Author's Note: Well, it's been a very long time, but the lure of my Koz and Tasha series still works on me when the real world allows me any time to write. Those who followed the series may know of the twist things took in Through Another's Eyes and have wondered how that came about. It was always my intention to address that in that story, but in the meantime, I thought I'd offer up a little glimpse as part of this collection of short stories from the series. This kind of does follow on from the last chapter, but jumps ahead a fair few months and, like the Killing Time instalment, will be slightly more than a one-shot. Probably two parts, maybe three. Hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear your thoughts! T x
Kill Your Conscience
Clubhouse violence wasn't exactly rare.
Even between brothers, trouble could brew until it boiled over in a flare of red-hot rage – fists and dark curses flying, only to be forgotten quicker than the bruises left behind as the only evidence it had ever happened at all. It was even more common among the hang-arounds, men desperate to prove themselves and forge a path that would take them to the table, seeing competition in those who found themselves in the same boat.
The women were even worse.
Croweaters knew their currency well and were each determined to be the one to spend it on the patches, especially those with rank and good standing. The most deluded saw ink and old lady status in their future, the others would settle for what they could get for as long as they could get it – mainly the perks and protection that came from being in any way affiliated with SAMCRO. If that meant raking nails across the faces of a few rivals, or ripping ratty extensions right out of some bitch's head, so be it.
Mind you, old ladies weren't immune from having to get physical either.
Most of them had learned the hard way that you had to show what you were made of every now and then. Gemma Teller-Morrow set that standard and, while few could quite match it and fewer still really wanted to try, they all came to see the advantages of being able to strap on that don't-fuck-with-me attitude when the need arose.
The women, past and present, who had all made themselves part of the club family generally had only two things in common – their love for a Son, and the steel thread that ran through them.
Gemma, Luann, Donna, Tara, Lyla, Tasha …
Just the thought of the things they had suffered had the power to make even the hardest Sons' blood run cold.
And right now, SAMCRO's most notorious member was watching one of those women from across the clubhouse, dark eyes trained on her as he nursed a generous glass of whiskey and pretended to be listening to the conversation a couple of his brothers were having around the small corner table they had commandeered. Booze, broads and bikes – it wasn't exactly hard to follow, even while only half paying attention.
There had been a time when Tasha's presence wouldn't have been that unusual, happily talking and laughing by her old man's side or perched on his lap, or hanging out with Tara and Lyla to demolish a couple of bottles of the wine they'd started asking the prospects to stock in a cooler behind the bar for just such occasions.
But that was before … And even now, Happy's fist almost clenched involuntarily at the thought … Before Kozik had gone and fucking died on them. That asshole might have been his closest brother, but he was Tasha's world, and it had quickly caved in on her after he was taken from her, just like their first baby.
That girl who had already lost so fucking much, more than Happy could ever imagine, was left alone with two tiny kids and an agony he was sure was going to finally break her completely.
She blamed the club. He knew that. It couldn't sit right with him and his loyalty to the patches he wore, but all things considered, even he couldn't begrudge her feeling that way. In the months that had passed, she'd slowly pushed them all away, putting distance between herself and the club.
That didn't sit right either. She wasn't some passed-around croweater. She was a brother's wife. The mother of his children. Kozik checking out didn't change the fact she was family. She didn't want to know though.
Happy's dark eyes narrowed.
She'd pulled away from the club, yet here she was. Right at its heart.
He'd thought about going over there when he'd first clocked her walking in, the slight sway of her hips making him think she'd already been drinking. It wasn't the first time she'd been back at TM since … since Kozik. And it wasn't the same as those times she'd slipped in quietly, pale-faced and looking like she felt she was intruding. No, this time she'd almost stormed in, head up as if defying someone to make something of it. She belonged here, with them, so he should have been glad at the change.
But he wasn't.
Something felt off and he shifted uneasily in his seat, already wondering how this was going to play out. Then when Gemma made her approach, he thought he was off the hook – only for the Queen to soon be on her way again after a terse exchange, lips tightly pursed in something that looked like disapproval.
Happy swallowed another slug of his whiskey, even as Tasha threw back her head and downed what he could only assume was a shot of tequila. She didn't even flinch, telling him it may have been her first drink in the clubhouse, but not her first of the night. A second shot went the same way as the first.
"Break a heart o' fuckin' stone, would it?"
Happy glanced round to see Chibs beside him shaking his head sadly, only grunting something non-committal that might have been agreement or might not.
"That wee lass was made for our Koz, god rest him," the Scot mumbled on.
The enforcer's lip curled in disdain at the mention of a god that, if he existed at all, had apparently seen fit to heap more hurt on a young woman who had already suffered enough for any lifetime. But he, as usual, said nothing.
"You think one o' us should go over there?" Chibs asked suddenly. "I mean, there was a time I wouldn't be waiting to ask, but I know she ain't in a good place when it comes to the club. Don't mean we don't still care …"
"Leave her," Happy said, with a shrug that suggested a casualness he didn't feel. "Don't think she wants company."
"She's fairly sinking those shots, man," Chibs said doubtfully.
"She wants to get shit-faced, let her. Better she does it here."
"I guess that's true enough, brother, true enough."
The bikers had both simply sat back and Happy at least tried to put her out of his mind. Wasn't like she was his problem after all. But he had once promised Kozik he'd watch her back and, while the former sergeant hadn't had the chance to ensure that deal still stood, Happy could well imagine the response if he tried to argue it hadn't been a catch-all situation.
So he kept one eye on her, just like he had when Kozik was locked up, or on the road, or dealing with whatever else might have been keeping him from his family back in the days before he was taken from them permanently.
