Thanks for the Favs and Follows! I love seeing all those email notifications ❤️

I've planned for this story to run from Season 1 to Season 3 and end around when Jimmy dies.
Rane Quinn is patched into Redwood Original.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3:
"It takes one person to forgive, it takes two people to be reunited."
—Lewis B. Smedes

...restless, obsessed with your future
And all my worries, they don't bother you
Collected, you render me useless

But I carry on

I don't wanna say goodnight
The city comes alive when we're together
Why can't Thursday last forever?

I don't wanna say goodnight
I've never been so sure
Just do it for the memories
Do it for Baltimore

And do it for me

I peeled open my eyes when I heard my acoustic For Baltimore ringtone strumming to an end. The bright California sun was out and I could see people walking by the car, talking and smiling. Melinoë was on her back now and she was stretched out from my collarbone to my hips. I could see my phone on the dashboard and the red missed call symbol was on the dimming screen, Zane's name under it. I completely forgot about him yesterday night. He probably came by the house this morning and saw the mess the Spartans and their groupies made.

It was a bit past 11am, so the President wasn't going to be waking up from his hangover for a few hours. Gage knew I wasn't big on parties and he probably figured I stayed locked in my room all night. Once he'd get himself together, he'd try to coax me to come out and then he'd realize I was gone. I wasn't going back either. He wouldn't know the first place I ran off to and he didn't know any of my family.

I curled my arm so Melinoë wouldn't fall off me as I sat up and reached for my phone, but the sound of a motorcycle made me lay down again. I slid Melinoë off me and into the passenger seat, peeking out of the window to find the source of the sound. My first thought was that Gage got up earlier than I thought, noticed I was missing and he sent one of his guys east-west to see if they could find me, but everyone at that party was trashed. It was impossible for anyone to be up and soberly functioning before the afternoon. He wouldn't think I fled Scott's Valley either. He'd search every inch of the town first, then he'd go further.

It took another nerve-shattering minute, but the motorcycle rode by and I sighed when I saw it. An Harley-Davidson Ironhead Sportster just pulled to a stop at a red light and the driver had a flowing mane of fading-brown hair that reached his back under his helmet. He didn't have a kutte on, just a leather jacket, and he pulled off when the light changed. The only good thing about knowing Gage was that he taught me how to identify all kinds of car and motorcycle models.

I took this opportunity to scope out the streets. I definitely wasn't in Scotts Valley anymore. Most of the stores were open now and those that weren't were closed down or up for sale. The people seemed pretty cheery this morning and I saw 3 women herding a group of children across he street, telling them to hold hands until they got on the pavement. I spotted a small restaurant a few stores down and my stomach growled at the thought of food.

I grabbed my backpack and peeled open one of the wet cat food cans, sitting it on the floor behind me. Melinoë mewled and uncurled from the seat to follow the scent of food. I found a few magazines in the glove compartment and ripped some pages out to make a temporary bathroom for her on the floor.

"I'll be back, Melinoë. Be good." I cracked the back windows to let her get some air, locked the doors and made my way down the street, keeping my head down.

The restaurant turned out to be nicely sized diner and I took a seat at a single table near the window. There was a menu on the table and I picked out what I wanted just as a waitress, Laney, came to greet me. I ordered a ham and cheese toastie, 3 chicken fingers, a vanilla cappuccino and an Oreo bingsu. Laney looked impressed by my big order, but smiled and went to take it to the chef.

I kept my eyes outside as I ate and I was looking at every face that walked by. I didn't know what Gage was doing or if he knew I was gone already and that was making me nervous. I remembered Zane called me earlier and I took my phone out, texting him.

M: where ru?

As soon as I sent it, my phone was ringing again, but I declined it and I got a text from him.

Z: where the hell are you? Gage and his guys are passed out at ur place and it's trashed

M: i snuck out last night. i'm in a different town now, Charming. i'm gonna be safe here

Z: you shouldn't be alone babe, Gage could be looking for you

M: i'll be fine. i have my gun. i'll check-in when i can, no phone calls and delete these texts

Z: smart girl. keep your GPS off and be careful Marci

I smiled at Zane's concern and deleted our conversation, making sure my location service was off like he said. I didn't know how good Gage's Intelligence Officer was at tracking people down, but I didn't want to take any chances. I should probably cut my phone off and just get a prepaid, that seemed safer. I'd have to ditch the car too. I had a feeling it was going to get reported stolen by noon and I didn't need the cops on my ass right now.

