Chapter Eighteen: It is Finished
"She's now mine in every way," Tig thought as his throbbing rigidity spasmed a few times as he thrust himself inside her before coating her intimate center in his stickiness.
Tig collapsed on top of Rosamund, groaning with utter contentment as she reached up and ran her fingers through his dark, glossy hair. "In every way," Tig thought as he rolled back to lay alongside her, pulling the bedspread up and over them.
Tig felt a rush of words threaten to flood from between his lips, things he could never imagine saying aloud to another person almost fell from him as he squeezed her tighter to the front of his body, their naked flesh pressing together.
Rosamund and Tig took their time cleaning up and getting dressed.
Tig was already downstairs with the tv on and a fresh beer in hand when Juice and Gemma returned. They'd brought back fast-food lunch in greasy, tan-colored paper bags. Rose joined them in the living room as everyone was tearing open ketchup packets and water-boarding their salt-encrusted fries and onion rings.
Rosamund curtsied as Juice looked up, "good day to you Mrs. Trager," he said with an easy smile as he passed her a paper-wrapped double cheeseburger.
She settled next to Tig on the worn sofa, frowning as she couldn't recall a time in her life when she'd eaten such an overly processed, shit food diet.
Rosamund chuckled at the cheese that resembled melted orange plastic and the sauce with mysterious origins that was chock full of products that would serve as sustenance for the cockroaches that survived a nuclear Holocaust. She wiped away a flaccid piece of lettuce that clung limply to her fingertip and let it drown in a pool of salt-laden juice that had leaked from the round pieces of meat that were mostly composed of meat.
Rosamund found herself truly thinking and believing that life could actually be different as she glimpsed her wedding ring when she took her first bite, her teeth tearing through the strips of fat-striated bacon.
The quartet ate in contented silence as hours away, Clay continued to snore under the sedative's potent physiological spell.
Bobby had fired off a few more messages to Hale demanding more money.
On the receiving end of the messages, Hale would've said yes to the whole starting lineup finger-fucking him under the bleaches with drunk consent if it meant the memory card would be returned to his small, sweaty hands.
As Hale stared down at his phone's screen, eager to see a reply from who he presumed was Salazar, while back at the criminal safe house, the quartet continued to indulge in fries with chunks of salt that sparkled as they caught the light. Gemma's phone rang and she was quick to put it on speaker when she saw "Bobby," on the caller ID.
Bobby launched right into what was happening after he assured Gemma that Clay would be okay. Everyone put down their cholesterol filled burger patties as Bobby relayed that he'd also heard from Chibs.
Salazar and his pals now resembled moon dust thanks to the quiet crypt keeper. Bobby chuckled more to himself as Chibs described not being able to get away from the grunting ghoul any sooner.
Bobby ended the call shortly after he said that he'd arranged a meeting with Hale to exchange the memory card for a fuck load of cash. Hale in his blind assumption that he was communicating with Salazar, eagerly agreed to meet out at one of Oswald's lumber yards off the beaten path in a few days.
Rosamund smiled to herself as she imagined Hale eager for a meeting five minutes ago and how he must've lobbed dollar after dollar for an expediated face-to-face.
"Are you going to go?" Rosamund asked in the silence while everyone returned to their lunch and foil-topped plastic troughs of unnaturally colored dips.
Tig held Juice's and then Gemma's eyes for a long moment before answering.
"I'd really like to," Tig murmured as his lips pulled into a small smile. He laid a hand on the cap of her knee and squeezed lightly as he added. "Do you not want me to?"
"I'm just afraid of what could happen, my uncle is not a strong man, but he pays for a whole entourage of men to protect him, and he won't show up alone regardless of what he says."
"Bobby isn't showing up alone either," Tig said before Gemma interrupted. "It'll be fine baby."
"How can you say that, I mean I'm sorry, but how can you say that when there is so much at stake, and everyone has a gun or five?" Rosamund asked.
"Okay, you're right. I don't know the outcome," Gemma conceded. But I can tell you that we have that lumber yard already occupied and surveillance on the entrances and side roads. Your uncle can bring as many people with him and as many guns as he wants but we've rigged the gameboard sweetheart."
Rosamund nodded and twirled a limp fry in a honey-barbecue sauce, drawing shapes on the burger wrapper. "I'm still worried," she said as she dropped the flaccid fry to land limply in the puddle of sauce.
Tig dropped his arm around her and crushed her to his side. "And I love you for it," Tig murmured against Rosamund's ear.
