But don't you come here and say I didn't warn you
About the way your world can alter
And oh how you try to command it all still
Every single time it all shifts one way or the other
The Lion's Roar – First Aid Kit
"Shit, man! You think that I went after you, Clay? You fucking retarded or something?" Darby dribbled out of his half-broken mouth, blood trickling down his chin. "I ain't crazy enough to think that kinda action don't end with me in a shallow grave."
Motherfucker. Tig held Darby's throat tighter, irritated as shit that he wouldn't admit his ambitious mistake. Clay had been taking the lead in the interrogation, but Tig was positively itching to get a little alone time with the Nazi prick who decided to threaten their innocent women. Crack a couple bones; maybe use his own blowtorch against him- they'd found Darby at his shop, acting like it was just another Thursday- anything to get the asshole to admit what he'd done.
"So maybe you weren't aware of your crew's extracurriculars, but hell, we got a bigger problem than your Nord friends trying to murder me, Darby. Sending me all those pictures of our girls," Clay clicked his tongue and shook his head, before grinning broadly to finish his speech, "That was a bad choice. I don't go after any of your diseased little whores, now do I?"
"What the fuck are you talking about? I told you, I ain't got a beef with SAMCRO. I keep my crank outta Charming, you leave me the hell alone. I know how it works, Clay. I'm not about to get my ass taken out because I feel like makin' a little extra money." Yeah. The only color Darby liked besides white was green. Maybe more. Had his eyes on moving business into Charming for the past decade, probably figured he'd start shit while things were quiet. But the Sons had a lot more firepower than the Nords, and a shitload of backup. The Aryans only had their small collection of slack jawed yokels.
Clay reached into his back pocket, pulling out the folded photos that'd been sent earlier in the week. "My wife," he held up Gemma's image, "My VP's wife," Luann, "My Secretary's wife," then Precious. "My newest patch's girl," Donna's picture was flipped over. Clay then looked over to Book. It was his turn.
Book bent over to better get in Darby's eye line, letting some of his long red hair fall over his face, deceptively smiling underneath the mop. "And I think we both know this last girl, Mr. Darby. My daughter, Matilda. Actually," He stood taller, showing off the muscled frame built from all those boxing matches, "I guess she's kind of your kid too, huh? Since you married my bitch of an ex-wife. How did that turn out anyway?"
Book Cardinal had it down to a science, talking to enemies. The careful way he cracked his knuckles, the lulling tone to his voice, the innocuous, almost boyish nature of his face. Tig's torture methods were faster, more balls to the wall, involved lots of blood and guts, and while Tig preferred his way, Book was fucking mesmerizing. He didn't let his emotions get in the way. If it's been Tig, well, Darby would've lost a couple fingers already instead of the few teeth that were knocked out when SAMCRO walked in. Tigger was intimidating, but Book, fuck, when he got into his calm little niche, he was terrifying. Usually, the man did his thing privately, but the times when Tig got to see him in action… Goddamn chilling, that's what it was. Rinse your brain in bleach kind of creepy.
"It wasn't me! Christ, if Reese knew that I was near her kid, she'd chop my fucking dick off. Cunt has a restraining order on me. And the other pictures, I swear, Clay. I don't got a reason to go starting that sort of trouble. My business is meth, not stalking your Old Ladies."
"Yeah, and who else would be practicing their photography skills in Charming, Darby? And know Book's girl well enough to scribble that message? Oh yeah, and be tryin' to off me at the same time. We ain't got many other suspects in the line up."
"I dunno, Clay! Christ. You make nice with those wetback motherfuckers all of a sudden? How do you know one of those Mexicans didn't take a crack at you?" Darby was starting to get frantic. Either he really didn't do anything or was running out of lies to tell.
"All quiet on the Oakland front. Sorry to break it to ya," Book replied quietly, that snake-like grin still on his lips. "Plus, they wouldn't know shit about my little girl. That's a special privilege that belongs only to you. And don't act like we're oblivious to your dealers trying to break into Charming. Lots of swastikas turning up."
"You do know that your ex-wife is mostly Jew, right, Darby? The little missus bring that up?" Bobby cut in, "Or is that whole white hate thing just a manner of convenience?"
Darby sighed, spraying a fine mist of blood into the air. "I had a difference of opinion with one of my associates. He decided to try and take a corner of my market, took a bunch of my guys with him. If the asshole thought it was good for business, he might want to get rid of SAMCRO too."
"And his name?" Clay asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew that one way or another; time with Darby was nearing its end.
"Hirsch. Was my right hand for a long time, knew Reese too. Probably heard her talking about Book's kid. Only person I can think of that has it out for both of us."
Clay motioned to Tig and Otto, pulling them into a corner. A moment of private discussion with his VP and Sergeant-at-Arms. Book was keeping an eye on their little friend, looking positively delighted with the prospect of Darby's new life as a miserable fuck. After all, Reese ran straight into the idiot's arms once she left Book, and once Darby's goodwill was finished, she probably found another man to support her. No wonder Mattie hated her. Hell, she was fucking lucky that Gemma raised her instead of Reese.