With my meal done, I left $50 on the table and hoped Laney would enjoy her tip. As I was leaving, I spotted a pair of tan aviators sitting on the edge of an empty table and I took them, putting them on. When I got outside, I heard a bell ding and a male's voice calling in thanks. Across the street, I saw a man coming out of a firebrick and tan building that had 'Floyd's Barbershop' written in cursive on the front. I should probably get a haircut and maybe dye it a new color just in case a Spartan came riding through town. I had enough money to check myself into a motel and get by for the rest of the month, maybe a few weeks into the next month. I'd have to get another job soon.

Something about the man had my full attention though; I refused to let him out of my sight. He had dark shades on, but he slid them down to rest on his neck. Everything around me stopped then. The people passing by faded into invisible, mute ghosts, the cars and their sounds vanished too. Hell, I couldn't even hear the chirp of a bird anymore. All my senses were locked on those eyes, those all too familiar dark olive-green eyes that were a perfect match to mine.

Holy shit, was that...was that my Dad?

His hair was much shorter than it was in any of the pictures or when he was still around and I could see the graying strands starting to root out against the dark-brown. He must've went in the shop to get some goatee maintenance because he was running his fingers over his chin as he looked in the store's window. With his back to me, I saw his kutte and it had the same decals on it from my memory. Christ, that was him...

I saw Dad smile at his reflection before he pulled his shades back on and started down the street, but his head turned to follow a curvy honey-blonde that passed him. He was walking backwards and he slyly whistled at the woman. She turned around and smiled in response, waving at him.

Dad walked backwards a few more feet and mounted a Harley-Davidson Dyna Street Bob. Dad looked right at home on that bike and I could see the Anarchy symbol on the tank. He just fastened the chin strap to his helmet and his bike roared to life. There were 3 cars coming down the road, but the one in front slowed to a stop to let him come out. His club must have this town trained.

I dashed back to my stolen car and shoved the keys in the ignition, flowing after Dad and hearing Melinoë's empty can hit one of the doors. She was lounging on the rear package tray and blocking my view of everything behind me. As I followed Dad, I noticed how his head would almost imperceptibly turn to look at his mirrors. He was keeping an eye out for someone tailing him. On that note, I made sure to keep 2 cars between us or cut down a different street to meet up with him on another.

After another 15 minutes or so of driving, Dad went through the opened blue and white gate of a lot. I watched him neatly line his bike up with a row of others and he dismounted. There were 2 buildings on the huge space. One had a few metal shades and I could see mechanics working on cars inside them, so that must be an auto repair shop. The red 'Teller-Morrow Automotive' stamped across the sign on the roof really gave it away.

Dad went into the building across from that though. I saw 'Sons of Anarchy' on a grill next to the door he went in. That had to be the clubhouse and I knew I wasn't getting in there. Another thing Gage taught me was that an un-patched person couldn't just waltz into an MC hangout and walk out alive. Randoms, as his club called the people who hangout there, were only allowed at night when they were hosting a party and the Doxies knew better than to even touch the doorknob without having a Spartan's hand on their ass.

Another leather covered back caught my attention and the tall man just ducked into the connecting office, leaving the red door open. I just found my way in. I pulled into the lot and parked my car between a Chevy Cavalier and a chewed up Dodge Neon that's probably seen better days. I swiftly walked across the lot and was making a beeline for the office, feeling the cold metal of my gun on my lower back.

When I got to the office, the man was bent down to look at a few papers on the desk and he had another one in his hand. His gray hair was practically white and there were no other strands of color. It was short and cropped up, a mix of looking wild, yet managed at the same time. The man sighed and put his hand flat on the desk, letting me see the shiny gold watch around his wrist.

"You here for a pickup?" He asked and his deep voice made me stiff. His tone was casual and calm, but there was an almost natural gist of authoritativeness too. When I didn't answer, he glanced at me and his eyes were an impossible shade of aged powder-blue. The man gave me a once-over and softly huffed, smirking. "Lemme guess, you took Daddy's very expensive Pagani to a party with your friends, got wasted, totaled it and you need someone to fix it or he's gonna skin you alive. How off am I?"

"Completely." I answered with a small smile and the man chuckled, coming over to me with his hand out. The guy was a goddamn giant too, 6 foot or up.

"Clay Morrow."

"Marceline." I shook his hand and he leaned on the wall next to a key holder.

"What brings you to my little repair shop, Marceline?"

