Disclaimer–I don't own anyone you might recognize from this story. They're their own property or that of their respective creators.

Note: I had to switch this story to E's POV. It was the only way I could make it work. Hope ya'll don't mind! Thank you for the wonderful reviews/suggestions so far...and keep 'em coming!


My words hung in the few seconds of silence that followed that grim pronouncement. Jax started to say something, but was cut off by Clay's gesture for silence.

"We'll discuss this further in church tomorrow. For now, we're gonna give E a welcome party, SAMCRO style. Talk to her, get to know her, and most importantly, show her a good time tonight. Tomorrow's plenty early enough to talk business. Go on, get outta here and make it happen."

There were a few excited whoops as the men filed out to get the party together.

The pretty blond approached me, a smile on his face that I'm sure has dropped innumerable pairs of panties. He extended his hand.

"Jax Teller."

"Eve. I prefer E, though," I said as I shook his hand.

He cocked his head, studying me with intensely blue eyes.

"C'mon. Mom wants to see you before the party," he said as he turned, tugging on my hand.

I let him lead me towards the door. Movement glimpsed out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. Turning my head slightly, I saw the man who'd drew on me earlier walk toward us.

Jax stopped short to speak to him, so I took the opportunity to size him up. Tall, tattooed, shaved head, and a leanly muscled body. He was probably in his late thirties, maybe early forties. His face could have been carved from granite, it was so expressionless.

"Hey Hap. How's your ma?" Jax asked.

"Doin' ok. New meds seem to be helping some," the man replied.

His voice was deep, raspy-rough and my hormones sat up and noticed. I looked up into that impassive face to find cool dark eyes staring back at me as he spoke with Jax. A tug on my hand turned my attention back to Jax.

"E, this is Hap. He's our resident wetwork specialist. Hap, this is E."

Those cold eyes raked me from head to toe, and back again. I knew that look. I saw it every day in the mirror. This man was a killer. Hell, Jax just said as much.

"So I heard."

Not having a ready response, I kept quiet and we all just looked at each other for a few seconds.

Jax finally tugged on my hand again, herding me towards the door.

"Talk to ya later man. I gotta take her to see Mom or I'm gonna get skinned."

The killer just gave a nod of his head as Jax led me out into the dying daylight.


Gemma lit her cigarette, took a deep drag and blew smoke over my shoulder as we sat in the office of Teller-Morrow. I followed suit, and we smoked in silence for a few minutes.

I met Gem for the first time when I was twelve. She'd came to town with Jax's dad on club business and happened to find me in the bathroom of our clubhouse crying my eyes out. I'd started my period for the first time and was scared to death. She helped clean me up, explained a few things, and for the short time they stayed with us, took me under her wing.

The phone calls that followed got me through boys, school, and all the other shit that teenage girls go through.

I ended my mental stroll down memory lane when I noticed her looking at me with a particular expression on her pretty face. I knew that look. It meant that she was plotting something.

"It's always good to see you, sugar, but why are you here now?" she finally asked.

I tapped the ash off of my cigarette and met her eyes.

"Clay called and said he needed a favor. It seemed important, so when I finished the job I was on, I came here."

She rolled her eyes.

"When are you gonna stop bouncing around the damn globe and settle down? Find a man and have some babies. You're what, thirty now? I was married and raising two boys by the time I was your age."

I glared at the older woman.

"I'm thirty-three. What do you want me to do, Gem? Settle down with any Son that'll have me for an old lady? If that was the life I wanted, I'd have done it a long time ago. That ain't for me."

She shook her head, her boldly-colored hair swinging.

"You just haven't found the right man yet," she said, and that calculating gleam was back in her eyes.

"Oh no. Hell no, Gem. Don't start matchmaking. I'm here to do a job for the SAMCRO boys and that's it."

She must have recognized the stubborn look on my face, and wisely changed the subject. Standing, she walked around her desk and pulled me up into a hug.

