So far this story has 84 follows and 44 favorites! I never expected such support and I am beyond grateful. Really close to getting over 50 reviews, so hopefully this chapter will push me over! Every review means the world to me!

This update is a little shorter than my usual, but it's special to me and I didn't want to add anything else that might detract from it. It starts out pretty dark. I always thought Juice's OCD was such an integral part of his character. It won't be a big focus in this story, but I do believe that dealing with it is necessary to his character development. I'm not a mental health expert or anything, so please forgive any mistakes or liberties I have taken with describing the illness…

Chapter 11

It was the middle of the night and Juice was in Chigger Woods watching Tristan Oswald's rapist bleed to death. He had killed for the club before, at least he thought he had. There had been fire fights with the Mayans during which Juice had pulled his weapon and nameless, faceless bodies had dropped in the distance. But he had never seen their faces, never watched them die…and he had never seen anything so brutal as what Clay had just done to the man laying on the ground at his feet.

As he watched the life slowly drain from the eyes of the dying man, Juice kept repeating to himself the same words over and over. He deserves it. This fucker deserves it. He raped a little girl. He has no right to breathe air. He's a sick, twisted fucker. He deserves it. And still, waves of nausea rolled through his stomach causing him to lean forward with his hands on his knees and take a few calming breaths. It wasn't that he disagreed with Clay that this piece of shit needed to die. 100%, this fucker deserved to rot in hell. It was the violence. He knew he was a pussy and that it didn't make sense. He was an outlaw, a criminal, a member of one of the most feared MC's in the world…but deep down in his bones, Juice just wasn't a violent person.

"Ya alright there, Juicey?"

Juice looked over at Chibs who was waiting with Half-Sack to bury the body.

Juice straightened up and nodded his head. "Yeah, man. I'm good. That was, uh, just some hard core shit, you know? A lot of fucking blood man."

Chibs nodded understandingly. He had had a soft spot for Juice since the kid was a prospect. "Aye, Juicey boy. That it was." The Scotsman looked down to the ground at the lifeless body. "Come on, the bastard's finally dead. Let's bury this fucker and be done with this shite."

Once they had done what needed to be done, the three men quickly finished up and left the woods, climbed onto their bikes, and headed back to Charming. Chibs and Sack went straight for the clubhouse, but Juice just couldn't go back to TM tonight. He turned up Main Street and went to his small one bedroom apartment that he rented above the weed shop in town.

Upon entering, he took his boots off and left them on the mat by the door, not wanting to risk tracking blood or dirt on his perfectly cleaned floors. Juice was a slob at the clubhouse like everyone else, but in his own space his OCD took over and he felt compelled to keep the apartment spotless and organized. He hung up his kutte on a nearby hook and stripped completely out of his clothes. He immediately put them into his small stackable washing machine and then headed directly to his shower. He forced himself to stay under the cascade of scalding hot water until his skin was red and almost burning, trying to wash away not only the gore of the night but the uneasy feeling that he just couldn't shake.

Juice quickly dried off, hanging his wet towel so that it hung perfectly on the towel rack in his bathroom, making sure the four corners were appropriately aligned. Looking down at the towel, he wanted to punch a hole through the wall. He glanced into the mirror above the sink and was disgusted with the face staring back at him. Jesus Christ, I am fucking crazy. He learned a long time ago that his compulsions got worse with stress, and right now he felt like he was about to lose it. He went to his bedroom and put on a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Juice then went to his living room and sat on his black leather couch, lighting up a joint and taking a long, slow drag. He stared at his space, his belongings in perfect order, and every surface polished clean. Someone visiting might say it was neat and tidy, but Juice just thought of it as sterile. Cold and lifeless, just like that asshole I buried tonight. And with that thought, his head was spinning. Images of the night flashed through his brain like lightning and his mind raced with bloody thoughts that were completely out of his control. He laid down on the couch and closed his eyes, focusing as hard as he could to slow the endless river of shit streaming into his head. He was exhausted, completely and utterly exhausted, but he couldn't find a moment of calm long enough to quiet his head and escape into sleep.

After about an hour of restless misery, Juice sat up and rubbed his hands over his tired face. Fuck this. He couldn't take it anymore. He went to his room and traded his sweats for a pair of jeans, and then went to the kitchen and put on a black hoodie, a clean pair of boots, and his kutte. He walked outside, jumped on his bike, and drove as fast as he could to the one place in the world where he knew he would find some rest.

Grace was startled awake by a loud banging on her front door. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand. 3:42am. Grabbing the Louisville slugger she kept under her bed, she walked to the living room and peaked through the blinds. Juice's harley was parked in her driveway.

She quickly put the baseball bat down, unlocked her deadbolt, and opened the front door. She rubbed her eyes to try and erase the fogginess of sleep and confusion. He was standing on her front step.

Her voice was soft and groggy. "Juice, what's going on? It's the middle of the night. Are you alright?"

As soon as his eyes fell on Gracie, Juice felt the invisible weight that had been crushing him for the last few hours slowly fall from his shoulders. She was standing there in nothing but a white tank top and pink cotton sleep shorts, her copper hair hanging in a tousled mess on her shoulders. Her eyes were cloudy with sleep but still so fucking warm and her voice was quiet, but sweet and full of concern.

"Gracie, I'm sorry for showing up like this. I am. I just…please don't ask me questions. I'm just so tired, baby. I'm so fucking tired and I need to sleep, and I just…I need you. Please."

Gracie looked at the man standing in front of her. He seemed so lost. His voice was weak and desperate, almost fragile, and his eyes were laden with sadness and exhaustion. She adored this man beyond reason and seeing him like this completely broke her heart. She had no idea what caused him to shatter this way, and at that moment she didn't care. All that mattered was that he needed her.

Gracie didn't say a word. She took Juice's hand and led him into the house. Never loosening her grasp, she closed and locked the front door, and then guided them back to her bedroom. Closing the door, she walked with Juice so that they were standing beside her bed. He never took his eyes off of her as she carefully slid his kutte off his shoulders and then folded it over the arm of her desk chair. She then unzipped his hoodie and removed that as well. Kneeling in front of him she unlaced his boots and took them off along with his socks. Gracie stood back up and gazed into the beautiful brown eyes that she dreamed about almost every night. They never broke eye contact as she unfastened his belt buckle and top button, then slid down his zipper and let his jeans drop to the floor. He stepped out of his jeans and was standing in nothing but his t shirt and boxers.

Grace placed her hands on either side of his face and caressed his cheekbones with her thumbs. She stood on her tip toes, leaned forward, and gave Juice a slow, soft kiss. There was nothing sexual in her touch, only concern and reassurance. She was taking care of him. After a few minutes, Gracie gently pulled away and guided him down to her bed where he laid his head on one of her pillows.

Grace walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside him. As soon as she pulled the covers up, Juice curled into her side, one of his legs tangled between her own and his head resting on her chest. He grasped onto her tightly, as if he were afraid she'd float away if he let go even for a moment. She softly caressed the side of his head while her other hand rested comfortingly on his back. She found herself whispering soothing words in his ear until she felt his breathing even out and his hold on her loosen.

She was certain he was almost asleep when she heard Juice whisper the same words that he said to her right before he took her on his motorcycle.

"Just don't let go of me, ok sweetheart?"

Gracie kissed the top of his head, repeating her own words from that day. "I won't. I promise."

She continued her soft, gentle touches for a few more minutes until she was sure he was sleeping peacefully. Only then was she finally able to close her eyes, knowing that for at least tonight, Juice was safe in her arms.

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