12 Rounds
"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" - Mary Oliver
Chapter One
With the roaring spectators surrounding him, Jackson Teller swung his fist through the air, connecting with his opponent's jaw. He reared his head back, relishing in the jeers and the energy buzzing around him, and slammed his forehead right into the nameless Mayan's face. That last hit wasn't necessary to win, but it felt good. Too good, and it sent shockwaves through the rest of his body as the Mayan fell to the rubber mat underneath their feet.
Happy leapt forward to raise Jax's right hand in the air, signaling his victory. Even as his brothers and his club rallied around him, all he could feel was the high. The problem was that in a few minutes, the high would wear off. So, with as much nonchalance as he could muster, he wiped the blood from his chin and allowed his club to huddle around him to celebrate the fruits of his labor.
Each fight netted the club a nice pile of cash, depending on the opponent, but it wasn't about the money for him. He needed the burn of his face ripping open, the crunch of his fist slamming into the faceless body in front of him. It was better than the shit he had to deal with as soon as the high faded away.
Chibs pulled him over to a side picnic table near the makeshift ring on T-M's parking lot and someone, probably Happy, held a beer out in front of his face and Jax took it willingly.
"You're a fuckin' madman in that ring, brother!" Tig was saying to him now as he clapped a hand on his shoulder. "A fuckin' madman!"
A madman with nothing to lose, Jax thought bitterly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mother's dark silhouette, her hands perched angrily on her hips as she watched the scene from a distance. Gemma did not understand his new addiction to the ring and hated the truth they both knew - that it was really the pain he was hooked on because it was pain he could control.
"You just haven't been the same, baby," his mother had told him earlier this morning. "It's like you're a completely different person. It scares me."
Truth be told, it scared him a little bit too, but fuck if he'd ever admit that out loud. And it definitely didn't scare him enough to stop.
Gemma was right. The man that went inside Stockton and the man that had come out a month ago just weren't one in the same. Everything was so much easier when he just tuned out his emotions - because when he did let himself feel something other than the pain and the high and the adrenaline he felt in the ring, none of it actually felt good.
But it was more than that though.
This life had hardened him and the byproducts of everything he'd lost because of it only added to his armor. Fourteen months in Stockton was really just the catalyst.
Maybe that was why he craved these bloody, bare-knuckled fistfights. The raw recklessness of the ring drew him in like a siren call - and maybe that was what scared Gemma the most. The club, and everything that surrounded it, used to be the only thing he needed to sustain him, to give him energy, to give him reason to wake up in the morning, but not anymore.
It was dangerous, but he was past the point of caring.
When his club president and stepfather, Clay Morrow, nodded to the parking lot, it was obvious that their special guests were ready to get down to business now that the show was over.
"C'mon, brothers," Clay gestured to where their guests were waiting as he clamped his cigar between his teeth. "We got some Irish callers to attend to."
Of course, it wasn't every day any of the Irish Kings decided to grace such lowly mortals with their presence. Let alone multiple Irish Kings.
But three of them had gotten on a plane and flown in this morning. Definitely not business as usual for the True IRA, but the business Leo Ryan, Brendan Roarke, and Galen O'Shay had on U.S. soil was anything but usual.
These Irish Kings, it seemed, were looking to cash in on a brand new arms deal with the Russian bratva. And seeing as how Samcro's relationship with the IRA spanned decades and they'd also had friendly dealings with the Russians in the past, the Kings thought a third-party negotiator might help smooth everything over and work out all the kinks before they started.
Not that Jax really gave a shit.
His club president, however, had other ideas.
All Clay saw were dollar signs and from where Jax was standing, letting money own you - especially the kind of dirty cash the Irish and the Russians were always peddling - just wasn't worth it.
But, given the fact that the majority of them had just spent 14 months in prison, funds were low and the club was strapped for cash. Hell, he'd started fighting as a way to make a quick buck for the club. He just hadn't anticipated how quickly he'd become fixated on the ring.
And the club did owe the IRA.
And because of that, they really did have their hands tied when the Irish Kings came calling, whether they liked it or not.
If this deal went through the way everyone hoped, Samcro stood to net a pretty sizable cut just for showing up and keeping the peace. On some level, it was hard to argue with that kind of payday, except for the fact that there were obviously some strings attached to this deal - otherwise, the Kings wouldn't need Samcro in the first place.
So, Jax took his place next to his club president, even though standing so close to Clay made him physically sick to his stomach.
"Gentlemen," Clay started smoothly. "Long time no see. It's a pleasure to have you at our clubhouse."
They exchanged the necessary niceties, everyone shook hands, and then they headed inside, letting their guests head up the front, with the club filing in behind them. Once everyone was settled in a booth and had a beer sitting in front of them, it was time to get this show on the road.
"So," Galen nodded to Clay, gently pushing his beer bottle away from him. "I suppose we should hammer out the details. We wanted to make good and sure everytin' was clear before our meeting on Saturday."
"I take it the venue hasn't changed?" Clay threw out easily.
"Nah," Brendan just lifted a shoulder. "Putlova's little casino out there'll do just fine. Keeps things a bit more discreet. It's always easier to hide in plain sight, ya know?"
