A/N: Thanks to all those reading, reviewing and PMing - it's always a nice little spur on to hear what people think!
Fourteen
When Chibs finally sat down to pour over the documents Bug had pulled together, it was with a lighter heart. Few things were more freeing than cruising along with the throaty thrum of a Harley in the air, the wind in your hair, and a beautiful girl pressed tight up against you. Everything else just faded into so much scenery.
He'd found himself concentrating a little more than usual at first, conscious as he was that Eden had never ridden on a motorcycle before. But as she relaxed into it, so did he. He could feel the tension slipping away as his bike ate up mile after mile of dusty road, her hold on him becoming less about fear and more about enjoying that closeness. Although he couldn't help chuckling when he shifted one hand from the handlebars to cover hers as they locked over his chest, raising her fingers to his lips for a quick kiss and feeling her grip tighten again nervously.
She'd had fun though – he knew that from her bright-eyed, windswept response when they'd finally pulled over at a roadside diner, laughing as she threw herself into his arms and told him it had felt like flying.
He'd still been grinning when he'd tucked his riding glasses into the top pocket of his leather jacket and they'd strolled inside, her arm wrapped around his waist as he draped his over her shoulders to keep her close. They'd sat opposite each other in a cosy little booth, chatting and laughing easily over surprisingly good coffee and even better apricot cobbler and it was a tough call, but in that moment, he'd thought he would choose this version of Eden – in her ripped jeans and simple t-shirt – even over the more polished beauty in the pretty dress.
Because, right then, he'd been able to imagine her in his world. Being his.
Just as he had when that thought had struck him, Chibs shook his head and tried to focus on the task in hand. He knew all too well there was no point in setting himself up for a fall. She was a smart, beautiful woman with a proper job to get back to – a life an outlaw had no business being a part of. And, sooner or later, the novelty of getting caught up with the likes of him was sure to wear off.
He sighed at that, taking a swig of the whiskey he'd poured before he'd sat down to try to concentrate. He was too old to get carried away with fanciful notions, so why was the thought of having to let her go weighing on him like it was? Great company, incredible sex – frankly, he should have been thanking his lucky stars she'd even given him a second glance in the first place, not moping over something he knew could never last.
But the truth was that even the little mundane moments of their time together lingered in his mind. Undressing her, taking her to bed, making her come for him … It was only to be expected that would leave a lasting memory. But everything else seemed equally imprinted on his brain. The sparkle of her eyes, the sight of her in his shirt without so much as a scrap of make-up, her hand in his as they'd headed out of the diner and back to where his bike was parked up.
With her warmth and how easy she was to be around ... She reminded him a little of Aoife*.
He drank deeply at that, his grip on the glass tightening before he banged it down on the table. Girls with brothers who didn't approve seemed to be his kryptonite – although he'd never in a million years link the likeable, protective Seth with an utter bastard like Jimmy O.
"Get yer head in the fucking game, boyo," he muttered, in a stern warning to himself as he turned his attention finally back to the papers in front of him.
There was work to be done.
"I said we should have fucking struck when the time was right …"
Johnny Quincy narrowed his eyes dangerously at the muttered discontent. "The fuck did you say?"
"Nothing," came the sulky mumble.
"Nah, you got something to say, so let's hear it," the War Boys president declared, standing up so suddenly his chair overturned. "You got the table, asshole – have at it!"
His sergeant-at-arms was clearly regretting opening his mouth in the first place, but finally slammed a hand down on the table and decided it was too late to turn back anyway. "Fine! I just think it's fucked up that we waited with our thumbs up our asses when anyone could see we had the perfect chance to make our move. That lot were reeling after Teller. Wouldn't have been hard to take the Sons out of the picture for good."
"So you think you could have done better, huh? You want to challenge for the gavel, huh, Mack?"
"I ain't saying that-"
"Sure as shit sounds like it. How about the rest of you? Anyone else thinking they know better?"
"No one's saying that, Johnny," his vice-president finally, reluctantly, spoke up. He was still feeling the effects of the concussion he'd suffered in the ring, both eyes still black above where his broken nose had been reset. This was the last thing he needed right now, but someone had to calm this shit down. Again.
"Maybe that's the problem. Bunch of pussies too scared to say shit. Don't stop 'em thinking it. I need to know you lot are behind me one hundred percent. One hundred percent. You think Telford's over there wondering if his guys have his back? Not a motherfucking chance."
"If you think they're so much better than us, why don't you go join them?" Mack spat suddenly. "See if they'll let you in-"
His words were cut off with a fist to the face and that was only the start of it, a full-blown brawl breaking out in the basement that served as the so-called headquarters of the newly reinstated War Boys MC.
"Fuck me," Archie Vane sighed, wincing as he wiped a hand over his face, momentarily forgetting about the injuries he'd suffered facing the Sons of Anarchy president in the ring. Not for the first time, he couldn't help wondering why the fuck he'd let himself be talked into patching for this goddamn club in the first place.
In fact, if Johnny hadn't been his brother-in-law, he'd have flat out refused. It had potential, sure. But it also seemed to be a disaster waiting to happen. Recruitment had not exactly gone to plan. Anyone with serious outlaw ambition wanted to join the Sons or the Grim Bastards – not that a lot of people had wanted anything to do with either of them over the last couple of years, given everything that had gone down across San Joaquin County. The rest … just wanted to play at it, like it was some dick-swinging contest. That made them nothing but a liability.
