"Oh that's it…"
Wendy spoke in a low purr. Her voice was drenched in ecstasy as the needle sank into the soft and yielding flesh of her arm. A slow burn diffused into her veins, and she leaned back, her junkie needs satiated for a moment. She'd forgotten what clean felt like, and in this moment, she didn't give a damn about living drug free. All she cared about was the thick satisfaction of crank travelling through her blood.
"You like that, baby?" Wendy barely noticed the man lying next to her. The shit she'd injected worked hard and fast, just as she'd hoped. Her droopy eyelids made seeing difficult, at best, but she could feel the heat of his body beside her.
"Mmmmhmmm," she moaned. She could feel the man's hands groping her, but it didn't matter. Thick, calloused hands ran up her sides and squeezed her waist. She could feel the stranger's lips devouring the skin at the base of her throat. His fiery kisses travelled down her sternum and onto her belly, which quivered beneath his touch.
"I'm glad you called," he whispered between kisses. His hot tongue traced the circle of her belly button.
Wendy didn't respond. She was barely conscious as the stranger pulled her jeans down. She didn't have the strength to move, much less engage in foreplay. A cool rush of air skimmed her skinny frame. She couldn't even shiver. The man moved up her shirt next, gently crushing her small breasts as he kissed her. He threw the shirt onto the floor, and her black lace bra followed. Satisfied with the result, he stood and divested himself of his t-shirt, jeans and boxers. Without hesitation, he climbed back atop her. Parting her legs, he slid smoothly into her. Wendy gasped.
"Oh, Jax," she mumbled. "You feel so good."
Instantly, one of the thickly calloused hands snaked up her chest and gripped her throat. She felt the digits tighten. At first, it turned her on, but as the fingers clenched, fear crept into her mind. The crank had all but numbed her. Fear enveloped her heart, but it was too hard to speak.
"My name is not Jax, you dumb whore," the man stated. "It's Izzy."
Wendy's breath caught in her throat, as the push of adrenaline hit her. Izzy. Her mind was still clouded with crank, but that name made sense. Izzy. Darby's flunky. Izzy. Her old dealer had provided her enough crank to deliver Abel prematurely. Izzy. Jax beat the hell out of him after that, and when she called awhile back, feening for more crank, Izzy told her fuck off. It took a lot of persuading and even more oral Olympics, but he gave in. They all give in, Wendy thought hazily.
"Just…fuck…me." Wendy's words were barely audible, but Izzy heard her. He'd always had a thing for Wendy, and after Jax's assault, Izzy's need for revenge grew. It didn't matter that he'd almost killed Teller's son. The beat down was more than just an insult; it was a thick gash in Izzy's pride. Laid up in St. Thomas, he vowed to get even with Jax Teller and SAMCRO. Now, with a strung out Wendy begging for sex beneath him, he knew the five years he'd waited had been worth it.
She screamed as he slammed brutally into her. She wrapped her legs around him. Her eyes locked with his as he thrust viciously, and her body, the fucked up mess it was, responded. She gripped his shoulders and met his motions. Neither one of them spoke; only the sound of grunts and deep, throaty moans filled the room. The cheap headboard slammed hard and fast against the wall.
"Oh. My. God." Each word Izzy uttered was punctuated a push into Wendy's willing flesh. He didn't hear her moans slowly change into cries of pain. It didn't matter to him. He was just as high as she was, but now it took a lot more to get him there than it did her. As he plunged deeper into her, he plunged deeper into his high, and in that place, he was oblivious to Wendy's screams of agony. He didn't feel her nails ripping into his back, nor did he even feel her struggle beneath him.
"Get the fuck off me Izzy!" Her wail bounced off the walls of Izzy's ancient trailer. She bucked beneath him furiously, but his weight pinioned her to the old, musty mattress. Scream after scream peeled from her throat as shoved further. Wendy felt as if she was ripped in two. Her insides boiled with agony as she realized fighting was pointless. As he yelled his release, Wendy felt the pain subside. He rolled off her and rolled onto his back. Wendy fought the urge to curl into a fetal position. Izzy turned towards her.
"I hurt you." It wasn't an apology; it was an observation. Wordlessly, he sat up and rolled off the bed. He walked stark naked into the living room. Wendy stared at the ceiling. The high still flowed through her, but the pain overshadowed it. Her belly throbbed with hurt. How the hell did I get here? The thought shadowed her mind as she stared hazily at the cheap, white tiled ceiling.
Abel. I had to come back for Abel. She shook her head as she cried. Abel, Jax's son. The baby I left behind. The baby that's being raised by Tara. Abel. A boy that's not my son at all. She shuddered. I should have stayed away. I was fine. I was clean. I. Was. Fine.
"Here, I can fix it." Izzy sauntered lazily back into the room. Wendy glanced in his direction, and in the haze of her remaining high and her tears, she caught a glimpse of a syringe. More. Her body shuddered at the word. She was amazed at how her body slipped right back into addiction. The habit fit like a well-worn glove.
This is all your fault, Jax. It was true. Jax Teller began the descent into this maddening world. The speedball started the downward spiral. I should have went to rehab. Gemma wanted me to go to rehab. Gemma tried. Izzy sat on the bed. Wendy sat up and held out her arm. This is what I am now. The junkie biker whore everyone thought I would be. SAMCRO's queen is dead.