Jax felt his eyes narrow, but he schooled his expression just as quickly. He ran a hand over his buzzed hair to draw any attention away from his reaction, wincing a little at the stiffness in his knuckles. While he didn't love the idea of getting in bed with the IRA anymore than they already were, he was also in no position to voice that opinion.
So he threw Brendan a tight smile, "Makes sense."
That, of course, turned some of the focus on him, which wasn't really what he'd intended by chiming in. For what it was worth, all he'd wanted to do was be polite.
"Ya looked mighty fine in the ring tonight, Jax," Leo nodded to him. "You've got a killer left hook there, boy-o."
"It's held up pretty well," he allowed, still feeling more than a little uneasy by this whole exchange. "Among other things."
"Hmm," Galen tipped his chin back in thought now as he appraised the young VP sitting across from him. "Ya seem to be all patched up and in fine fightin' shape again. That's a far cry from where ya were about seven or eight months ago, Teller."
Jax dipped his head in a nod, but Clay swooped in to answer for him.
"Our boy here's as strong as a fuckin' ox, in and outta the ring," he even clapped Jax on the shoulder for good measure.
This was all in the name of pretense, and of course, Clay didn't miss the opportunity to butter them up nice and good.
"Now I know this has been said before, but I'm gonna say it again," Clay went on. "There's no real way we'll ever be able to repay you for your protection and your assistance. But this is a start, am I right?"
All three Irish Kings stared back at Clay, and at Jax too, with the same wry, calculating grin. They had to have known this alliance and this business relationship would eventually put the club in a position where they'd need a favor. And in Stockton they'd needed seven favors for fourteen months - one for each Samcro member stuck behind bars.
That Irish protection on the inside had only gotten them so far, mainly because that protection couldn't exactly be everywhere at once. Some low-level, overeager white nationalist with a superiority complex put a shiv in Jax's ribs and his ass in the hospital ward for nearly two months. All his doctors claimed how lucky he was to be alive, how it had been a miracle, that if the shiv had hit just a millimeter higher, he would've bled out right on the concrete floor.
There were days Jax wished he had. And that was happening more often than he was willing to admit.
By the time he was cleared for gen pop again, their Irish contacts on the inside had already handled that low-level, overeager white nationalist and put him in the ground. After that, the rest of their time in Stockton had been fairly smooth and relatively uneventful.
He knew he should be grateful to the men sitting across from him, but it was still hard not to think about how he'd been cheated. How he'd been screwed out of his vengeance for petty, inter-secular reasons he didn't really give a shit about in the first place. The IRA hadn't batted an eye to dole out those favors, let alone swoop in to clean up the garbage without even making sure that was what the club wanted. And, it looked like they planned on cashing in on Samcro's gratitude for as long as they could.
Galen, to his credit, at least had the decency to shrug. "We didn't do anything you wouldn'ta done fer us. It's as simple as that. And all that bein' said, I feel good about pullin' the trigger on this deal with the Russians because we've got yer help and yer connections on this side 'a the pond."
"I'm glad our feelings are mutual then," Clay grinned a little too broadly and a little too eagerly for Jax's liking. "We got no problems sittin' at that table with you this weekend. How much negotiating are you plannin' on havin' us do? My understanding is that the only thing that's really worked out is the price, but that still leaves all kinda shit to think about - supply routes, hand-offs, storage locations, security for that storage, that sorta thing."
"Yah," Leo nodded tightly, folding his hands on top of the table. "And that's exactly what we need you boys for. You know this land, these laws, and you've got plenty of connections on both sides. We need yer eyes and ears on this deal because the last thing we want is to go home feelin' like there was somethin' we missed."
Right. Because once this deal was done, it would be on everyone else, including the IRA operatives they'd send in, to carry it out. The Irish Kings wouldn't be responsible for any of the dirty work themselves. No, they'd sit on their Irish thrones in their Irish pubs and enjoy the fruits of everyone else's labor from thousands of miles away.
"Well, that's what we're here for," Clay grinned back, clapping Jax on the shoulder again.
This whole thing just rubbed him the wrong way. As far as he was concerned, he had far better things to do for the rest of the evening than sit at this table and play nice. Right on the top of his list was grabbing the first bottle of Jack he could find and then passing out in his dorm. The less people he had to interact with, the better. He hadn't decided yet if he was better off grabbing a joint instead, but he had time to decide. That time, however, was being significantly squandered with each moment he spent sitting around a table with the Irish Kings.
Brendan leaned forward, almost as if he'd read Jax's thoughts, and tipped his chin to him. "Putlova also mentioned he was interested in talkin' to ya and yer other fighter," he gestured to Happy as he spoke, "about his underground league at the casino. It could be a good opportunity for yer club to get outta these dirty, backyard scuffles ya got goin' on here and move on to somethin' more on the up and up. Somethin' like that pays more too. I say we keep the negotiations goin' and milk that Russian for all we can."
Now, that perked Jax up pretty damn quickly.
And here he'd thought he was just going along to that casino this weekend to get away from Charming for a while.
