A Couple of Thank Yous:
My Anonymous Guests: Even though I can't identify you individually, thank you so much for taking the time to let me know you're enjoying the story. I really do appreciate it :) Your reviews really brighten my day! One of you asked if she was American. Yes, she is. I do watch a ton of BBC shit so maybe that has impacted how I write?
ludivine77: Thank you! I'll try to update regularly :)
Emmettluver2010: It is an interesting reaction, isn't it? We will find out more about that in the next 2 chapters really. It has to do with how Margaery is "sick."
FYI, I've had 1 review now and a couple of messages asking me who I picture when I think of Margaery. The closest that I've found is Odette Annable, particularly in "The Unborn" and "And Soon the Darkness."
ENJOY!
About eight months back, Gemma had punched Tig. While it hadn't been a face shot, it had still hurt like a fucker. Of course, in that particular situation, the thought of violent retaliation hadn't even crossed his mind. It didn't matter that he was hunched over with the wind knocked out of him by a woman, because that woman happened to be Clay's Old Lady, and everyone knew that with Clay's Old Lady, you fucking let shit slide.
In all honesty, he had deserved the hit. He knew it, and so did everyone else who was there. Despite being Sgt. At Arms and Clay's go to guy, Tig had actually had the audacity to talk back to the President. If someone were to ask him what he had said or why, Tig only would have shrugged. It was long enough ago and embarrassing enough for him to have erased it from his mind completely – everything but that punch.
Being brought down by Gemma had been a humbling experience. Really she should fuck up every one of the Sons at least once just to keep their heads on straight and not to get too goddamn complacent.
Of course, just because Gemma was able to get away with hitting him, didn't mean just any bitch could. He truly couldn't remember the last time he had been honest to God hit (with the intent to cause injury) by a woman who wasn't Gemma. Now whatever he and some chick did in the bedroom was a completely different matter. Tig would always be up for hard, fast paced fuck. That, however, was entirely beside the point.
The point being that last thing Tig had thought he'd experience today was being punched in the face by some sweet piece of ass – a bitch of Happy's no less. Yet there he sat staring into the face of said piece of ass. Moments ago, Margaery had seemed downright shocked at her behavior and had done her damndest to remedy the issue, not that Tig cared. He was too pissed to accept any help she was willing to give.
This bitch had punched him. Closed her fist, hauled it back, and smashed it straight into his face – there would be no hiding the aftermath. He was definitely going to bruise, Hell…there may even be a goddamn black eye. No fucking way could he tell the guys he got beat up by a girl. He shuddered at the thought of the jokes that were sure to head his way. Tig Trager, hands down the most fucked up member of SAMCRO, had had the shit kicked out of him by some little waitress who had he to have, at the very least, forty pounds on.
No. That would not do. He'd have to come up with something believable. Maybe right after this, he and Happy could go pick a fight with a couple a Nords…
Jesus Christ, whatever happened, Happy would have to back whatever story Tig came up with, and fuck knew what that would cost him. Needless to say, Alexander "Tig" Trager was one pissed off motherfucker.
All of that anger though faded the moment the dark-haired waitress sat down before him – yeah, he definitely understood the Mayans' interest in those waves. It may have been difficult to get a sense of her form beneath that fucking shapeless bag that was her uniform, but damn…that hair. He imagined gripping that thick mess in one fist as she pushed against him, pulling her head back tightly –
"The fuck you just say?" Any fantasies he may have been having vanished as the girl – Margaery – rolled her eyes at him. Tig glanced over to Happy who seemed just as confused if not slightly more amused.
"I asked you: On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being you feel no pain or discomfort at all and 10 being you literally want to die because it hurts so bad, how in pain are you actually in right now?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Tig thought about the question being asked, eyes darting down to the small notebook laying in front of Margaery. With it being upside down and one eye already starting to swell, it was difficult to make down the writing, but a few things were clear. It seemed to be some kind of record of names, injuries, and numbers. His eyes widened in realization.
"Are you – fuck, are you getting off on this, Sweetheart?" he asked, his mouth forming into a smirk. Tig watched gleefully as the waitress turned bright red, clearly beyond embarrassed at his insinuation. He looked at Happy again who didn't look at all convinced of what Tig had implied. Frankly, if it was a pain thing that Margaery was into, he would be only too happy to oblige. Tig would be a liar if he said that particular kink didn't turn him on in a number of ways.
When Margaery finally shook herself from the shock of Tig's theory, however, she sputtered out a messy response. "Of course not! Why would anyone…I mean, Jesus Christ! I'm not a pervert; I just – I'm curious is all." She looked desperately at Happy beside her and rested one small hand on his heavily tattooed arm. Tig couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. What could Happy "The Tacoma Killer" possibly have done to inspire warmth from such a girl?
"Yeah whatever you say Darlin'…" Tig leered. "I can get behind whatever does it for you, fuck I'll get behind you if that's what's got you jonesing." Tig briefly wondered if he had a death wish. This bitch had literally just punched his face in for talking dirty; what would stop her from doing it again? But damn, did he get a kick out of watching her turn red! Luckily for Tig, rather than go into smashy smashy mode, Margaery kept her focus on Happy.
"I swear that I'm not a freak, Happy! God, it's just – it's just a thing. A hobby…" she assured him. Shouldn't she be explaining herself to Tig? He was the one with the fucked-up face thanks to her. He looked at her hand again and furrowed his brow. Her knuckles and a few fingers had started to swell and discolor and…were a few bent at a weird angle? How did she not notice that shit? Tig had had plenty of breaks in his life and every one of them hurt like a bitch.
"Whatever," Happy finally replied. He looked at Tig with a raised eyebrow and released a sigh. "Well?
"Well what?" Tig growled. He was still mildly pissed at Happy's reaction earlier and the fact he still had to convince the other Son of some bullshit story to hide the truth of Tig's injury. And now he wasn't even getting much of a rise out of Margaery either, so Tig went back to focusing on the pain in his face.
"You gonna answer the girl's question or not?"
Tig stared at the pair in astonishment, the excited glow once more returning to Margaery's face. She picked up her pencil again as she waited expectantly for Tig to answer. He flashed his gaze to Happy again who actually looked slightly curious. Finally, Tig released a heavy sigh and glared at the waitress. He had just been fantasizing about fucking her hard on the countertop…now he was more interested in smacking her face into it.
"A fucking 7 okay! Fucking happy? Crazy ass bitch…"
