Cecile stuffed her keys back into her purse and shut the door behind her. She kicked off her heels and let out a small sigh as she stretched her toes. She sat down on the edge of the queen bed covered in a green floral print. Having stayed in so many motels recently, she learned it was custom to have some sort of 70's color scheme, with pictures of beaches, or Hawaiian dancers, even though she was far from any beach. She exhaled a smooth breath. It had been a long and stressful day. She had woken up, unsure and terrified. Now she was going to sleep 6,000 dollars richer, and the promise of another opportunity to show her work, and make a living doing what she loved.

"Friday..." She whispered to herself. Friday could either be the worst or best day of her life. She hoped for the latter. She reached into her purse and pulled out the check from Mrs. Seymour. "6,000 dollars." She breathed. Laughter began to fill to room and she kicked her feet like a little girl would when presented with a new toy. She checked her phone, wanting to call the one person she missed back home. Izzy. She was a year older than her, and they worked together at a diner off the highway during the summer, but the clock read 1:30 am, back home it would be 3:30am. She sighed, and decided she would call her first thing in the morning. She tucked her phone, and the check back in the safety of her purse, and bent over, reaching for the mini fridge.

She had been staring at the treats the night before. Longing for one of the sugary snacks, illuminated by the florescent light of the fridge. She didn't give into temptation, for she new she wouldn't be able to afford anything, but nothing was stopping her tonight, so she grabbed a super size kit-kat, and a perrier.

She set her unsubstantial dinner on the bed, and unzipped her dress. Luckily, the zipper was on the side, so she didn't need any extra hands to get it off. It fell to the floor, and she pulled a big grey t-shirt over her head. Much more comfortable. She hung the dress up in the closet, and plopped down on the bed. She grabbed the book she left on the night stand, and ate the kit-kat while she read, enjoying the first relaxing moment she had in a long time. When the words became blurry, she closed the book, and crawled under the covers, briefly thinking of the man on the motorcycle as she drifted off to sleep. Her gun resting on the night stand beside her.

Tig made his way back to Bubba and Son's Automotive Shop. The clubhouse for the Portland charter. It was where he and the rest of SAMCRO were staying while they finished their business in Portland. Things had gotten pretty heated before he left on a liquor run, as per requested by Clay Morrow, the president of the club. They had been at the table, debating on how to handle the current situation they were in. Clay had gotten them into some deep shit. Even though Tig was the president's right hand, he couldn't deny it.

Akbar Bazzi, owner of Boline Gas Company, enlisted the Son's help and protection. He had billions, but was a man, who's lust for money was never satisfied. That lust led to making enemies, and now, his gas trucks were being ran off the road, his drivers killed, and his gas stolen. It was only happening along the Western Coat of the United States, so he knew it had to be one of three competitors.

The Vanhorns's. They were old money. Welcoming, and full of class, but if you stabbed them in the back, they would stab you just as hard, slit your throat, and bash your head in.

The Cho's. They were the newest company, started off as a small ma' and pop, station in Northern California, and now, in just five years, they had seventeen stations along the coast. They were growing like mold on bread, and everyone knew, you don't become that successful that fast with out stepping on the toes of giants.

And lastly, the Marcelli's. A New Jersey based company. Though their stations were popular along the East Coast, they were rapidly moving through middle America, and would soon be claiming stake in California, Oregon, and Washington. They had ties with the mob, and weren't afraid to shove their way to the top.

So, Akbar flew to America, to figure out who was stealing his gas. While he met with the other tycoons, he asked Clay and the Son's help in escorting his trucks from station to station, and running the other tycoon's trucks off the road as a message. He was determined to find and finish who ever was jeopardizing his business and told Clay to name any price.

Clay's hands were getting worse, and would be forced to leave the club soon. Tig knew he wanted to make as much cash as he could so that he and his wife Gemma could live comfortably for the rest of their lives. He couldn't say he blamed him, but the club had never dealt with a guy this powerful before, and after a close vote, the club favored in taking the job. Jax, Chibs, Bobby, and Juice were the only ones who voted against it.

Everything had been running smoothly so far, with the Son's safely escorting Akbar's trucks from station to station with out incident, and running the other trucks off the road, but

Akbar was no closer to finding who was trying to sabotage him, so he asked Clay for more. He had delivered the money as promised and Clay saw no harm in accepting his next offer.