"I'm looking for someone, one of your members...uh, sir." I quickly added the formal way of addressing him when I saw that President patch on his kutte. He was First 9 too and that was high ranking. Clay glanced down at his patch and the look he was giving me now was somewhere between mistrustful and vigilant. The chill mood was dead and I was glad I had shades on to hide my nervous eyes. "I hope it won't be too much trouble to find one of them."

"You're looking for a Son." He stated in a flat tone. "Which one?"

"Filip." I squeaked out, feeling like a mouse trapped in a room with a lion. Clay's eyebrows pulled together in confusion, but relaxed.

"Chibs." He said and it sounded like he was correcting me. I guess that's what they nicknamed Dad and I wondered how he got it. "What do you need with him?"

"It's kinda personal. We've got history though."

"You knocked up?"

"What? No!" I took a step back and mindlessly put a hand over my stomach, looking at Clay like he was insane. "I didn't mean an intimate history. I'm not some washed up one-night stand looking for Child Support. I just really need to talk to him and I saw him go inside your MC's clubhouse. I don't want to disrespect you or the club, so I was hoping you could escort me inside."

"You know a lot about motorcycle clubs." Clay pondered with a slight tilt of his head. "I've never seen you around town. Where'd you say you were from?"

"I didn't." I said in a more confident voice because I knew we were going to be playing 20 Questions if I kept giving into his interrogation. "I need to talk to Filip."

"You need to tell me what the hell your business here is." Clay quipped back and pushed off the wall to stand in front of me. I knew he was trying to intimidate me with his size and it was working, but I didn't let how edgy I was show. "Nobody calls a Son by his first name except his Mother, his Old Lady and his parole officer and Chibs doesn't mess with jailbait, so what's your game? Those field rat Mayans send you here to weasel your way in and get info on us, think a piece of pussy's gonna turn shit upside down? Or are you a goddamn fed trying to-"

Clay stopped his venting when he felt where my pistol was aimed, right on the crotch of his jeans. This was another thing Zane taught me, aim somewhere out of your target's eyesight because they won't try to grab your gun and if it's a man, go straight for their junk. Granted, my face was on fire and I had to look like a steamed lobster, but I still kept my toughest poker-face on.

"I need to talk to Filip." I sternly repeated and Clay nodded.

We walked side-by-side to the clubhouse and I was using his kutte to conceal my gun, which was now aimed on his liver. Clay was keeping calm too, wasn't making any signals or eye gestures to anyone. He even waved to a group of Randoms sitting at one of the picnic tables. When we finally got inside the clubhouse, we were in a bar and it was vacant; there were pool tables and faux leather sofas scattered around with club-related decorations everywhere else. A sliding patio door led into a kitchen and the wall across from it was full of mugshots. Between them was a hallway and I wondered where it led to. I saw a pair of pure leather doors that looked like they were hiding something important behind them.

Gage's clubhouse was pretty much the same and I knew those doors led to the MC's meeting place when they'd discuss sensitive topics. With the Spartans, Ceremonies would be called and the members would rally in the Alter. I wondered if the Sons had rooms in here like the Spartan's did. Their clubhouse had 2 levels. The first was the bar and the second was like entering a hotel hallway because there were seemingly endless red doors to rooms up there.

"Sit." I asked politely and pointed to a seat. Clay sat down, still looking very calm, and I took the time to try to explain myself. "I don't wanna hurt you or anybody else, I'm not a mole and I'm not spying for another MC. I don't even know who these Mayan people are. I'm just here to talk to someone, honest."

"Okay." He simply answered and I felt like he thought I was feeding him bullshit. At least I tried.

"Where's Filip, the rest of your guys?"

"We had a pretty late night yesterday, boys are probably sleeping in." He pointed to the hallway, so that must be where their rooms were. "I'd tell you to go back there, but I'm pretty sure there's some X-rated activities going on, wouldn't wanna scar you or anything."

"Call him, please." Clay glanced up at me and I raised the gun to his head, locking my jaw. Kindness gets you nowhere. "Get him out here now."

Without looking away from me, Clay whistled and it sounded like one someone would use to hail a taxi. He only did it once and it echoed through the quiet space. I heard a few doors opening and feet getting closer to us. I stood behind Clay and had my gun pressed into his back. If I had to shoot him, which I really didn't want to do, the bullet would go straight through to his heart and he'd be done. Without a President, there's no order.

