Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with SOA, it's production or casting. Only Grainne is my creation.

A/N: A huge thank-you to everyone who has added this to their story alerts, favourited it or reviewed. I would love a few more reviews from this chapter and I swear, after this chapter I'll start to pick things up a little

Morning broke and it hurt – like a kick in the teeth. An immediate shot of agony followed by a dull thudding ache that didn't ease up. Hangover – I didn't remember drinking, but maybe I had. By the end of my journey I'd been so tired that I didn't recall much. There was a blanket chucked over me – not that I needed one it was that warm – it vaguely smelt of tobacco smoke and wood polish. Where had it been stored? No trace of damp in it, so it was dried properly...oh, I don't know. No-one was hanging around to wait for me to wake up...should I have suspected such? No. Why would anyone be waiting for me? Maybe they were off on a job...I didn't remember much from what he had said that he did for the club. It was stupid and he knew what would happen if any ever found out, but he knew he could trust me to keep my mouth shut. I'd been raised in this world, but my heart had never been with my fathers chapter, or gang for that matter. I didn't like the whole 99% attitude wife number three was bringing in. In some sick and twisted manner, I enjoyed the rush of the raids, the runs, meting out punishments for rats was a real high. Most of all, I loved being trashed with the boys. But trophy wife had spent the last year trying to get me to turn into some sweet and innocent lady of society. Sickening thing was that she was winning them over – my brothers, uncles, cousins...even my father was cutting back and talking about going straight. She'd threatened the stability of the entire chapter and I wouldn't stand for it. I'd made some noise, scared her off for a few months and put things right.

When she came back from her visit and saw just what her darling step-daughter had done she got nasty. Spiking my drinks with straight liquor, planting meth on me (don't know where she got it from), almost stalking me...woman couldn't take that my father preferred his own flesh and blood to her. Then she started abusing me – stupid things at first. Snide comments, tripping me up, putting me down. Then she got serious. She'd threaten to cut me into little pieces if I didn't start playing the good little girl, started putting shit in my drinks so I'd only get flashbacks of what she'd have the wasted club members to do me, she'd gone as far as cutting the brake lines on the car I used to own. I refused to go near one after that. Bikes are easier to protect.

So if she was such a witch, why am I the one running? Well, she'd convinced that club that I was mentally unstable. Delusional even. That my accusations were the rantings of an insane teenager overcome by a belated, bound-up grief over my mothers passing. I was dangerous to both myself and those around me and that I needed to go away for a while. To an asylum. So that some professional could figure out what to do with me. I wasn't having any of that. So naturally, I struck out at her, and at my father for believing her. I'd jump from bed to bed; Pagans, Bandidos, Outlaws, Angels...I didn't give a damn. I'd granted so many sets of wings I earned my right to be called a whore, after all – it's all I was. Some dumb-ass, suicidal, insane whore who didn't know her own self-worth and couldn't be trusted to be let out of sight.

"Grey?"

"Kip? That you?"

"Hey girl – thought I heard someone shuffling around out here"

"My bike?"

"Safe...but the spark plugs are near done and wheels are worn...girl, you know how to abuse a bike"

"Yeah, told you I was runnin' on slicks...any trouble?"

"No – a bunch passed through earlier. You lucky you came at the time you did...no-one seen you Grainne. Bikes outta sight. We're not expecting any trouble"

"He tried calling you?"

"No honey. He's been through and said to ring him if I saw you – but you'd never come to Charming, you're too bright for that"

"What do the rest of the club know?"

"Nothing – they think you're an old school friend and fellow vet. No worries Grey"

"Can't keep calling me Grey, they'll catch on"

"What about Pride...s'what family used to call you when we were younger"

"Umm...no, not safe. Need something that isn't linked back to family"

"Celtica...personal name for you. Always did remind me of those Celtic warrior women – all braids and nasty temper with a keen eye to match theirs. Not been a public name for you ever. Try to keep it to myself"

"And everything else?"

