A/N: To those of you who celebrate it, hope you had a lovely Christmas, or at least just found a way to keep on keeping on if you find holidays tough. It was great to hear from so many of you last time around, even if I did break hearts ... I can say one thing for sure - we're a long way from done. Thanks for reading! T x


Twenty-Four

Sitting down on the edge of the desk in the Sam's Yard office, Chibs glanced at Lyla and then cast his eyes towards the ceiling with a little sigh of resignation.

"How long you gonna keep giving me that look, darlin'?"

"What look? Oh, you mean the one of absolute disbelief and despair that you've thrown away the best thing to happen to you in a very long time? That look?" she asked archly, returning to her paperwork.

"Aye, I suppose that'd be the one," he muttered.

Lyla threw down her pen and finally looked properly at her boss, shaking her head. "I still just don't understand, Chibs. You two were so good together. I could see it, everyone could see it, and I thought you could too. I've been waiting for you to come to your senses of your own accord, but it's been weeks now and … here we are. I know you love Eden, I know you miss her – you wouldn't look so damn sad all the time if you didn't. And that poor girl is completely heartbroken."

"You've seen her?"

"Of course I've seen her. She's one of the few proper friends I've got and I'm not giving her up just because you can't get your head out of your ass."

"She doing okay?"

"No! Like I said, she's totally heartbroken and I can't say I blame her. One minute you're talking ink with her, for Christ's sake, and the next, you're walking out. God, that's two men now who've gone and let her down when the going got tough ..."

"Whoa, hang on now! I ain't like that Rockwell fucker," Chibs protested. "I'm trying to do what's best here."

"And the two of you alone and miserable, that's best?"

The biker president, his heart heavy, didn't have an answer for that.

"Oh, by the way, tomorrow?" Lyla started to add, in the kind of overly innocent voice that instantly made Chibs suspicious. "I've taken the executive decision to give myself a half-day."

"Sure," he said cautiously. "You work hard enough, Ly – you deserve a break. Can I ask why?"

"Because I've decided I'm clocking off early and I'm taking Eden shopping," she said firmly, shooting him a look that dared him to challenge her. "I'm going to make her treat herself to something ridiculously sexy and then we're having a proper girls' night out."

"Out …?" Chibs echoed weakly.

"Out. In a club – one with dancing and fancy cocktails, not warm beer and bikers. Somewhere we can … really let our hair down."

That, Chibs thought as he smiled tightly, sounded like a terrible idea.


Jogging into the run-down apartment block, with his partner trailing him, Desi still found time to nag her over his shoulder.

"Come on, Eden, it'll do you good – it's just a few drinks after work, no big deal. You need to get out more."

"Look, I know you mean well, but—Oh, shit, the elevator's out. What floor was it again?"

"Twelfth," Desi sighed, shouldering his medical bag.

"Then how about we save our breath for the climb? Let's move," Eden said, already heading for the doors that led to the dark, narrow staircase, picking up speed as she found her footing on the steep concrete slabs.

"Just give it some thought though, yeah?"

"If you must know, I'm going out tomorrow night anyway. Girls' night. Lyla insisted."

"That's what I'm talking about," Desi grinned. "Got any wild plans?"

"Hope not – not after working these shifts anyway. Can't remember the last time I was this exhausted."

"That ain't like you," her partner frowned. "You really gotta get your sparkle back, girl. Now, come on, step it up. We ain't even halfway."

Eden gritted her teeth as he overtook her, tightening her grip on her medical bag. It seemed to feel heavier than usual, but she said nothing, focusing on saving her energy.


Only realising when the blare of a car horn startled him from his reverie that he'd been staring into space, absently weighing a wrench in his hand, Chibs threw it down irritably and headed out into the yard. A frown creased his brow at the sight of a familiar cherry-red convertible Miata pulling up in a shower of gravel, its owner looking flustered in the passenger seat and his right-hand man behind the wheel.

"Not that I do not appreciate such outward manifestations of your concern, but I would thank you to mind my paintwork, Alexander!" Venus chastised him, smoothing the floaty skirt of her low-cut navy wrap dress as she stepped out of the car in elegant nude heels when Chibs moved to open the door. "Ever the gentleman, Filip. I'm afraid I can only apologise for the likely disruption in your day …"

"The hell happened to you, darlin'?" he demanded, as soon as he clocked the small but nasty cut to her cheek.

His gaze sent one perfectly manicured hand to the wounded area, the light touch drawing a wince that was quickly waved away. "Oh, it's barely anything," she tried, but she was cut off by an angry snort from Tig.

"The hell it is," he declared hotly, glancing between the statuesque – and, some would have said, unlikely - object of his affections and his concerned president. "Some fucking piece of shit tweaker tried to rob the store. Broad fucking daylight."

"Jesus," Chibs swore, immediately furious that anyone connected to the club be targeted like that and Venus had already had enough to deal with in his book, given the small-minded graffiti that had once been sprayed over the front of the little boutique that had long been her dream and which Tig had helped finally make a reality just six months ago. But the Sons had stepped up then to spread the word such an attack would not be tolerated and he would make sure they stepped up again to handle this. "You sure you're okay, Vee?"

"I promise I am quite recovered, although I must confess I would not say no to a restorative tipple … Purely medicinal, you know?" she smiled.

"Aye, I've been known to have a few o' those mesel'," Chibs said, a little grin quirking his lips as he held out a chivalrous arm to her. "Come on – I got just the thing."


