for life on the road as a Nomad. Before that can happen, however, Happy will have to revisit the dark side of being an outlaw, which he is more than willing to do.
Introduced in Chapter 40 of Call of Duty, Nicoletta "Nico" Torelli (better known to Happy as "Tiny") is not the typical biker groupie that the SAA is accustomed to. Coming from a world that is woefully different but at the same time eerily similar to his own in Charming, Happy makes the mistake of underestimating Nico as just "pussy". Letting his guard down, Happy unwittingly embarks on a journey with the formidable woman who has the potential of changing his life forever . . . if he lets her.
Meanwhile, Jax once again finds himself at odds with his stepfather, Clay Morrow, as he finally puts his agenda for legitimizing the Club on the table. With Clay seemingly determined to undermine him at every turn, the only thing keeping Jax focused is the love and support he's getting from his new old lady, Marlowe Guthrie. Unfortunately, that too may be taken away from him when Marlowe's past rears its ugly head.
As usual with me, this story will be a mix of Club business, romance and family drama that will go far in setting up the third and final installment of this trilogy. As these themes play out there will be times when Jaxlowe and other main characters may be AWOL for a bit, but don't worry. Loose threads are always dealt with as there is plenty of action planned to go around.
The rating on this story will be "T" for a hot minute. I guess I should probably warn you guys ahead of time—although I kinda think the title is a dead giveaway—that certain situations between Happy and Nico may get a bit twisted and steamy. Just don't say I didn't warn ya when the rating suddenly changes to "M" (which we all know really stands for "Triple X"—well, for me, anyways.)
So without further ado, please strap in for some Dirty Love, No Romance. (And if you read, please review. It's much appreciated and sorely needed.)
Hugs, Harlee.
Saginaw, Oregon – Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Considering that it was the only family-friendly stop within a 15-mile radius, the Gettings Creek rest area and service station off of Interstate 5 did not have the best of reputations. Located about 18 miles south of Eugene, the way station catered primarily to the truckers who made their living delivering cargo all over the country. While a fair number of these truckers were tax-paying, law-abiding citizens and decent men and women, more than a few were barely a step above anti-social miscreants who subsisted on Meth or other narcotics to see them through long cargo hauls. Known for giving hard-working truckers a bad name, these sociopaths were to be avoided both on the road and in the truck stops, which they mostly frequented in search of the always available cheap pussy and/or drugs.
Not unlike other rest stops in the Pacific Northwest, Gettings Creek had two main service sections. One provided for the needs of the general public, consisting more likely than not of road-weary businessmen and families on their way to or from vacations in one of several regional parks, including the Redwood National Forest. The other, seedier side of the rest area was a career trucker's paradise comprised of a greasy spoon diner, diesel gas station, restrooms with on-site shower facilities, and a huge parking lot where these commercial drivers could park their huge rigs and, in relative safety, get some much-needed sleep before hitting the road again.
But food, gas and lodging wasn't all that could be found at these highway oases as these men who made a living on the road—whether lawfully or not—had other needs to satisfy after being away from home for days and weeks at a time. With truck stops usually a gathering place for women of ill repute, a lonesome traveler with the desire for a physical release and the right amount of change in his pocket could easily procure the kind of companionship that involved the exchange of bodily fluids.
After indulging in the high-end caliber of women available at Jury's place in Indian Hills, however, the pussy in these parts was way below the standards this particular road warrior had grown accustomed to. Still, it was cheap and Happy Lowman wasn't known to have ever turned his nose up at a bargain. Especially not when he had managed to haggle the price down to half of what the haggard-looking hooker regularly charged for a blow job.
Now sitting on his bike seat smoking a cigarette—after the skanky blonde had finished guzzling his load—Happy was on high alert as he watched the comings and goings of the diner's customers. The aromas emanating from the garishly lit restaurant, a combination of charcoaled-burnt meat and stale garbage was enough to choke a bear and not in the least bit appetizing. The sign above the building that resembled the double-wide trailers common in these parts with large picture windows identified the eatery-slash-ground zero for a hepatitis outbreak as Big Al's Honky Tonk Café. The loud twang of old school country music blared through the constantly open door as departing truckers—having satisfied their basic needs to eat and drink—were greeted by the prostitutes happily available to take care of a man's most primal of needs, the need to fuck.
