A/N: I've scrapped and rewritten this chapter about ten times now and I really, really hope you guys enjoy it! Between insomnia and general writer's block, I've been one exhausted writer. Please enjoy my product of exhaustion.

I'm hoping to update this weekend, but I am slammed busy with Thanksgiving prep! I've got a few snippets of chapters written. Also feel free to go on the Tumblr I have for this story (inxanotherxworldx dot tumblr dot com), where I post little updates, musings, songs, pictures of minor characters, such as , and I accept prompts to write as one-shots!

I pack a chainsaw
I'll skin your ass raw
And if my day goes this way, I just might
Break your fucking face tonight
Give me something to break

Limp Bizkit — Break Stuff

From the minute Shane Abernathy took sight of Jackson Teller, the stark contrast was nearly amusing. Teller was some white trash, long-haired biker married to a junkie and Shane was an agent well on his way to supervisor. From the time Rhiannon had spoken of him, it was clear she came to her senses and upgraded. She was a kitten in need of rescuing, but she needed to change some things. While some men preferred some meat on their women, Shane preferred the thin look.

You'd be so beautiful if you lost some weight. You'd feel so much more desirable.

Her family needed to go. They simply distracted her too much. They didn't share the same views. Emmett, especially, with his annoying meddling and succeeding in helping Rhiannon embarrass him in front of everyone the day of the wedding. Shane's first thought at his passing was good riddance. Persephone Wallace and her incessant need to 'protect' Rhiannon and over-compliment her. No matter how many times he had told Rhiannon to stop talking to her, she just wouldn't listen. Not even grabbing her face to force eye contact worked.

Her fear upon seeing him, however, was absolutely delicious. Her punishment wasn't finished yet. She had humiliated him and now he'd take everything from her? Shane wasn't good enough for her? It would be hard for Teller to be good enough for her from behind bars serving a life sentence. First loves died hard and Shane would see to it that this one died once and for all. Their little 'chat' in the hospital had been nauseating to overhear and see from a distance. The way Rhiannon leaned into him, the way Teller lit up like a pathetic child, it was disgusting to witness. The Westmoreland family were white-trash masquerading as people who fancied themselves important. Michael was an addict, Nina overworked, the older two got married out of high school, one was a dropout, and the other was an addict. Rhiannon was the only one who with potential. With the right guiding hand, she could have been somebody, but her 'heart' had gotten in the way.

Oh, no, it was far from over. He knew from whispers around Charming (a fucking cesspool, if anyone asked him) that Emmett's house had gone to Rhiannon.

What a pity it would be if something were to happen to it.

The Charger and the truck were both gone and Shane pleasantly made his way to the front door. He jiggled the knob and the door immediately popped open. It figured she didn't lock the door.

He stepped inside to the foyer. Dingy, dated. The living room to his left held only a worn dark-brown leather couch with blankets strewn over top and a dark teak coffee table. His fingers closed around a crowbar laying nearby, clearly a weapon in case of home invasion. The linoleum tile had ripped up in some places and the hardwood floors creaked under his weight as he walked. He knelt down to pick it up and his fingers curled around the rusty tool. It held some heft as he weighed it in his palm.

With a swing of his arm, he slammed it into the wall to make a large hole. The prongs went under the floor boards to rip up random planks. Stuffing came out of the couch, windows were shattered. His next move was the office. The expensive-looking printer/fax machine landed on the floor in a fantastic crash. He brought the crow bar down on the desk Rhiannon had loved so much, including the laptop resting neatly on top of a stack of papers. Those were torn into shreds.

The house was ripped apart by the time he left through the back.

It was nearly midnight when Rhiannon made it back to the house. Her shoulders ached from exhaustion, there was a kink in her neck that wouldn't seem to go away. For a moment, she deliberated on falling asleep in her old room for the chance to sleep on an actual bed. While San Francisco was loud, she found herself missing her apartment. Her bed was like a cloud and it was too easy to close the blackout curtains and sleep. The door was ajar when she landed on the porch and she nudged it open with her foot.

Trashed. Complete disarray. Damage. Everything was completely in ruin. It resembled something of a crack den instead of a once-functioning office. Her hand slid into her purse to pull out her cellphone.

"911, what's your emergency?'

"There's been a break-in at my house. 673 Cherry. Please, hurry," she whispered urgently into the phone. Of course, Charming's idea of hurry was forty-five minutes later. The red and blue lights lit up the street as the Crown Vic was parked and someone slid out. Unser.

"You gone in yet?" he called and Rhiannon tucked herself deeper into her jacket with a shake of her head.

