***
Because I'm unforgivably cheesy, there was a theme song for each main character while I was writing this chapter and the next. Three very different flavours of rock for three very different characters, each of whom is keeping the other two off balance in one way or another.
(For some reason, this is previewing as 4,038 words. MS Word assures me that it's 3,735. What the hell, FF?)
-B.
Wallflowers - God Says Nothing Back (Anne)
Back over the rotted bridge I cross
Open up these graves, let these bodies talk
I'm buried under leaves, blood red and gold
Death says nothing back
But I told you so
Dispatch - Questioned Apocalypse (Tig)
my brother looks up at the sky and says, why have you poisoned my brother's cup
and I say don't you worry boy
cause the woman who came for me
will surely show you your bliss
for she holds the answers to all your fears
she questions the apocalypse
Mumford and Sons - Little Lion Man (Half-Sack)
weep little lion man,
you're not as brave as you were at the start
rate yourself and rape yourself,
take all the courage you have left
wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head
***
It was a cool California afternoon when Tig pulled into the Teller-Morrow courtyard followed by Anne's rental car. Sun shone brightly, but slate grey clouds seethed in the distance, threatening rain. Tig killed the engine and backed his Dyna into line with the other bikes while Anne parked near Gemma's car.
Clay sauntered up as Tig unbuckled his helmet. The president welcomed him back with a shoulder slap, but his grey eyes were serious. "You sure 'bout this?"
Tig nodded. "She's not safe on her own. It's just for a couple days."
"And then what?"
"She'll put Stahl in the ground and go back home." Tig said. After a moment, he added. "She ain't a crow eater, Clay."
"Never thought that for a second, brother." Clay looked over at Anne, who had stepped into the sunlight on the far side of row of cars. She met the president's gaze for a moment, then looked away.
It wasn't a warm welcome for Anne, but then, Tig hadn't expected one.
Gemma walked up to the Malibu, a reserved smile on her beautiful face. The two women exchanged some words Tig could not hear, and Gemma briefly embraced Anne. They walked back to the clubhouse, side by side. Gemma looked tolerant, while Anne wore a look of mild disinterest, though her hands were tight on the strap of her bag. Clay snorted in bemusement. Gem usually took a firm hand with the women who came around the club. Unfortunately, of all the things Tig could protect Anne from, the queen was not one of them.
Looking toward the garage, Tig saw Half-Sack and Opie watching Anne. Opie's bearded face was stern and his arms were folded across his chest. Half-Sack stared at her with more intensity than Tig had seen in him for months. It made him nervous. Half-Sack stepped out into the light and Anne's eyes fell on him. She stopped in her tracks. For a long moment, neither moved.
Half-Sack was gaunt, one eye showing a faded bruise and his knuckles were battered from recent brawls. He looked older than he was. This was the new normal. The calm on Anne's face broke, and Tig saw guilt and anguish. For Half-Sack, she did not hide her feelings.
Anne took two steps towards the prospect, then stopped as if there was a wall she could not cross. Her eyes were locked on Half-Sack's. Tig scowled. He didn't understand what was passing between the two, but he didn't like it. He was considering intervening when Clay's hand landed heavily on his shoulder, a warning to stay out of it.
Half-Sack shook his head vehemently and his eyes dropped to the ground. He turned abruptly and retreated to the shop with angry strides.
Gemma's hand touched Anne's arm, and the pain on the younger woman's face immediately smoothed back to detachment. Her posture, however, had diminished. She looked small next to the queen as they entered the clubhouse.
"What was that about?" Clay asked.
Tig shook his head. "Fucked if I know."
He left Anne to settle in with Gemma's help. He felt like he'd missed something important in the exchange between her and Half-Sack, but that was messy emotional shit he just didn't have the temperament to deal with. Short of locking the two in a room together, he had no idea how to fix whatever was broken. And if he did lock them up together, they might decide to kill each other, or fuck each other. Neither was an outcome he was willing to entertain.