Happy watched with an amused smirk as one potbellied trucker grabbed a hold of a big breasted redhead with pock-marked skin and dragged her off to the bed of his parked rig. "Poor schmuck's paying for a case of the herps with that one, for sure," the biker muttered under his breath to his brother sitting on his own ride next to him.
Chibs chuckled. "He's a right fat bastard too, eh? He'll be sure to crush the poor whore, more's the pity." Reaching into his kutte, he pulled out his prepay and checked the time. "I thought our boy was just takin' a shite and grabbin' something quick to eat. What's takin' the fucker sae long?"
"Who the fuck knows?" Happy growled. "All I know is that if I have to go in there and remind him that he's on the clock, it won't be pretty. I'm bored with this shit duty as it is and I won't mind livening it up bit with a good ol' fashioned ass kicking."
"Alrighty then, brutha," Chibs clapped a hand on Happy's shoulder. "Since we need the bastard to finish the run, mayhap I'll go light a fire under his slow arse wit'out drawin' blood," he suggested as he started towards the diner.
As the point man on this particular protection run for Unser Trucking—which was now under new management—Happy had been on the road for over a week. Taking a few days to visit his mother and aunt, he and his crew were working a double protection run that had originated in Bakersfield. After successfully transporting and delivering a cargo of laptops to San Francisco, they then picked up another shipment fresh off a cargo ship from China to transport north of the border into British Columbia.
Happy had started this protection run determined to keep a tight schedule and, so far, they were running on time. Not including rest breaks for the truck's driver, it had taken nearly fifteen hours to make it to Oregon from San Francisco and they were on target to make it across into Canada in another seven. Gettings Creek would have to be their last stop if the intention was to get the shipment to its destination by eight o'clock that morning. With a 15-hour trip back to Charming left to be made, Happy wanted no more delays in getting his ass back out on the road.
The protection runs he had been running point on lately were a hell of a lot different from what the SAMCRO SAA was used to. While the Club was still heavily invested in the trade that had put bread on their table for many years, as of late, instead of running top military-grade merch like AK-47s, MAC-10s, FN-67s, RPGs and 50-caliber machine guns for the Real IRA, Happy found himself babysitting shipments of high-end flat screen TVs and smart phones. Although he was in full support of his President's decision to move SAMCRO away from guns, to Happy's way of thinking, gun running was way more fuckin' sexy and bad ass than playing rent-a-cop for a bunch of shit electronics bound to be on sale at a Best Buy near you.
An outlaw biker for most of his adult life, Happy was finding the idea of leaving behind the "outlaw" part of the Life somewhat constraining. When initially approached by Jax Teller with his radical vision for the Club's future as a completely legit organization, Happy had made the decision to support him even though it meant getting out of the gun trade. Considering the pros and cons beforehand, Happy had resolved that the good—such as an end to the violence and no more forced "vacations" in Stockton Prison—far outweighed the bad. At the time, the only "bad" Happy could think of was losing the bank that came from selling guns to every gangbanger crew, MC and organized crime syndicate in NorCal.
Now, sitting on his bike in the parking lot of some transient shithole in the dead of winter at almost one o'clock in the morning, it dawned on Happy that the biggest "con" of all was the constant state of mind-numbing, muscle-atrophying boredom he found himself in. For men like Happy and a certain handful of his brothers, boredom was a dangerous condition to fall into as it could make a man reckless and, worst of all, soft. He had foreseen it happening eventually, which was why he had promised his support to Jax with the caveat that the SAMCRO Pres would not oppose him jumping charters or going nomad sometime down the road to legitimacy. What Happy had not foreseen, however, was it happening so soon.
Even though he knew that Jax was a long ways away from achieving his biker utopia, when Happy had accepted his top rocker so many years ago he had also made a pledge to back up his President and his Club—no matter what the cost to his personal gain or happiness. The Club always came first, which was why Happy was staying put in Charming for now. Boredom aside, Jax was right about the direction the Club was heading in. Happy knew from experience that, in spite of their recent streak of good luck, it was only a matter of time before shit went south for SAMCRO again. It always did for MCs that got too greedy and started dabbling in the drug trade.
At his age, outlaws like Happy were usually dead or in prison, the place old bikers went to die. Alive, in his forties and living life as a free man made Happy an exception to the rule and he wanted to keep it that way, for himself as well as his brothers. Over the years, he had witnessed the downfall of what many had considered to be untouchable MCs who had gotten sloppy and greedy, a lethal combination 99.9% of the time. Many had been infiltrated by undercover Feds with hard-ons for organized crime. Infiltration usually led to raids which ended with clubs being disbanded, colors and identities stripped and destroyed, and their members thrown into prison for long term sentences. Some would never make it out of prison alive, while others would emerge as broken old men who had left the best years of their lives on the inside.