Izzy tied off Wendy's arm with astounding ease. He filled the syringe with equal expertise. With an almost gentle touch, he tapped her bruised and wounded skin in an attempt to find a vein. A tiny, thick blue one announced its presence, and Wendy looked up at Izzy. Her huge lackluster brown eyes stared at Izzy, and for a moment, a miniscule twinge of guilt and sadness overcame him.
"Fucking do it," Wendy's voice fell flat. "Just fucking do it."
All remorse left him. Izzy nodded and flipped Wendy's arm to get a better vantage point. There were no other words, no preamble. The needle plunged into Wendy's vein, and she felt the drug soak into her bloodstream. Heat flooded her chest and singed her face, and immediately, Wendy knew.
"You dosed me," she whispered. Her eyes were hollow as they watched him stand and dress.
"Would you prefer I shot you?" He asked the question like he was doing her a favor. "Or stabbed you?" His skinny, sweat soaked chest glittered in the moonlight as he leaned closer to her. "Or would you prefer I beat the hell out of you, just like your husband did to me?"
Her body began to shiver. Nausea rolled in her belly, and her body began to sweat uncontrollably. The crank coursed through her as her heart began to pound furiously against her sternum. Her breath came in shallow pants as she sank back into the mattress. Izzy grabbed his shirt and slid it on his shoulders.
"You're…just going…to…leave…me?"
"Yes. Yes, I am. Like I said, I could have beat the hell out of you. I could have shot you or stabbed you. You're exactly where you were five years ago: cranked out, overdosing. All because of Jax Teller. He didn't want you then, and he sure as fuck doesn't want you now." He stepped out of the room. Even in the beginning of her delirium, she could hear him rustling around the trailer. She closed her eyes.
I wonder if you died immediately. Wendy's thoughts turned to Gemma. I fucking wish I would. Gemma's voice reverberated in her ears as she sank into oblivion. Suddenly, she was back in St. Thomas. She'd just found out she had Abel. Abel was alive.
Dear God, thank you for saving this boy... from his murderous junkie mom, who cared more about a forty dollar rush than she did her own flesh and blood.
"You were right, Gemma…" she murmured. "I never gave a fuck…not like I was supposed to."
It's gonna be different this time. This time I have my baby to live for. Wendy now knew that was bullshit. It was hard to live for a baby she'd never see.
That's where you're wrong. You have no baby. You lost that privilege. She remembered Gemma's fingers clenching her throat. You so much as cast a shadow on that kid, try to turn some legal screw and get custody, I will finish this job. He will never call you "mommy".
If she could, Wendy would laugh at the irony. It wasn't Gemma that finished the job. It was Wendy. Gemma was currently rotting in a crypt of her own making, and judging from the palpitating and syncopated rhythm of her heart, she knew she wasn't far behind. The hatred she had for Gemma's control left the minute drugs overtook her body, as did all logic. Now, in the throes of overdosing, all she wanted was Gemma's arms around her. At least then, she wouldn't be alone.
Your son tried to kill me. You tried to clean me up. That didn't deserve a bullet to the head.
Wendy could hear the soft skid of Izzy's sneakers on the cheap linoleum. Another sound accompanied it; it was the sound of liquid hitting the floor. Wendy was paralyzed. Crank had lodged itself firmly in every nook and cranny of her body, leaving her completely numb.
Kerosene. The smell filled her nose. The realization of what was happening barely registered in her addled mind. She wanted to run, wanted to scream. Terror sank into her core, but she simply was unable to show it.
"Just in case you survive another OD," Izzy said calmly. Wendy sometimes forgot that killing was a business for men like Izzy. It made no difference who was on the receiving end of death. Before long, the gas can was emptied. To her shock and amazement, Izzy leaned down and kissed her forehead.
"Just know, Wendy. I'm not sorry," he whispered in her ear. Her heart was on the verge of exploding.
He stood and turned toward his nightstand. He opened the top drawer and grabbed a book of matches. Wendy heard him shuffle away; once again, his sneakers betrayed him, and as he tried to leave, he turned once more to face his victim.
"Oh yeah, and one more thing: your bastard ex-husband will be first."
No! No! Don't do that! Abel needs his father! Please! Wendy struggled to move, and Izzy noticed. He laughed in the face of her terror.
"Yeah, you can't save Jax Teller any more than you can save your son. With Jax out of the way, getting to that kid of yours will be so much easier."
Nooooooooo! Not Abel! Please! Please God-
Tears slipped from her eyes as Izzy's sneakers squeaked away. She heard the match rub against the box. She heard it catch flame, and within seconds, Izzy was gone. The smell of kerosene permeated her dying brain cells as the fire quickly spread. Scorching heat surrounded her as her consciousness ebbed away.
This is it, Gemma. This is what it's like to die. I'm sorry I did that to you.
As the flames licked the overused, saggy king size bed, Wendy flickered in and out of reality as her awareness of life ebbed away. She barely registered the fire grabbing onto her bed. The only senses she had left smelled the smoke and felt the heat of the flames. As she left go of a life that never worked out, Wendy Case came to a surprisingly quick realization:
This is exactly what hell must feel like.