Chapter 12:
It was back to the combat fatigues that they had first been introduced. Sam wore little make up, but was back to being one of the men, though she did blush when she looked towards Christmas, and avoided looking at Gunnar as much as possible. Her copper hair was braided at the nape of her neck. She wore a half zipped hoody over a white tank top, covering up what the men wanted to see the most.
"We don't have any work lined up, but I'll go talk to Church tomorrow and see if there is something new coming down the line. I can hardly imagine the need for our particular type of work has dried up," Ross said looking at his assembled crew. Ying Yang, Hale Caeser and Toll Road had left when they knew that today would not be the day to get new work. They'd checked in and headed off their own ways.
Christmas and Tool sat talking with Sam, it appeared as if they were trying to talk the woman into getting a tattoo. Gunnar was upstairs.
"I could do an angry little beaver on your hip bone," Tool said, smirking and stifling a chuckle. "You know, to represent how patriotic you are."
Sam let a little smirk cross her lips, but she wasn't having it. "You think you're the first person to make that joke, Tool?" she said with a wink. "I grew up making those jokes."
"You gotta give him points for trying, swe-Sam," Christmas said, catching himself before he said sweetheart. "What about a maple leaf?"
She thought about it for a minute. She had thought about it in the past, but never gone through it. Several of the men she had served with, engineers mostly, had army green Canadian flags on their shoulders.
"You might be onto something, but I'll pass for now," she said with a smirk.
"You're denying me a beautiful canvas, you know that right?" Tool teased her, getting a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head.
"You're way too dramatic, Tool," she said, getting out of the chair.
Gunnar came down the stairs, two at a time. "Good, you're leaving," he said, trying to intervene and get her to the back door.
"Uh," she said blinking but being ushered towards the back. "What's going on...?" she asked, looking towards Christmas or Tool for some answer.
"She's coming," was all Gunnar offered, putting a steadying hand on the Sam's back, pushing her still.
"Who the fuck is that?" the voice of a woman shouted like a wild boar feeling challenged for her territory. It was Jack, the woman the men had been so afraid of. Sam didn't see what all the fuss was. She was beautiful, that much was true. She had caramel coloured skin and almond shaped eyes; Sam would go so far as to say that she was at least half Native, and given the location probably Seminole. Her dark hair was wild around her head; if she wasn't screaming like a mad cow it would probably look very sexy. She wore a low cut yellow halter top and white shorts, showing off her very long, tanned legs. Little wedge sandals bumped her height up, but she still wasn't as tall as Sam.
She didn't look intimidating, nor did she sound very intimidating. What she reminded Sam of was a teenager, wild with righteous indignation when she's told she cannot do something she feels is her right. Of course, if the men were afraid of her, maybe there was something to this little girl. Or, maybe they weren't as tough as Sam thought they were.
Most likely scenario, she thought to herself, they were intimidated because she was pretty, and probably could handle a gun. They liked having her around as a fuck toy and a spank bank supplier. They didn't want to risk losing that.
Everything in the shop stopped. the usually smart mouthed Tool stood silent, Gunnar's hand left Sam's back, but was otherwise still. Christmas and Ross stood stock still, as if Jack would fail to notice them if they didn't move.
"Well?" she said, her voice rough with indignation. This was her place; they were her guys. Who ever this intruder was, she was going to have to face Jack's wrath for trespassing on her territory.
"Well," Ross said, finding his balls and squaring his shoulders. "Jack, this is Sam. We brought her on as a freelancer when you and Gunnar took off. She worked pretty well, so we're thinking of keeping her on."
"Excuse me?"
Now he's done it, Christmas thought, moving very smoothly to Sam's side. Perhaps Sam would be able to distract Jack long enough that Christmas could get out. After all, up until last night, he had been totally against keeping Sam on for this exact reason. Her skill was unquestionable, she fit with the team, except for the potential of this to happen.
"You weren't answering your phone," Ross said, his tone flat and matter of fact. He wanted to ensure Jack that this wasn't a matter of being replaced. This was business. "It's just business, Cupcake," he said, holding his hands open to her. "It's nothing personal."
"Bull shit!" she hissed at him, stalking over to Sam. "And where exactly did you find her? Strippers R US?"
"I said pardon?" Sam said, pushing through Gunnar and Christmas to meet Jack face to face.
"You heard me."
"Big words for a whore who's tits are about ready to fall out of her shirt."
"What did you call me?"
"Sorry," Sam said with a shrug. "Of the five languages I speak, skank isn't one of them. I'll try to speak slower so you can keep up. Put. Some. Clothes. On."
"Why you!" Jack had enough. How dare this woman come into her garage, with her men, and insult her. She launched herself at Sam, intending to do some serious damage. She put her shoulder down, she would tackle the woman and, once she got the stranger on her back, it'd be easy enough to rearrange that plain face. Poor thing, Jack thought to herself. As if she wasn't tragic enough now, after Jack was done with her, she imagined, the poor stranger would be absolutely revolting.
Good, she thought. That'll teach her for trying to move in on her territory, namely the men.

Jack was a good scrapper; she fought in the bar on a regular basis. She had taken on men, women and a few she didn't know what to make of. She felt she knew what to expect from the woman standing in front of her. Sure, she wasn't technically dressed like a stripper; in fact, this stranger looked more like a former military lifer than a street walker. The combat cargo pants, the square of her shoulders, the way she kept her head up until the last second.

At the last second, Sam spread her stance, her left leg going back for balance. It looked as though Jack meant to tackle Sam around the waist, but Sam had no interest in making it easy. She dropped her head and shoulders, crouching low at the last second, managing to catch the other woman around the waist.
The pair spun, with Tool, Christmas and Gunnar scrambling to get out of the way. They crashed into the tattoo chair, knocking it over into the mirror.
"You bitch," Jack screeched like a banshee, trying to swing at Sam as she let the other woman go. Her weight was off balance, and in her high heels as sexy as they were, she didn't have the secure footing for the hay maker she was going for. That didn't mean she missed her target, entirely. She had been aiming for a knock out blow to Sam's face; the impact was dead on, but not as strong as to knock the other woman over.
Sam stood over Jack, who was in a heap on the floor. While she might have looked sexy before, now she looked disheveled. Sam blinked, touching a hand to her cheek. It was tender, but the cheek bone was not cracked.
There was an awkward silence in the shop. Tool, Gunnar and Christmas were well within the strike zone, but Ross kept a careful eye in the corner. He had made a promise when Christmas had brought Jack into the group that he would never let a member of the team hurt her, but he might be reconsidering that right now. She had gone off the handle one too many times, and if anyone was to put her in her place, it might be Sam.
Jack was stunned, on the ground, looking like a wild child beaten for the first time. Sam stood over her, her back to the men. Her shoulders were squared, her stance solid. She was a soldier, Ross reminded himself. Jack had gone through part of the training required to be a Marine, but had scrubbed out due to the very anger and temper that had got her into trouble just now.
He hated to think it, but Ross was kind of happy someone had been able to legitimately knock her on her ass. Everyone needs to be beat at one time or another; no one is ever perfect.