Violence and the chance of dying prematurely was a part of the Life and every one of his brothers had known that fact prior to accepting the Club's colors, including the SAMCRO Pres. That didn't mean, however, that Jax was wrong for wanting out of the gun business. In spite of being an outlaw, he had been brought up to value family and everyone, especially Opie and Happy, had seen changes in Jax as soon as his son had been born. Finding and reading JT's manuscript and discovering that his father had not wanted this life of violence for his own sons had cemented Jax's resolve to change it.
Jax Teller loved the Club too much to turn his back and walk away as Tara Knowles had so desperately wanted. However, the toll that living on the fringe of society was having on every other aspect of his life had proven too much to inflict on those guilty of only being associated with Club members. The aftershocks of Donna's murder, Gemma's rape, and Abel's kidnapping were further amplified by Jax almost dying in prison without getting the chance to fix the Club as he had promised himself he would. That was something Happy could understand, especially since Jax's new old lady was none other than his surrogate sister Marlowe Guthrie. It was clear that a move away from guns would benefit the Sons—Happy included, albeit begrudgingly—for the best.
Although Happy believed whole-heartedly in and lived by the credo tattooed around his neck—I Live, I Die, I Kill for My Family—a part of him feared that living a legit life meant losing the true essence of who he was. After all, there was no sense in denying, especially to himself, that he was a cold-blooded killer. Since patching in at 23, Happy had amassed a total of 13 smiley face tattoos—not all of which were for Club-sanctioned hits either—and he hadn't earned his Unholy One patch by being a boy scout. Like with his tattooing, when it came to doing shit for the Club no one else had the stomach for, Happy Lowman was in a class by himself. Even other charters were known to farm out their dirty work to the Tacoma Killah and not all of it included murder-for-hire. As a matter of fact, Happy was well-known (and feared) for his creative take on torture.
However, in spite of feeling like a neutered dog as of late, it was the love he had for Marlowe that had been the deciding factor in Happy throwing his support behind Jax. With the Club newly-partnered with Unser Trucking, Phase One of Jax's bold new business plan was almost complete. Working with Wayne Unser over the last three months, the company's old fleet of trucks had been sold in order to make way for a fleet of new and previously-owned but gently used trucks. A natural born negotiator, Jax had contracted a number of independent truck drivers to increase their roster of employees and, in a move supported by a Club vote, appointed Kozik as "office manager" with Piney and Lyla Winston as his support staff.
Knowing Kozik as well as he did, Happy knew that his brother had been grateful for the new assignment. Although he had made significant progress now that his leg was fully healed, it would still be some time before Kozik was ready to go on extended runs without his leg giving him grief after a while. Instead, working with Piney and Lyla, he was learning the trucking business from Charming's former chief of police.
As a matter of fact, the shipment that Happy and his crew, which included Chibs, Filthy Phil, Miles and Ratboy, were currently protecting was for a new client secured by Kozik and Lyla. Dunwood Wholesale Electronics had been the victim of several hijackings over the last six months and were in danger of losing a number of accounts with major retailers if they couldn't make good on their delivery promises. Although Dunwood had been transporting their own cargo for years, Kozik had convinced them to outsource delivery to Unser Trucking by guaranteeing that with their added protection service, their shipments would no longer be bait for hijackers.
Now, as Happy watched Chibs hurriedly escort their driver from the diner, he turned and let loose a loud wolf whistle, a call that to the rest of the crew meant "get your ass in gear."
If all goes well, the rest of this run will be a piece of cake, Happy thought as he straddled his bike. A big, fat boring piece of cake.
Kirkland, Washington – Thursday, January 6, 2011
It was nearly dawn as the convoy that included a large semi and its escort of four Sons and a black cargo van manned by Ratboy made its way along Interstate 5. Having passed through Oregon and nearly all the way through Washington slightly ahead of schedule, Happy had to admit that Unser's driver, Don McPhee, knew what the fuck he was doing. In spite of viewing his company-mandated escort as more of an unnecessary burden than anything else, Don had made excellent time as he pushed his rig through the early morning hours at top speed.