He told him, Kyung-gu Cho was the weakest link of the three and would be the easiest to break, so he wanted to Son's to kidnap his wife. It being summer, Cho and his family were staying in their summer cabin in Oregon, which is why SAMCRO was out here. They needed to convince the Portland charter to work with them. This was their turf, so they needed their permission, but also their help. Cho might be a new comer, but he made friends with some big boys, and the more men Clay had by his side, the better.

What started in a calm conversation ended in a screaming match, and that's when Clay asked Tig to get some more booze. It was going to be a long night, and they were going to need it.

It had been raining all damn day. It never seemed to stop in Oregon, so Tig put his leather jacket over his kutte, and headed out to the nearest liquor store he could find. The Portland clubhouse was in the middle of no where, so he had to drive out of the way, but he didn't mind, He revved his Harley, and speed down the open road. They had been at the damn table for so long, he needed this. Though he hated the rain, he loved the smell of the Earth when it stopped. After buying three bottles of whiskey, four bottles of vodka, and two bottle of bourbon, he felt that would last them at least one night, so he paid and strapped the bag of goods to the back of his bike.

It was when he was driving back to the clubhouse, he saw the girl on the side of the road. He wasn't going to stop. Frankly, he could care less about some stranded broad, and was thirsty as hell, but after he saw her standing there like a deer in the headlights, he could see she was a good looking girl, and thought maybe he'd have a shot at a quickie.

He almost laughed when he saw her standing by the trunk with a '22 in her hand. He could tell she never used it before, and assured her he wouldn't hurt her. When he got closer, he could see how scared she really was. He wanted to hook up with her, but didn't feel like taking a bullet in the gut.

As he changed the tire, she didn't shy away in the car like he thought she would. He gave her his jacket, it was mostly because he couldn't move his body the way he needed to with the tight restraining sleeves, but subconsciously, he had never done that for a girl, and perhaps part of him wanted to. He tried to ease her mind by talking. He found unlike the crow eaters, this girl didn't annoy the living shit out of him when she spoke. She talked about finding freedom, and he could relate. That was one of the reasons he joined the Son's. It was obvious she was running from something, he didn't bother asking. It was none of his business, and he didn't have a whole lot of time to listen to what was probably a long story before Clay would start calling him asking where he was. When she asked to see his bike, he surprisingly said yes. He chanced a glance at her, and watched as she took in every curve and dip of his baby. It stirred something deep inside him, that he quickly shoved down, as he did everything else.

He couldn't help but notice the paintings in her car. He had always liked art. He had no creative talents, and was impressed by those who did. Thoughts of Clay impatiently waiting flew out of his mind, and he took the time looking at each piece. He could tell she was nervously watching him as he looked at her work. He made sure not to let anything show on his face. The girl was clearly talented, and her paintings evoked different feelings in him. As he put the last one in her back seat, she looked at him with big hopeful eyes that tried to pull up the feelings he shoved down. He asked if she painted all of them and she said yes. He said nothing more, she was probably constantly showered with compliments, and he wasn't one to aid in anyone's growing ego.

Still, her big green eyes did something to him, and he told her the tire change was on the house. She looked as if she was going to faint or hug him. He couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.

He didn't bother getting her number or giving his, This girl was going places, and didn't need to get pulled down in the world he inhabited. Like she'd want to any way, he thought.

As he drove away, he could smell her daisy scented perfume on the collar of his jacket. He drove faster, somehow hoping the wind would get it off, but when he returned to Bubba and Son's Automotive Shop, he took one more sniff of his collar and there it lingered.

He walked, the bags of liquor carefully cradled in his arms. His club, and the Portland charter were sitting on opposite sides of the room, and with out a word, he knew nothing had changed since he left.

Chibs marched over to him and helped him unpack the bottles. "What took you so long?" He asked.

"It took me forever to find a liquor store." He hissed.

Chibs looked through the first bag, then the second. "You didn't get any beer?" He asked in a thick Scottish brogue. When Tig said nothing, Chibs rolled his eyes, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and went back over to the club. "Juicy boy, we need glasses."

"You're welcome, princess." Tig called after him.

Juice went over to the little kitchen in the clubhouse, and tried to balance the shot glasses back to the guys.

Clay's hulking figure made its way over to Tig. "What happened?"

Clay fingered one of the bottles of bourbon. The same chunky silver rings Tig wore covered his fingers as well. "We haven't talked since you left. Tryin' to keep the peace until we go back in there."