At a gesture from Clay, Tig followed the president into the tiny shop office. Clay sat at the desk, leaning back in Gemma's chair with a creak.
"Any news on who took down Stahl?" Tig asked, sitting across from Clay.
"Naw. No one's bragging. You see anyone hanging around in Oakland?"
Tig sighed. "Just our very own Deputy Hale. He wanted to say goodbye to his bitchy fuck buddy."
Clay gave Tig a look of utter annoyance. "Dead ATF agent and not only are you seen near her, you're with the sister who's life depends on never explaining why she was in Lodi last year? Jesus fucking Christ, Tig."
Gemma chose that moment to enter the room. She closed the door behind her and perched on the edge of the desk next to Clay.
"Got Annie all set. She gonna be here long?"
"Don't think so." Tig said.
"Too bad."
Clay regarded his lady with a raised eyebrow. "You can't be serious."
"Baby, just now was the most emotion I've seen on Half-Sack's face since July."
"He looked fucking miserable." Clay said.
"No," Gemma corrected. "He looked upset. She looked miserable. And I don't give a shit what she feels as long as it gets Kip back to the human race. Maybe if they settle up, it'll heal whatever's in his head."
Tig pinched the bridge of his nose and avoided looking at Gemma.
"Whatever. But what do we do when Hale shows up?" Clay asked.
Tig didn't want to mention the shouting and the drawn gun, so he temporized. "Anne handled him pretty well. He's a soft touch for pretty girls."
"You trust her to not fuck that up?"
"It's her life on the line. She knows that." Tig said.
"Shit. I do not like having this kind of attention brought down on us. It's not like you to get so wound up over a piece of ass."
Tig shook his head. He resented it, but Clay was right. However, his confusion about Anne wasn't the only reason they had to help her. "I wouldn't be standing here if she hadn't been a goddamn rock in Lodi. And whatever Half's deal is, neither would he."
Clay and Gemma exchanged glances. The president sighed again. "We don't know if Stahl's attack had anything to do with the sister. The biggest danger for her might be just having the cops know she's with us. If they dig into it and unravel anything about Lodi, she's fucked."
"Better than leaving her alone in a hotel room, waiting for someone to break down her door. She's scared, Clay. She should be scared."
"Look, I feel for her, and I respect that you've got something going there, but she makes me nervous." Clay said.
"Not as nervous as we make her." Gemma interjected.
Clay's eyes narrowed. "Then why is she even here?"
Gemma looked at Tig. Her lips twitched. "Take a guess."
Clay rubbed his face with one hand and gave Tig an assessing look.
"What." Tig said.
"Okay, she stays to handle the shit with her sister. If Hale shows up, that's on her—it'd look ten times worse if we kept her away from him. After that, well, my preference is that she fucks off back to the great white north." Clay glanced at Gemma, whose eyebrow was raised. He sighed. "But if you want to keep her, we can have that talk."
Tig glared. "She's a good fuck and she's tough as hell, but she ain't my old lady."
"Not sayin' she is. But if you decide she could be, we'll talk."
Gemma rested her hand on Clay's shoulder. The two of them were strong, united, together. Tig saw, in a vivid flash, himself with Anne at his side. His ally. His alone. He could see it so clearly.
"Whatever." Tig shrugged and reached for the door.
The garage was cold with the bay doors open, but most of the guys preferred fresh air and light over fumes and fluorescents. Tig passed Opie and Juice working on a mangled pick-up and spotted Half-Sack at the back of the garage. The prospect was leaning against the wall, a beer in one hand, glaring out at the world with dark, brooding eyes.
"Hey, no drinking during work, shithead."
Half just shrugged as Tig plucked the bottle from his hand. It was already two-thirds empty, so Tig drank the rest of it and put the empty on the workbench.
"C'mon. You and me. Smoke break."
"Naw, I'm good here."
"Wasn't a question. Move."