Once the Sons were here, I got to see the bunch of them. The first man I saw had curly black hair and a cleanly shaven face, the only hair being on his upper lip and a small patch under his bottom one. He had blue eyes too, but his were verging on a violent shade of aquamarine.

There was a heavyset man with wavy salt-and-pepper hair and beard. Another goddamn giant was wearing a black beanie, but he had golden-brown hair and a beard. Next to him was a handsome sandy-blond who's hair fell to the tops of his shoulders and he looked a lot like Kurt Cobain in my opinion. I didn't know if any of these men were related, but it looked like the blond could be Clay's son.

There was another man wearing a kutte that looked like it was made of denim. He had nasal cannulas in his nose, so the dark green pouch on his side was his oxygen tank. I could see his patches from here and he had a First 9 patch like Clay, but I could tell he was much older. Next to him was a chocolate-eyed man with a mohawk and tribal tattoos on either side of his shaved head. The guy next to him looked like he was the youngest of the group. His hair was a mix of blond and copper and I noticed the 'Prospect' patch on his kutte.

Excluding the Prospect, all the men had rings on their fingers or cuffs on their wrist and I could see a tattoo on their forearms or poking from the neckline of their shirts. There was a sense of power, danger and everything bad discharging from those men. Granted, the mohawk guy and the Prospect looked like the least harmful of the bunch, but looks can be deceiving.

Excluding the man in the denim kutte, the Sons were trying their damnedest to eye-fuck me from behind Clay and they'd smirk when I'd look at them. The sandy-blond and 2nd behemoth of a man looked like they were in cahoots with one another and already had something planned with me being in the middle of it. The dark-haired man though, who now had his hands on his belt, I couldn't stare at him longer than a second because his eyes were viciously dominating and I felt like I shouldn't be even looking at him, that I shouldn't be anywhere near him.

Dad came out last and made his way to the front of the cluster next to the mohawk guy, his eyes narrowing a bit when he looked at me.

"Chibs, you have a very determined visitor." Clay announced smoothly and Dad quirked an eyebrow, but smirked back at the other men as he came a bit closer.

"What can for ya', love?" He asked and I could still see that déjà vu expression in his eyes.

I couldn't say anything to him, nothing sounded right. Just being near him again was a bit overwhelming, but I loved the feeling of it. After all this time, my Dad, the only blood I had left, was standing right in front of me and I was speechless. He obviously didn't know I was his daughter because he was half looking at me like a wolf about to devour a lamb and half in unknown familiarity. Then again, he couldn't see my eyes and it's been practically 10 years since he last saw me. I left my bag in the car, so I couldn't show him any baby pictures. Once he'd scan his memory, he'd probably think I was Rose. I inherited almost all of her traits, but I had his eyes and his dark hair prevented me from being a vibrant ginger.

As my thought process continued, I paled. What if this man wasn't who I thought he was? What if I was just making a goddamn fool of myself and just got into a shit-ton of trouble with another motorcycle club?

What if my Dad...was dead? What if this man's name was Philip and he had no connection to me whatsoever? I didn't have any facts to prove that this guy could be my Dad. He had a Scottish burr, sure, but he could just be a random Scotsman that came to California and joined this MC. My Dad could've stayed in this small town for a few years, then went off to join another club or start a whole new life. We shared the same eyes, but that could just be a coincidence.

This had to be my Dad. I felt like I knew him, that I was attached to him. His hair was shorter, but I remembered his loving face and those eyes were way too familiar. He had the scars too. I remembered asking him why he had those painful gouges in his cheeks and he solemnly told me that a monster of a man gave them to him, gave him a Glasgow Grin and took away the life he used to live. With my childhood in mind, I remembered something else, what he did almost every night.

"Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise
My Marci's asleep...by thy murmuring stream
Flow gently...sweet Afton...disturb not her dream"

The sweet lullaby made tears instantly fill my eyes, but that was the only surefire thing I could think of to get Dad to hit the nail on the head. He'd sing that to me when I had to go down for a nap or at bedtime and his thick brogue made it that much better to hear. He sometimes sang himself to sleep. I adored his Scottish drawl, but I don't think my secondhand accent wasn't anywhere as good as his natural one.

Dad was blankly staring at me now and his eyes just narrowed in what looked to be suspicion or annoyance. I knew he was thinking about Rose. I saw the Sons exchange a few questioning looks at each other, faintly whispering to one another and shrugging at each other. I took the sunglasses off and stuck them into the pocket of my hoodie. Dad slightly shook his head in disbelief and his eyes were glossed with tears now.

