A/N: Thank you for yor reviews! I'm glad you are all enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it!
Chapter Three: Write Off
Since loosing her job at the Nail Salon, Charlotte's only source of income were the odd jewellery pieces she did for people and the odd day she would work at the garage—and that wasn't exactly bringing home the bacon. So, she began to hunt for another job.
One Tuesday morning she had an interview at 'Heather's Boo-Tique', the most up-scale ladies clothing shop in the whole of Charming. Her interview was with a well-dressed, sophisticated, older woman who introduced herself as Heather, the owner and manager of the store. The interview was going well. Heather seemed pleasantly interested in the fact that Charlotte made her own jewellery, until she dropped a bombshell.
"Ah, I think you know my nephew," Heather said, looking at Charlotte over her glasses with a small smile.
"Oh, really?"
"David—David Hale."
"Deputy David Hale?" Charlotte squeaked.
"Yes, that's him."
Well, as far as Charlotte was concerned, her chance at getting the job was well and truly over. There was no doubt that Heather would mention her name to him and he would mention the Sons and that would be it. She wouldn't be holding her breath on that one.
Leaving the boutique, she decided to do a quick detour further into town and grab a takeaway coffee and a huge slice of chocolate cake to make herself feel better from Nikki's Corner Cafe. The light turned green and as she turned her car to the left, she heard an almighty 'pop' sound and she lost control of the car for a few seconds. She spotted the motorcycle and the man and woman packing double on it, and managed to pull her wheel hard enough to the right to avoid hitting them.
Looking out her window to see what damage had been done to her car, she quickly ducked down after seeing a man with an AK-51 gun pointed in her direction. The bullets ripped along the bodywork of her car and she screamed, placing her head in between her knees like they tell you to do in case of an airplane emergency.
The man driving the bike lunged forward in a bid to escape the gunfire, but the bullets hit both him and the woman on the back. The firing stopped and after hearing car wheels burning out and disappearing; it was only then, did she step out of the car to find that the man and woman that had been on the motorcycle were both sprawled on the road, blood pooling out from under them.
"Holy shit!" she sobbed.
She'd never seen so much blood and just as she thought she was going to vomit over them, she saw Trammel standing by his patrol car. She rushed over as fast as possible in her black heels to find him handcuffed to the door.
"What the hell happened here?" she asked in disbelief and shock.
"Who the hell were those guys?!" he practically shouted at a pale Charlotte.
Trammel may have been one crooked son of a bitch, but he was still clever. All AK's in this town were controlled, imported and sold by SAMCRO. Those guys that held the van up were not Sons of Anarchy. He prayed that Clay still kept the Clubhouse devoid of guns because if SAMCRO got caught, he'd get caught too, which meant one hell of an ass raping in prison.
"There's a key on my belt for the cuffs."
Trammel ignored her silent response and questions. She grabbed the key to unlock his handcuffs.
"What did they want?" she asked.
She hadn't recognised the men with the AK's, but they definitely weren't Niners.
"We were transporting a prisoner. They busted him out."
Trammel radioed Charming PD for backup and an ambulance to the crime scene.
"Shit, I gotta call Clay," Charlotte cursed.
SAMCRO sold illegal weapons to a bunch of guys who bust out a prisoner, killing an officer and two innocents in the process. ATF would eat that shit up like Tig eats pussy. She continually rang the garage number and the Clubhouse. Nobody was answering their mobiles, so she guessed they were in a 'meeting'.
An ATF agent walked by her and bent down to pick up a mobile phone.
"Is this yours Ma'am?" the dark-skinned man asked.
"No," she answered, holding up her own mobile as proof.
The agent flipped open the phone and then walked back to the car where a slim lady with brunette hair was talking to Trammel, hands on her hips. She made a call on her own phone, snapping it shut quickly and ordering the man to get back into the car. Trammel walked over to Charlotte. The look on his face already telling her it was bad news.
"The last phone call received on that cell is from Teller-Morrow garage. ATF are getting a warrant right now."
"Shit."
Charlotte slapped a hand to her forehead.
"We have to call Clay."
Trammel had more luck and managed to get a hold of Bobby at the garage, informing him that ATF were getting a search warrant for it. Bobby hung up too soon and Trammel didn't have the chance to tell him that Charlotte was heading to the Police station.
Charlotte entered the station behind the officer that had driven her in the squad car. It was eerily quiet until she heard a loud female voice.
That's Gemma! She thought. What was she doing there?
"And it's not my pussy!" Gemma spat out, before being half-dragged, half-led to the back where the cells were.
"What the hell is she doing here?" Clay asked Hale, as Charlotte walked past and was led to another interview room.
"Family reunion," Hale quipped, "Get back inside."
The knock on her front door later in the evening made her jump awake. She had drifted off to sleep on the sofa and groaned as she got up to answer the door. She barely got the door open before Chibs stepped inside and slammed the door shut behind him.
"Holy shit," he cursed, moving his glasses to his forehead and cupping her cheeks, checking to make sure she was okay like Clay said she was. Her car had been dusted by forensics than towed back to the garage. It was a total write-off and the amount of bullet holes in the side of the car scared the shit out of him. He'd wanted to leave the garage earlier, but he hadn't got the chance.