Thinking about Mattie made Tig's stomach clench in an uncomfortable way, reminding him of his reason for being inside Darby's dingy repair shop.
"It makes sense. Idiot tries to put a bullet in you to make it look like Darby did it, sends the pictures with the note only on Matt's, because, again, it looks like it's from this asshole. We take out the Nazi, a portion of Hirsch's competition, and while our backs
are turned, he tries to worm into Charming." Otto explained, tightening his ponytail. Whenever they were on club business, the VP always tied it back.
"You don't think it's a lie to get us out of here so that Darby can clean up his mess and then get his guys together to send a whole bunch of bullets our way?" Tig didn't trust that white hate spouting asshole. Not when Mattie was the one in danger, even if Tig didn't get to publicly wear the badge of protector. That fell to Book, who was doing a damned good job of keeping his cool. Tig would've exploded already, and had to hide his clenched fists inside the pockets of his cut so that his rage was under wraps. Whatever rootin-tootin country music Darby had playing on the stereo wasn't helping to soothe his nerves very much either.
"We'll keep the kids on Darby while we look for Hirsch, have them close up shop and keep our friend quiet while we're out. And if he's telling the truth, our favorite Nazi will be home by dinnertime." Clay decided. "Let 'em know the plan, Otto. Tell them not to get too trigger happy, though. It's better if Darby's in one piece if we need him for leverage."
"Got it, Clay."
Otto went off to tell the rest of the guys, leaving Tig alone with Clay for a second. Tigger hoped Clay couldn't feel all his pent up energy. Doing things the slow, easy way was starting to get to Tig.
"She's okay, Tiggy. She's gonna be okay." Clay murmured quietly. "You're doing real good, lettin' Book take the lead with this one. I appreciate it."
"His kid, his revenge." Tig replied, as though that were obvious. Which it was.
"Sure. But she's waitin' for you back at the club. So long as you're smart about it, I ain't gonna make it my business." Clay lifted his shades just a hair, meeting Tig's eyes. "But you put that shit back on the club's radar, and well, ain't much I can do to stop Book. You need to talk to him, brother to brother, and sort it out. Got me?"
"Yeah. You probably think I'm some sorta sick fuck, right?"
"Tigger. I already knew you were a sick fuck. Known it for a long time." Clay shrugged. "Besides the law, not a big difference between seventeen and eighteen."
Exactly. It was reassuring to hear somebody speak the same thought that'd been running through Tig's mind since that night back in October, when all of sudden Mattie went from being just another club kid to a gorgeous, curvaceous woman. That quick, inexplicable transition was still throwing Tig's head for a loop, and it'd been nearly five fucking months. There was no right way to go about things.
It was the first time in a long while that Tig had cared about anything besides the MC, besides himself. For some reason, there was a little bit of trepidation at that thought. Because when other people became important, things got messy. Annie died, Colleen split, who the hell knew what was going to happen if he started shit with Mattie. Tigger was stuck. Every move was wrong, every solution was fucked up.
Well, there were a couple problems that Tigger could focus on solving. Finding Hirsch and taking him out. Even if he wasn't the one sending pictures, it was always good to take another Nazi off the street. Making Mattie and the rest of the girls safe was his first priority. That he could do without his brain fucking exploding into a puddle of perversion.
"Hey. Darby says Hirsch usually hangs out at the Hairy Dog in the evenings. We could pick him up there, then take him some place private to chat." Otto said, once Tig assimilated back with the group.
If Mattie wasn't so closely tied to this club business, maybe Tigger could keep her out of his thoughts. Normally, his focus was narrowed, but today, with her safety threatened, it was all over the goddamn place. But everyone else seemed to have their shit together. Jax and Opie were standing above Darby, looking determined. Bobby had gone to put a call into the Dog to see if Hirsch was around. They'd gotten a late start, wanting to catch Darby after his lunch break and before he closed up shop for the day, plus after the combination of interrogation and shit kicking it was nearly sunset. Tacoma and Fresno were probably just about finished taking care of the drug dens that had started popping up closer and closer to Charming. Hobart was doing his best to get in touch with them. Clay, Otto and Piney discussed how to separate Hirsch from his Nazi friends that were likely with him. And Book just paced back and forth, thinking, the muscles in his arms jumping every once in a while. It wasn't anxious movement, the monotonous movement purposeful in some way.
"Trying to figure out how to kill Darby if he's lyin' to us." Bobby had come back from his phone call, answering Tig's wordless question. "Without it gettin' tracked straight to the club. I take it you never seen Book get into his murder zone. You ain't the only freak show around here, Tiggy."
The Secretary thumped him on the back, and then went to tell Clay the news. Hirsch was at the Hairy Dog, but had a couple guys with him. Nothing that the Sons couldn't handle. Tacoma would head over to help; Fresno would finish with the rest of the crank labs. A plan was set into motion, and Tig followed his brothers- minus Jax and Ope- to their bikes to take the ride over to Lodi.