"Hi, Da." I smiled, biting my lip to stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks.

"...Marceline..." He sadly breathed out and I nodded. Dad started smiling and with a few long strides, he had me in his arms in a tight hug. The tears were nonstop now and I was practically bawling into his shoulder. "Chriosd uile-chumhachdaich, aig a 'coimhead thu.* My beautiful little girl. Let me see you, Marci."

Dad pulled me back and there were still tears running down his cheeks, but he was smiling. He cupped my face in his warm hands and kept wiping away the tears with his thumbs as his eyes scanned every inch of my face. I was doing the same thing to him, committing his doting face to memory. Dad slowly lost his smile as he looked me over. He wasn't frowning and there was joy in his eyes, but he looked a bit doleful.

"Ya' look just like your Ma..." He quietly sighed and I bit back the insults I wanted to spit about Rose. He was giving me a complement, so I wasn't going to disrespect it. "She bring you here?"

"She died a few years ago...overdose." I lied.

"She told me she moved back to her Ma's in Rhode Island, took ya' along." Dad's eyebrows were pulled together in confusion, but I just got an answer to one of the big questions I had for him. Rose lied to him about where we were and that's why he never came back. He thought we were long gone. "What are you doin' here?"

"I need help, Da, protection."

"From what?"

"...another MC..." Dad's expression deadpanned then and I took a small step back.

"Jesus Christ, the hell are ya' doin' with that?" He took my gun from me and quickly unloaded the magazine.

"I told you she was very determined. Girl was ballsy enough to take me at gunpoint." Clay added and I heard a lot more Jesus Christ's from the other Sons.

I apologized to Clay again, but he smiled and waved it off. It seemed like he was fine with me now, no more distrustful looks, and I was grateful for it. Dad sat me down and asked me to explain what the hell was going on. I started from the beginning too, from when he left, briefly through Rose's downwards spiral, the first day I met Gage and I spent a long time on his wild mood changes. I told him as much as I knew about the Spartans, but it wasn't much. Gage told me the basics of his club, the patches and what they mean. I didn't know what kind of illegal ties they had or exactly what they got into, but I was pretty sure they were into gunrunning because there was a history of related charges.

As I told my tale, the other Sons gradually made their way over and were listening to my every word. Those flirty looks were gone, every man in this room had a look of familiarity or protection in their eyes, and I remembered what Gage said about clubs like this. Brotherhood was the heart of it and the members loved each other as such. Brothers at arms, one Spartan's family is another Spartan's family and that meant every Spartan's kindred was connected to their club whether they wanted to be or not. I think that's what was happening now. Since I was Dad's family, these guys were my family now.

After I told Dad about Zane, I tried to lighten the mood with a few stories on Ms. Lavinia and Maisie's love triangle, which got a few chuckles. Dad looked like he was deep in thought now. He wasn't trying to frown, but the corners of his lips were tugged down.

"You said they call themselves Spartans?" The stout man asked and I nodded.

"I don't think Scotts Valley's the original charter. They've got another club in Pagosa Springs, Colorado."

"Never heard of 'em."

"That means they're a bullshit MC." Clay added and the Sons wickedly smiled. He came next to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about anything, darlin'. You're under SAMCRO's protection and we ain't gonna let anything happen to you. If a Spartan so much as puts his big toe into Charming, we'll know."

The rest of the Sons gave their approval and I smiled at their generosity. After taking their President at gunpoint, they could've thrown me out on my ass and told me to hit the road or worse, but they didn't. They welcomed me into their club and were going to keep me safe from one serious threat.

"I think this would be a good time to make introductions." Dad said and stood.

He pointed to each of the men and named them: Bobby 'Elvis' Munson, Piney and Opie Winston, Juice Ortiz, Jackson 'Jax' Teller, Tig Trager and the Prospect was Half-Sack. Bobby was the club Secretary, Opie was their go-to man for explosives and Piney was his Dad as well as a founding member of this club. Jax was Vice President, Juice was their Intelligence Officer and Tig was their Sergeant-At-Arms, which was a good explanation as to why I felt like we shouldn't be on the same planet.

"Why do you call him Half-Sack?" I asked, noticing how the Prospect had the weirdest name of them all.