Behind the garage, Tig lit a cigarette and handed the pack to Half-Sack, who accepted. They both lit up and regarded each other warily. The prospect shifted his weight from foot to foot uneasily.
Tig stood square shouldered. He didn't have the same kind of unquestioned authority over the boy he'd once had, but he was still bigger, older, and the Sergeant at Arms. He knew how to give orders. "Now, you're going to tell me what the fuck is going on with you and Anne."
Half-Sack just stared at the cigarette in his hand, and shrugged awkwardly. He couldn't seem to stand completely still, as if he was struggling with himself somehow. Tig gritted his teeth. His brother was broken, and he had the horrible feeling that he'd made it worse by bringing Anne back. But he didn't understand why.
"I thought you'd be happy to see her saintly ass back in Charming, but you're acting like she's a Nord." Tig pressed.
Half kicked at the dust underfoot. "I'm glad she's safe."
"Yeah? Then what was that shit when she tried to talk to you."
"Leave it, Tig." Half-Sack had gone still, and his hands were closing into fists.
"Fuck you." Tig said calmly. "I can keep her away from you if I have to, but I need to know why."
Something dark stirred behind Half-Sack's eyes. He threw the barely-touched cigarette aside and stepped up to Tig, staring him down, daring him to take the next step in aggression. Tig had a hard time keeping his hands at his sides, but brawling with Half-Sack wouldn't help anything.
"She wasn't just there, watching. She tell you that?" Half-Sack said, his voice a furious whisper. "He made her do the cutting, made her do things."
It had been implied, but never outright stated. Tig stayed silent.
Half-Sack's voice took on a plaintive tone. "When she was here, broken like me and scared, it was different. But since she left, every nightmare I have is of her, man. It's her."
"I didn't know." Tig said. "You said she helped you."
Half-Sack's blue eyes caught Tig's and held them. He took a step back. "She did that too. That's why it's all fucked up in my head. Connor'd make her do shit, then it'd be her patching me up again. Looking at her now is fucking with my head."
"Jesus." Tig tried to imagine Anne cutting up Half-Sack. He couldn't do it. Then he recalled how coldly she'd put herself in the middle of a Nord fight to get the phone. Was it that much of a stretch for her to hurt someone else if she couldn't see a way around it? Anne calculated what needed to be done, and she committed to it, even if the price was high. It was, Tig thought, what a Son would do.
"I got work to do." Half-Sack shook his head abruptly and walked away. Tig stared after him and wondered how long they'd be paying the price for Lodi.
He needed to look into Anne's eyes and know what had been going on in her head while she hurt Half-Sack. Just because he felt like he knew her didn't mean that he did—and brothers mattered more than bitches, no matter how good the lay.
When he entered Jax's old apartment, he had a bad feeling. Anne wasn't in the living room or kitchen. He found her in the washroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, surrounded by the broken remains of the mirror. Anne's right hand was loosely wrapped in a towel, dripping blood.
"For fuck's sake." Tig cursed and crouched next to her, taking her hand and firmly wrapping the towel around the cut. She didn't flinch or speak, though it must have hurt.
"Hey. Look at me." Tig lifted her chin, and her eyes reluctantly focused on his. The bleak self-loathing on Anne's face hit him like a fist.
At the sound of a footstep behind him, Tig turned and saw Gemma in the doorway. Calm and stern, she looked down at the two of them. He was surprised to see that much patience on Gemma's face—if any of the other girls pulled this kind of shit, she'd have them on their feet and sweeping up the glass before the bleeding stopped. However, despite her calm, Gemma didn't look happy.
"Half's been sulking since you left. Now you're back, and you're worse than he is." She said, voice flat. "Y'know, normal girls just cry when they hate themselves. Breaking mirrors is too macho. Too messy. Not to mention melodramatic."
Anne blinked at the blood and then up at Gemma. She sounded very young. "I'm sorry."
