Juice

"I want a tattoo."

The words rolled off her lips so easily, it took Juice a moment to realize what she'd said. It was Friday night and he'd just finished a session of Church with the guys. Kyra had been waiting for him outside with Lyla. He'd forgotten that Happy was going to start on his Reaper back tat, an exact duplication of his cut inked into his back that would take at least a week to finish, and was coming out to tell her that she could head home without him. Activity buzzed around the lot, with hangarounds, both male and female, descending upon the clubhouse for the weekly after-Church festivities.

Once he processed the statement, his eyebrows shot up. She was ready for her Crow? The last time they'd discussed it, she didn't sound too enthused about the idea, so her sudden declaration was a pleasant surprise. The hope in his voice made his reply come out in a pitch higher than he expected. "Really?"

She stood before him, adorable and almost girlish in her black leather jacket, jeans, and flats, with her hands stuffed in her back pockets. Her nearly black hair used to graze her shoulders when she wore it straight, but she'd let it grow a bit and now it reached down to her collarbone. She read his reaction with a contemplative face. "Wait," she said. "Not that tattoo. One for my mother."

Of course. She'd been more comfortable around the club lately, and Juice was grateful, but he should have known she was too reasonable to impulsively slap a crow on her body out of nowhere. It made sense that her first piece would be a tribute to her deceased mother. He nodded. "Cool. You got a design in mind or would you need Hap to draw one up?"

Kyra raised a brow. "Hap?" She was good at putting on a brave face when it came to SAMCRO, but when it came to Happy, she was open about how uncomfortable he made her. "That muthafucka looks crazy as shit," she'd always say. He couldn't necessarily blame her. If he was a chick, Happy would scare the shit out of him, too.

"Yeah, babe. Happy does most of our tats." Juice watched her face crinkle and had to swallow his laughter. "I'd be right there with you."

Her face relaxed. "It's the logo from my mother's salon," she said, fishing her Blackberry out of her purse. The design was a pair of open scissors with the words "Miss" and "Rhonda's" written in cursive letters, underlined by the scissors' blades.

"Where do you want it?" he asked.

She rolled up her right sleeve and pointed to the inside of her forearm, right below her wrist. "Right here. Not too big, so I can cover it with bracelets at work."

Juice held her wrist and caressed the spot with his thumb. Of course she wanted it there. A cute little tattoo in the daintiest place she could put it. It was good for a first piece, though. He looked up at her with a grin. "You're such a chick."

"And if I wasn't a chick, you'd be such a...?" she quipped.

Did the woman ever not have a comeback? "C'mon." He gave her ass a playful slap. "Get your ass inside so we can get you inked."

Juice held her hand and led her through the maze of scantily clad women, bikers, and wannabes. Her grip on his hand was loose and easy, but it tightened as they neared Happy who had pulled one of the tables into a corner and begun laying out his tools when they walked up. "Change of plans, Hap," Juice said. "I'm gonna let the little lady go first."

Happy cast his dark eyes over Juice's shoulder on to Kyra. "Crow?"

"Nah," Juice replied. "Memorial for her mom. It's small. Probably take less than an hour." He paused. "She's a first-timer."

A hint of amusement shone behind Happy's hard glare. "Lettin' me pop your girl's cherry, huh Juicy?"

They had to cut this shit out. Opie's girl sucked cock for a living when he hooked up with her and Juice didn't remember Ope getting as much shit from his brothers as he got for Kyra. "Hey, Hap?" he said, searching his brother's face, waiting for the former Nomad to meet his glare. "Chill out."

Juice released Kyra's hand, squared his shoulders, and cocked his head to the side. God knew he didn't want to end up in the ring with Hap's crazy ass, but rules were rules and Happy was getting dangerously close to crossing the line. Happy stared at him a moment, drilling into his face with his nearly black eyes and Juice prepared himself for the worst. And then a wide grin spread across Hap's face. "Aw shit, bro," he said, slapping Juice on the shoulder. "My bad."

Thank fucking God, Juice thought, mentally breathing out a huge sigh of relief. He turned to Kyra. "Hey babe, send the pic of your design to my email so I can print it out for Hap."

"Go to the bar and get yourself a few shots while you're at it, sweetheart," Hap growled. "I don't do sober first-timers..." He looked at Juice. "No disrespect."

They didn't stock the bar with any of the girly lightweight shit Kyra drank, so she ended up knocking back four shots of Patron before Happy started her tattoo. Juice sat in front of her, nursing a Budweiser, while Hap sat opposite her at the table, holding her delicate wrist in his fingertips as he traced the needle across her skin. The drinks pulled down a layer of her usual careful reserve to the point where she was almost chatty. Juice couldn't tell if she was trying to hold off the awkwardness of being handled by a man who scared her or distracting herself from the pain of the needle piercing her skin, but she entertained them with stories about growing up in Oakland. Every now and then, Hap would hit a tender spot and she'd hiss and clutch Juice's knee with her left hand.