"Keep your goddamn pants on, Prospect, and I'd better not see 'em droppin' around her." Dad said in a warming tone, pointing his finger at the youngest man, and I saw Half-Sack take his hands off his belt, making the other Sons laugh. "It's exactly what the name implies, kid lost a nut to a grenade while he was in service." I looked to Half-Sack again and he smiled at me. He looked like a really nice guy and I smiled back, feeling a faint blush on my cheeks.

"You got any bags, sweetheart?" Tig kindly asked and I remembered Melinoë sitting in the car we took.

"Oh, yeah. They're in the backseat of a...stolen Civic." Tig's eyebrows went up as he smiled at me and the other Sons had the same reaction...except for Dad.

I dug in my pocket for the keys and gave them to Tig. He called Half-Sack to help him and I didn't miss how he glanced over his shoulder at me before he left. The rest of the Sons piled out, but Dad sat down and had an eyebrow quirked, half-smiling at me.

"You stole a car?"

"How else did you expect me to get here, hitchhiking? It was the middle of the night and there aren't any buses coming through Charming. I didn't even know this place existed." Dad chuckled at me and it made me smile. I'd be hearing that more often and I was looking forward to it.

"How'd ya' figure I was here?"

"Memories..." I said softly, smiling as I looked down at my lap. I looked at Dad and he was smirking at me. "You and Rose were arguing one night and I was watching. I remembered the insignia on your kutte and you said you were going to your new family in Charming."

"I'm so sorry you had to hear that, Marci." He put his hand over mine and scooted his chair closer. His arm went around my shoulders and I wrapped mine around his stomach, basking in the feeling of being with him again. I could feel Dad's fingers stroking my hair and he'd kiss my head every few seconds. "None of it was your fault, why we were fightin' or why I left. Rose and I...we just weren't meant to work and I rushed into a relationship with her. I was just tryin' to forget everythin'...b-but you aren't a mistake, Marceline. I wanted you, just not Rose."

Dad heavily sighed and I was silent, just listening to his calm heartbeat. I never thought I was the problem between them, but I did want to know why they fell apart. From what Dad said, there wasn't ever any love between them and when I came along, things changed. I knew Dad loved me, he always has, and I'll never doubt that for a second. Rosemary never did, she was never attached to me like most mothers are to their first child. Maybe she knew a baby would make Dad pay less attention to her, but gave him a child because he wanted one. She loved him for sure, but it wasn't in a healthy way. I remembered what he said about having another family before us and I wondered what he meant by that. Maybe he was in another club before this one.

The door to the clubhouse slammed open and I was on my feet, gun aimed at the sound with Dad right next to me, pistol in hand. My heart was pounding in my chest and I was trying not to start hyperventilating. Gage couldn't have found me that quickly, could he?! Half-Sack didn't seem to mind us because he ran straight to the kitchen and I heard the clattering of pots and pans in there, but he ran out with a stockpot. I sighed in relief and relaxed.

I needed to calm down. Charming was a tiny town hidden within the 163,696 square miles of California and it was under the Sons' thumb. I'm sure they knew every face that inhabited the town and if something went down, they'd be the first to know. They had eyes and ears everywhere, probably had the cops under their control. This place was safe and unnoticeable and run by a powerful motorcycle club that nobody would dare to disrespect or go against. I was safe here and Gage wasn't going to find me.

"That Zane fella," Dad started and we sat down again. He took my pistol and was inspecting it in his hands, looking impressed by the design. "He teach you to use a gun?"

"Yeah, got me that one to carry all the time. There's another clip in my bag and-"

"Keep the goddamn lid on!" Tig shouted and we turned around again.

He was effortlessly bringing in my few bags and when I saw a can of cat food sticking out of the top, I remembered Melinoë. Ever since Gage's been around, she figured out that the scent of leather means something loud and bad is about to happen. On the single encounter they got to meet, Melinoë scratched Gage's arms and hands up pretty badly and they've hated each other since. My sweet kitty wasn't mean to anyone and she loved Zane, but she lashes out when she smells leather.

When Half-Sack came in, he had the pot and one arm was over the top, but it was shaking. I started to hear Melinoë's fierce yowling and hissing, piecing together that one of them got acquainted with her. Half-Sack put the pot on the ground and Tig practically jumped 20 feet to get on top of the bar. Hell, Half-Sack got up there with him. Melinoë hissed again and must've hit the lid because it flipped off. She jumped out and the first thing I noticed was her bristled tail.

"I'm a very big fan of pussy, but I'm gonna pass on that one." Tig said and Melinoë arched her back, hissing at him. "That cat is exactly why I'm a dog lover."

