Another day, another chapter! I really hope everyone likes what they are reading, if you don't, well, drop me a review! Tell me what I'm doing wrong! If you do, well... Review anyways! All of the Sons of Anarchy names and likenesses belong to Kurt Sutter. My own original characters belong to me. I don't plan on creating a myriad of them as I did in Stars. I make no money from this work of fiction. Enjoy, and see you all in two days!
She felt important, for being summoned at the clubhouse of the Marseilles Sons of Anarchy chapter. She wasn't usually girly, but she'd put a lot of time in front of the mirror, to look like she cared, but didn't really, with her distressed boyfriend-jeans and her big leather jacket, rolling in on her new bike wearing enough spray-net that if she had laid her bike she may have caught on fire.
She had never lit a cigarette before to look cool. She smoked because, as her father, it helped her not murder people when it wasn't the right time or right place. Calmed her nerves. So she lit one, helmet still on her head, it made Philippe Lefort chuckle from the shade of the tin roof in front of the clubhouse, where himself was smoking. When he spoke, it was with an accent from Québec. Much different than that spoken around here with the Marseillais accent.
-Having fun?
-You're supposed to be in awe in front of all of this coolness.
-But then I would look smitten with only you. That's not my rep.
-You tool. How did Law sound this morning?
-Very hungover. Emma was up in his case.
-When is she not? She has the whole club by the balls. Dad here yet?
-Nay. They didn't want him here.
Her heart beat faster. That could not be good that they asked her dad to stay away. It was going to be a big fat no, no girl would ever be a prospect to this club. But before she could start stressing over it, Lefort had lowered his hand on her shoulder, smiling his crooked smile, the one that made him look like Heath Ledger's Joker without makeup.
-How about we start by taking that helmet off?
-They're gonna say no, are they?
-Come on.
She was dragging her feet, now, all she could hope for was the the rejection be gentle enough that she could hold her tears in until she hit the highway. She expected to meet in Church, but they were sitting around the pool table, they had taken their chairs from inside the Church. At the head, Lawrence "Law" Moreau, the president, pulling on his cigar, eyes darting from her to Phillipe Lefort that was holding her hand. To his left, Jacques Tellier, his step-son, the VP of the club. Everyone called him Jack. Fucking pretty boy, she never thought much of him since he tried to pick her up one night he was drunk, she'd said no, he called her a slut, and his girlfriend Lara Nouilles had freaked out on her big time.
The other end of the table is where her father would have sat, in the Church, because it was closer to the safe. It sat empty for her. As she sat, she detailed the familiar faces. Sargeant at Arms Robert "Bob Seger" Manseau, with his big mop of salt and pepper hair and his glasses and big beard. Philippe, who went by Joker because of his chibs. Randy Coin, big, quiet guy who predicted the weather, thus being nicknames Rain Queen. Alexandre Traqueur, with an even voice and baby blues that gave it away that he wasn't the sanest person of this ragtag bunch, they called him Tiges, because of his knack at impaling people with different rods and pipes he found laying around.
Alexandro Montel, just a cute guy without much of a backstory, he had transferred last year from Spain. Georges "Le Rat" Prud'Homme, nicknamed so because of his facial features. Théo LaCroix, the only black man in this charter. A very good friend of Jack.
Jean-Charles Lortie, the neurotic one, whom was going by Juicy due to his steroid use. Hermond Losique, she hadn't had his personality pegged yet, partly due to the fact that he'd only transferred back last year, but mainly because he was Ukrainian and did not speak French, and his English was so hashed that she had given up trying to make sense of him. His mother had been French, and Losique was one of the only thing people understood when he spoke, so everyone called him that.
There was also Henri Weston and his father Piermond, who was one of the original members of this charter. Everyone called Henri Hopie, and Piermond Poney. She had never dared to ask why. That was the lot of them.
They were all quiet, she wasn't used to that. It just reinforced the feeling of "no", as she pulled her hands on her knees. As Law paraphrased for a while in French, her gaze locked on the hand that she had came in possession of three days before, it was in a Tupperware in front of Jack, it had turned a few shades of grey and green, it looked nasty. Why did it take so long for them to ask her to come? Oh my god, they were gonna say no. They were going to kill her for mingling into club business by taking out the arch-enemy, they would strip her dad from his patches, kick him out of the club he had put forty plus years of his life into. Mom was going to have to sell her pirate on the sea business because they would have to leave Marseilles. Maddie would come back periodically to take a shit on her unmarked grave because she would have ruined her life with her mingling in club business. Her dad would deny her very existence for the rest of his life because she had cost him what was the most important thing in his life. She was no better than Esther! She WAS NO BETTER TH...