The sound of all the Harleys riding into the bar's tiny parking lot definitely attracted attention. A tall, heavy white dude with a shaved head walked out the back door; too nonchalant in the way he studied the cavalry that arrived to take out his boss. He had the SS behind his ear, like some of the other Aryan Brotherhood assholes Tig had seen. Gave Germans a bad name.
Tigger didn't remember his grandfather well, he died before Tig went to grade school, but he did remember the old man speaking to Tig's father, both of them arguing back in forth in the harsh language. Tig didn't know a word of German- beyond counting to ten and Scheiss, which was all he really needed- but Mattie had tried to teach him a couple things once. She took German in school. Trager means support. Well, technically architectural support, but it's still kinda cool. You know, considering your job in the club. Nobody else had ever bothered to think about his heritage. Hell, he didn't most of the time. But his last name did carry a sort of scary significance with his role in the Sons. Clay leaned on him, real hard sometimes, but Tigger never buckled.
Support.
Things worked out in funny ways sometimes. Like this Nazi asshole trying to pull the whole cowboy act in order to seem intimidating.
"You boys lost or something?" Big and Tall motioned to the spot where his holstered gun hung off his hip. "Ain't nothing for ya'll here, promise ya that."
Clay just held up both his hands like he was willing to concede. It was an act of course; they had Big and Tall vastly outnumbered with more members due to arrive at any moment. Just trying to make him see like he had full control of the situation, keep him calm for as long as possible.
"I'm not trying to step on any toes here. Just need to speak to a man named Hirsch. Heard that he's been hanging out here recently."
"Heard wrong. Just me and a couple friends inside. Real loyal friends, you know what I mean." Big and Tall motioned to that SS symbol by his ear.
"I'd feel better taking a look around for myself, know what I mean? Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you with some friends of my own." Clay looked towards Hobart. "Stay with this idiot. Shoot him if he does something stupid."
Hobart nodded, and the rest of them walked past a stunned Big and Tall. Apparently he thought that the men wearing cuts were going to be frightened off by his little bouncer routine. After stuttering out a few more syllables, he became consigned to the fact that he was little more than bump on the road. Tig wondered absently whether that was the motherfucker's first or last name.
The Hairy Dog wasn't anything special on the inside, a stretch of polished wood bar top, worn pool table, a scattering of degenerate drunks here and there. Pretty normal as far as dives went. Tig preferred the comfort and privacy of the club, but was known to stop in every once in a while to see what sort of women were hanging out. Rarely was there anything special, but fuck, Tigger wasn't always looking for special. Sometimes, a mouth and a pussy would do when he got into one of his moods.
"Clay-" The bartender tried to call out as the Sons walked through, a cluster of white hate congregating at one of the corner tables, their conversation louder than whatever bullshit was playing on the radio. The cops wouldn't get called, but the proprietor of this particular establishment probably didn't want to pay for whatever shit that would no doubt get busted if Hirsch wasn't cooperative.
But his shout got lost in the clomping of boots against well-varnished floorboards, the Sons making their way towards their target.
"Well, well, if we don't got us a couple of bonafide Sons of Anarchy visiting our humble little hangout. Darby send you over?" The man in the seat closest the wall asked, sneering. All four of them were bald, only distinguishable by the tattoos on their skin. His was a bold heil between the top two buttons of his shirt. "Guess he let you know that we're not playing nice with the Nords no more."
"Let's cut all the bullshit, fellas." Clay boomed, using the kind of no-nonsense voice that made prospect piss their pants. "Which one'a ya is Hirsch?"
Heil grinned. "He stepped out a while ago. Had some business to attend to. Something about a bird, I think."
Tig's blood ran cold. Bird? Like a Cardinal? What the fuck was the asshole trying to say? It was impossible, he told Mattie to stay at the clubhouse, she'd have no reason to duck out. And they'd only been gone a few hours, Christ, she couldn't have gotten that restless. If they'd only told her about the photo, about the message, then maybe, just maybe, his warning would've actually meant something.
"Excuse me? If you're going to speak in riddles, I might as pull your goddamn tongue out, that's how much use you are to me." Clay intoned, bending down to get face to face with the Neo-Nazi. "Because if you so much as touched a hair on any of our women's heads, I will make sure you meet a slow, sloppy end."
"I didn't touch nobody. Hirsch, well, he has an eye for young pussy. Never know what a psychopath like him could do."
No. Everything was wrong. Mattie was safe. She was cooking, running around with her younger cousins, shooting the shit with Donna, there was absolutely no way that Hirsch or anybody else could get to her. These idiots were saying things to get a rise, to provoke the Sons enough so that they'd be distracted for another few minutes. So that Hirsch could get away. But Mattie was fine. It was just a bluff. Please, let it be just a fucking bluff.
"You know what? Why don't you come outside and talk with us? My friends, Book and Tigger, they're real good at talking." Clay gestured towards them, Book and Tig exchanging a glance simultaneously.
You think they're telling the truth? Book's hazel eyes- the same exact shade as Matt's- asked.
If not, they're dead.Tig replied just as silently.