"We'll figure it out as we go along. Basics – raised in New York, trained together but an old deep tissue injury stopped you going any further. Lower back, pelvis and upper thighs, came off a bike at high speeds, six months in an ICU unit. You went back home and back to racing. Lost contact when I went off on tour. No family alive. Parents died in a car accident which is why you don't do cars, lets say a year ago, named Bob and Jane. Only child of only children. Grandparents live somewhere on the east coast, but you have little or no contact with them so you couldn't be sure. Clara and Noel are Jane's parents. Elizabeth and Joseph are Bob's parents. You had a horse when you were growing up named East Coast Smoker, but you called her Smoke, Grey Barb. You haven't told me anything else – nothing else worth talking about. Oh, you've just come out of a long term relationship. Bastard, called James, was cheating on you with a younger blonde who didn't have scars. We all good with that?"

"Yeah...but what scars?"

"No-ones ever gonna see where the scars are meant to be so no worries"

"Ahh...gotcha"

"Right, I'm gonna introduce you to Gemma and Clay – Juice and Tig are hanging around. Look out for Tig, he don't care what he gets laid by...don't even care if its got a pulse, so long as there's a hole. Bobby might be around – you'd like him. I warn you though, Gemma and you – I can see you clashing"

"Whys that?"

"You're both big personalities, you're both attractive women and neither of you are willing to give an inch"

"Are you, Kip Epps, calling me stubborn?"

"Why Celtica, I believe I maybe. C'mon – they'll all be wondering where the hell I've got to – meant to be working today and your bike is murder, we normally work on cars or Harley's, racing is a different ball game all together"

"I can deal with the bike, or at least tell you what to do"

"I don't think Clay or Tig would be to happy with having a woman in the garage...even if you do know what you're doing"

Hands up in surrender, I toyed with the braids that reminded my cousin...sorry, friend so much of the people I was named after. I couldn't have them hanging in my face if I was to be aware of what was going on around me, so they were tied back and kept out of my line of sight for the rest of the day. Yes, they showed the bruising from where I'd tried to hang myself (more like where the wicked step-mother tried to strangle me), but I'd answer that later if the question came up. As for money – what the hell was I meant to do for that? There was the side account I'd been skimming from and had put in to a third account under a different name that I could reach in to, but that wouldn't last forever and I needed to find work fast. Or at least in the next 6 months if I was going to keep daddy darling at bay. I doubted they needed any help in the garage...maybe I could get bar work somewhere, or look further a field to one of the nearby towns or even Oakland – how hard could it be to get a job in a bar or an office? OK, so I didn't have that much experience working behind a desk...but I'm a grafter by nature and a quick learner, so they wouldn't have to worry too much about training me. Besides...how difficult could it be to type a could of words on to a computer screen and pretend to know what you're talking about? With a quiet cough, my attention was brought back to the current place – this was the oh-so famous garage that Kip couldn't stop talking about. To say I had been expecting something more was an understatement – it looked a little run-down, but I'd seen worse. Pale blue and white exterior walls, yellow and red sign, steel roller doors and a number of Harley's sitting on the concrete yard outside. Those surrounding the place all shared the same cut as Kip...well, was it the same? I knew Kip to be Vegan, so leather would be out of the question...but it looked like all the cuts were leather. I'd have to ask him later.

"Hey – anyone here?"

"You're late half-sack"

"Sorry, I had Celtica to see to"

"I told you Gemma would deal with her"

"And scare her off? Not likely. Besides, she wanted to know about her bike"

"I have a voice Kip...but yes, how is my baby?"

"You're baby?"

Rolling my eyes, I ignored the sounds of indignation and went over to the strikingly different bike set to one side. Kneeling by it, I looked over at the one who had questioned the label I had for my bike. He was balding slightly, but no point in making much of a note of that. Most of the men I was around seemed to be going bald. But what hair he had was curly, mid to dark brunette. He was slightly tanned – but that was the sun. Caucasian without a doubt. He was too far away to note he eye colour. See, I was very cold when it came to recalling facts about a person and able to reel them off without really trying.