Not that it had stopped Johnny from patching a half-dozen of guys just like that, much to Archie's disapproval. Mack, otherwise known as Mackenzie Rockwell, was one of them. A hothead, quick with his mouth and with his fists. Unlike his brother Shane who would have been a much smarter option, in Archie's opinion, had he not been too firmly a part of the more respectable side of the community.
Watching grim-faced as Johnny overpowered his sergeant and landed a few more brutal punches before stepping back out of breath, Archie shook his head and forced himself to say nothing. He was sure his president had gotten one thing right though – his counterpart in Charming would never have to wonder if his men had his back. Even from what little they'd seen of them, it was clear the Sons were as loyal to Chibs Telford as they had been to Jax Teller and that wasn't something born out of fear or convenience, not like it was with Johnny.
The Sons were a brotherhood and their leader had their respect, their trust, even their love.
"Fucking pussies," Johnny had scoffed once, when he'd tried to point that out.
He wouldn't be saying that, Archie thought, if it came down to finding out who would take a bullet for him. Telford, he suspected, would have that level of devotion from any of his men.
Johnny would be lucky if it wasn't one of his behind the trigger.
That couldn't be right.
Chibs flicked from one document to the other, the frown on his face only deepening as he did so. Jesus Christ. For once in his unfortunate life, why couldn't anything just be straight-forward?
He swore as he knocked back the rest of his whiskey, wiping his short beard with his hand and trying to figure out just how much of a problem this was. Her name was the last he had ever suspected he would stumble across like this. Still … It wasn't like she was affiliated. The tie wasn't blood and, as far as she was concerned, it seemed pretty clear that it had already been severed anyway.
"Fucking MC wannabes," he muttered darkly.
The War Boys had once been a reputable club, he'd give them that. But there seemed to be nothing left of that and this shower of assorted thugs and misfits spelled nothing but trouble. That wasn't good for anyone - not with the potential for fall-out to land on anyone in the vicinity, whether they were affiliated or not. He dreaded to think how their ineptitude would leave them all exposed if they really did intend getting into the serious business of gun-running. He also had no idea why they seemed intent on drifting into their turf, when the club had originally been firmly based in San Bernardino.
Going off what he'd now learned, it appeared Johnny Six, as he liked to call himself, was actually third generation MC – a grandson of original War Boys founding member Ron Quincey – but he seemed to be the only current member with any pedigree of sorts. His VP Archie Vane also had a few loose mob connections, but the rest seemed to be a mixture of petty criminals and civilians playing at being outlaws. They even had a guy who was a dentist, for Christ's sake.
"Can you say mid-life crisis?" Chibs had sighed, on discovering that particular titbit. "Why can't these arseholes just shag a hooker and buy a Porsche like the rest o' their sort?"
He'd cut off that train of thought though, wondering if everyone else thought his dalliance with a much younger woman was just some kind of mid-life crisis. And then wondering why he cared if he was trying to tell himself it would never last anyway.
But just as he was trying to explain all that away in his own mind, her name was jumping out at him from the page and he was suddenly completely focused.
Fuck.
War Boys sergeant-at-arms Mackenzie Rockwell had thrown up the connection. Or at least one of his brothers had – Shane Rockwell. A doctor at San Joaquin General Hospital and the subject of an apparently lapsed restraining order, taken out by one Eden Catherine Moore.
Fuck.
Bug, according to his hastily scribbled notes, hadn't been sure if this Shane was also part of the club, but had included him in his findings just in case. Chibs, knowing what he did about his surgical career ambitions from what Eden had told him, doubted he'd be a signed-up member of something that could bring any kind of heat. Still, it was a nasty little connection he hadn't been expecting.
And he still wasn't sure what it might mean, if anything.
With any luck, the latest reincarnation of the War Boys was just a fly-by-night fad waiting to burn out. He couldn't imagine they posed any serious kind of threat. Not intentionally anyway.
Pouring another glass of whiskey, Chibs sipped it and let his eyes drift closed as he tilted his chair back to think. He had no idea if Eden even realised the connection, much less its implications, and he didn't want to give her anymore cause for concern. On the other hand, if she didn't realise exactly who she was dealing with …
He reached for his phone and the scrap of paper with her new number scribbled on it. He'd been contemplating whether he should put a little distance between them, not let either of them get too attached … His hand hovered, on the verge of setting the phone back down, but then before he could overthink it, he was dialling the number.
"Hi, darlin'," he drawled, trying to ignore the way his heart lifted just hearing her voice. He didn't bother telling her who it was – how many Glaswegians could she know, for fuck's sake? "Sorry, I know tomorrow's your first day back at work … Can you spin by after? Don't matter how late."
He gazed down at the document gripped in his hand as he listened to her response. "Nah, nothing urgent," he said. "Just need to see ya."
It wasn't a lie. Not entirely.
*Aoife - common name in Ireland, meaning 'radiant, beautiful, or joyful', and most often pronounced Ee-fah.
She's introduced as a character in my previous fic Scars, which deals with Chibs' backstory and which I'm keeping as his backstory in this. If I said her full name was Aoife O'Phelan, that might be a clue as to how that plays out ...
