Chapter Seven: A Scarred, Hidden Landscape

Tig held her eyes as he spoke, his exhale hot against her lips. "I'm glad you escaped your turret," he whispered, unable to keep the naked look of want painting itself across his face before he brushed his lips against hers.

As Tig longed for Rosamund to return the press of his lips, back in Charming, the disgraced Hector Salazar was already planning on how he was going to spend the obscene payday for tracking down a runaway bitch.

The tantalizing aroma of the toasted pastry filled the air as Rosamund's mind scrambled for a way to get some breathing room.

"Who was on the phone?" she asked.

"A friend," Tig murmured, decidedly against giving her any space to breathe, move or formulate another coherent thought.

"The same 'friend' who owns this place?"

Tig nodded before closing any remaining space between them, pulling her flush against the front of his body. "What did your 'friend' have to say?" Rosamund managed in a voice that was stronger than she felt.

"She's heading up here with some supplies and extra security."

"She?" Rosamund asked on a chuckle, "how many more of your harem are coming to keep you company?" she added on a scoff.

Tig let her squirm out of his arms and away from the counter, leaving the piping hot pastries in the toaster as she pulled open the fridge for a bottled coffee drink.

"It's not at all what ya think," Tig said easily as he added two more pastries to the toaster before bringing her the heated through sweet treats that were a diabetic's wet dream.

"What am I thinking?" Rosamund asked as she gently turned the rectangular pastries in slow circles on the kitchen table.

Tig waited until the other pastries popped up before he joined her at the table. He took a bite of the artificially flavored toaster treat, the filling nearly burning the roof of his mouth. He ignored her question because he didn't have an answer.

"So who's this friend?" Rosamund pressed as she broke off a corner of the pastry.

"My brother's wife," Tig said as he watched her move the flaky corner around the table.

"This is her house?" she asked as she flicked the crumbs off her fingertips.

Tig nodded, "her father's, he's in a home now."

"What do you do for work?"

"Mechanic for the most part," he vaguely answered.

"What else?" she pressed.

"What do you do in your castle all day?" Tig countered.

Rosamund shrugged, "whatever I'm told I guess," she said with factual resignation.

"That's in the past now," Tig murmured as he snaked his hand out to capture her closest hand, rhythmically squeezing her hand.

Rosamund stared at their joined hands as she chuckled sadly and shook her head. "He's never going to stop looking for me until he gets that memory card back."

Tig didn't acknowledge verbally that she was accurate or add that Hale didn't care whether she lived any longer before Rosamund stood.

Tig tightened his grip on her hand, "where are ya going doll?"

"I'm going to look for a computer and see what's so important to my uncle."

Tig held her wrist a few moments longer before letting go, trying not to focus on the myriad of bruises he'd left on her smooth skin from roughly handling her.

"I, uh I'm sorry about those," he murmured, caught in a web of conflicting emotions as he added. "I don't know how to be anything else."

Rosamund gave him a small smile, "neither do I," she said on a shrug before taking the unopened coffee with her to look for a computer.

Tig tried to stay at the table and not immediately follow her. He finished the second toaster pastry before he was unable to resist having her out of his sight for any longer.

He found her at the sliding glass door, staring out at the lush garden, boasting plump blossoms, dripping with color.

Rosamund didn't feel the weight of Tig's gaze as he watched her. She didn't hear his thoughts grow baser the longer he stared and further memorized her.

His voice startled her from the daze she had slipped into while looking at the multi-colored petals and fern fronds, the sun warm through the glass door.

"Did you find a computer?"

Rosamund shook her head as Tig crossed the room until he could stand behind her and bask in the warmth coming through the window from the high overhead sun.

Rosamund held still as Tig slid his arms around her, feeling heady relief flood through him as she somewhat relaxed in his embrace.

"Would ya like to sit outside?" Tig asked as he dipped his head and pressed his lips to the curve of her neck.

Rosamund closed her eyes and leaned more heavily back against Tig, unable to believe she'd get to make a single choice for herself that wasn't scripted or written in the stars.

Rosamund murmured too softly for Tig to hear. "What doll?"

She shook her head, "it's nothing."

"Tell me what ya said," Tig growled just shy of demanding.