"We've been to a few of those fights," Jax threw out lightly. He definitely didn't want to seem too eager, but his eyes still darted to Happy to gauge his reaction and found the normally stoic, heavily-tattooed biker listening carefully.
So Hap was intrigued too. That was good news.
The underground league that took place in the basement of the Wild Rose Casino and Hotel was a well-known secret in the outlaw world. The fights and the fighters in them were invite-only events - they were lucrative, whether you were betting or fighting, but the whole thing was exclusive as hell.
Viktor Putlova ran a tight ship over there, carefully vetting every spectator and every fighter and every match-up with the precision of a wartime general. That made those fights in that basement the hottest ticket on the west coast, even if Reno wasn't exactly on the coast. The club had been lucky to get an invite to a few fights because of their relatively friendly relationship with Putlova. They'd bet on the fighter with the Irish last name, of course, and he'd proven to be a fucking cash cow too.
So to have the chance to actually be in the fights and be the main attraction... that might be an offer Jax wouldn't be able to refuse.
Not to mention he already knew exactly where his cut of the winnings was going.
He hadn't gotten the courage to drive out to Modesto yet to see her and the kids, but he had a stack of cash from his previous fights he'd been saving to give her. His cut from the underground league would set Ope's family up pretty nicely, at least for as long as those fights lasted.
It wasn't enough. But it was all he had to give her at this point.
Jax threw a glance at Clay, and after finding his club president watching him carefully, he decided to just move ahead.
"Well, I can't speak for Hap, but I got no problems talkin' to Putlova about that."
Happy just nodded, which was probably the most they'd get from him. That was good enough for Clay, and after he exchanged a look with Tig, he clamped his lips around his cigar again with a nod.
"So, I'm thinkin, in light of all this," Clay started again. "We send a few of our guys over to Reno early so they can get the lay of the land and have that talk with Putlova. At the very least, that'll give us a better idea of just how much Putlova's gonna be willin' to wheel and deal, especially if he lets our guys in that league."
"I think that's a sound plan," Galen agreed with a wry smile. "I'll coordinate with Putlova and let him know."
Jax glanced at Happy, and they nodded at each other.
Yeah.
Getting in this league was a no-brainer, if they could manage it.
And at the very least, it would take him away from Charming most weekends. Right about now, he needed this distance and he needed it more than he was willing to admit.
With the cheers of the crowd surrounding her, Olivia Kelly let her fingers dance over the ivory keys, finishing out the last few notes of the band's song. It was hard to pinpoint her favorite part about all this - the crowd itself, the music flowing through her fingertips, or the camaraderie and the high that came with it. One of the lead singers for tonight's set, Joanna St. Claire, nodded and grinned to the crowd, just like she always did, before looking to their bandleader to get rolling on the next song.
This next one was quickly becoming a crowd favorite at the Whiskey Barrel jukebox and lounge, and they were drawing more people in from the casino's main floor with each bar. Liv launched into her part, accompanying Jo's retro-styling, and smiled as the crowd started to come alive.
"We Can't Stop" as it was normally performed wasn't her favorite, but the vintage retooling of the song, styled like a jam you'd be more likely to hear in a 50s-era nightclub, breathed new life into it. Their brand of covers as retro jazz, old-time blues, some soul, and even a little doo-wop was a hit with the crowds who gathered inside the casino, not to mention the fact that their sets kept people in the lounge, where they also tended to buy more than a few rounds of drinks while they listened to the show.
The boss, of course, liked that part more than anything, but as long as the booze kept flowing out and the money kept rolling in, he was also willing to afford them more leeway than they'd probably have otherwise.
They breezed easily through the last few songs of their set, a doo-wop motown re-styling of "My Heart Will Go On" fronted by one of the band's other singers, Sam Allen, a jazzy "Single Ladies," followed by another new addition to their setlist, a rousing, all hands on deck romp through the Friends theme. Luckily enough, they finished up their last song, "Stacy's Mom" reshaped as a speakeasy stomper, right before her hands started to cramp up. After a quick break, Liv and Jo jumped into their second role in the lounge - cocktailing in their fancy stage dresses.
The dresses were more costume than anything, but they were fun and mostly comfortable, especially the shimmery black little number she was wearing tonight, and they knew how to capitalize on their goodwill from the stage into tips on the floor. People were always eager to chat them up and compliment them on their performance, which also made them more likely to tip, and also more likely to keep ordering drinks from them too. With a buzz on, they'd be even more likely to go back out into the casino later to drop even more cash.
Of course, she barely got to keep any of her tips, but there was nothing she could do about that. At least not for another three years, and that was if she was lucky.
"You're so talented!" a particularly boozed-up woman was saying to her now. "I wish I could play like you!"
Liv had to lean back because the woman was basically flammable right now, but she pressed a friendly smile on her face.
"Thank you so much. We have a lot of fun up there, as you can see. And we're happy to take requests too! Can I get you another drink? I'm just about to head back up to the bar."
"Oh sure!" the woman grinned happily, pushing some money across the table.