Tig nodded. "Okay."

"We need them to give us the go ahead." Clay started. His tone low and hushed. "This is going to make us all very rich men."

Tig patted Clay on the shoulder. The leather of his kutte squeaking from the contact of Tig's hand. "We'll get it done, boss."

After both sides of the room had enough to drink, the men headed back to the table. Clay sat at one end, and Les, the Portland president at the other. With the bang of the gavel, the debate was back in session.

Clay confidently leaned back in his chair and raised one hand up. "If I may continue..." Les hesitantly nodded. "Having already worked with Akbar, I can assure you, no harm will come to your or your men. He's given me his word..."

"And you trust him?" Les interrupted.

"I do." At the table back home, Clay would smacked anyone who had the audacity to talk over him, but he needed Les to give him the go ahead, so he kept his mouth shut. "We've been workin' with him for a month now. He's kept his word so far. Doin' this wasn't part of the original deal, but it's more money and we won't have to do it again. This is a one time thing."

"If it wasn't part of the original deal, why do you have to say yes?" Les asked.

Clay leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. The bottom of the reaper tattoo of his right bicep peaking through his shirt. "Me and my boys have gained this man's trust. If we keep doin' what he asks, we can pull in a lot of favors when we need them. We're high right now, but that never lasts for long, and soon, we'll be needin' favors."

"We're good with the Mayan's. They can help us when we need it."

"They can keep the problems away for a while, we might lose a few guys, but it'll get taken care of. This guy can make the problems disappear with no deaths on our end."

"I know why you're unsure." Jax started. Clay looked at him, trying to hide his nerves. "I was unsure too. If we fucked up, Akbar could destroy us, but's not asking for much. Nothing we haven't already done."

Les' eyes softened. Like a lot of the other members, he could see Jax had a better head on his shoulders than Clay. He took a breath, and looked at the other clubs members. "And all of you trust this man to keep his word?"

Tig nodded. "Yeah."

"Aye." Chibs added.

Bobby looked at Clay, then back at Les. "Yep."

Les took their agreements into consideration. He narrowed his eyes at Clay. "If we do this, it's a one time in and out thing? We're not tied to these guys, and the Cho's won't come after us?"

"No one will know it's the Sons. If the Cho's come after anyone it'll be Akbar. They're playing a bigger game that don't involve us." Clay reassured.

Les sat back in his chair, and rubbed his forehead, making the creases all the more apparent. "We're going to vote on this. All in favor of kidnapping Mrs. Cho, and seeing that no harm comes to her," He narrowed his gaze at Clay, making sure he understood they would have no part in killing the billionaire's wife. "Yay."

The Portland charter went around the table casting their votes, ending with four "yays," and two "nays."

"Don't screw us over, Clay." Les said before banging the gavel harder than necessary.

After another hour of drinking with crow eaters on their laps, Tig decided to call it a night. He usually had two girls on his lap and was one of the last ones to go to sleep, but he wasn't feeling it tonight.

"See ya'll in the mornin'" He called over his shoulder.

"Oh come on, Tiggy!" Chibs drunkenly yelled, but Tig didn't budge. He kept down the hall, until he got to the room he was sharing with, Happy.

He carefully placed his kutte over the wooden chair in the corner, and took a breath. He felt as though his kutte represented a whole different life. When he put it on in the morning, it weighed heavily on his broad shoulders, and at night, when he took it off, it was as if he could breathe easier. He loved the club, and it's president. Joining the Sons was the best thing he could've done, and he knew he would never leave his brothers, but sometimes, late at night, he felt an emptiness inside of him. An emptiness no amount of girls or booze could fill.

He unbuttoned his black shirt, and took off his pants, climbing into bed in nothing but his boxers. It had been a long day, and he thought sleep would come easy tonight, but as usual, he was haunted by all of his wrong doings. He tossed and turned for what felt like hours, until his thoughts took the shape of the pretty girl on the side of the road. His eyes shot open when an idea burst through him. A trick that always put him to sleep.