Because Clay was right. If Hirsch so much as touched one hair on Mattie's head, Tigger would not rest until whoever was responsible stopped breathing.
He didn't save her once just to lose her not even six months later.
Mattie needed an hour, two tops. Just to get away from all the noise and all the kids, to stop that claustrophobic tickle whenever she walked into the clubhouse. During parties, club get-togethers, she liked having everybody close. Didn't mind her cousins and the rest of the kids climbing on top of her and asking questions, wondering whether she'd play a game with them. Or helping Gemma and Luann in the kitchen, listening to them gossip back and forth. But today… shit. All Mattie could think about was going home, sitting in front of her piano and letting go. Her thoughts and worries floating away, just her fingers and the keys and the music. No Tigger, no lockdown, nothing. Just sound and touch.
It was easy enough to sneak out of the lot; all she had to do was spin some line about fetching feminine hygiene products to Fresno's prospect by the gate and out she went. Hell, whatever was going down with the Nords couldn't be so terrible. They were the fucking Nords for Christ's sake. Just a pest, never really a threat. That was how Book always talked about them, and all the other Sons just reaffirmed that opinion. The mood wasn't as tense as back in '93, during that drawn out war with the Mayans, so Mattie figured that getting away from Teller-Morrow for a little while could only do her some good.
The piano was the only hobby- although it kind of felt like something much more than that- Mattie had that could be considered feminine. Well, compared to her other interests, at least, which included boxing, video games, and Texas Hold'em. She was raised amongst a bunch of motorcycle riding men though, so it wasn't like Mattie was going to magically become a ballerina or something like that. Book might've disowned her for that one.
Music had been a part of her life since she was three, when Reese insisted that the way that her daughter pounded on the old family piano was more music than racket. It was really the only thing she'd ever done for her daughter. To Mattie, the piano was one of the few things that she was really good at. Something to be proud of, that other people could associate with her besides the Sons of Anarchy. It was only so long that she could be a best friend or a daughter or a niece. Mattie craved her own individual identity, something just for herself.
In school, if she was part of any particular clique, it was the band geeks. Except they didn't actually fully accept her. Mattie wasn't in marching band or concert band, just the accelerated jazz band that practiced early in the morning before school and late in the afternoon. They competed some weekends, won a bunch of awards, and went back to school on Monday morning like nothing had happened. Hell, the music department had a shitload more trophies than any of the sports teams, and a fraction of the funding. Trophies that Mattie had helped to earn. She'd won a couple soloist awards, all displayed on the mantle above the fireplace at home- except for one, which Book 'borrowed' to show off to his brothers and then forgot to return. It had gotten lost amongst the MC knick-knacks, but Mattie didn't mind. At least the Sons made her feel included. The kids at high school, well, her MC association made people nervous enough to leave her alone. Mattie hadn't cared for her first three years, she had Jax, Opie and Donna to keep her company, but then they all graduated. She had to survive that last lonely year all alone. Should've thought that one out. Everybody else already had their designated groups of friends. No room left for Mattie.
Well, she had Mary Singleton for a few weeks, and look how that turned out. Nope. Alone was better.
As soon as she went home- well, not home but the club, because that's where she met Book after school- there were tons of people that cared about her. It was kind of strange, walking around ignored for seven some-odd hours and then going to Teller-Morrow and never getting a moment alone. There were so many people to talk to, to listen to, and then there was Tigger… even though Mattie wasn't sure what she wanted to do with him just yet.
So maybe growing up in the club made her something of a social outcast, but whenever Mattie was with her family, she didn't really care.
Which was why it was so weird that they were all getting on her nerves. She never had urge to get away from the club before, usually her inclination was to run towards it. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Mattie had less than a year left living in Charming before she went off to college. Or, and this was what she was leading towards, Tigger's warnings to stay put were backfiring. He hadn't meant to use reverse psychology, but that's how it felt to Mattie. Why should she stay? She wasn't important. Gemma, Luann, hell, even Precious, Mattie could see why they would need be at the lockdown. But Matt was just one of the kids.
At least, that was how she was justifying walking inside her house and heading straight for the piano. And, you know, not telling anybody where she'd gone off to. Because if she'd done that, then they wouldn't have let her go.
Mattie would've gone legitimately crazy if she had to watch one more episode of Pokemon with Tiki. Or had to flip another burger. She just needed to unwind for a little while, then she could head back. Nobody would miss her. It'd be okay.
Although, she kind of hoped that Tig wouldn't find out that she'd gone anywhere. She never directly disobeyed him before and didn't exactly want to figure out what happened if he found out. He was known for his punishments; after all, it was part of his job as Sergeant-at-Arms. But Mattie wasn't one of the boys. She had to admit though; thinking of him all worked up was sending a peculiar heat through her stomach. Mattie had seen him pissed before, shit, it was practically his default setting, but every since her brain got flipped upside down she wasn't reading his emotions right. Before, his rage meant stay away. Now, it was just fucking sexy. Christ, there was something wrong with her.