She scooped up those bills with another good-natured smile and headed for the bar at the back of the lounge, where Jo was impatiently waiting for the bartender to hand over the drinks she needed.
Liv nudged her friend with her elbow and then tipped her chin toward the crowd, "They seem to be particularly over-served tonight. Should be a decent night for tips."
"Well," Jo huffed as she tucked some stray fire-engine red hair behind her ear, "It'd better be. We're not workin' our arses off up there for nothin', ya know."
"Speak for yourself," Liv laughed. "I had a great time up there just now."
"Yah, that's 'cuz you don't have to nick the spotlight from our buddy, Sam, over there," she gestured with her head toward where he was mingling and working the crowd like the seasoned pro he was.
Jo didn't actually have too many deep-seated issues with Sam. She was just competitive as hell, and they had a little friendly battle going on over whose song got more applause. Liv, for her part, tended to just stay in the background, just the way she liked it. The more focus on the singers, the better.
"This is true," Liv smiled back at her, and when the grin on Jo's face slipped a little, she knew what she was going to ask next.
"Did you -"
Liv just shook her head. "I haven't had a chance to check my phone yet, but he knows when all our sets are this week. He wouldn't call during one. I'll let you know when I hear from him, okay?"
Jo swallowed hard, schooling her expression back to the practiced and professional smile she plastered on whenever they were in the lounge. When Liv put a comforting hand on her shoulder, Jo shrank back for just a second and then lifted her chin.
"I know I'm being stupid," Jo smiled bravely. "I just wish he'd..."
Her lips lifted sadly as her heart twisted in her chest. This never got easier. The more time that passed, the harder it was to feel any kind of normalcy. Nothing about this was normal. Nothing about this was good either.
"I know," Liv reassured her. "C'mon, we've got tables to get back to."
Just as Liv turned to head toward those tables, a familiar figure materialized at the end of the bar. Even through the smoke-filled and crowded room, he was hard to miss. Liv swallowed hard when she felt his cold, calculating gaze fixated right on her, and she shot Jo a nervous glance. Jo had already zeroed in on the lounge's latest guest and she pushed out a heavy sigh. It was only a matter of time until -
There it was.
He lifted a hand, gesturing for Liv to follow him out of the lounge and onto the casino's main floor.
"Go on, Livie," Jo whispered. "I'll cover you."
Well, it wasn't like she had much of a choice. She'd been summoned. So, she dropped off the drinks she had on her tray, and headed to where Valentin Putlova waited patiently by the end of the bar in his navy bespoke suit. He smoothed back some dark hair as she approached, appraising her with even darker eyes, and it was all she could do not to recoil when he reached for her elbow to draw her in closer.
"Olivia," he greeted her in a tight voice.
"Hey, Val. What can I do for you tonight?"
When a slick smile twisted his mouth, she knew that was a pretty poor choice of words. There was nothing she wanted to do for him tonight, or any night for that matter, and they both knew it. They also both knew she was beholden to whatever business he had for her right now too.
"My father would like a word with you," he told her as he steered her away from the casino's main floor and right for a discreet, nondescript door disguised as a closet. This was really the entrance to the casino's underbelly, so to speak, and where all the bosses and their bosses and their bosses' bosses holed up over spreadsheets, monitors, and piles of cash.
The stark, brightly-lit hallway seemed to stretch on for miles, and maybe that was just because she wanted to get away from her current company as soon as possible.
"The set sounded great tonight," Val mused in that same low, muted voice he always used when he spoke to her, like he was trying to be gentle but didn't quite know how. "You sounded great tonight too."
She hadn't realized he'd been in the lounge before he'd popped in just now, but that was the least of her worries.
When he shifted a hair closer to her, she instinctively shifted closer to the wall, mentally preparing herself to scale the wall if she had to, if that meant she'd put as much distance between them as possible. He was at least a head taller than her, but it wasn't just his looming height that set her on edge. His entire presence monopolized the hallway and he just seemed to inch closer and closer to her with every step.
The man had never done much more than look at her, beyond speaking to her and occasionally taking her by the elbow, but that was still too much. Because when he looked at her, the quiet menace in his black eyes terrified her right down to her bones.
"Thanks," Liv answered finally.
She didn't even recognize her own voice right now. Didn't feel like she even had a voice, which was usually the way she felt whenever she had to see one of the Putlovas anyway. She had no other choice but to follow Val down this blindingly bright hallway to his father's office.
Viktor Putlova didn't come to you. You came to him.
That the casino was run by the Russian bratva was more of an open secret than anything. Viktor liked to lampoon as a businessman - and, from a certain point of view, that's exactly what he was. From the layout of the main floor, the precise amount of time the cocktail waitresses had to wait in between giving the patrons on the floor their next free drink, the food and cocktail menus in every restaurant, choosing every slot machine, vetting every single dealer, approving the band's set list from week to week - Viktor seemed to have his hand in just about everything on every floor and in every facet of the Wild Rose.
And that didn't even scratch the surface of what went on in the basement.
When Val pushed the door open to his father's office after knocking once, he dutifully stepped aside as she walked in and shut the door behind her. At least she more or less knew what to expect whenever Viktor summoned her to his bunker of an office. Of course, there was no way to know exactly what he wanted to talk to her about, but at least she knew what kind of treatment to expect.