Tig let his hand slide down his hairy stomach, underneath his boxers. His fingers traveled through the dark hair until they found his cock. He closed his eyes and started stroking himself, thinking of the young artist. Eyes as big as the moon. He imagined those eyes looking up at him as she took him in her mouth. She was so sweet, so innocent. The kind of girl that was impossible for a man to resist. He stroked faster, his mouth hanging open like a dog. "Cecile..." He breathed in a whisper that was barely audible. He imagined running his hands through her soft hair, and her doing the same to him as he pushed himself inside of her. He loved it when women grabbed his dark curly hair. He imagined biting her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. He could almost taste her daisy perfume on his lips. "Cecile..." He moaned again until he finished on his stomach.

He laid breathless for a few long moments before cleaning himself up, and getting back into bed, wondering what this girl had done to him before finally drifting off to sleep.

"Thank you." Cecile smiled brightly up at the waiter, pouring her a fresh cup of coffee. She was enjoying a large breakfast of french toast, hash browns, eggs, and sausage. Her first proper meal in a long time. As soon as she woke up, she deposited the check in her bank. She checked her account of her phone, making sure it was real. She gently blew on the coffee, the steam floating away from her face, and took a sip, letting the drink warm her. She decided today she was going to buy herself a new dress for the big show on Friday, and then do some painting. After paying for her meal, and leaving a big tip, she headed down the street, opting to walk, instead of drive. She had food in her stomach, money in her pocket, and the promise of making connections, she had nothing to worry about for once, and was going to take full advantage of it.

She window shopped for half an hour or so until deciding on a little shop. The painted sign above the door read "Marcie's." The bell rang as she opened the door, instantly surrounded by the scent of warm vanilla. Candles were lit in every corner, giving the shop a homey feel. She began looking through the first rack of beautifully made dresses, when an older plump woman approached her.

"Hi there. See anything you like?" She asked.

Cecile let her hands fondle a cobolt blue cocktail dress. "I like everything so far." She turned her attention to the woman who was sticking out her hand.

"I'm, Marcie, the owner." The shook hands.

"Cecile."

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" She asked in a tone that was purely curious and helpful, rather than annoying.

"Well, I'm having an art showing of sorts, and need something nice for that." Cecile started. "I don't think I want anything short, maybe floor length?"

"You aren't by any chance showing at the Jumpcut Gallery, are you?"

"Y-yes, I am." She smiled proudly.

Marcie took her hands. "Oh, well congratulations! I know how hard it is to impress that old bat, Mrs. Seymour." Cecile laughed, but didn't want to bad mouth the woman who may very well have changed her life. "It's a very fancy affair. Don't worry, we'll find you the perfect dress.

After selecting five options, Cecile went into the changing room to try them on. After trying on the first two, she was sold on any yet. The third was not one she would have chosen, but Marcie insisted she try it on

"It's our newest item!" She told her. "The style is very big in Europe."

Though Cecile wasn't familiar with European style, she was almost positive it did not consist of a huge flower on one shoulder, and lace and beads.

"How does it look?" Marcie asked excitedly.

"Oh...it...it doesn't fit." She lied, but it was the only way she wouldn't be forced to model it for the old woman.

"That's a shame. I bet you would've looked so lovely in it." Marcie said from the other side of the curtain.

Cecile looked at her reflection. "Oh yes...very lovely."

She quickly took it off and hung it back up. The fourth dress was a gorgeous red dress. She had never worn such a statement dress before. The top was cut in a halter style, pushing her breasts up nicely. The tight material hugged her waist and hips, and began to loosen up around the middle of her thighs. "I like the red one." She said.

"Let me see!" Marcie shouted. Cecile stepped out of the dressing room and Marcie's eyes widened. "Va-va-voom!"

Cecile laughed. "Is it too..." She motioned at her breasts. "You know..."

"It's just the right amount." Marcie reassured.

Cecile smiled, and just then, the sound of motorcycles erupted down the street.

"Oh!" Marcie nearly jumped out of her skin. She rushed to the big front window, followed by Cecile. Together, they watched at least 20 men on Harleys zoom down the street. "I hate it when they do this! It's so noisy and obnoxious!" Marcie complained, both hands over her ears.

Cecile's heart started racing, as she wondered if Tig was in the company of the other men, but they were going by so fast, they bleed together looking more like a black blur than people. She noticed on the back of their leather vests they all had the same symbol and words, though she couldn't make out what they said.

"Sons of Anarchy." Marcie informed, noticing Cecile squinting, trying to read the clubs name.

"A motorcycle club?" She asked.

Marcie let out a shrill laugh and walked back over to the counter, helping herself to a cup of coffee. "Would you like one?" She offered.