"I'm okay," she answered his unspoken question and he leant down to kiss her, before wrapping his arms round her and pulling her close to him.
She rested her head in the crook of his neck, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar leather-cum-cigarette scent that made her feel secure. He was wearing his thin, black scarf to keep the edge of the chill away and she wrapped it around her hand, offering more comfort. He kissed the top of her head and ran his hands up and down her back.
She didn't even realise she was crying until she heard him say in a soft voice, "You're okay Charlie, baby."
His hands, previously making soothing circles on her back, had now found their way under her T-shirt and were gliding over her skin. She pulled back slightly to wipe at her eyes and he gave her a small smile before leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers. His tongue ran along her bottom lip, coaxing Charlotte to open her mouth for his exploring tongue. The harder he kissed her, the more she found herself walking backwards until she was up against the wall. He picked her up by her ass and her legs instinctively wound around his waist. As he kissed a trail from her mouth to her neck, he suddenly realised that she wasn't responding the way he had hoped. In fact, she wasn't responding at all.
"What's wrong?"
"Can we just...not do this right now?" she asked, gently squeezing her hands on his shoulders.
He dropped her quickly; she had to steady herself on her legs to keep from falling over.
"Why are you doin' this?" he asked, running both hands through his hair and leaving them atop his head.
"Doing what?"
She didn't mean to snap but her nerves were on edge.
"You don't want anyone to know about this," he gestured wildly between the two of them, "And now you don't want anything to do with this."
He narrowed his eyes at her.
"You're still not over that Emily stint are you?"
Charlotte opened her mouth to speak then quickly shut it again. In all honesty, the Emily situation had always been at the back of her mind for the whole time he had been away. It was bad timing that a short while after Emily showed up at the Clubhouse, Chibs had to go up North for a few days with Michael McKievey. The night before he was due to leave, he went round to her house to clear the air. He knew he had to do it before he went away; otherwise, she'd be ten times as pissed when he returned.
He had let her rant and rave about how much of a slut Emily was—how disgusting and loose she was. When she was finished, he had picked her up by the waist, threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and thrown her on her bed. He silenced her protest by placing his mouth over hers, kissing her softly and running his hands tenderly over her inner thighs. When she had quieted down, he had pushed the hem of her dress up to her waist and started to eat her out. He had thought she'd forgot and forgave him, but obviously not.
"No!" she retorted. "I don't care about that fucking tramp," she lied.
"Then what the fuck's your problem?" he snapped.
He was getting tired of sneaking around—tired of lying about where he was going—tired of lying about what he had done the previous night—tired of lying to the faces of his brothers. It was easier for Charlotte to keep it quiet. She didn't hang around them all day—didn't have to look Clay and Jax in the eye at every meeting around the Redwood table. He was getting sick of it and Charlotte knew that.
"I've just got some shit on my mind, that's all."
"We've all got shit on our minds right now, Charlie."
They all had ATF breathing down their necks and as if that wasn't enough to worry about, the heat with the both the Mayans and the Nords was seemingly getting hotter by the day. Chibs sometimes wondered just how much she knew about what went on inside the club. He knew Jax and Clay told her tid-bits, going by the 'Need to Know' rule. But on the days she hung around the garage, she undoubtedly heard other bits and bobs and pieced it together.
"You want me to go?" he asked when she responded only with silence, but it was more like a challenge.
It was like he was daring her to tell him to get out—see whether he had the balls to actually go or not. Charlotte rubbed a hand over her forehead. Did she have a headache from this or what had happened earlier? It was probably both because her head was throbbing like mad.
"You know when I go, I won't come back," he added.
She jolted her head up to look at him. Chibs wasn't kidding. Charlotte knew that and he knew that she knew. On more than one occasion, he had threatened that, if she didn't tell people about them then she could forget about him being exclusive to her. That wound her up more than anything and she would start to tease him—start to rub her hand on his dick through the denim of his jeans—take his hands and place them under her shirt on her bare breasts. His brain would go to mush and she'd show him a number of reasons why he only needed her.
"Right now, yes, I think you should go."
Her own voice sounded foreign. She guessed at that moment that her head was ruling her heart. They held each other's stare for a few seconds before Chibs left, wordlessly, slamming the door shut so hard, it made Charlotte jump and Madison started barking at the door.
"Shit," she murmured into her hand, sliding to the floor as tears slid down her cheeks.
She hadn't just pushed her lover away—she'd pushed a member of her family away and she couldn't decide which hurt worst.
Charlotte heard the sound of his bike kicking to life and she peered through a gap in the blinds in her living room, watching just his taillights going down the street. She also noticed a familiar sight—that cream coloured Pontiac and it's bald headed driver were still parked in the street. She watched him for a few minutes. He just sat there, reading a paper and drinking from a polystyrene cup. A car's headlights shone on the car as it drove down the street, and for a brief moment she could see that he was wearing a blue work shirt. It completely unnerved her, and as she went to bed later that evening she considered calling Jax, but the man in the car wasn't doing anything to hurt her. She was probably overreacting.
Yeah, overreacting.
It didn't stop her from double checking her 'emergency' gun that Gemma had given her was still in it's place in her night stand. There was a panel at the back that had broke off when she had moved her furniture around. Now, the back panel was loose enough for her to slide up and the gun sat nicely on a drawer lip.