His dark eyes lifted from his paperwork, and a kind smile crossed his face as he gestured for her to have a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.
"Hello, Liv," Viktor greeted her, leaning forward on his elbows now. The perusal was quick and efficient, but she didn't miss the way he took inventory of her makeup, hair, and dress before nodding to himself in satisfaction. "How are you this evening? I trust the lounge is bustling as always."
"It sure is," she pressed a quick smile to her face. "Just the way we like it."
His light chuckle cut through the quiet in this office, and Liv took that moment of reprieve to inhale and exhale. Just breathe, she told herself. Just breathe through it.
Her eyes drifted over to the framed posters adorning nearly every free space on the wall - Viktor had a long-standing obsession with the underground fight league he ran like a drill sergeant, and if anyone needed some evidence, they didn't need to look any further than the walls of this office. He displayed these posters proudly, like the dedicated fanboy he was, with each one carefully curated to all his favorite fighters, past and present.
She knew better than to look. Knew that she'd see it. But then her gaze flicked over the poster displaying the hulking image of Liam Kelly with his arms raised in victory. Seeing his face - even if it was covered in blood and sweat - made her heart twist violently, but she got a handle on the rest of her emotions just as quickly, smoothing them all back with a practiced flourish.
Of course, Viktor didn't miss that. He didn't miss much of anything.
"Have you spoken to him yet today?"
Liv swallowed hard, turning her attention back to the bratva pakhan sitting across from her. When he asked a question, he expected an answer.
"No," she shook her head with a tight smile. "At least not yet."
Suddenly, she felt so cold, so exposed here. She usually wore her long dark hair in a low messy bun when she had to perform or sometimes a smoother chignon if she was feeling fancy - it just tended to get in the way whenever she sat at the piano anyway - but she wished she'd decided to wear it down today so she'd at least have some cover.
This was a whole different kind of performance than the one she'd just given in the lounge, and the stakes were always higher in this office than they ever were on stage.
"I see," he nodded. "But he was doing well the last time you spoke?"
"He sounded okay," Liv just lifted a shoulder. She didn't know what else to do. "But you know Liam, he likes to be the tough guy all the time."
Viktor's light chuckle filled the air between them. "That's right. I think your brother would rather stick needles in his eyes than admit he wasn't doing well in there."
"Right," she laughed, despite the fact that she didn't want to talk about him with this man any longer than necessary.
"Well, you should know that a few of my connections were just transferred elsewhere yesterday, but I'm working on rearranging a few things as we speak to get him covered again."
Her breath caught in her throat, and she knew she hadn't been able to hide the flash of panic that must've flickered across her face. So Liam was unprotected right now? Even if it was just for a few days, that was still too many days too long.
"Not to worry," Viktor held up a hand placatingly. "I'll have it all arranged in no time. But, that being said, that's really not why I wanted to see you."
He paused there, putting on his usual charming, almost fatherly tone whenever he spoke to her. And as he ran a hand over his slicked-back salt and pepper hair, another gentle smile crossed his face. This was all part of his persona - he made you feel as though you were safe with him, that you could trust him to take care of you and tell you the truth. This was exactly how he'd accumulated his power and how he wielded that power, too.
It was also exactly how her brother had been seduced by promises of wealth and stature. Look where that had gotten him. And her too.
You make a deal with the devil and you get what you deserve.
"I've got some special guests arriving this weekend. Some of them are old friends from Ireland, and the rest are some new ones from California. You might be familiar with the Sons of Anarchy MC?"
"Sure," Liv shrugged. "I've seen some of them around the casino every once and awhile."
Even though they had a charter here in Reno and one about a half an hour south in Indian Hills, those leather Reaper kuttes weren't exactly a fixture inside the casino, but they did pop up from time to time. She saw them riding around town on their motorcycles more often than she saw them in the casino, that was for sure. But they were mostly harmless, at least in terms of casino patrons, and stuck to the blackjack and roulette tables, only occasionally venturing inside the lounge. Tips from them were hit or miss, but that was no skin off her back. Just like with everything in her life, it was what it was.
Viktor nodded, satisfied with her answer. "We're hosting some members from the mother charter along with my Irish friends. I'll actually be speaking to two of them about joining the league - you know I'm always looking for new talent and, from what I've heard, I think these boys fit the bill."
Right. Because he was always on the look-out for fresh blood. That, and he'd yet to really replace her brother on his never-ending roster of champion fighters.
"Anyway," Viktor went on. "They're sending those two potential fighters and a few other club members ahead of the rest of the party, so you might see them meandering around the casino floor tomorrow at some point. They'll be staying in the penthouse suites this weekend, of course."
Liv smiled ruefully and huffed out a good-natured laugh. "Of course. You always have been a consummate host."
"Well," he chuckled again. "I pride myself on treating any special guest with the utmost respect. And these particular special guests are very important to me. After the fight on Saturday night, I'll be treating them to a private afterparty, and I'd like you and Jo to serve as hostesses for this event. Make sure everyone has everything they need and that everyone's comfortable while we discuss our business. Of course, I'm sure we can expect my special guests to tip you well for your hospitality. You and Jo are the best this casino has, and I need the best on Saturday. You understand?"