Rosamund remained silent as Tig smoothed his hands down to rest on her hips, squeezing the supple flesh. "Please," he added on a weighty command.

"I'd like, could we just stay like this for a little bit?" Rosamund stumbled over, feeling her breath threaten to completely leave her lungs as he groaned appreciatively and pulled her back until no space remained between their bodies.

"Long as you want baby."

As Rosamund and Tig remained entwined under the warm rays of filtered sunshine, back in Charming, Gemma moved around the spacious master bedroom as she packed a couple suitcases for her and Clay. She frowned down at the paper bag of clothing Tara had given her to take to Tig's impromptu traveling companion.

Clay was back at the Club House and explaining his serious consideration of who would be traveling north and who'd stay behind.

Tara was on-call and unable to travel. Jax told Clay he was staying behind and Opie followed in quick suit.

Chibs, Juice and Bobby packed for a few days and loaded the van with a baker's dozen of KG-9's and Glock .45's, along with a veritable buffet of various ammunition from hollow-point to full metal-jacketed rounds.

Clay passed on a message from Gemma that Chuckie needed to bring computer equipment, wireless routers and be prepared to forensically examine a stack of financial documents.

As the SAMCRO brothers-in-arms inventoried shotgun shells and enough cases of booze, across Charming, Hector Salazar counted his own bullets and ensured the safety was off on his brushed titanium Taurus PT92.

Luisa watched him make trip after trip to and from his car. "Baby, how're you gonna find this missing bitch?"

Hector gave her ass a good squeeze as he walked by before answering. "Hale has the last place her phone worked; I'll start there."

"Why can't I come with you baby?" Luisa whined.

Hector slammed his car trunk closed. "I don't know what I'm walkin' into, I don't want you to get hurt mami."

"I don't want to be here, not knowin' where you are," Luisa said angrily and crossed her arms.

As Hector and Luisa argued about her being his plus one on the road, north in the house Gemma called a home as a child, Tig began smoothing his hand in slow circles over her smooth belly. He barely suppressed a groan as he would've considered selling his soul for no fabric between her naked skin and his palm.

"Don't," Rosamund moaned and pushed at his hand.

"I want to see what you're hiding," Tig rasped and shook her hand free as he abruptly slid his hand down the front of her pants. "I want to see you," he added on a crude growl as he slipped his fingertips under the thin cotton front of her panties until he could cup her bare intimacy.

"I want to taste you," Tig groaned as he massaged his palm in slow circles against her soft pink folds, moaning as his cock began to rapidly harden as he teased his fingertips along her wet slit until he could tease her tight opening.

"I don't want you to look at me," Rosamund managed as Tig's touch made her shell-pink pussy lips grow wet and coat his fingers.

Tig grunted a non-answer as he started to trace circles around her clit, increasing the rhythm until she was near-breathless.

Tig varied the rhythm of his circular movements around the heightening sensitivity of her clit until it nearly pulsed under the pad of his index finger. "Show me," he rasped as he slipped his free hand to fumble at his pants and free his hardening rigidity. He stroked his thick length until it was painfully hard, hating himself for how he planned on getting his way.

Rosamund gave a startled cry as Tig abruptly pulled his hand away from her wet center and moved his firm hold to her hips, rapidly spinning her around to face him.

"You said you wouldn't do this," Rosamund sputtered as she pushed and clawed at his hands before he gathered her up and forced her to the carpet to begin tugging at her pants.

"I know," Tig admitted, his surging lust stomping away any remorse he was feeling in the moment as he worked her pants down her lithe thighs, past her knees to eventually land on the floor before he insinuated himself closer to her intimate center, pulling her thighs to spread further under the press of his body.

"Don't take this from me," Rosamund pleaded and reached a hand up to trace her fingertips over his sharp features.

Tig closed his eyes as she traced the smooth pads of her fingers over the thin skin of his eyelids. "Not yet," Rosamund said, not caring if she sounded like she was prostrate with her begging.

Tig opened his eyes and met hers briefly before dragging his gaze down the front of her body. He pressed his lips together as Rosamund had a death grip on the hem of her shirt, stretching it down to cover every bit of scar tissue in various stages of healing.

