I want to thank SilverAdvenger12 for her review on chapter ten, I've been trying to reveal Leila's past slowly to build some suspense, I hope it's working. Thanks again to everyone who's reading. Enjoy
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"Stop."
She ignores him. Her fingers are trailing a path down his side even as her lips slide up his neck.
"Lei—la," his voice doesn't have any force behind it so she lets her hand trail down to cup his cloth covered erection.
"STOP." This time the word is accompanied by a stiff shove and she stumbles back a few steps in surprise. It's been two days since Opie's announcement in the hospital and Leila has been feeling more than restless. She's angry, trapped in a place she wants to hate, and desperate for someone, anyone to notice. Juice seemed like the easiest target, apparently she was wrong.
"What?" She refuses to admit she feels a little guilty about the way she's been fucking him to get her mind off things. It's selfish and she knows it.
"Seriously?" He runs a hand down his face, "You've been all over me for days."
"And you're stopping me because?" She sounds like a spoiled child. Maybe that's what she is.
"Look, I like you. You're funny, you've got your shit together, and you've," he sends a significant glance over her form, "got a body that won't quit but I'd rather not become your sex toy while you work out whatever shit you've got going on with the club."
"That's not what you are." She's lying and they both know it.
"What's my real name?" Shit. She struggles for a minute trying to recall if she'd heard any of the guys use it in the last week. She certainly hadn't asked. The silence becomes painful. "That's what I thought. Right well, I'm here if you need me for moral support but I can't keep doing this with you. You're not a girl I can mess around with."
She has no words. She never expected this kind of maturity from the man who keeps a Gameboy color in the pocket of his kutte.
"I gotta go," he's already moving towards his bike, "I have an errand to take care of for Jax," and he's gone.
What the fuck just happened. Scratch that, she knows what just happened. Leila Trager, one time daughter of biker scum has finally made the transition into actually being biker scum. She is disgusted with herself. This is one mess in her life that she can't blame on SAMCRO and she hates how much that bothers her. The club has, over the years, become the constant scape goat for everything she thinks is going wrong. She thought she was ready to give that nasty habit up but at this very moment taking responsibility for her own mistakes just seems too hard.
She lets her eyes wander around the lot. The non-club mechanics are just pulling down the garage doors. She knows they've been struggling to keep up with repair and towing demands over the last few days what with all of SAMCRO on alert over the newest Mayan development. Lowell Jr says the slow down will add at least three more days to the repairs on her car. Apparently paying customers get first dibs on attention. She knows Gemma is behind that policy change. She sighs. Excess adrenaline from the almost sex still burning in her system when her eyes land on the empty boxing ring, the Everlast bag hanging innocently in the corner. Why not, she thinks, if I'm not getting laid I might as well hit something.
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She did a shit job taping her knuckles. Tig once taught her how to do it properly on a whim but that was years ago. Either way, she doesn't plan on punching hard enough to risk breaking a knuckle. It has been forever since she had any reason to attempt to throw a punch and her first tap on the bag feels weak. She pushes harder. She can remember Tig saying something about shifting weight to get power behind the hand.
She takes a deep breath, reaching out to steady the bag and starts again. This time she absorbs the quiet of the now empty lot, the air is cold against her cheeks and she balances on the balls of her feet as she slams her fist forward. That feels better. Sometimes it feels like everything useful she knows how to do Tig taught her but then the odds are skewed in his favor. Her mother tried to teach her to cook but what use does a moody tattoo artist have for cooking. No, Tig made sure his lessons would be more useful. She hates herself for not being able to completely walk away from her sometimes father and the club. The hits get harder.
Jorge's face swims before her eyes and the hate Leila feels for the almost boyfriend of her youth is staggering. Cancer took her mother, Jorge took her innocence and now SAMCRO has her freedom. She hits harder. She has no idea where all the hate is coming from. She thought she'd gotten past it in Salt Lake. She had a life there but after only a week in Charming the last three years feel like some kind of delusion.
"Yer not doing it right." Chibs' voice takes her off guard, she turns in surprise and is immediately unbalanced catching herself on the bag.
"Jesus! Someone needs to put a bell on you." His full laugh fills the clubhouse overhang.
"I'd like to see yeh try," there's a challenge there; she can see it in his eyes. So they're back to that are they. Fine.
"So, if I'm not doing it right why don't you show me how." She wants him to touch her. She wants him to step up behind her, put his hands on her hips maybe press in just a bit too close and correct her stance.
"Sorry, darlin' but I'm not going to play that game with yeh. You might have Juicey-boy at yer beck and call but I'm," he pauses, "a bit harder to handle." Indeed. "Don't worry though I'll keep yer dirty brown secret." His wink is just plain cocky.
"No secret to keep. He made it very clear he's not interested anymore." She doesn't know why she's sharing this bit of information but she is rewarded with a surprised look from the Scot.