She nodded immediately. What he really meant was that they were the best because they were the most discreet. They were the most trustworthy. They had to be, Liv especially, and because of that, she supposed they really were the best candidates for this particular job. Since this seemed to be about business more than anything, they were sure to overhear at least some of it, and they'd never tell a soul.
"I understand," Liv smiled tightly. "And thank you. I appreciate the opportunity."
Viktor could ask her to do just about anything he wanted inside this casino, with a few important exceptions, and she had to do it.
"Of course," he nodded now, like he was some kind of benevolent savior. "You're the only one I'd trust with this kind of responsibility. Now, that aside, while I have you here, I signed off on next week's setlist. Excellent choices, by the way. I'm sure the crowds will love all that."
"We think so too," Liv agreed, even though it wasn't like the band couldn't perform just about any song they wanted.
Viktor had never, and would never, veto any of their songs, and trusted them to go about their business as usual because it made him lots of money, but he still wielded his power wherever he could. He just liked to be able to say he'd "approved" the setlists, as though he had anything to do with them in the first place.
His dictatorial micromanaging really knew no bounds.
"And accounting already has your budget prepared for next month. You should see the balance reflected in the band's account by Monday."
"Perfect. Jo and I need to order a few new costumes."
"I'm sure you do," Viktor chuckled heartily. "I trust you two will be dressed to the nines as you always are. I know this goes without saying, but I'd think whatever you decide to wear on stage Saturday will do just fine for my private party after the fight as well."
Seriously. His micromanaging was the stuff of legend.
"And in light of this private party and my special guests, we can push our standing appointment to Monday, if you'd like."
That gave her pause. Their end of the week appointments had always been a non-negotiable for too many reasons to count. He'd never missed an opportunity to gleefully collect the lion's share of her hard-earned tips. And she knew better than to be even a second late.
Whatever business he had with these Irish guests, not to mention members of an MC, must be pretty damn important.
"I'm okay with keeping our appointment on Sunday if you are."
"Good," Viktor nodded, once again pleased with her answer. If he'd been testing her, and maybe he had, she'd passed with flying colors. "I'll have Valentin send word to you once I've got those arrangements made for Liam. I wouldn't worry though, Liv. You know I'd never let anything happen to him."
She pressed a weak smile to her lips, hoping they were just about done here. "I do know that. And thank you, by the way. You know how much we appreciate your help."
Liam was where he was because of him, so it was the least he could do. What was the point of having mob connections if those connections couldn't get you some protection when you were in prison? So far, Liam had gotten by mostly unscathed, despite his reputation on the outside, and that was probably only because of Viktor. Without the bratva's help, Liam probably wouldn't have survived the first week, let alone the last two years.
"I'm happy to do it," Viktor allowed with another of his patent kind smiles, and then he glanced at his wristwatch. "Well, I've taken up enough of your time. I think you're just about due back in the lounge for your next set. I'll see you on Saturday night, Liv. I appreciate your help with this."
Liv rose from her seat, ready to get out of this office. "No problem. I hope everything goes well for you."
"I do too," he eyed her carefully from his desk, his hands folded stoically in front of him. "And if it does go well, I won't forget your assistance in helping that meeting go smoothly, just so you know."
She shot him a pained smile and nodded. That was the best she could give him before she turned on her heel and got herself out of there.
I won't forget your assistance.
Liv didn't even want to know what he really meant by that. With Viktor Putlova, he wanted you to know what he wanted you to know, and that was all you got.
She had no illusions about this uneasy alliance with the Russian pahkan. This friendly back and forth was just a farce, an act of going through the motions to mollify him and make her feel like she had a sliver of control. The reality was that she didn't have control over anything right now. It was as simple and as complicated as that.
Three more years, she told herself as she fell in step next to Val again, careful to keep a wide berth between them. Just three more years.
The Next Day
Jax hunched over his journal, scribbling as fast as his pen could move across the paper. When he really got going, the words just flew out of him before he could stop them.
I don't know why I even bother anymore. Sometimes I feel like I'm talking, and nobody's listening. They're hearing me, sure, but they're not really listening to what I have to say. They don't want to listen. They don't want to see what's right in front of them. It's easier for them to just pretend this is all behind us and pretend like the last 14 months we all spent in prison together are enough to wash the blood off our hands.
There's nothing any of us can do to get clean again. We all failed Ope. We all failed his family too. I should've been able to read Clay better. I should've been one step ahead. I should've done so many things differently. I'll never be able to take it back. I'll never get a do-over.
Ope is gone.
His eyes widened as he stared down at the last three words he'd written. Ope is gone. He was never coming back either. It was a truth he'd known and had had to live with for over a year already, but there was something about seeing it written down, in black and white, that was devastatingly final. With trembling hands, he put his pen back to the paper.