"I just want to see you happy, baby, and I'm glad you're here."

She kept one arm draped companionably over my shoulder as we headed for the door and the already-raucous party.


Several hours later…

SAMCRO certainly knew how to throw one hell of a bash, that's for sure. I'd been fed very well and plied with various kinds of liquor as well as numerous subtle and blatant offers to share my bed.

I think I've met every single patched Son of Anarchy on the west coast. Or it certainly felt like I had. I've had numerous conversations with Jax, Tig, Chibs, Bobby Elvis, and a host of other guys in SOA cuts whose names I can't recall at the moment.

Except one. I'd noticed the killer watching me with that damn blank expression a couple of times, but hadn't gotten close enough to speak.

I'd spent some time with Piney, who was a good friend of my dad's. We sat and talked as the old man had steadily worked his way through a bottle of tequila. The more he drank, the more outrageous the stories about their youth got. I'd laughed until my sides ached at the tales of their antics.

Finally, I had a moment to myself. Leaning against the concrete block wall of the garage, I lit a cigarette. Inhaling smoke, I let myself feel how tired I really was. I'm really getting too fucking old for this shit. Can't stay up for days at a time like I used to. Well, I can, but it takes more out of me now. The aches and pains I've been ignoring start creeping back into my consciousness.

All around me, people are in various stages of intoxicated merriment. A topless crow eater twirls around a stripper pole, her bare breast unnaturally large, round, and liberally dusted with glitter. The fires cast fantasy-like shadows across her bare skin and the faces of the men watching her.

A horn honks and I wave to Gem as she pulls away in her black caddy, blowing me a kiss as she passes.

Smiling to myself, I chuck my cigarette butt before pulling off my gloves and stuffing them in my pocket. The shiny skin of the new scar on my left hand gleams briefly as I try to massage some of the soreness out. The pick-me-ups I'd downed earlier to keep me going were wearing off, leaving me jittery and it was getting harder to act like a normal person.

Usually after a job I need to have time alone, away from people, to turn off the side of me that kills so easily. I hadn't had that decompression this time and I was feeling it. Suddenly, there are too many people pressing too close around me. I need to get away from them for a few minutes, try to get my head on straight and regain my control.

I step out of the light and into the shadowy garage. The comfortingly familiar smells of oil, gas, grease and metal fill my nose and I relax slightly. I grew up tinkering around in a garage like this with my pops.

Walking through, I trail my fingers along the slick paint of a beautifully restored Mustang. My footsteps make no sound as I drift further away from the noisy press of people. After winding my way through the bays and around the lifts I finally come to the loading dock. It was blissfully quiet and deserted.

My hands are on the concrete, getting ready to boost myself up to sit on the dock when I hear it. The slightest whisper of sound: fabric rustling and a faint clink of metal drifts from the darkness.

Adrenaline explodes into my veins, chasing away the exhaustion as I drop into a crouch in the deeper shadows. My guns are in my hands and I don't even remember pulling them. Reflex.

My eyes sweep the darkness trying to pinpoint the origin of the sound. I consciously slow my breathing to listen for anything that would tell me the location of whoever was tailing me.

The killer finally steps into the light, his hands empty at his sides. I stand slowly and lower my weapons. He comes closer, his movements smoothly predatory and every instinct I have is screaming. It takes everything I've got not to put my sights back on him.

Stopping about five feet from me, he crosses his arms, tattoos writhing in the moonlight. This puts his hand uncomfortably close to the gun I know is hidden by the leather of his cut.

"What are you doing sneaking around here?" he growls in that sexy voice.

I sigh. I am really too fucking tired for this shit.

"Didn't know I was sneaking. I just needed to get away from everyone for a minute. That a crime around here? You gonna draw down on me again?"

He just stands there, staring me down. A muscle in his strong jaw twitches.

I finally raise an eyebrow.

"Well? I'm waiting. If we're gonna do this, let's get on with it. I'm too fucking tired to play games tonight."