"When?" he practically snarled as he gripped his cock and worked his hand up and down its hard length, squeezing the rigidity until he could move the smooth head through her wet pussy folds and bob at her tight opening.

Tig further dropped his weight until he could spread her thighs wider, stealing any words she might've answered with as he abruptly plunged into her. He kept his eyes glued to the sight of burying his thick cock in her tight center, his breath grew in time with the pace of his thrusting, the wet sound of their intimate flesh kissing was the only other sound.

"When?" Tig pressed on a ragged groan as the end of each deep stab of his cock in her wet center earned him a gasp from Rosamund.

She shook her head, "I can't answer that," she managed as he dropped more of his weight onto her, bringing their faces closer together.

Tig fought his nearly insatiable urge to tear her clothes free and demand to see every square inch of her naked skin.

"Say it'll be soon," he ordered as his thrusting became frantic, his rhythm grew erratic as he felt himself close to losing control.

Rosamund pressed her fingertips against his lips, struggling to hold eye contact as she felt a hot coil of pleasure hotly twist her insides.

"Say it," Tig murmured against the smooth pads of her fingers, feeling a fine tremor pass through her as the internal walls of her wet center pulsed around his plunging cock as she drew close to her own orgasmic peak.

Rosamund's thighs began to quiver as she raised up to close the remaining distance between their mouths and pressed her lips against his. Tig's electrical nervous system and throbbing, plunging cock didn't need any further encouragement to quake and spasm, shooting several hot spurts of sticky cum inside her.

He smoothed one hand to cradle the back of her skull, his fingers sliding through her silken strands as he deepened their kiss, urgently trying to convey all the words he couldn't speak through the press of his lips.

Rosamund followed Tig down the orgasmic rabbit hole, moaning into his mouth before his cock softened and slid out of her.

Tig collapsed on Rosamund, a chuckle reverberated through his chest as he spoke against the warm skin of her neck, his voice muffled. "I need to get off this floor, it's fucking killin' my knees."

Tig's knee joints agreed as they popped loudly when he reluctantly got to his feet, holding out his hand to help her up. Rosamund reached for his hand while keeping her shirt firmly yanked down over her naked center with her other room. Her mind desperately began trying to figure out how to get back into her pants without the risk of revealing her hidden disfigured skin.

Tig was able to get a sense of her thoughts even without her giving them a voice. "You don't have to hurt yourself anymore," he murmured lowly, rhythmically squeezing her hand as he spoke.

Rosamund looked away from him before tugging her hand free. She kept her shirt pulled down as far as she could as she squatted to get her pants. "I'm going to go clean up," she managed as she hurried from the room, seeking the perceived safety of the master bathroom.

Tig allowed her to leave the room despite every part of him that wanted to force her to accept his primitive wants and soul-shuddering needs.

Tig clenched his hands loosely in and out of fists as he paced the living room when he heard Rosamund crank the faucet to full blast. As Tig rubbed his face, talking through all the consequences of what he was thinking, back in Charming, Gemma rooted through Tig's USMC issued footlocker for the battered sand-colored box from the bottom corner, hidden under a stack of rubber-banded photographs. Gemma teased open the lid and stared down at the item of antiquity Tig had gotten his hands on during his time in the military. He hadn't been old enough to serve in Vietnam and occupied countries where he wasn't wanted, under the ideology of men in authority. Gemma closed the squeaky hinged lid of the bauble Tig had acquired in the space of time before he ended up being honorably discharged at the start of the Persian Gulf.

As Gemma continued checking items off her mental to-pack checklist, up north at her childhood home, Tig twisted the aluminum cap off a bottle of vodka and drank deeply, needing the liquid courage to knock on the closed bathroom door.

Tig grumbled under his breath and walked with a dangerous purpose down the hall, clutching the bottle with one hand. He pressed his ear to the door as Rosamund turned off the water, taking sips of the potent liquor to bolster himself before raising his hand and knocking, his scarred knuckles producing a sharp series of raps.

On the other side of the door, Rosamund paused before answering, speaking after she pulled the bath towel around her naked body.

"Yes?" she called through the door.

"You okay?" he asked lamely.