At this rate, the odds of sleeping in his own bed tonight seemed to be in Happy's favor. With the sun starting to lighten the sky with an orange and blue hue, it would be full blown daylight soon. With only a couple of hours left to travel, it seemed they were destined to make it across the Canadian border to deliver their cargo safely and without mishap.
Unfortunately, not everything works out as it is seemingly destined to.
Later, after the dust had settled, Happy would comment to Chibs that their attackers had picked the perfect time to ambush them, leaving them both to wonder just how the convoy had ended up on their radar in the first place. Enveloped in semi-darkness, traffic was light at half-past five o'clock in the morning, making it the prime time to strike.
They had been flanking the semi i formation, with Chibs and Miles in the front, Happy and Phil in the back, and everyone followed by Ratboy in the cargo van. With enough distance between the bikes and the truck, at first glance it appeared as if the group wasn't travelling together. So when four identical and extremely high-powered black Honda Civics seemingly came out of nowhere and made an aggressive approach from behind, the SAA was pretty damn sure it wasn't just a bunch of teenagers out for an early morning joy ride. Checking his mirror and grimacing as the vehicles revved their engines and surged forward, Happy felt a sudden rush of adrenaline flood his veins.
Finally! Some fuckin' action, he thought with savage joy.
Although Happy had outgrown the craziness of his younger days when he had actively sought out opportunities to bust shit up, these last few months had been especially quiet and dull. With no active beefs with other crews on the horizon and business with the Cartel running smooth, the last time he got to flex his muscles was during the Club's attack on the Ghanezi brothers. Other than cutting loose with his Sig Sauer on the make-shift firing range he had set up behind the gun warehouse in order to keep his skills sharp, Happy hadn't had an opportunity to bust a cap in someone's ass in a good long while. However, though this appeared to be a ready-made opportunity to do just that, his President's counsel echoed in his head.
Hap, I'm counting on you to keep the peace, brother. If some shit does go down, the last thing I want is state troopers hauling your asses in for firing unregistered weapons on a fuckin' highway crowded with civilians. Brains before bullets, Jax had advised him soberly just as Happy and the crew were about to pull out of Charming.
Making a judgment call, Happy hit the speed dial on his prepay that would activate a special ring tone on Chibs' end, a signal that shit was about to get epic. With the lead car zooming forward to approach the front of the semi and a second car following suit, Happy raised his gloved hand in an authoritative wave directed at Filthy Phil on his right. Veering his ride away from behind the cargo hold and to the left of the semi directly behind the second car, the SAA watched as Phil followed his lead. Hoping that Don remembered his instructions to not slow down or stop under any circumstance if an attempt to hijack the shipment was made, Happy smiled in satisfaction as he watched the semi suddenly speed up instead.
"Shit!" he roared as he saw that the lead car—a custom-made piece of foreign shit—had used its powerful nitrous oxide-infused engines to easily insert itself behind Chibs and Miles. Now directly in front of the semi, it was attempting to impede the truck's progress. Suddenly, a figure dressed in black and wearing a ski-mask came out of sunroof holding what appeared to be some sort of harpoon-propelled weapon.
"Fuck me! What is this shit?" Feeling as if he had suddenly awoken to find himself in the middle of one of Juice's favorite hi-speed action movies, Happy refused to lose his shit. Instead, he kept his bike steady as he pulled his Glock from the holster under his kutte. Making sure there were no other cars on either side of the I-5, he took careful aim.
To hell with not firing my weapon, Happy thought grimly, trying to get a lock on the figure standing through the sunroof. The car directly in front of him and Phil, however, continued to weave back and forth in an effort to block Happy's line of fire.
Hearing gunfire, Happy grinned as Chibs and Miles fired at the occupants of the lead car. Figuring that they would take care of that asshole, Happy decided to set his sights on the next car. Suddenly, in a blink-you-missed-it hot as shit move, the second car passed underneath the carriage of the semi to exit on the other side.
"Shit no!" Happy shouted above the roar of the wind, determined not to let the speed demon get away from him.
Directing Phil to engage the two cars behind them and seeing that the Prospect in the cargo van was using its powerful V8 engine to ram the rear end of the last car, Happy veered around the side of the semi to come up directly behind the second car. Raising his Glock, and with a bestial snarl on his face, Happy aimed for the driver's head. At the last second, however, he changed his mind, taking a shot at the car's back tire instead. The tire exploded, the asphalt ripping it to shreds as the driver valiantly tried—and failed—to get the car under control again. Swerving wildly from left to right, the driver frantically jerked the steering wheel as the car came dangerously close to the semi's massive wheels.