Mattie flipped through the stack of sheet music sitting atop her piano, looking for a couple pieces to get lost in before she took her ass back to the club. Something difficult enough to absorb her attention, but played through enough times so that she wouldn't be frustrated. Setting up a metronome- the little tic tic tic helped to lull her into calmer state of mind too- Mattie gently grazed the black and white keys before getting to work. Music wound throughout the room, distracting her from the outside world. There was only the piano and her hands and the sheet music. The flipping of pages and key changes. Crescendos and tempo changes.
A pair of hands settling on her shoulders. Shit. Mattie stopped playing, knowing that she'd been caught. Turning, she flipped her music shut and got ready to apologize for leaving the club, but-
She had no idea who the fuck she was looking at. Tall, burly-chested, short black hair. No cut. No identifying marks, besides the portrait of Hitler proudly displayed above a surprisingly crisp white wifebeater.
Goddamn it, Tig had been right. She shouldn't have left. Charming wasn't safe until the Sons finished their business and now Mattie was somehow caught up in it.
"You must be baby Matilda." The man drawled, a heavy Southern twang in his voice. Mattie wondered briefly if it was fake, before her brain started to twinge in panic. She should run. No, she should stay put. What if he had a gun? Where was the shotgun Book always kept in the house? The kitchen, she could get a knife from the kitchen…
"Who the hell are you?" She managed to get the phrase to tremble from between her lips, although it sounded much more confident than she actually felt.
"I'm a friend of your mom's. And Darby. Remember Darby? Well, I guess I'm not so close with Darby anymore. Or your mama, really." He took a step closer, putting a hand on the gun holstered on his hip. A warning. He could draw and shoot much faster than Mattie could get away. "Your mama is a whore, you know that? I bet you're a whore too. You look like her. Maybe prettier. Younger, that's for fucking sure."
"If you know my mother, then you know who my dad is. And if you do anything to me, he'll kill you. His brothers will hunt you." Mattie challenged, hoping that her bravery might disarm him- figuratively, of course. "You should also know that a judge lives next door."
"I'll make sure to be real quiet, then. And yeah, doll, I know who your daddy is. Once I'm done with you, yeah, he'll probably have to kill me. But by then, I'll already be in control of Charming, and I'll have gotten my revenge on Reese. The world will have been set right."
Reese? He was here because of Reese? Christ. The fucking bitch wasn't even part of Mattie's life and yet, here she was, threatening it. "I never see my mother. We have nothing to do with each other."
"You're still her kid. That Jew bitch's kid. Makes you half, right? Just be doing some ethnic cleansing. Can't believe I fucked her Jew pussy without knowing. Damn embarrassing. Humiliating. Let's see how smug that cunt is when I murder you, huh? How proud the Sons are of their little town when it's flooded with my crank. I'm going to ruin a lot of lives today, baby, and I might as well start with yours." He leaned forward, curling his hands around Mattie's throat. "Still trying to decide how to do this. I was gonna fuck ya, but you are half-a-Jew. Don't know if it'd be worth it to expose myself to that kind of filth again. I would've shot you, but like you said, lots of nosy neighbors. Shit, girly. Got some kind of dilemma."
Go ahead. Waste time. Let Book figure out that Mattie wasn't where she belonged; let him interrupt this unnamed asshole's little soliloquy. Because if he tried to touch her, things weren't going to go well. Mattie's left hand might not ever be the same, but she'd break whatever bones were necessary if it meant getting out of his clutches. It was too late to run, but it wasn't too late to fight.
Mattie almost died in October. The reaper was visiting her again, albeit in a more upfront, violent way, but she wasn't going anywhere. Life was not going to end at seventeen; there was no fucking way she was going to let that happen.
So when he stalked forward after freeing the knife that was sheathed on his ankle, Mattie waited for him to strike. It would've been smarter for him to shoot her, then to make the mad dash to safety while the police were called, but if he was willing to strike revenge on Reese because she didn't tell him that she was Jewish, well, Mattie wasn't betting on smarts. Or that he knew she'd watched her father box since she was old enough to stand, and that she'd been a decent fighter for a few brief years. For some reason, despite the fact that he had a knife and she didn't, Mattie felt like she had the advantage.
Until his arms flew out, catching her, knocking her to floor. His hands found purchase on her skin and Mattie was trapped.
There was a knee pressed into her stomach, so that no matter which way she struggled, she couldn't free herself. Mattie couldn't get enough air to scream, and once that knife was pressed against her throat, shit, she couldn't even think. Everything went blank, her mind just a running list of all things she could do in order to stay alive. Move. Just fucking move! A voice at the back of her head screamed, wailed for action, but Mattie couldn't. The knife was too tight to afford much movement.
She couldn't die. She just couldn't. There were so many things she was going to miss out on. College. Getting a job. Getting married. Starting a family. Christ, she'd never get to have kids. Mattie would never get to prove to Reese what a shitty mother she'd been. Get to make Book a proud grandfather. And what did she have to show for her life anyway? Good grades? A couple trophies for playing the piano? A broken hand? Mattie hadn't even been properly fucked.