"No thanks, I had two cups earlier today." Cecile smiled.

Marcie took a long sip of the fresh brew and rested her elbows on the counter. "The Sons of Anarchy are not just a motorcycle club, deae. Evan Lancaster might be our mayor, but they run the show." She took another sip.

Cecile furrowed her brows. She was intrigued. She knew very little of the motorcycle club lifestyle. There was the stereotype that they were all murderous rapists, who never showered. Then there was her only interaction with one, who was nothing but kind and helpful. "What do you mean?"

"They get into business with the big boys which keeps them up top. They're politically and financially able to keep themselves out of jail, and keep things how they like it." Another sip. "They do protect the people in town though, but in my opinion, they're a bunch of dirt bags."

Cecile nodded. Tig didn't seem like a dirt bag. Even though she had her '22, he was big and easily could've taken advantage of her, but didn't. "If they protect the people in town, doesn't that make them decent?"

"Oh, honey," Marcie laughed. "They've killed more people than they protect."

Cecile swallowed hard, but regained her composure, and looked back up at the plump woman. "I think I'll try on the last dress now."

"Make sure you show me when it's on."

Cecile closed the dressing room curtain behind her, took off the slinky red dress, and hung it back up. The last dress was beautiful, it reminded her of a greek goddess. It was emerald green. The bodice was tight, and it loosened mid thigh, just like the red one. The capped sleeves had golden floral detail, it almost looked as if it was painted on. The collar was modest, starting just below her neck, but the back was completely open, showing off her tan skin. The colors complimented her eyes and hair. She knew this was the one.

She stepped out of the small dressing room, and Marcie almost dropped her mug when she saw her. "Oh my dear." She walked over to her, awe painted across her face. "You look exquisite."

Cecile let out a chuckle. She always felt uncomfortable accepting compliments. "Thank you."

"Let's see the back." Marcie grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. "Perfect!" She clapped.

After Cecile payed for the dress, she asked Marcie if she would like to come to the showing as her plus one, since she didn't know anyone else in town. She immediately said yes.

With the dress safely in it's cover, Cecile hung it up in the motel closet and got to work. She purchased garbage bags and had them laid out all over the floor with a large rectangular canvas resting on top. Her paints and brushes were neatly set up on the dresser. She stood with her hands on her hips, allowing the muse to come back to her. Ever since her encounter with Tig, she had to urge to paint a new piece. If it was good enough, she would bring this one to the show. When the idea hit her, she smiled and got to work.

Tig gripped the handles of his bike as he and the rest of the Son's speed down the main street. They were on their way to the outskirts of Portland to meet Akbar and let him know they were in.

Once the paved road turned to dirt, Tig knew they were getting close. He hoped it wouldn't take long, because he was

starving.

They pulled up to an open field. Two black Range Rovers surrounded a white Rolls Royce with three armed men standing outside of the car.

Clay and Les dismounted their bikes, and the rest of the crew stayed. Tig watched as his brothers were patted down and disarmed by Akbar's security. Satisfied, the door of the Rolls opened and they climbed in.

After ten minutes passed, Tig started to space out, and to his dismay, his mind went right to the green eyed girl on the side of the road. Her delicate fingers running over the curves of his Harley. He cursed himself for allowing these thoughts back into his mind. He thought he took care of it once and for all the night before. He had been with many women, and didn't think twice about them the next day, and he hadn't even touched this girl and couldn't get her off his mind. It was maddening. Her damn perfume was still on his damn mind.

"You alright, Tiggy?" Chibs asked, his voice tearing Tig from his thoughts.

"Yeah man. It's all good, I'm just hungry."

"Aye, I had a nice juicy blonde for breakfast if you know what I mean." Chibs smiled, twisting the scars on his face.

Tig laughed at his brother's joke, but it was forced.

Another twenty minutes ticked by, and Clay and Les finally emerged from the Rolls Royce. The security handed them back their guns, and they headed back to the club.

"What happened?" Jax rasped.

"It's a go." Clay informed as he buckled his helmet tightly around his large chin. "He told us she's gonna be at a show Friday night. We'll do it then." He straddled his bike and stretched his hands before starting the engine.

Jax shook his head, clearly not wanting to go through with this, but the votes were in Clay's favor.

The presidents and vice presidents drove off first, the rest of the men followed in order, as birds of a flock fly together seamlessly.