Grinning in anticipation, Happy let out a war whoop of triumph as the car skidded to the side, hitting the highway's steel barrier before flipping over and into the air. Still maintaining his speed, Happy managed a look over his shoulder in time to see the car flip over several times before resting on its side on a heavily wooded embankment along the other side of the highway. The third car burned rubber as it came to a screeching halt, quickly spinning itself into the opposite direction in order to come to the aid of the disabled vehicle's occupants. Thanks to the combined efforts of Filthy Phil and Ratboy, the rear car spun out before landing in a ditch.
Speeding up with Phil and Ratboy following closely behind, Happy zeroed in on the truck only to discover that Chibs and Miles had managed to dispatch the lead car, forcing it off of the road and onto the exit ramp where it sped away. Pulling adjacent to the semi, Happy smirked as the driver rolled his window down in order to pump his fist at him in the air in triumph.
Tipping his chin up at Don with a sense of amusement and pride, Happy shoved his gun back into its holster and waved his brothers back into formation, resuming his position behind the truck. Maybe living a "legit" life as the Club's enforcer wouldn't be so dull after all, Happy pondered. Although he hated letting the would-be hijacking assholes go, they had lucked out due to the fact that Jax was counting on him to get this cargo to its destination on schedule.
But if their luck doesn't hold up, we'll cross paths again, Happy thought as he increased his speed. And when we do, they'll learn the hard way that fuckin' around with SAMCRO is a horrible way to die.
Outskirts of Charming, CA – Friday, January 7, 2011
Dominic Torelli watched out of the corner of his eye as his big sister expertly navigated the Porsche down the I-22. Weaving effortlessly in and out of traffic, Nico pushed her dark brown hair away from her eyes as she smirked.
"I can feel your eyeballs on me, Dom," Nico started. "I won't get pulled over, I promise. I'm only going ten miles over the speed limit."
Dominic chuckled as he took off his sunglasses. "I'm not worried about your driving, Nicoletta—"
Nico rolled her eyes at the sound of her birth name. "Aw shit. Here we go," she started, her eyes firmly on the road as her beautifully manicured hands rested casually on the steering wheel at four and seven. "Not only are you starting to look like him, but you're starting to sound like Papa, too. What did I do now, Dominic?"
Dominic shook his head. "Nothin'. I've just been thinking that maybe it's better if we go with Plan B."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Nico replied, confused. "There is no Plan B, Dom."
"Yeah, well, there is now. Just drop me off about a mile from the garage and wait for my call outside the city limits," Dominic commanded.
Barely able to control the smirk on her face, Nico was grateful she was wearing large, dark sunglasses as she cut loose with a massive eye roll at the sound of earnest authority in her baby brother's voice. "As your counselor, Dom, I have to tell you that Plan B is shit and I'm not doing it," Nico replied definitively. "You're not even carrying a weapon, so there's no way in hell I'm letting you face off with those bikers on your own."
"I'm not worried, Nico. According to the Intel I pulled together, Friday night is apparently party night down at the SOA Clubhouse," Dominic responded confidently. "I won't be in any danger with so many witnesses around."
Bemused, Nico shook her head. Dominic wasn't the only one that had pulled together some Intel and from what she had learned, these outlaw bikers were extremely dangerous and approaching them should not be taken lightly. "Only fools rush in, Dom," Nico advised. "And only soon-to-be dead fools rush in unarmed and alone. After the shit you and your crew tried to pull off yesterday, do you really think they're going to let a little thing like a Clubhouse full of witnesses stop them from making an example out of you?" she argued. "It's bad enough not giving them a head's up about our 'visit' by calling first. You just might find yourself walking into a potential slaughter all by yourself and I won't let that happen."
Shaking his head, Dominic chuckled as he looked out the passenger window. "It's not like my chances are any better with you by my side, Nico."
"Bullshit," Nico retorted.
"It's not bullshit. What are you gonna do, whack 'em with that big brain of yours?" he teased as he turned his gaze on her again.
"Maybe," she replied snidely, "but not before dazzling them with my other assets first. I say we stick to the original plan because I did not literally squeeze myself into these leather pants just so I could play chauffeur tonight," Nico replied as she looked towards her brother.