"Yes," Rosamund answered as she sat on the edge of the bathtub and started to towel-dry her hair.

"Can I come in?"

Rosamund stared hard at the door, picturing him returning her stare.

"I can't imagine my answer matters," she murmured too softly for him to hear. "Sure," she finally said.

Tig pushed open the door and leaned against the frame, taking another burning swallow of the strong clear alcohol.

He couldn't let his gaze linger on her reddened eyes, knowing she must've been crying under the water's hot spray.

Rosamund spoke when Tig lowered his eyes to the dropping volume in the slender bottle.

"Everything okay?"

"The house will be full tomorrow," Tig said with a shrug.

"And?" she asked when he remained quiet, his eyes dancing around the wallpaper border.

Tig stepped away from the doorjamb and set the bottle on the tiled counter before walking over and squatting in front of her. "There won't be as much time for me to talk to you alone," he murmured as he gathered up her hands, her fingertips resembling prunes from being under the water for so long.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked as he tightened his fingers around her wrists, leaving his thumbs free to trace small circles on the backs of her hands.

"I want to know when you're going to let go, trust me?" Tig growled as he transferred the hold on her wrists to one of his large hands and reached for the bath towel wrapped around her.

"You said I'd be able to make my own choices," Rosamund countered, anger staining her terse syllables.

"I know what I said," he rebutted, pushing the fleeting modicum of regret that clouded his vision into oblivion as he gave the towel a healthy tug.

Tig's raging lust fueled his actions and he handled her rougher than he would've wanted, forcing her wrist to bend abruptly in an unnatural angle.

Rosamund's sharp cry of pain was a sudden trigger, he felt a bullet to his brain's memory center as her shriek forced him to remember the last sounds of listening to Dawn Marie Trager dying.

Tig instantly released his hold on her and buried his face in her lap, wrapping his arms around her, clutching at her body as he mumbled incoherently. "I'm sorry," he moaned and smoothed his hands up and down the outside of her thighs, randomly squeezing her supple flesh through the cotton towel. "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry," he trailed off as Rosamund began to rub her hands through his thick hair, massaging the pads of her fingers down the back of his neck.

"It's okay," she murmured in a soothing tone, knowing what it felt like to have no one to offer comfort.

"I'm sorry," Tig groaned as he pushed his face against the top of her thighs, offering his soul for atonement.

"Shhh," she whispered and moved her palms in slow circles on the caps of his shoulders.

Tig looked up from her lap to find her eyes on him.

She at once felt like the shelter he had sought from the storm as she raised a hand to cup her jaw.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, feeling her provide the shade he had been seeking from the scorching rays of the sun.

Rosamund licked her lips, conflicting thoughts coursed through her body before she closed the small distance between them and pressed her lips to his, instantly quenching the insatiable thirst and hunger that had clawed at his guts for as long as he could remember. Her very exhale began filling the vast emptiness inside him that he had carried from birth.

Tig heard angel's rejoice in chorus throughout his skull as Rosamund kissed him, he knew as he tasted her exhale that his lungs would never fill with water and that his death would never be due to drowning.

He lifted his hands and cupped her face, her skin tantalizing silken smooth under his touch as he took control of their lips touching, kissing her until she was breathless before lifting his lips to briefly murmur.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he hoarsely whispered as he lightly brushed his fingers over her bruised and slowly swelling wrist.

Rosamund tried and failed to suppress a hiss of pain as she moved her well-sprained wrist from under his touch, not addressing his words head on.

Tig smoothed a hand to grip her chin and lifted her face to find her eyes. "Rose, do ya believe me?" he asked.

Rosamund returned his unblinking stare for what seemed like a long time before nodding. "Yes," she finally murmured.

Her single word bolstered his confidence as he plowed on. "Do ya trust me, trust me enough to lemme see all of you?" Tig rasped as he began teasing the edges of the towel.

Rosamund parted her lips to speak, no sound initially spilled forth as she nervously cleared her throat and tried again. "I want to," she managed in a near-breathless tone.

"You'll try to?" Tig pushed, not able to obscure the hope heavily infused in his words

"I will," Rosamund murmured as she tucked the bath towel back in place around herself.