"Melinoë, it's okay." I cooed and got on my knees on the floor with my hand out to her. "C'mere, sweetheart."

She made a grumbling sound, but lowered her arched back and quickly dashed into my lap, keeping her eyes on the men atop the bar. Tig and Half-Sack got down, but kept a safe distance between the curled ball of fuzz in my arms.

"Marg-a-lo?" Tig asked. "The hell does that mean? 'Satan' in Latin?"

"Melinoë, the Goddess of ghosts." Half-Sack spoke up from behind him and that made Tig turn around with a curious eyebrow perked. "She's a chthonic nymph who's responsible for nightmares and madness. Every night, she rises from the Underworld to terrify humans and she supervises the restless souls that walk the Earth."

"Cat's named after the Grim Reaper's sister, got it." Tig dismissed Half-Sack's perfect explanation and went down the hall where Clay said the rooms were, Dad following.

"How'd you know that?" I asked as Half-Sack crouched on the floor to get the pot. He put the lid inside and looked at me, confusion on his face. "Melinoë's name, the meaning behind it."

"I used to read about stuff like that. Mysticism, Greek gods and goddesses, folklore. When you're deployed and surrounded by death and destruction all the time, you start to think about a lot of religious stuff, gotta find something that makes sense. I read one of the Percy Jackson books too." He stood up with the pot in his hands and smiled down at me, making me realize how much taller he was. Zane was probably 5'10 and Half-Sack probably had a good inch or so on him. I stood at 5'4 1/2 and I felt like all the men around here were skyscrapers.

"That's a nickname, right?" I asked after Half-Sack motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen and put the pot away. "You're name's really not Half-Sack...is it?"

"No, it's Kip." He smiled at me again and leaned on the stove, tucking his hands under his arms. He gave Melinoë a wary glance and I could feel her soft growl in her chest, so I pet her to keep her calm."Chibs is my sponsor. I used to come here to shoot pool and he asked me if I wanted to Prospect. He told me about his 5 months as a field medic and I told him about my time in service and when I lost a nuts to an aper frag. He didn't believe me, so I showed him and the rest of the guys found out about it. Tig actually came up with the name. He's...different."

"How different?"

"Like, you'd wake up in the middle of the night to pee and he'd be petting your face, hovering above you with a gag ball in his mouth and holding a turkey baster full of his jizz, different." We both laughed and I couldn't begin to imagine how strange that man was. "There's another member you haven't met yet, Quinn. He doesn't talk much, but he's a nice guy. Then there's the Nomad, Happy. That's his real name too."

"What's wrong with him?"

"A lot. Tig's even scared of him and that means something." Kip looked a little nervous just talking about Happy and I wondered how off that man was.

If the Nomad man was weirder than Tig, he had to be a very unbalanced dude. I could only guess that the guy was a colossal man with devilish face tattoos, a scar over his eye and looked like a goddamn leviathan. Kip said Tig was afraid of the man and I couldn't imagine a Sergeant-At-Arms fearing anything.

I figured that a Nomadic Son was equivalent to a Drifter in Spartan terms. The members don't belong to one charter and they freely traveled between any branch within the clubs scattered across the map or they're called to one club to act as more muscle or protection them when a big problem arises. Gage says all the Drifters he's met were more like mercenaries and they were usually called upon when something tortuous needed to happen because they were ruthless, emotionless killers who loved money. A Prospect must be a Toady, but the Spartans always called the hopeful men wanting to wear their leather toads and they put them though hell before considering letting them join their club. I wondered if Kip's been going through the same thing.

I heard Dad calling me and Kip led the way to his voice, leading us down the hall. We came to a split in the corridor. If we rounded the corner, there were doors to rooms on either side and if we kept going straight, there was a bathroom at the other end. When we rounded around the corner, I saw a cutout in the wall and stopped to drool at what was sitting inside it. A turquoise 1946 Harley-Davidson Knucklehead was on display and it had a steady gleam to it as if it were given a daily polish. I've never seen such a beautiful bike in my life and now that I've seen this one, I don't think another one could compare to its beauty. This had to be the golden chariot of motorcycles.

"Who's the lucky man that owns this bike?" I asked and Kip chuckled.

"JT, John Teller, the founder of this club. This was Jax's Dad's bike. He died in '93, crashed into a semi-truck on 580. He lasted 2 days after the crash 'cause, according to Gem, Teller's do not die easy, they die bloody."