We can pretend all we want, but we did this. This club is responsible for every single patch inside this clubhouse, and we didn't take care of Ope the way we should've. We're supposed to be brothers, but maybe that's in name only. Maybe I lost the only true brother I had that day on the side of the road.
His head shot up from his frantic scribbling when a knock nearly startled him right off the bed.
"Yeah?" Jax called out.
"It's me," his mother's muffled voice called back. "Can I come in?"
He pushed out a heavy sigh as he snapped his journal shut and shoved it underneath his mattress for now. The only reason he'd holed himself up in his dorm today was because he needed space. But he was also leaving for Reno in a couple hours, and that was her cue to hover, and then hover some more because she just couldn't help herself.
"Sure, Ma."
While he wanted to believe Gemma had good intentions, and maybe she really did, Jax felt his armor slide into place with every step she took inside his room.
Gemma tilted her head to the side as her eyes dropped to the overnight bag sitting on his bed.
"You all set to go?"
He lifted a shoulder. "Just about," and then he slid off his bed so he could actually finish packing.
There wasn't much left to do, but he figured he might as well keep himself busy while she said whatever she came in here to say. Knowing her, it wouldn't take long before she jumped right into it.
"I'm just not sure this is a good idea, baby."
And there it was.
Jax pushed out a heavy sigh but didn't bother to glance up at his mother as he tossed another T-shirt into his bag. This wasn't up for debate. She could say whatever she wanted to say and feel however she wanted to feel about this, but she wouldn't change his mind.
"What, you think I can't win out there the way I can here?" he threw out lightly. He still couldn't make eye contact with her though.
"Jax, it's not about winning or losing. I know what you can do in the ring," Gemma told him. He could hear the exasperation laced in her voice, but he was ready to dig his heels in as deep as he needed to if it got her off his back. "This is about you and why you feel you gotta be in that ring in the first place."
Finally, his movements stalled.
"And why do I feel I gotta be in that ring, Ma?"
His eyes drifted across his bed before finally settling on Gemma. She had both hands perched on her hips in defiance, and she quirked an eyebrow at him as if to say, really?
"Alright, Jackson. I'll play it your way," now she crossed her arms over her chest as she spoke, "I think you're tryin' to kill yourself. And I think you're seein' this new opportunity at that casino in Reno as a way to speed it up."
Jax gave himself one moment to inhale, and then blow out the breath he'd been holding. And still, he had to take another moment to really work through all that - was he trying to kill himself? Even if it was just subconsciously?
No, he didn't think so. He didn't want to die. He just didn't want to be... here. In Charming. Surrounded by these people. Cocooned in this life that just wouldn't let him find any peace. Any fucking happiness.
But how was he supposed to explain that to his mother without breaking her heart?
"I'm not trying to kill myself, okay?" he pushed out roughly. "I guess I can see where you're comin' from with that, but - look, I don't really know how to explain it to you, but bein' in the ring is the only place I really feel like me."
It also was the only place he felt anything other than self-loathing and depression and an underlying disgust for the situation he found himself in. The reality was that he just didn't know how much longer he could stand to sit at that table with the men responsible for his best friend's murder. The fact that they'd all been hauled in by the ATF a week later hadn't given anyone much time to come to terms with what had happened with Ope - and more specifically, what Clay and Tig thought had happened with Ope.
"I just don't understand, baby. I want to - I really do, but you gotta let me in. You gotta talk to me about what's goin' on in your head because I have no idea anymore."
That was fair. But considering she was also married to the man who'd ordered his best friend's murder, there was only so much rope he was willing to give her. So, he blew out a heavy sigh and sank down onto his bed, knowing she'd follow his lead. She didn't waste any time, and her arm wound around his neck about a moment later.
"Look, Jax, I know how hard things are for you right now. And I know this isn't just about the way that ring makes you feel. So much has happened... with Ope, and then Wendy and the baby -"
Jax pushed up to his feet to put some space in between them. He didn't want to talk about that, and he didn't need yet another reminder of everything he'd lost in less than sixteen months. He'd gone inside short a best friend, and when he got out, he'd also been short a baby too. A baby that had never stood a chance with a junkie for a mom and an outlaw for a dad.
But he didn't want to talk about that.
He also didn't want to talk about the fact that he hadn't been there for them. Hadn't been able to help. Because had he been there, he might've been able to stop her. Or, at the very least, he might've been able to get there in time to save them. Even if he'd only been able to save one of them, it was better than both of them succumbing to her addiction - seeing as how she hadn't been able to save herself or their unborn baby before it was too late.
And he also didn't want to talk about the fact that he'd laid in that hospital ward for two months, part of him wishing he would just die already and be done with all this shit, and the other part scared shitless that he actually had almost died on that concrete floor.
And he definitely didn't want to talk about the bullet Tig had put in his best friend's head for literally no good reason.
Damn. Maybe he wasn't trying to kill himself in the ring, but he was trying to do something.
"You're lucky to be alive, Jax," Gemma whispered hoarsely from where she sat on his bed. "I almost lost you once. Please don't put me through that again."