Dominic quirked an eyebrow. Although dressing up and looking good was not out of the ordinary for his sister, her attire for the evening certainly was. Taking in the waves in her mid-back length hair and kohl-darkened eyes, Dominic realized that the leather pants weren't the only item of clothing she had squeezed herself into. Underneath a fitted dark denim jacket, Nico was wearing a matching leather bustier that looked in danger of popping a few buttons.
Running a hand over his shaved skull, Dominic was tempted to pull rank as the only male sibling and aborting their plans for the night. "Using yourself as bait is not a smart play, Nico."
"Bait?! What the fuck, Dom?!" Nico laughed. "I'm just dressing for the occasion. You said there would be a party at the Clubhouse tonight, right?"
"I sincerely doubt we'll get invited to party."
"Wanna bet? I look like I'm ready to party with a bunch of outlaw bikers," Nico smiled. "Let's just say that I'm going with Plan D-squared, as in this bustier makes the girls look like double D's and I know that will go a long way in improving our chances of getting out alive. Trust me on this," she explained much to her brother's horror.
"Holy shit, Nico! You realize Pop will kill me if anything happens to you tonight, right?" Dominic asked bewildered by his sister's sudden transformation from Dr. Jekyll into Ms. Hyde.
Reaching over, Nico pinched Dominic's cheek. "Just like Ma would kill me if anything happened to her precious baby boy." She laughed as he playfully smacked her hand away. "Hey, you know it's true. She already has two other daughters who did the right thing by staying married and producing brats. You're her only son."
"You always make it sound like you're the spare we keep around for shits and giggles. You are a very important part of this family and you're very special, Nico, not just to me but to everyone. You do know that, don't you?" Dominic asked seriously, his brow creased with sincerity.
"Of course, I do," Nico replied and she believed it whole-heartedly. The Family would fall apart without me. "But you can't deny that Ma would have been a lot happier had I been born a boy," she challenged.
"That's only 'cause until you hit puberty you thought you were Papa's mini-me, always getting into shit and driving her crazy," Dominic replied, only partly teasing.
"It's all perspective, I guess. The way I see it, the only thing that partially redeemed me in her eyes for not being born a boy was giving birth to Tonio. Anyway," Nico tried diverting the conversation back to the issue at hand, "you suggesting I keep out of this shit really pisses me off, Dom, because sometimes, you're just like Ma. This wouldn't be an issue with Lucky or any of the other guys from your crew," she replied as she looked towards her brother.
"Maybe," Dominic admitted reluctantly, "but sometimes a man's better qualified for some shit by simply being a man. Lucky should be the one here tonight."
"Kind of hard to do with a broken pelvis, Dom," Nico said sarcastically. "Lucky should consider himself, a-hem, lucky that's all he ended up with after flipping his car," she smirked.
"That's not even funny, Nico," Dom said irritably. "Besides, he didn't do that shit alone. I'd love nothing more than to put the fucker responsible in traction himself."
"Which is probably another reason it's good that I'm here, to keep you from losing your shit," Nico retorted as she continued to weave in and out of traffic. "You can't blame the bikers for doing their job, little brother. And don't think for one minute that you've distracted me from that macho alpha male bullshit that just came out of your mouth. I don't need a pair of balls to handle shit."
"I know that, but this is a man's world and you know that's how shit works in the Family, Nico," he said before reaching over and squeezing her hand. "I'm sure these bikers aren't any different, and I know you. You won't hesitate on setting them straight in that regard, which can make shit worse," Dominic said ruefully.
"After your little run in with the MC, I don't see how shit can get any worse," Nico said as she took the exit leading to Charming. "I hope Zio knows these bikers as well as he says he does and that they would be willing to accept a mea culpa," she said skeptically.
"If there's money to be made by keeping us alive, they'll take us up on our offer," Dominic said confidently. "Underneath the leather and grime, they're businessmen just like Pop and his associates."
"You hope." Nico shook her head as she headed towards Teller-Morrow Automotive Services, national headquarters for the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club.
And so do I, she thought.
Considering that Nico had other business her brother was unaware of that she might want to discuss with the Sons in the future, a positive outcome tonight was of the utmost importance.
Kozik was sitting on the picnic table outside the Clubhouse drinking a beer and watching as the parking lot started to fill up with the Friday night hang-arounds. It was about twenty minutes before sunset and most of his brothers were hovering close by, drinking and talking shit as they waited for Jax to call Church.