Tig's words were delivered on a hot exhale that made Rosamund blush burn even hotter.
The conversation parlayed to generic topics from other restaurants in the area and what movies were playing, they all ate until their bellies were extended and taxed their organs to death trying to process the globs of fat that churned in their stomachs.
Eventually they shoved the wrappers and greasy napkins into the chain fast-food's cheery bag with the smiling logo and settled back when Gemma pointed the remote at the tv and scrolled through what was currently airing.
As Gemma adjusted the volume on the daytime local news, back in Charming, just as Rosamund had said, Hale was organizing a half of dozen, well-armed and even more well-paid men to accompany him to the lumber yard. He planned on arriving early, thinking he'd get there before Salazar and set-up camp.
Hale left his office, being driven in a luxury sedan to the lumber yard. According to a map, there was a side road where they'd need to park and approach on foot. Hale had no idea he was opening up his soft belly and offering his entrails up as a sacrifice before walking into the fire.
The sun moved across the sky as the safe house remained quiet, the television a comforting melody in the background as Gemma was eventually able to get Clay on the phone when he woke up from his IV's steady flow of the opiate's stranglehold.
Juice tinkered with the van's engine, checking the oil and tire pressure, leaving Rosamund and Tig to their privacy in the living room.
Tig had ended up laying back on the sofa and pulled Rosamund against him until virtually no space remained between her back and his chest.
"You okay baby?" Tig hoarsely asked as he swept Rosamund's hair away from the curve of his neck and pressed his lips against her smooth flesh.
"Mmm hmm," she murmured, "just worried."
"You'll be safe here; Marcus is sending some support."
"I'm scared of what you might be walking into," Rosamund clarified. "He has a lot of resources."
Tig smoothed his hand down her side, "it'll be over soon, you'll never have to worry about him again."
Rosamund nodded, "I want that. I'm so tired of being afraid all the time," she admitted.
As Rosamund turned around in the half-circle of Tig's arms, anxious to find his lips and share his exhale, back in Charming, Hale and his paid posse in three-thousand-dollar suits, neared the dirt, side-road near Oswald's lumber yard.
The big men with their even bigger guns, led the way towards the yard, keeping Hale safe behind their wall of armed muscle.
As Hale and his well-paid friends neared the lumber yard, inside the site manager's office of the yard, a roomful of SAMCRO brothers watched their armed approach on the wall of HD television screens. Hale and his friends had been captured by the motion detector surveillance camera that was disguised in a gnarled tree branch.
In dual locations, Hale and his well-paid, heavily armed men walked freely into the lion's den covered in blood while hours away, Marcus's equally armed men arrived to reinforce the criminal face house that would become impenetrable as it held Rosamund and Gemma safe.
Everyone moved from the safe house to the parked vans and bikes in a group, loading suitcases, guns, and booze while others tried to keep their tears from falling.
Gemma gave Juice a gentle hug and held on longer to Tig before moving away, creating the perception of space and privacy for the newlyweds in the gravel driveway.
"You're coming back," Rosamund stated in a voice that threatened to be disemboweled by jagged sobs.
Tig dropped to his knee in front of Rosamund and closed both of his larger hands round her smaller left hand, the cold diamonds pressed into his palm as he squeezed urgently and spoke lowly, each word was delivered on a shaky exhale.
Tig would've vowed to bring Hale's heart back in a velvet-lined box and lay it at her feet, Tig would do anything if he could make the fear leave Rosamund's wide, unblinking eyes.
"I'll bring you back the moon," Tig murmured as he stood and pulled Rosamund into an impossibly overwhelming embrace, capturing every part of her in the buttery soft folds of leather and rough denim patches. She felt her lungs fill with Tig's heady aroma of tree-filled forests and an enticing herbaceousness under it all.
Their lips met, tentatively teasing each other with their tongues, taking turns fucking each other's mouth. Rosamund moaned deep into his mouth as she caught the taste of filtered cigarettes and barrel-aged booze in pressing their lips together.
Tig and Rosamund eventually parted enough that they could breathe air on their own. "I just want you to come back to me," Rosamund whispered as she reached up and pressed her fingertips against his lips. "Please," she started before she couldn't keep her tears at bay.
Gemma quickly flanked Rosamund and squeezed her close to her side. "Come on baby, let's go inside, they'll be back before we know it."