Jesus, things had to be getting desperate if that's where her thoughts went. Especially when she associated that last desperate idea with Tigger. Now, in the moment right before she was going to die, she could see it all so clearly.
Mattie had feelings for Tig. Real, strange, romantic feelings. It didn't matter that she was seventeen and that he… wasn't. That's just what things were. He saved her life once, and now it was her turn to do the heavy lifting and fight her way back to him. Mattie could do it. Only one of her legs was pinned down by this Reese-hating asshole, so if she could swing her knee upwards, catch him off guard and then knock the knife loose, or at least away from her throat, she might be able to free herself. The only other option was waiting to die, and well, Mattie wasn't willing to take the backseat in this situation.
Angling one hip closer to the carpet, giving her free leg a bit of leverage while the nameless man babbled incoherently to himself about how to kill her, Mattie made the decision to strike while his attention was mostly on himself. Just as he said that he wanted things to be messy, she gave him the opportunity. Her right knee collided with the small of his back, which Mattie knew from experience didn't feel very good. Definitely the distraction she needed. The knife was gone while he recoiled, and so she used her good hand, the right, to knock him in the jaw. The blow made her whole arm reverberate with the impact, although Mattie managed to roll out from underneath him.
Book's shotgun was out of the question. She didn't know where it was. The little pistol Gemma gave Mattie for her 15th birthday was in her underwear drawer, too far away to make a dash for. The knife, though, that was a good idea.
Because somebody was going to die. And it sure as shit wasn't going to be her. So Mattie hit him again, with her left hand, which even though it was busted had always been the side she favored. Her knuckles against his skin felt strangely good, so she did it again, until he staggered to his feet.
The knife struck her arm somewhere in the next swing, the steel sinking into her flesh so quickly that Mattie barely noticed the blow until the blood started to fall onto the beige living room carpet. Jesus. He got her good, and went to stab wildly again, but Mattie had already taken a step backwards and thrown her right fist forward. It caught him in the wrist, the awkward angle making him drop the blade. He looked up for a brief moment, his dark eyes flashing with something other than bloodlust. Yeah. The playing field got a little bit more even.
When her attacker bent down to fumble for his knife, Mattie decided to risk kicking at him, even though Book always said that kicking during a fight was for pussies. It didn't matter. Her pride was already hurt, being cornered in her own house by an absolute stranger looking to get revenge on Reese. Why didn't he kill her? What did Mattie have to do with anything? How did he even fucking know that she was home? Maybe he had eyes on the lockdown and watched her leave, followed Mattie back to her house and she didn't even know it. She was such an idiot. Book taught Mattie how to protect herself, shit, she'd known how to shoot a gun while she was still in elementary school, how to throw a decent punch much earlier than that. She wasn't some delicate little flower. Matilda Cardinal was a shit-kicking, tough girl who could take on the nameless asshole who decided that this would be her last day on Earth.
Her foot collided with his shoulder as he bent down, knocking him backwards. That was the moment he went for the gun, unsteady as he was, probably tired of Mattie fighting back. Terror washed through her for a single, irrational moment, before she lashed out again, her right fist catching his forearm, allowing the Glock to fall to the carpet, her left colliding with the side of his neck. Distraction. A flinch that allowed Mattie to duck down and pull cold, vicious metal into her palms. Enough was enough.
She tugged the safety off, lined up her shot and fired. And then she squeezed the trigger twice more. Until Mattie was sure that the body on the floor wasn't going to be moving anytime soon.
Exhausted, Mattie sat on the floor next to the unnamed man who tried to murder her, watching his blood seep into the carpet. Her own was still trickling down her arm, another gash inside her palm also bleeding pretty well. The adrenaline coming in waves was messing with her memories- she couldn't recall getting struck. All Matt could think about was sitting in the little jail cell back at Charming PD. Lawyers pleading self-defense in front of an unsympathetic Judge Hale.
And she didn't care. There was no guilt, no remorse.
Because she was alive. And whoever this was, dead in her living room, wasn't.
So Mattie sat and waited. The sirens would come soon.
Tigger rode wildly, ducking through traffic, going so much over the speed limit that it was a fucking miracle he didn't get pulled over. All that mattered was finding Mattie, figuring out where the hell she could be. Book, Bobby and Otto were checking out some of Hirsch's other hangouts, but Book was… Tig couldn't even think of a word to describe the man's mental state. Unhinged was the closest he could get. Christ, the man took those Nazi pricks out pretty much on his own when they hinted that Mattie was in trouble. At that point, Tigger still thought it was a bluff, a distraction, but then Piney called the clubhouse to make sure.
He said that Gemma couldn't find her. Couldn't find her for hours. The prospect guarding the gate said she went out for tampons and Tig was so goddamn angry. She didn't listen to him. There were assholes out for her blood for some fucking mystery reason and Mattie decided not to heed his warning. Somebody wanted to hurt his girl, his innocent, angel-faced girl, and Tig didn't even know the first place to look.