She talked about her first fight, which happened on her first day of high school when a classmate had given her shit about "talkin' like a little white bitch" because she spoke proper English. She garnered a chuckle from Hap when she ended the story with "...I slapped that illiterate bitch in the face with my English book, too." As she spoke, he realized that he'd never heard these stories. He'd created her biography in his head based on the background check he ran on her when he first decided to pursue her, so it was nice to hear her fill in the missing pieces for him. It seemed that the origin of any fight she'd ever been in was an act of disrespect or someone "trying" her because she appeared so unassuming. Juice could see how someone could make that mistake. Even as she sat in the room full of rowdy bikers, there was an elegance about her. The little way she held her wrist out for Happy and sat upright with her ankles crossed off to the side. He'd never found those kind of subtleties attractive in a woman before, but with her, it was hot.

Juice was still studying her when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. "Somebody gettin' Crowed?" Clay inquired over him.

Kyra looked up at Clay and shook her head. "Nah, not yet. I'm new to the whole ink thing. Takin' baby steps."

Wait. Had she said "Not yet?" So she did eventually want a Crow tat. Juice couldn't hide his smile as he wondered where on her dark caramel canvas he'd stamp her. Clay interrupted his thoughts. "Hey Juice, talk to ya a minute?"

Juice looked at Kyra, who was checking Happy's progress with a careful eye. "You gonna be alright out here?"

"Only gonna be a few more minutes," Hap said, still in deep concentration.

Juice gave Kyra's knee an affectionate pat. "Be right back," he said and got up to follow Clay into the Chapel.

Clay was a large man, intimidating even with his age and physical restraints. He stood, perched against the Redwood table that sat in the middle of the room with his signature Stogie in his hand, and Juice wondered what the hell he'd screwed up that could warrant this kind of one-on-one. He stood in front of Clay and folded his arms, bracing himself for a reprimand. "Wassup, Clay?"

"Looks like things are goin' well with you and Neeta's niece," the President said, lighting his cigar.

He pulled me in here to talk about my personal life. "Um. Yeah," he answered with a slow nod. "I got no reason to complain."

"Good to hear." Clay reached into his cut and retrieved a white envelope. "Think takin' this home might put a smile on her face?"

What the hell? Juice thought, taking the envelope into his hands. He peaked inside at the contents and saw a stack of $100 bills. "What's this?"

"That's my gratitude," Clay answered. "You've stepped up in a big way since we've been home. Especially with our new business up north and helpin' us stay low profile around here with all this new law shit up our asses."

He'd done something right. He couldn't fucking believe it. Five years in SAMCRO as the club screw up and now he was finally getting shit right. "Clay, you don't have to-"

"Naw. You've earned it. Finally got your goddamn head on right and found some focus. Think of this as your pre-Christmas bonus. My way of sayin' 'Keep up the good work.'"

He'd changed in Stockton and not a day had gone by since he came home that he didn't notice the differences between the man he'd been when he went in and the one he was becoming. He'd never been reactive as much as just absent-minded and careless, but these days he felt more sure and found himself thinking more about things before he did them. He didn't know if this was a result of his relationship with Kyra or if the relationship was one of a few signs that he'd grown up, but either way, Juice was happy his brothers could see the change in him.

He thumbed the bills in the envelope. There had to be at least forty bills, and all of them appeared to be hundreds. Jesus Christ. Five-thousand dollars? He'd never received an envelope that thick before. He looked up at Clay. "Thank you, brother."

Clay opened his arms and the two men shared a brief hug, each patting the other on the back. "Like I said, you earned it. Go buy that pretty girl of yours somethin' nice."

Juice stepped back into common room, where Kyra was wrapping her wrist with Saran Wrap. He picked up her hand to study Happy's work. Her skin was still red from irritation, but the piece came out exactly like the picture she'd shown him. He liked that the design and its placement was so true to her personality; it was feminine but more meaningful than the generic flowers and butterflies tats he saw on a lot women. "You like it?"

She ran a careful index finger over her mother's name and smiled. "Yeah," she almost whispered. "I love it. What do you think? Am I 'badass' enough for you now that I've got ink?"

You're already everything enough for me, he thought. God, that sounded gay, even if it was about his old lady. He winked at her. "Almost." Around them, the party revved up, with topless dancers taking their stations on the stripper poles as the music got louder. "Why don't you head home?" he said. "Hap's gettin' started on my Reaper tonight so I'm gonna be awhile."

"Okay, babe," Kyra said, leaning up for a good-bye kiss. "See you when you get home."

Home. She'd said it before a million times in reference to the apartment, but maybe it was the $5,000 he had in his pocket that gave it a new ring. He'd been kicking out cash for groceries since he'd been there, and though he could more than afford to increase his contribution, she'd never asked. With things looking up for him in SAMCRO, he was ready to step up and be a real provider for her. He was a man, after all. And that's what men did.