-... and so we decided to give you a shot at being an enforcer, for a while... Everett. Are you okay?
-Yeah-why-would-I-not-be-okay?-Uh-what-were-you-saying?
Oh, crap, she was hyperventilating, she'd let her imagination run wild, but she did not have Sailor and Maddie's innate talent at keeping it all under wraps and looking like she had herself in check. Her whole train of thought had transpired on her face, into her breathing, and all but Law that was just too busy saying how great and generous he was for what deal he'd just put on the table, they all noticed that she was freaking the fuck out.
-Fuck I need a drink.
She felt light-headed and near fainting as she rose to her feet, if her dad would have been here, he would have punched her in the arm and told her to pipe the fuck down. Man up. Grow some balls. At the bar, she touched a bunch of bottles, reading the labels without even seeing them, until she recognized the Captain Morgan logo, she guzzled at the bottle until her throat felt on fire. The good thing was that if these guys were thick enough, it could pass for her being nervous of the honor of whatever deal was just offered to her.
Nope, none of them were that dumb, their eyes twinkled just too damn much, even if they would go along with it, as she sat back down in her father's worn out chair.
-Say that again?
-Enforcer. For a year. Then we'll see.
Enforcer. Not a hang-around, not a prospect. She gets a kutte, a top rocker "Sons of Anarchy", a bottom rocker, "Marseilles" but no center patch with the cloaked Death and scythe. A blank, like prospects. And for the front, she gets a couple of patches. One with the name that they call her around here, Stars, one with her position, "Enforcer". No vote, no hazing, just one year of doing dirty, nasty jobs that they could not trust the prospects with, or that the members themselves couldn't carry out due to being directly linked.
She held on to her true reaction as she took the rockers and patches, she melted into a faked melt-down of gratefulness, promised to be the best enforcer they ever got, proudly put the blank kutte on and the rockers carefully into the pocket, before leaving. She held on to her tears, partially because of her glasses that she wore to ride, and once she reached the apartment complex she lived in, she saw the green bike out front, she nearly ran into it as she pulled to the curb.
Once inside her parents' fish-tank apartment, she threw the blank kutte at her father as hard as she could as she exploded.
-I'm good to carry out the bitch work, is that it? Enforcer? Really? It would have been less humiliating if they'd asked me to fuck my way around the whole club, like, all the fucking charters! Suck the dick of every Sons from Alaska to Australia! Fuck! Enforcer!
-Calm the fuck down before I backhand you.
-I'm not gonna calm the fuck down! I made a fucking fool out of myself in there! I'm gonna be all of tonight's talk, thanks to you! You could have given me a fucking heads up! You knew what was going on! You knew the second you gave Lavallin's hand to Lawrence and Jack!Is this to teach me a lesson or something?
But Happy is quiet, sitting on the couch, she notices that his left elbow is really swollen, and bruised. He has two beers on the table, Everett can hear Florence in her bedroom talking on her cellphone with her friends, "like, totally", King is in the door frame of his bedroom, looking at his oldest sister as if he could punch a hole through her. Something happened. Her dad was waiting for her. He told them, or at least told King something that he was about to tell her. She felt a pit forming in her stomach, recognizing the blank kutte that she had put on earlier. It was her father's kutte. He hadn't worn it in two whole days. She had noticed that, but she hadn't really realized it, amid her stress of what the club could say to her.
-Dad?
If he told her that he had given up his spot in the Sons for this shitty Enforcer spot, she might murder him. King closes his door, why isn't she nicer to her sixteen years old brother? He looks so much like their dad. And he isn't tainted by the Sailor/Maddie craziness. He's just a Lowman named after their parents' first date.
She sits down, she only notices when her butt touches the cushion.
-Daddy?
-I haven't been able to start my bike in ten days.