He wanted to be hunting down Hirsch with the other guys, but Clay told him to look for Mattie. Check out her hangouts. Tig had meticulously checked the library and bookstore, popped in the little music store downtown, even looked inside the one room movie theatre on Main Street. Nothing. Forty minutes wasted, and he wasn't any closer to figuring out where she was. The plan was to return back to the clubhouse by eight, no matter the result, and if Mattie was still gone, they'd all regroup, re-plan, and start again.
Fuck, Tigger would search until dawn if that's what it took.
First though, he'd check her house, in case she stopped in and didn't even realize that everyone was searching like mad for her. Please, Jesus Christ, let that be what happened. Let all this bullshit be a false alarm. Because, really, what would Hirsch need with Mattie? Why was she so damned important to him? If his beef was with Darby, with the Sons, an innocent kid shouldn't matter. But they weren't dealing with normal human beings. By Darby's account, Hirsch was a Southern idiot so consumed by race hatred and the desire to expand his crank business that Tig wasn't sure what he'd do. Kill Mattie? Rape her? He didn't want to think about it. Couldn't. Because it was making him nauseous to go down either train of thought.
There were feelings there, for Mattie. He didn't care if she was seventeen. Not anymore. That girl was something more than just Book's kid, and Tig couldn't deny it any longer. She was beautiful and sweet and smart, and if he kept dragging his heels and closing his eyes and pretending like he wasn't interested in her, he'd lose her. Damn, he'd been so jealous of Kozik talking to Mattie that morning. Because the blonde was better looking than him, younger, fitter, and not such an asshole. Well, Tigger thought he was an asshole, albeit a different kind of asshole from himself. Not so bitter, not so fucked up. Mattie had every reason to run straight to Koz's bed. But Tig didn't want her to. He wanted Mattie. He wanted her so fucking badly, and now she was in danger.
There was a strange car in Mattie's driveway and Tig's heart and stomach sank simultaneously. It was just the orange Ford pickup though, Mattie's little Honda nowhere to be seen. He pressed a palm onto the truck's hood, hoping that it'd still be warm, but no. It was stone cold. Like it'd been sitting for a long time. Like Tigger was too goddamn late. So he drew his gun and jogged to the front door, noticing how it was just the littlest bit ajar. Shit. Hirsch got there first. Tig couldn't save her. He couldn't do anything.
Stepping gingerly inside in case Hirsch had Mattie alive and was waiting for one of the Sons to come in and intercept, Tig looked around. The entranceway was normal, nothing out of place. Just the regular clutter of coats and shoes. Once he walked inside the living room, he saw it.
The blood. There was so much fucking blood.
A sound lit the air; so suddenly and so loudly that Tig didn't even know what it was at first. Then he realized that the strangely low-pitched sound was his own voice, screaming her name over and over, desperately calling for a girl that he knew wasn't even close to being alive anymore. Sinking to his knees, Tigger felt the grief envelope him. She was gone. He'd saved her once, and now… Damn it. His whole body hurt, his temples clanged with the bells of misery. Tigger didn't cry, but the tingle of oncoming tears blurred his vision. He failed her.
Tig had to find Mattie, had to make sure that asshole didn't defile her body, had to make sure that she was safe for Book to see. Because as shitty as Tigger felt, well, it wouldn't hold a candle to her father. That man lived for her. He killed to protect her. And now it was all for nothing. Standing, Tigger stumbled a few more steps, blinking away unshed tears, hating himself for being so weak. Mattie wasn't his Old Lady, his girlfriend, or his lover, but somehow, she was still his. He couldn't explain it. The notion was just a feeling of inexplicable ownership that tugged inside his chest every so often. She was the third woman he'd lost. Annie, Colleen, and Mattie.
Weakly, Tig looked towards the kitchen, where there was a little hallway that divided it from the living room. And he saw the body, stretched out on the floor, blood slowly soaking and traveling through the carpet.
But it was too tall to be Mattie. Too many swastika tats, short, short hair. It was a man's body. Which meant maybe, just fucking maybe…
Mattie was sitting cross-legged on floor near the body, studying the lifeless form so thoughtfully that she didn't even recognize Tig right away. Then her expression, that strangely calm face, twitched into life. She was okay. She was alive. Covered in blood that Tig wasn't entirely sure belonged to Hirsch, but she was in one piece. His Mattie was fine.
"Tigger?" Mattie's voice was so tiny that he wanted to reassure her somehow. But Hirsch was sprawled on the ground between them, occupying all the space that Tig wanted to leap over in order to see her.
"Baby?" He asked tenderly, still trying to figure out how to reach her. "Baby, are you okay?"
"I-I had to kill him. He was gonna, he was gonna…" She trailed, lips trembling just a little bit. "Jesus motherfucking Christ, I killed him. I shot him, Tigger. I fucking shot him."
Her tone warbled just as Tig vaulted over Hirsch, landing near enough to Mattie to see the gash across her forearm and the one in the palm of her left hand. The broken one, if he remembered right. That had happened when she was just another kid. But now she was something more, something important, and Tig just had to touch her. Hold her; make sure she was really okay.