"Yes. My baby, closest I'll ever have to a real one"

"Well, maybe I can help you there"

"Tig, leave her alone and get back to work. Half-sack, I told you to leave her behind, talk to Jax...I don't know what he wants from you today. Juice, your office will be free now. You, Gemma wants to see you"

Well, courtesy clearly didn't run in this place. He could have said please. Or at least asked my name. Was it all that difficult to do? What was a couple of seconds out of his day to say Celt instead of you? Nothing – but it would have left me with a better impression. My guess was that he was Clay. I couldn't figure out just how people thought of him as attractive – the way he had his jaw reminded me of a less advanced Neanderthal. Maybe even a monkey, but I was guessing his word carried weight around here so it would be the smart move to do as he said. There was an older woman waiting on the concrete outside the main area of the garage. Highlighted hair, not the most pleasant of expressions on her face, but well-dressed for an older woman. Probably married to one of the more prominent member of this little town.

"I guess you're the infamous Celtica then?"

"And I take it that you're Gemma"

Keep it cool and collected. It was the only way to deal with her kind of person. I'd done so often enough with some of my fathers past women. They liked to think they had control – manipulative, calculating, intelligent women. Never underestimate them and never let your guard down. They'll find a weak point and cut you to pieces for it.

"Any idea why we had a procession of Hells Angles run through here last night?"

"No. What gives you the impression that I would know anything?"

"Just that you turned up late last night and prospect went running to you. An hour later they come rolling through looking for someone called Grainne. Name ring a bell?"

"Can't say it does. Sorry"

"No worries...looking for a job?"

"What's the catch?"

"Who says there's a catch?"

"No-one ever gives you anything unless there's something in it for them"

"Maybe you need to start trusting people. I'm guessing you don't have much in the way of money and the bike will need to be paid for"

"I have my sources. I don't need charity"

"I just don't get you"

"Meaning?"

"You ride in here, middle of the night with no apparent source of income and no ID, but with a racing model released a couple of months ago, dressed in the likes of Gucci and Armani and you know Half-sack of all people. You really are a mystery"

"And I'd like to stay that way – I don't like people knowing my business when they have no place"

"And what exactly are you doing for money then?"

"Like I said, I have my sources"

"Legal?"

"Think I would tell you if they weren't?"

"Probably not, but there's nothing like putting in an honest days work"

"My family didn't do honesty, and I've been raised to do the same. From what I've been told you're one-percenters, so I'm sure you can appreciate that much"

"What's Half-sack been saying?"

"Exactly that – you're a one-percenter MC from a little backwater town in Northern Cali"

"And what would you know?"

"I was raised in the saddle – first bike was a Triumph – rode with my father until I was ten. Always have had a thing for them, never did like Harley's. Father wasn't part of the local MC, but had a good relationship with them. Mother tried desperately to protect me. Never did work, probably because I was always closer to him than her. She was a free-spirit hippie and I needed my father's friends to keep me sane"

"She the one that brought you the horse then?"

"Who? Smoke...yeah, she wanted me riding a horse, not a bike. Never did get her own way"

"Celtica your real name then?"

"No, Half-sack's name for me...Romana, in truth"

"Well then Romana...maybe we need to spend some time together, get to know each other – come to the club tonight. Oh, I'd wear something else if I were you, leathers only work on certain people at certain times"

Bitch. I knew what she was insinuating – I was just hoping I didn't look like her when I was her age. I knew there was no way we'd ever get along. We'd maybe be able to be civil, but as hell were we ever going to be close. Maybe she did have a point though – still, how was I meant to change when the closest city was 30 miles out and I had no mode of transport? I hated this feeling of being stranded. I suppose I'd have to live with it for now. There probably was a few places around here where I could get clothes, but I doubt it's what I would wear. Hey, I'm a picky girl with expensive taste – don't judge. My father always made sure I knew how to dress, and which names were worth taking note of. Blame him if you'll blame anyone. However, I did have that spare account which was meant to be for emergencies...but I could find work later. I know, it makes me sound a tad on the lazy side, but I'd rolled into town less than 24 hours ago. I needed to be laying low for a while, keep a low profile so that things could cool off. I'd need to get my hands on some fake ID – I had the card, but nothing photographic. Damn shame. However, the card was enough...now, where could I get a cab around here?

Darling Miss Queen of the bikers was going to regret the way she'd spoken to me and the looks she'd given me. I would not accept that sort of behaviour – even from an elder.