"Now, I really doubt that's true." He lights a cigarette and holds the pack out to her. He waits patiently while she puts the little tube of tobacco to her lips and then lights it for her before taking care of his own.
"It's true, he told me he didn't want to be my 'sex toy' anymore." She loves the way the exhale makes a cloud around her words.
"Ah, that I do believe. Juicey, he's sensitive. He's still too young to know that yeh have to take pussy where yeh can get it and not ask questions."
"Is that your philosophy then?"
"It was," he's watching her now and she can't help but feel like a science project. She has never met anyone with such soul searching eyes. "The way I see it lass, is yer hurting, bad too. Yer all mad with yer Da and the club and yeh don't know what to do with all that energy."
"And what would you suggest I do with it?" She really wants to know.
"Yeh need to focus it, set a goal or some shit." He was doing well until that last part. She's not sure what 'or some shit' is supposed to look like in practice. "And, if yer going to try and dump it on a man make sure it's a man who knows the score."
"Know where I could find such a man." Her eyes leave no question as to who she's hoping that man will be. She may hate the Scot just a bit for his part in the Mayan nonsense but to his credit when the bullets started flying he was the only one shoving her to the floor.
"Nope, now step up and let's sort yer form."
He keeps to his word; they never touch. He just settles himself back on one of the picnic tables and chain smokes while shouting out encouragement and advice. They keep at it for a good hour and by the end Leila is too tired to want anything but sleep. She wonders if that was the plan all along. She bets it was, the sly bastard. "What now?" The question leaves her unbidden but she's desperate to hear his answer all the same.
"Now yeh go to bed. Alone. And tomorrow will be waiting for yeh on the other side."
"That's it?"
"Aye, luv. That's it."
Finally an order she can follow.
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Five hours later and Leila is still lying in Tig's heavenly bed wide awake. It felt like the entire world was running through her brain on fast forward, the twins stare down at her erotically. Bitches.
The last few days weigh down on her chest with crushing force. From the first phone call in Salt Lake to the panic of the shooting Leila feels like she's aged ten years in a week. She wants someone to hold her. She hasn't felt like this since just after her mother died and she was left floating alone in the world with nothing but an emotionally absent Tig to cling to.
She can still remember months of lying awake in her little bed in the back room of his dirty apartment. She'd stay still for hours waiting for him to come back drunk. She would remain quiet while he stomped through the house, getting water and aspirin until, finally, he'd stumble into his room to bed. She'd sneak down the hall and making sure he was passed out she'd crawl into his bed desperate to have her father's arms around her. It didn't matter that he had no idea he what he was offering, she took it all the same.
Now though, Tig's in the hospital and she basically told him he wasn't family anymore. God she hates herself for not hating him. He fucked her over, failed as a father in every way but if he were there now Leila would fall into his arms without a second thought. Sometimes a girl just needs her daddy.
There is no light coming from the crack under Chibs' door and Leila is entirely aware of the serious daddy issues she must have to be standing where she is but she can't bring herself to care. Technically the Scot only has seven years on her own 21 so at least she can rest assured in the fact that she's not developing some kind of May/December complex.
The door swings open with a soft squeak and she is careful when approaching the bed incase he sleeps with a gun like most of the MC. There's movement.
"Leila?" His voice is rough and she doesn't know where the tears suddenly streaming down her face are coming from. "Lass? What's wrong?" His eyes glow in the faint light from the hallway. She watches as they sweep over her face taking in the tears and her defeated posture, blanket wrapped around her shoulders against the cold.
"I…" She starts an explanation but her voice breaks.
"Oh, baby girl. C'mere." He shifts on the bed and holds out a hand. She is helpless to do anything but close the door and move towards him. "That's it Leila-Luv." He pulls her down to the bed and wraps both of his strong boxer's arms around her. She settles against his bare chest with shudder.
"I don't know what to do," she's sobbing against him now, "I hate him so much," and she's not sure if she's talking about Clay or Jorge or Tig.
Chibs makes a noise of agreement in the back of his chest. One of his hands is petting her head, the other rubbing comforting circles on her back.
"I know darlin', I know." He keeps talking but the words are lost on her, whispered as they are in his rough accent. It doesn't really matter though. She's not there for words, she's there for the warm weight of his body against hers and the instant feeling of safety that settles into her chest when he pulls her just a bit closer. She cries herself out after a while and as the world filters back into focus phrases like "shhh", "sleep now," and "I got yeh," become clear in his ramblings.
She falls asleep pressed into his chest; she knows she doesn't have to worry. The Scot will keep watch for her tonight.
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Looking forward to hearing everyone's thoughts on the transition from Juice to Chibs. I hope you all liked the momentary slow down because things are going to heat up from here.
Reviews are welcome.