Rosamund pressed her cotton sleeves under her eyes and captured a fresh flow of translucent tears before she allowed Gemma to lead her into the house. "I promise it'll be okay," Gemma whispered as she encouraged Rosamund to sit at one of the mismatched dining room chairs.
Rosamund stared down at her fingernails and traced the simple filigree pattern in the center of the tablecloth as Gemma poured them each a nearly full glass of scotch with no ice.
"Drink up," Gemma said as she settled the close to sloshing over glass down in front of Rosamund.
"It'll make you feel better," Gemma added as she proceeded to drain her glass in several burning swallows of the harsh liquor.
"Couldn't hurt," Rosamund thought as she shrugged and played follow the drinking leader.
As Rosamund and Gemma both found they had to stumble upstairs before the room started spinning too much and eliminated forward momentum, a caravan of black vans, brothers from SAMCRO and their allies, kept the accelerators fully engaged, gas being gulped up with each passing mile as they headed south.
The combined RPM's climbed to a number that could threaten to solve Pi as they headed back to Charming and to the out of the way lumber yard that Oswald owned that Clay, and the rest of the Club brothers regularly spent some time there.
Gemma and Rosamund giggled in the upstairs room, the entire safe house was secure with many eyes and even more firepower.
As Gemma and Rosamund laid back on the bed and stared up at the popcorn ceiling, sharing a menthol cigarette, heading south in the black vans, Tig sat in the passenger seat. He was anxious, nervous, couldn't stop tapping his fingers on top of his thighs.
Happy glanced over when it was all freeway in front of them for miles. "Ya okay man?"
Tig blew out a sharp breath as he rubbed his face before answering.
"Ya man, no, I don't know.
Happy glanced down the odometer. "Lots of time on the road still," he let hang in the air as an invitation should Tig reach out and pluck it.
As Tig took a few minutes to debate how much to share, hours south in Charming. Hale was flanked by his taller, broader, more able-to-defend white-collared, brothers-in-arms as they approached the rear of Oswald's lumber yard.
Inside the seemingly vacant lumber mill, some of the SAMCRO brothers watched Hale make his stealthy approach, the diminutive, impeccably dressed man looked like a water buffalo trying to be as graceful and invisible as a prima ballerina wearing camouflage.
The men inside the mill snickered to themselves as they moved with their firearms according to a very detailed plan. All they had to do was make sure the outside actors made it to their respective X's on the ground before the real show could begin.
Hale's men had assault rifles with many illegal changes to stocks, sites and even the amount of grains they filled their bullets with, but they also spent too much time in the corporate world and didn't know what it was like to return firefight with an actual warrior. The well-armed men with brand-new boots and manicured hands quickly remembered that they weren't playing paintball with other affluent fucks before they went and played golf.
The SAMCRO brothers who were squatting inside Oswalt's yard were pissed off and very vocal at how easily they'd been able to destroy every man flanking Hale.
Hale was left standing, surrounding by bodies that had been ripped apart by rounds that fell apart, shrapnel impaled flesh and took chunks out of bone as the bullets traveled at more than two-thousand feet per second.
Hale could feel his bladder threaten to flood is designer drawers at the assassinator's made themselves know and circled him slowly, stroking their gun barrels like they were cocks and instead of being at a bukkake fest with ropes of hot, sticky cum, they'd shoot the last of the bullets.
"You know me, some of you have to, name anything, money, drugs…..," Hale started to babble as he dropped to his knees and begged, not caring in the slightest at what he looked like.
The tallest of the SAMCRO brothers walked over and held out his hand to the shaking mayor.
"We're supposed to keep you alive; someone is coming here to talk to you, something about a memory card."
Hale sniffed hard and pushed his sweaty hair off his forehead as he stared up at the nondescript man in leather and his scarred hand, heavy with silver rings.
Hale let the man lift him to his feet and was careful to mind all orders and keep his hands in plain sight as he was led to the mill's management office. He drank deeply of the bottle of tepid water that was waiting for him as well nearly inhaled the bag of cheese crackers.
The tall SAMCRO brother looked down at his phone when it chimed, and he tapped out a succinct reply before turning towards Hale.
"Not much longer now."
For a while, the activities happening south in Charming were on hold until Tig, his SAMCRO brothers and allies arrived.
North in the criminal safe house, it was mostly quiet as Gemma and Rosamund watched trashy reality tv, their commentary becoming less coherent as they steadily drained the bottle.