Once ensconced in the clubhouse, double measures of whiskey in front of each of them, Chibs insisted on hearing every detail of the clumsy, opportunistic raid on Mannequin. He'd have been more inclined to dismiss it as just shit luck, had it not been the fifth report of crystal meth raising its ugly head in just a few weeks.

Someone was peddling that poison in their own goddamn backyard.

"Always gonna be some godforsaken wee shites willing to pump any matter o' filth into their veins," Chibs mused, swilling the amber liquid in the bottom of his glass. "And they ain't gonna give a fuck what they gotta do to get it. But what I wanna know is who's behind it?"

"You think it's organised?"

"I think it looks like it might be taking hold," the Scotsman admitted. "Maybe someone who's been dabbling getting cocky? What? Nah, come on, Tiggy, I know that look – you got something to say, say it."

"Alexander …" Venus tried, a low warning note to her usually melodic voice.

"I just think maybe it don't help to see the Sons of Anarchy sit back and do nothing when someone shoots up our goddamn clubhouse. You know I'm in your corner, brother, but I can't help thinking it looks fucking weak. Sends the wrong message."

Chibs' hold on his glass tightened, even as he slowly nodded. Not in agreement, just like he was taking in every word that was said. And he was. It was a response even Tig had the sense to recognise – but not, it seemed, to back down from.

"Look, man, I know you got a lot on your shoulders and I know this shit with Eden's got you spun around …"

"You think me not wanting to double-down on some dick-swinging contest with a bunch o' pathetic pricks trying to prove they can play wi' the big boys is anything to do wi' Eden?" Chibs demanded angrily, a raw nerve touched - even if he didn't want to admit it. "What d'ya want me to say, Tig? Oh, aye, have at it – go in all guns blazing because some wannabe biker's bitch decided to stir shit over a fucking car? Wise up!"

"Oh, sure, you being a moody fucker's got fuck all to do with missing that tight little piece of ass," Tig muttered, before jabbing an ill-tempered finger in the face across the table. "You, asshole, need to get laid."

"Gentlemen, please!" Venus intervened, stepping between the two men as they both rose furiously to their feet, fists clenched. "While I am sure the, uh, therapeutic benefits associated with the lovely Miss Eden's company are not to be underestimated, I would not counsel seeking comfort from a no doubt inferior substitute, Filip …" Moving on swiftly at the dark look from the biker, she downed the remainder of her whiskey and fished in her purse for a compact to check her lipstick. "But I am equally sure that is by-the-by. And the more pressing question is what to do about this breach of my dear little store's admittedly rather lax security? Am I to consult with those tasked more formally to uphold law and order in this troubled town?"

Tig sat back down in his chair, while Chibs – still scowling – helped himself to another generous measure behind the bar before leaning his hands on the wooden surface as he considered their next move.

"Go back to the store. Call Collins," he ordered. "If there's a drug problem creeping back in, can't hurt to have the sheriff on alert. We ain't twisted up in any kinda supply chains no more and Sons ain't ever been down wi' dealers in our town. If you need help wi' any clean-up, I'll send Wheels and Charlie. The wee shite who did this, any hope o' an ID?"

"I cannot say I knew him," Venus mused, sounding almost apologetic for her lack of a concrete answer. "But I did get a good look, before he lashed out. Scrawny, sandy hair, a face I would know again if I saw it. My suspicions were aroused by his mere presence, you see. I am more open-minded than most, but even I did not see the likes of him having much interest in perusing the lingerie amongst which he was trying most unsuccessfully to hide."

"So what was he after? Just cash?"

"Anything of value, I suppose. I fear he will be sorely disappointed by his spoils – the contents of a box for charitable donations that I kept by the cash register and a handful of admittedly beautiful, but ultimately mere costume gems from the jewellery display."

"So a tweaker and a fucking idiot to boot," Chibs sighed, wiping a hand over his face. "Bloody marvellous."


Breathing a little heavier than she would have liked after climbing the twelve flights of stairs, Eden was relieved to finally follow Desi through the ominously ajar front door of the apartment they had been dispatched to, although that relief soon slipped away when she took in the bleak scene in front of them.

"Looks like crystal meth," Desi said grimly, nodding towards the drug paraphernalia on the coffee table.

Eden reached for the empty pill packet in the middle of it all and quickly scanned the printed text. "Fentanyl," she confirmed. "Hell of a cocktail. Hello? Anyone home? Paramedics …"

Even as she called out, she crossed the apartment to peer into what turned out to be a bedroom and then the bathroom, finding their patient face down on the tile floor. "Shit. Desi, in here. Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Male, unresponsive, suspected overdose – get the Narcan ready. I'm going to get him on his side … Holy shit, Joel!"

"You know him?" Desi asked, shooting her a searching glance, clearly concerned how deep the connection might run. He knew, as they all did, that being called unwittingly to the aid of a friend or family member was the stuff of nightmares for paramedics.

"Joel DeLuca," she said grimly, already trying to find a vein in a muscular arm order to help the dark-haired, deathly pale young man. "He's one of Seth's boxers. Or at least he was until he started skipping training sessions a couple of months ago. What the fuck was he thinking getting caught up with this kinda shit?"

"What are any of them ever thinking?" her partner shrugged. "If they're thinking at all."

"Fucking idiot," Eden swore, equally parts saddened and angry at the sight of so much potential in danger of being lost on a bathroom floor. "Fucking stupid idiot."