Happy's dark gaze only intensified when she ended up on what passed for a dancefloor where a few croweaters were gyrating to the beat of the rock music. Very occasionally, he'd seen the old lady circle she had going with Tara and Lyla cut loose during a few songs that particularly appealed to them. And Kozik had never shied away from any excuse to have his girl in his arms. This was different though. And if she kept going the way she was, someone was going to get the wrong idea – mostly likely any one of the hang-arounds already leering longingly in her direction.
His jaw tightened at the thought. What the fuck was she playing at? It was bad enough shutting herself away from the world, away from the club, but drunkenly throwing herself like a cheap slut at the first asshole she saw wasn't an improvement.
"Who the hell's this?" Chibs remarked suddenly, sounding half curious, half bemused. "Oh, Christ …"
That was enough to make Happy look up just in time to see a woman – and a strikingly out-of-place one at that, in her conservative dress and pearls – march from the front door of the clubhouse right up to Tasha, despite the best efforts of some sheepish looking guy in a suit trailing in her wake, and jab a finger in her face as she started in on the startled younger woman.
"When I, against my better judgement, asked my husband to book my car into your garage, little did I realise how far the service stretched," the woman raged shrilly, her cheeks flushed and the composure it seemed she had been desperate to maintain already cracking like ice on a lake. "You ought to be ashamed, but then I look at the company you keep and it all falls into place. You're nothing but a … a cheap … whore!"
Croweaters were openly laughing, not even having to pretend not to eavesdrop as the entire clubhouse had heard the exchange, and delighted not to be the ones in the firing line for a change. Even Sons were gaping curiously at the spectacle. Then the sharp crack of a slap threw the place into something closer to chaos.
"That is ENOUGH!" Gemma roared above the din, cutting an imposing figure as she planted herself firmly between the interloper and her stunned target. "You, get the hell out of here – this is a private party and we're not taking visitors. Did I fucking stutter? Get out!"
Shooting a filthy look at Tasha, as she clutched a hand to her throbbing cheek, the apparently vengeful wife gathered what was left of her dignity and prepared to stalk back out the way she had come in. Something stopped her in her tracks though.
"Is that a wedding ring? Well, maybe I should be glad it's not just my marriage you have no respect for. Your poor husband …"
"Get the fuck OUT!" Gemma barked again, shoving the woman in Happy's direction as he strode over to seize her arm and help her none too gently on her way.
"Take your filthy hands off me!" she protested, as she was scuttled towards the door in her prim high heels.
"I catch you round here again, it won't be my hands you have to worry about," Happy snarled, sending her almost running to her car, following by the stressed out suited guy who had to be the husband with the seemingly wandering eye.
"Fucking hell," Clay muttered, as he looked around at the turmoil created on his turf. "That's it, show's over – all of you, get out. Go on. You don't gotta go home, but you gotta get the fuck outta here. Maybe I can get some goddamn peace for five minutes …"
Meanwhile, Gemma pulled Tasha over to a stool by the bar and pushed her down on it, tilting her head up to get a better look at the damage. "I've seen worse," she shrugged. "Inflicted it too. Prospect, get some ice, will ya? So, you wanna tell me what that little display was about?"
"No," Tasha muttered, tearful but trying to stay stoic. "I really don't."
The SAMCRO matriarch arched an eyebrow and then sighed. "Suit yourself. Clean up before you go home – unless you want to explain to the kids why mommy looks like she took up cage fighting."
Tasha said nothing, reaching to take the damp cloth full of ice that was offered to her by a wide-eyed prospect, her conscience stinging as much as her face. She was still pressing it gingerly to her already developing bruise when Happy appeared by her side.
"That fucking gash comes back here and she's leaving in a goddamn bodybag," he growled, still irrationally furious at the sight of the woman in front of him with a livid handprint painted across her cheek. The bitch's ring must have caught her on the bone, leaving a small but bloody gash. He sat down and took the ice from her to press it to the injury himself. "Shit, Tash ..."
"Don't, Happy," she snapped almost angrily. "Don't make excuses for me. I deserve this."
"Some bitch don't get to just walk in here over nothin' and lay a fucking finger-"
"I fucked her husband," Tasha said bluntly, her harsh tone caught somewhere between cold indifference and self-loathing as she reached for a nearby glass and poured herself a whiskey. "I think she's probably entitled to feel a little pissed off, don't you?"
"I … I don't give a fuck about her!" the biker bit back, caught off-guard by both the unexpected extent of what had gone on and a flare of something he was pretty sure he didn't want to put a name to at the thought of the pretty blonde with some married asshole. "This ain't you. You … You gotta cut this shit out, you hear me?"
"It was one time, Hap – I'm hardly making a habit of it."
"I mean all of it," he pressed on, frustrated by her careless attitude. "The drinking, cutting yourself off … I know it hurts, doll …"
"But that's just it. It doesn't. Or if it does, I'm numb to it. Just … empty. All the fucking time. Maybe it hurts so much, I can't even recognise it anymore because that's all there is," she shrugged, before gesturing to her injured face. "This? This is nothing. Drinking? Doesn't do anything. Popping pills? Doesn't do anything. I'm even fucking up getting fucked up …"
Her slightly slurred words and hazy eyes told him different, but he said nothing. He was already so out of his fucking depth. He hadn't known about the pills. Or the apparent screwing around. What else didn't he know?
"Why are you here, Happy?" Tasha asked suddenly. "Why are you bothering? I'm not the club's problem anymore."
"I ain't here for the club."
"Well, if it's loyalty to your brother … Doesn't seem like there's much point," Tasha ground out. "He's … He's not coming back. He's not coming back, Hap."
Happy swallowed uncomfortably at the crack of emotion in her voice, but he steeled himself to handle this the only way he knew how and his jaw tightened.
"Good fucking job."
To be continued ...