As Tig drew close to Charming, he messaged Bobby who would not be removed from Clay's healing side. Tig summarized where he was and when to hear from him next.
Tig was out of the van and moving after the other SAMCRO brothers came into view, they'd gotten rid of Hale's car and his dead entourage by the time Tig swaggered into the office and soon found himself looking at Mayor Jacob Hale Jr.
Hale looked up with a frown when his eyes fell on Tig as he leaned against the open doorway.
"Who are you? Where's Salazar? What's going on?" Hale began, his questions raining down in his high-pitched voice before Tig held up a thick-fingered, heavy-ringed hand.
"Salazar won't be stopping by," Tig rasped before he lit himself a cigarette from the nearly empty red and white pack.
"Where is Salazar? He's supposed to be meeting me here," Hale shouted as he leapt to his feet, standing as tall as he was capable.
Tig wordlessly shook his head until he pointed to some of the Prospects in the room and motioned for them to leave.
Hale sat back down as the nameless men left until he was alone with the man who seemed to know Salazar. Hale swallowed hard as Tig locked the door, speaking before he rose his eyes.
"Your niece is in good hands now," Tig murmured.
Hale stopped short of anything he might've wanted to say and glared daggers at Tig.
"What did you say?"
"I like your niece," Tig growled, adding lascivious weight to his words as he stepped away from the closed and locked door.
"You know my Rose?" Hale asked in a shaky voice.
Tig closed his hands into fists and stomped towards where Hale sat behind the manager's desk. Hale couldn't help but yelp as Tig slammed his fists in the desk. "She's not your Rose, no part of her belongs to you anymore." Tig emptily rasped.
Hale at heart was a foolish man, he truly thought his name alone, gave him a blank check to bully and blackmail.
Tig clenched his teeth until his jaw popped as Hale giggled in a high-pitched whine, eventually tapering to hiccups as he prepared to play the role of a negotiating politician.
"What did that supposed loyal niece of mine say to you? What? That I don't let her out in Charming to party all weekend?"
Tig leaned down to Hale, bringing his face closer. Hale swallowed hard as Tig let his lips pull up into a peculiar smile. "She told me all of the things that you've done before you try to scare her into silence."
Hale shook his head, knowing a bluff when he saw one. "She didn't tell you shit, that little bitch knows what happens if she so much as crosses me."
Hale's eyes widened and he was certain his heart skipped a beat in the immediate space after he spoke. Hale inwardly cursed himself for letting his white-collared, clean-handed ego come out and rear its affluent head.
"I know that your nightly visits made her afraid of the dark, now she sleeps with a smile on her face," Tig hissed, letting Hale's eyes move over the man that was touching his niece.
"Where is Rose…Rosamund?" Hale asked, correcting himself when he saw that the crystalline-blued-eyed man did not appreciate him shortening her name.
"She's quite safe," Tig assured the slimy, reptilian, little man.
"Did you hurt her?" Hale heard himself ask.
"Do you care?" Tig asked with a chuckle.
Hale shook his head and spit on the surface of the desk. "If I could've caught it all on film, I'd have gotten you a hell of a pay day for breaking that bitch in and there'd be even more mon….."
Hale's words were immediately vanquished as Tig slipped behind Hale and dragged the curved blade of a buck knife he kept in his boot, across Hale's white-collar throat. The flesh parted and opened like an angry, red mouth as the strong arteries and veins were sheared, allowing Hale's life blood to spurt like water from an out-of-control firehouse.
Tig kept his grip on Hale's hair firm, keeping his neck hyperextended until the bleeding began to trickle and slow.
Hale's face landed wetly on the soaked surface of the desk when Tig abruptly released his hair.
"It is finished," Tig rasped as he buried the blade to the very steel hilt into Hale's dead, side and walked away from the dead man, leaving the room to fill with the bouquet of the first stages of decomposition as enzymes began eating cells from the inside out.
Tig found a kitchen in the employee lounge and scrubbed Hale's blood free from his forearms and hands before he scraped the thicker bits that had become lodged under his fingernails.
He smoked a cigarette down to the filter as he watched the group of Prospects haul away Jacob Hale Jr.'s body.
Tig snuffed out the remnants of red-orange ash before walking with a purpose to one of the vans that had the keys tucked on top of the raised visor.
"Hey Tig, ya wanna beer?"
Tig slowed his pace but never stopped or looked back at the voice that called after him.
"Nah, I'm gonna go home and fuck my wife," Tig called as he half-waved over his head.