"No, I didn't know if it was safe. I walked in and everything's just...trashed. I don't know if anything's stolen or not, I just went into the living room and came out to call you." It figured that she'd have to stay awake just that little bit longer. It was likely she wouldn't be able to go to sleep until the sun came up.

Thank God that tomorrow's Saturday and I don't have to work on top of this, she couldn't help but think.

"I'll take a look and we can draw up a police report. You got anywhere to stay tonight?" he asked and it was on the tip of her tongue to say no. Her family was asleep by now.

"I'll probably check into the motel. I just need to grab some clothes. It's been a shit day," she answered honestly as she stifled a yawn. "Can you just make sure no one's in here? We can do the police report in the morning?"

Of course someone broke into the house. Something was needed to round out the bullshit Bingo card of her month. Emmett's death, planning the funeral, Shane's resurfacing, her brothers being arrested, a rapist clown terrorizing a young girl. Local street urchins who thought the house was empty and decided to have fun, most likely. Rhiannon felt exposed on the porch, like someone was watching her every move.

"It's a goddamned mess in there, Rhiannon. I'll check on it in the morning, but I don't even know if there's anything to grab. It looks like someone just tossed the place. Electronics are smashed to shit, but it's clear," Unser reported.

Fuck, her laptop. The printer.

"Thanks, Wayne. I'm sorry you had to come in here this late," she said quietly. Her hands smoothed over her tired face and she took a deep breath. "It's just been one shitty thing after another."

Now Rhiannon stood in the living room of the ruined house. It all felt a little too pointed, but she had zero way of confirming anything beyond a feeling in the pit of her stomach. As much as she wanted to blame Shane for this, there was every possibility it hadn't been him and it truly was a random act of vandalism. Windows shattered, holes in the wall, holes in the floor, the office had been shredded apart. Files had been torn into pieces. Broken glass crunched under her boots as she moved throughout. Bedroom furniture had been tossed aside, books and pictures turned over and dumped on the ground. The worst had been the living room and office. The motel hadn't even been an option once Unser left; she'd passed out on the bed in her old room.

Where could she even start?

The truck needed an oil change before she could start probate, but starting it would be difficult with her laptop completely destroyed and no printer. The files were gone. First things first, Rhiannon needed to get copies of the files and move from there.

But she couldn't work from this house anymore, not unless someone watched over it. Not unless she moved in full-time and she had only planned to keep it as a potential second income. After all, no one wanted to vacation in Charming. It wasn't like she wanted to trade her current view of homeless people fighting over a shoe to hearing fireworks blow off at any given moment in time.

To make matters worse, she had run over nails at some point last night and woke up to see three flat tires on the Charger. If it was four, she could claim it on insurance, but three meant she had to pay out of pocket. And now wanted to answer their phone for her to ask for help. At the very least, she knew how to change tires. Her father's first rule of her living on her own was to know how to change her own oil and how to change flat tires.

There's a garage just around the corner, a little voice said, but she refused. At the very least, she knew how to take the tires off to try and inspect the damage. Driving on them was out of the question, even short distance. The shit storm continued.

It appeared as though the news of the vandalism was all over the place in the hours following. Rhiannon lost count of how many people approached her with 'heartfelt' apologies, offers for a shoulder to cry on (mostly from gross men who stared at her chest when speaking), and gossips who wanted to know more. It was nauseating. Even sitting in the park was disquieting, even while blasting music in one ear.

"Heard you left me for another mechanic. Ben Cabot finally get in your good graces?"

Jax.

Rhiannon was torn from her reverie and pulled out an earbud. "Well, it took him fourteen years to wear me down and let him peek under my hood, it was bound to happen" she joked. "Besides, I got told you were full up and couldn't get to me until the end of the day. I went for instant gratification."

"He still have a hard-on for you?"

"Oh, yeah. Nudged me, offered me a discount. Looked me up and down, whole deal. He expressed his regrets in ever letting me go." Rhiannon shuddered at the memory. Ben Cabot had been attractive enough as a teenager, but as an adult, his looks faded hard. His gross nature still remained, however. "I did, however, shamelessly flirt for a discount and it worked."

It still left a dull ache in her chest when she thought about it.

"You ever regret picking me over him?" came the question she hadn't expected. It was nearly impossible to know, but deep down, she knew the answer.

"You were way better for me than he ever was. Besides, he's married. And he just...really did not age gracefully at all," she responded. The question that had loomed on her mind for eleven years danced on the tip of her tongue and her fingers interlocked together. Her head dropped into her lap and she sat back up.

Across the park, she saw him.

Shane.

"Jax, Shane's right over there."