They look at each other for a moment, she can feel her eyes welling up. All of her rage is gone. The club is her father's entire existence. And she knows what happens to bikers that can't ride their own bikes. He had a lone tear rolling fatly down his cheek, it impressed her, she didn't remember ever seeing her father crying. It clung at his stubbly chin for a moment, before falling against his shirt, leaving a soft grey spot on it.
-I haven't even told mom, yet. King knows because he picked me up from the ground, in the parking lot. She was gone with the car, so I walked to the club. It took me everything I had to have them give you that Enforcer spot, baby. Even my kutte. I groveled and sworn up and down that you'd do that piece of leather as much honor as I had done it for forty-four years. I spent sixteen years in jail overall for it. I've never wished more that you'd been born a boy than I do now, baby. That they'd let King be a full patch in a heartbeat if I asked the right way, but I can't get any better for my daughter, for the love of my fucking life, than a shitty ass, thrown together Enforcer patch. That club is full of fucking enforcers, baby. From Tiges to Hopie to Rain. Jax Teller, God rest his soul, would have never stood for that kind of bullshit. In Charming, you'd have been a full patch for at least three years, by now. I wish I had never left. I fucking miss Charming every day of my life.
Sobs were rolling out of of her throat as she listened to probably the first time her father had been so raw and honest with her in a decade. If not more. Her father was never a man to waste words, he was a guy of action. And now he could barely pull the trigger.
-I'm wearing down your mom on that retirement thing. When Flo leaves for College, I'm hoping to take your mom back to LA. I want to die where I was born.
She slammed the door behind herself as she ran out of the fish-tank. Her daddy was her hero, no bullet could take him down or out, and he was like a dog on a car ride when they whizzed by. She'd grown up to be like him, and to hear him talking of his own mortality did not sit well with her. Happy Lowman was fucking immortal. As Kenny Winston had joked, they still told stories of him in Charming. Even if he'd been gone over fifteen years.
Was she just a seat-warmer, until King would be old enough to join the rank of SOA?
She was crying herself out on the rooftop terrace when she felt, again, big arms closing in around her, she was lifted from the two stacked milk crates like she weighed a feather, it smelled like gas, grease and Play Boy New York for Men around her, she buried her face into Rain Queen's neck, the sobs were now hurting her throat. Did he know, or did her father call? She would murder him if he did, her major crush on Randy Coin was supposed to be a secret.
-Je suis juste un seul homme, bichette. Même avec ton père, je fais pas le poids contre eux.
"I'm only just one man, doll-face. Even with your father, I'm no match against them", he leaned his forehead against hers, his breath smelled of candies and the energy drinks he guzzled down at the speed of light, he's picked up the habit after he stopped shooting up heroin and popping speed, and started training instead. Sometimes, even when she had a boyfriend or girlfriend, she had moments of weakness where she'd sneak into the clubhouse, knowing he just got back from the gym, and she would go sit in his bathroom to smell his odor. She almost got caught, once. Major crush on Randy Coin didn't even begin to describe it. Her heart swelled of his proximity.
-You'd have me as a prospect?
-I'm sponsoring you as a prospect. Now that your dad is gone. I like you, Stars. You're fun. Bright. And you give good... Ink.
She could not help the chortle that came up her throat, the innuendo was there, they couldn't take it back. She pushed her head against his neck further, her nose was trying to take advantage of his proximity to determine where exactly he sprayed said Playboy New York for Men.
-You really think we can change their mind in a year's time, Rain?
-I think you can change their minds in less time than that.
There's the spot. Against his jawline, almost where his ear, jawline and neck meet, it smells like a little slice of paradise. She almost gasps when he put a hand, one of his big hands on the nap of her neck, squeezing gently, his hands are so big he could easily choke the life out of her with only one of them. When she risked looking up, he was smiling down on her, he brushed his nose against hers, again, and again, herself did not think she would gather the balls to press her lips on his, despite how close they were to hers. And he seemed good enough with playing "nosies", for a while. Once he got enough of them, he pushed her head back against his neck, nose straight on that spot she had searched, it made her smile despite how sad she was feeling, deep down.
Maybe things could be easier for her towards the Sons, if her father wasn't right there for comparison purposes.
Shit. Her dad wasn't a Son anymore. It went against everything she had ever known of him, ever since his existence came to light, when she was eight, nine years old.