He lifted Mattie into his arms, getting as close as possible without crushing her. One of her hands burrowed into his hair, the other clutching his shoulder, and relief flooded him. She was whole. His Mattie was whole. Tig gently lifted her face, running a thumb over her cheekbones, then her lips, just because he could. Mattie tilted into his caress, not shying away from his callused fingertips.
"I'm sorry, Tig. I'm so sorry for not listening to you. I shouldn't have left." Mattie whispered, leaning her forehead against his.
"It's okay." Her mouth was so close that Tig was almost unable to focus. The gun on the carpet drew his attention, though. Shit. Neighbors might've called the fucking police. That was the last thing Mattie or the club needed.
Mattie grabbed him tighter. "I murdered him, Tigger."
"In self defense. Don't worry. If PD has to handle things, Unser will take care of you. I promise, sweetheart. It'll be okay."
She nodded, her hazel eyes staring directly into his. Trusting him to make things right. Tigger would, for the girl that had accidentally been turned into a killer, Christ, he might do just about anything. He didn't like the dangerous and invisible pull she had, but he couldn't fucking deny it anymore. Mattie was just a baby, just a kid, but… there was some unknown force that kept pushing them together, kept them tangled in one another. He couldn't pretend it was just a matter of attraction, something that Mattie would grow out of and he'd grow tired of. She was seventeen… but she wasn't. Her age and her maturity level were two completely different numbers.
"Tigger?" Mattie asked quietly, her gaze roaming over his face for a few seconds before flicking her eyes back into that stare.
"Yeah, babe?" All Tig had were those intimate little nicknames. Couldn't touch her at the club, could barely look at her. So he used the babies and the sweethearts and the dolls in order to convey feelings he didn't even fucking understand.
"This is going to sound weird, and I don't want to scare you, but…" She sighed and leaned her head back. "I don't know. Forget it."
"Mattie? What is it?" Was she worried about the dead man on the floor? Did he touch her? Because even though Hirsch was dead- the flush of rage was so sudden and so potent that Tig couldn't finish the thought. He didn't want to imagine something like that happening to Mattie.
"I-I… this going to sound so stupid. You're going to think I'm crazy."
"I won't. I promise." Tig held her a little closer, their bodies flush. Mattie shivered, just a little, and he began to wonder whether she was okay after all. Christ, she was probably in shock or some shit.
"Okay." Mattie drew a deep breath. "I think I'm starting to… fall for you. And I know that it's wrong and that it's completely weird, and that you're probably not interested in me at all, but Tigger… I don't know what to do. I want to call it a crush, a fascination, but it's not. It's more and it's uncomfortable, but it's how I feel. And after today, after being so close to- I just can't not acknowledge it anymore. I'm sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry."
Tig didn't answer. Not with words. He lifted her chin and pressed his lips against hers, so hard that he was sure Mattie was going to pull back in pain, but she just placed one of her hands against his cheek. Her soft palm rasping against the bristle of five-o'clock-shadow that was beginning to grow, his fingers gripping her waist for dear life. Because it was killing him not to lift her off the ground and carry her into the bedroom, rip off her little t-shirt and run his mouth over those luscious young tits. Then he'd slowly, deviously unbutton her jeans, let Mattie cry out for more before plunging inside her. Christ, he wanted her so fucking badly; even if was technically against the law.
He'd committed worse crimes.
But instead, Tig pressed Mattie's ass against the kitchen cabinets, kissing her deliriously, parting her lips with his tongue, needing to taste her. Without thinking, he squeezed one of her breasts, eliciting a cry of pleasure that made it even harder to keep his dick in his pants. Mattie whined again as his tongue rolled around hers, sunk her tiny hands into his cut and pulled herself upwards.
Maybe she wanted him just as badly. Judging by the way she shamelessly bucked her hips, the answer to that unasked question was a definite yes.
Things someplace in Tigger's brain shifted, emotions rolling around in places where he'd not allowed them for a long time. He truly cared about the girl practically begging him to fuck her, cared in such a deep, frightening way that made him reconsider his current decision to take her right there in the kitchen. Mattie was probably shaken up, even if she'd been the picture of placidity up until Tig decided to stick his tongue halfway down her throat. She'd just killed a man that tried to kill her. Fragile would not even begin to describe her mental state. So, he'd wait before figuring out where her bedroom was, before exploring the flesh underneath her clothing.
When he pulled his mouth away, breathless, just the tiniest bit love drunk, he could feel her disappointment. Or maybe his was just ebbing off in palpable waves.
"Yeah?" Mattie asked quietly, swollen lips tugging into a smile.
"Yeah." Tigger replied, grinning back.
Yeah. He didn't think he could put it any better.
A/N: Yeah, I was totally nerdy enough to look up the meaning of Tig's last name. Blame it on seven years of German and an absurd amount of curiosity. Next post is going to flick back to present time, and will probably go down that road for a couple chapters at least, mostly because I'm still working on the next batch of flashbacks. Anyway, thank you for reading, and please leave a review and let me know what you think!