Sure, because it was all about her, wasn't it? Would they be having this same conversation if he'd gone the booze, weed, and pussy route after getting out of Stockton? She probably wouldn't have batted an eye. But this was a bridge too far? Hurting himself with booze was fine because she didn't have to see it the same way she had to watch him get beat up in the ring, on the nights she actually hung around long enough to watch.
What Gemma really wanted - and what Gemma wouldn't admit - was for him to just fall in line. Sure, these fights earned the club some cash, and that was obviously important to her too, but in her mind, there were other ways to earn. She didn't like the physical part of this - the blood and the bruises and the broken bones - because that was ugly. Because it didn't fit in her picture perfect image of who she wanted him to be - the badass VP with nothing but legacy and outlaw in his blood.
That just wasn't him anymore. And it just wasn't who he wanted to be either.
And now, the more he thought about it, and the longer he paced around his dorm, the more he realized that he had just as much animosity and bitterness toward his mother as he did toward her husband, just for different reasons.
That was going to be a problem.
Even more reason to get the hell out of dodge for as long and as often as he could.
"Look, Ma," he sighed, finally facing her with his hands on his hips. If he could appease her, he could buy himself some time. "It's just really hard for me to be in Charming right now. Everything about this place reminds me of Ope. And everything else about it reminds me of what happened with Wendy and the kid. And honestly, Ma? I need some time. I need some space. I need to put some distance between me and all this shit for a little while, and if I can get in those fights in Reno, that'll help me get that space and that distance. I need that to get right with all this, and I don't think I'm ever gonna get a better opportunity than right now."
He'd wisely chosen to sidestep the fact that he also needed space from his club and from his mother too. That went without saying anyway.
Honestly, he just didn't see himself ever getting right with all this. There was no getting right with all this, but telling her that was a recipe for disaster.
And from the looks of it, that just might've appeased her enough to back off for now.
Gemma's face twisted with pain, and she tugged a hand through her dark hair a little helplessly. "I guess I can understand that. If you need some space to clear your head, and this is the way you wanna do it... I just don't wanna see you hurt yourself, Jax. And I don't wanna see you end up like Piney either."
Well, sometimes he thought Piney'd had the right idea. Just hopping on his bike and never looking back. They hadn't heard from the old man since, and no one had gone looking for him either because everyone at that table understood why Piney just couldn't do it anymore. Instead of confronting his club president and sergeant at arms for what they did to his son, he cut his losses and bailed.
Maybe that was the coward's way out. Maybe not. Either way, Jax would be lying if he said he didn't envy Piney just a little bit.
"I'm not tryin' to hurt myself on purpose, Ma," he tried to appease her again. "I know it's hard for you to understand, but fighting... bein' in the ring... I like it. I'm happy there 'cuz I'm good at it. Shit, I'm a helluva lot better at fighting than I am at bein' a mechanic, and if this is the way I can earn, if this is the way I can help the club, then that's what I gotta do."
Of course, helping the club was at the very bottom of his priority list. This was just all about lip service right now. Telling his mother what she needed to hear so she'd leave him alone. And he knew he'd made some headway when Gemma pushed out a heavy but resigned sigh.
"Alright, baby," she smiled sadly. "If this is what you need right now - I can't say I agree with it, but you need to do what you need to do."
He didn't need her to agree. He just needed her to shut up about all this shit.
Luckily enough, she shut up about all that shit long enough to let him finish packing without any further conversation, and he made sure to toss his journal in his bag in case she decided to snoop after he left. He didn't spare Clay or Tig another glance as he headed out to the parking lot either. Getting out of town was enough motivation to swing his leg over the side of his bike and snap on his helmet, even if it meant spending his weekends at some casino in Reno for the foreseeable future.
He nodded to Happy, who was ready and waiting, and then nodded to Juice and Bobby, who rounded out the rest of the small group heading up to Reno a day early.
They'd work out this deal between the Irish and the Russians, and they'd also secure themselves two spots in that underground league, and in doing that, he'd finally get some room to breathe.
He didn't linger for too long on just how pathetic that was as he revved his engine and left the clubhouse behind. For the next few days, he didn't have to be in Charming, and that was all that mattered.
A/N - Well, here it is! I know I've been sitting on this for a while, but I wanted to get as many chapters done as I could before posting, and I'm happy to report I just finished chapter ten yesterday.
All the songs performed in the lounge are in the style of Postmodern Jukebox - I have my playlist posted on Tumblr now if you want to check it out (my handle is at lovebarefootblonde). Or you can always find me on Spotify under the username barefootblonde. I've been posting teasers on Tumblr for the last week, and I'm going to keep that up for new chapters as they come. And I've found that it's also a great way to interact with readers - if you have a question for me, feel free to ask me on Tumblr and I'll answer!
If you've been following any of my stories, you know what I tend to just pretend Tara never existed, and I'm going to continue that trend here ;) So you won't see Tara pop up anywhere at any point, and Wendy, as I'm sure you've already guessed, will only be talked about, not actually seen. I've really enjoyed building a whole different world or canon for this story, and I think you'll enjoy it too.
This story, now with ten chapters in, is really coming together for me, and I can't wait to share more with you and hear your reactions. Please let me know what you thought of this first introduction to this world!