With that, Kip put his hand on the clutch closer to him and lightly grabbed it. He closed his eyes and I realized he was paying respect to the rider, to John. When Kip opened his eyes again, he looked at me with a smile and I wondered if I should show some respect to the dead. John was the founding father of the Sons of Anarchy and his name shouldn't be forgotten or scorned.

I decided to honor the man and reached out for the grip, but movement caught my attention and I stuffed my hand into my front pocket. Jax was coming down the hall at a steady pace, but slowed to a saunter when he saw us. He looked at my hand, then the bike and finally, at my eyes.

"You can touch it if you want, darlin'." He smiled with an unlit cigarette around his lips. "I'm sure JT wouldn't mind."

With the newfound permission I was granted, I gently grabbed the grip and closed my eyes. I mentally told John that I thought his bike was stunning, thanked him for creating this club because my Dad had a family and that I hoped he was resting peacefully. When I opened my eyes, I smiled at the beautiful ride and released the grip.

"You fixed it?" I asked, turning to Jax. I almost missed how his eyes quickly shot up to mine and his eyebrows came down, a confused look on his face. "The bike. Kip said John crashed into a semi."

"Did little Kippy tell you that?" He asked and his tone was teasing towards the younger man. I looked over my shoulder and Kip dismissively shrugged at the blond, looking a little irritated. "Me and Ope fixed it. Took a whole summer, but it was worth it."

"You guys did a damn good job. It looks beautiful."

"Thanks." He smiled again. "You know how to ride, darlin'?"

I was gazing at the bike again, but I turned to Jax when he asked me that. The way he said 'ride' stood out against his other words because it sounded deep and...sultry. And the way darling rolls off his lips was something else. It was almost intoxicating to hear.

I started stuttering and that turned me into the rambling mess I was, but Jax was smiling at it. That didn't help me in the slightest bit, but I heard Dad call me again and jumped at the opportunity to get away from Jax. I quickly scampered down the hall and into a room where the door was already opened.

I set Melinoë down and she bolted under the fold-out bed. Dad was getting the pillows off the floor to put them on the bed and I looked around the room. There were posters of retro pin-up models, some on motorcycles while others were half-naked on the hood of cars, tapped on the walls, a short dresser, a half-closed reach-in closet, an awning window to the right of the bed over the nightstand and a worn recliner. I saw a cracked open door on the right side of the room and the white tiled floor, so that must be the bathroom.

I was about to go see how comfy that armchair was, but my shoulder brushed something when I took a step. I thought it was the wood of the door, but it was Kip and it was then that I realized I dragged him down the hall with me in my retreating from Jax. I had his hand gently clutched in mine, fingers intertwined and everything. I looked at him and he was already looking down at me with a calm expression, relaxed even.

I unlaced our fingers and ducked my head down to let my hair hide my reddening cheeks from him. Jesus, I haven't been here 24 hours and I'm blushing more now than I have in my entire life.

"Alright, Marci." Dad sighed as he placed the last pillow and straightened up, groaning when he pushed his hands into his back to get the kinks out. "This is my room and it's yours for the time bein'. I've got a 1 bedroom apartment and I know you'll need your space, so I'm gonna look for a bigger place. I don't want ya' there alone, so you're gonna crash in here and be around your family."

"I think some of them overlooked that family bit." I muttered and Kip snickered, making me glance up at him.

"Look how pretty you are, love. I wouldn't be surprised if a fight broke out over ya'." Dad chuckled and I didn't know he heard me. "The boys are harmless. If they're pissin' you off, give 'em a good punch in the sack and they'll back off for sure."

"You're allowing me to go around giving these guys nut-punches?" I asked, giggling.

"Yeah, everyone 'cept him." He pointed to Kip. "Lad's only got one nut left, can't have you bustin' the last of his manhood. Unpack, get settled and find Juice after. I want you to talk to him about that Spartan MC and we'll see if he can't get some dirt on 'em."

I nodded and Dad came over to hug me tight. He pinched the tip of my nose and smiled at me before leaving, patting Kip on the shoulder. He looked like he was about to say something, but he just waved and rushed down the hall after Dad. I started unpacking and as I did, I couldn't get Kip off my mind.

He was the only one I've had a conversation with since I've been here and he's been really nice to me, but something was keeping him in my head.

Translations come from Google Translate, so the accuracy is iffy and I used Scots Gaelic for Chibs' native language
*Christ Almighty, look at you