While the attempted hijacking had everyone who sat around the table more than just a little pissed off, it was Kozik who was the most irate about the situation. Although grateful that his brothers had been able to neutralize the threat, it had been a particularly hard blow to his ego that he hadn't been on hand to protect the shipment.
For the last few months, Kozik's primary job had been working with Wayne Unser in the revamping of the trucking business and he had worked exceptionally hard to line up new clients for Unser Trucking on a trial basis. Thanks to Happy's quick thinking and the experienced driver assigned to the haul, Dunwood Electronics had been impressed with the service they had provided and had given U-T several more shipments to handle over the next few months.
Although Dunwood had been impressed by their ability to thwart the attempted hijacking, shit like what happened in Washington couldn't be allowed to happen again. Kozik, along with Juice and Chibs, had spent most of the day trying to track down Intel on the would-be hijackers and learn how the shipment had been targeted in the first place. Since Jax had worked out the logistics of the haul using new routes himself, he was sure to want answers by the time they sat down at the table. Now, as Juice dragged his feet out of the Clubhouse and made his way towards Kozik, it was obvious by the look on his face that they wouldn't have good news to report.
"No luck?" Kozik asked after taking a deep swallow of his beer.
Juice shook his head as he jumped onto the table next to him. "The partial plate Ratboy got off one of the cars just wasn't enough. I got no hits. Nothing even close."
"Tha's not gonna sit well with Jax, brutha," Chibs chimed in.
"Not much else we can do without more information," Kozik replied. "During the last twenty-four hours, we have hit up every possible lead and shaken up all the usual suspects. There must be a new crew in the area who don't know who they're fuckin' with."
"What did Tacoma have to say?" Chibs asked Juice.
"Not much," Juice replied with a sigh. "According to their Intel officer, they're on pretty good terms with the crews operating in that area. No one's aware of any crew of hijackers fitting the description."
Kozik shook his head. "Souped up Japanese cages don't fit anyone's M.O. this far north. You find rice burners like that down in SoCal, between LA and San Diego on the drag circuit. Maybe it's some amateur crew looking for ways to finance their racing addiction."
Chibs shrugged his shoulders and nodded. "Make sense, brutha. They sure as shite didna return fire. I, meself, am not familiar with such passivity in the 'pros'."
Nodding in agreement, Kozik was about to continue thinking out loud when he heard an engine roar down the street and heading towards the garage. Putting his empty bottle down, he jumped off the picnic table as a powder blue Porsche 911 Turbo S pulled onto the lot.
"Not bad, for a cage," Kozik said admiringly. With Chibs and Juice falling in step behind him, Kozik headed to the car, stopping dead in his tracks as a petite, yet curvy woman with dark hair stepped out of the driver's side.
Hmm, even better, Kozik thought and upped the wattage of his smile.
"Hey," the woman smiled as she confidently approached Kozik on death-defying platform heels, her smoky blue eyes making contact with his. "I'm looking for your President."
Kozik took a long, leisurely and appreciative look at the beautiful young woman with pouty lips. "Judging by appearances, if you're here lookin' to party with the Pres, I'm afraid your outta luck. See, his ass is already spoken for, but mine's completely free and available, love," he advised with cocky smile.
"I'm sure you are," she smiled back flirtatiously, "but I'm a business before pleasure-type of woman."
With a raised eyebrow, Kozik ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "So tell me what's your business so we can get on with the pleasure."
"I'm Nico Torelli," she started, "and I represent the crew that tried to take down the cargo your Club was protecting early yesterday morning."
"Holy shit!" Juice uttered under his breath as Chibs let out a low chuckle. Kozik, however, was suddenly looking at the young woman with hard, blazingly angry eyes.
"Okay, Nico Torelli. Now I know who you are," Kozik started. "Still don't know what the fuck you're doing here," he replied, all pretense of being nice and flirty wiped clean from his countenance.
A slight breeze kicked up, forcing Nico to push hair away from her face. "That part is a little more complicated, but before I get to it, you should know I'm not alone." She nodded her head towards the Porsche with the dark tinted windows. Suddenly, the passenger side door opened and out stepped a tall and well-muscled man wearing a leather jacket over a tight-fitting black t-shirt, black jeans, and sunglasses. "This is my brother Dominic Torelli," Nico said as she wrapped her arm around Dominic's bicep. "And we're here to make amends."
Acknowledgment: I want to thank bobbysidjit for once again coming through for me and creating the beautiful cover art for this story. Just when I think she can't get any better, she out does herself. Thanks, gurl. You're the best!