Tig pulled back the towel to look at Anne's hand. It was a shallow cut, but the glass had glanced off her knuckle, leaving a gash on the back of her hand that angled under the skin. "What did the mirror ever do to you? Jesus. This is going to scar."
"I tortured Kip." Anne said. She closed her eyes. "I thought he'd forgiven me. But how do you forgive that?"
Tig felt Gemma take a step towards them, and he held up a hand to stop her. The last thing he wanted was the queen spilling more of Anne's blood.
"Why?" Gemma asked. Tig could hear the danger in her voice.
Anne stared down at the blood. She flexed her hand and watched fresh blood flow. Then her eyes flicked up and she looked unflinchingly into Tig's eyes.
"I'd just hit a point where I didn't care about surviving anymore. Then Connor drops this kid at my feet and tells me to make him scream." Anne's eyes shifted to Gemma's. "And just like that, I was back on Connor's hook. That's why it was Kip, not Tig. It had to be someone young, someone breakable. I did what Connor told me to because it was always, always better than what Connor would do when I refused."
It was a kind of torture to hear her talk like that. Tig sighed. He heard Gemma turn and walk away. He took Anne's uninjured hand and made her hold the towel over the cut while he got the first-aid kit out of the medicine cabinet. Glass crunched under boots.
As he wrapped Anne's hand in clean gauze, he stayed focused on the injury. He wasn't sure why he couldn't look at her face, but it was easier to look at her bloodied hand in his than it was to guess what she was thinking.
After a long silence, she spoke again. "He always gave me a choice. Knives or fire, me or him. I cut so that Connor wouldn't cut. I chose to be the kind of woman who could slice up a kid. I chose…"
"Shut up." Tig said. Anne wasn't crying, but she bowed her head. He was starting to understand. He didn't like it, but he understood. "All I'm hearing is that you weren't stupid. You're beating yourself up because you kept thinking instead of falling apart."
"When I get scared enough, something switches inside my head, and it's like I'm not even alive. With the knife in my hand and Kip screaming? I'd just... go cold." Anne's voice was barely a whisper. "Is that how you feel when you kill?"
It was a state he'd learned as a marine. It was useful. It meant you were thinking clearly, not just reacting with rage or fear. It was, however, this instinct of a killer. Looking at Anne he could see her capacity for cold-blooded acts, but also the scared little girl who couldn't quite accept what she was.
If she stuck with Sam Crow, what would she become? Or was it a matter of what she already was—too twisted to fit in her old life, too scared to embrace a new one.
Tig finished taping the gauze in place. He put his hand on the back of her neck and looked into her anxious green eyes. The mirror was broken, but she wasn't. Hurting, but not broken. Nothing could break her. If anything, she hated herself because she wasn't broken, and though that she deserved to be.
He stood and pulled Anne to her feet. Glancing at the glitter of broken glass between her and the door, he put his hands at her waist lifted her over it. She didn't protest. When he set her down, she cradled her bandaged hand and closed her eyes as if she was very tired. Tig tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and studied her face. Hair colour aside, she really didn't look a thing like Agent Stahl.
He remembered her saying that she was scared she was turning into her sister. Well, now he knew what she had meant. In a way, it was funny that it freaked her out so badly, as if being strong was somehow a bad thing to be. Was it more noble to be a victim? Fuck that. He didn't like that she'd done things for Connor, but at the first chance, she'd killed him. To Tig, that was a kind of atonement.
He recalled the bite mark on her throat. Whatever she'd done, it was tangled up in sex. That was the part that worried him. If Connor had taught her to like any part of it, he couldn't have her anywhere near Half-Sack. He'd seen women go from victim to predator; hell, half the crow eaters were probably trying to work through daddy issues.
"Did you enjoy it? Did it turn you on?" Tig asked bluntly. Anne's eyes went wide and she twisted to get away from him, but he caught her arm and held it. "Do you want to do it again?"
"No." Anne tried to pull away. When she couldn't, her hateful eyes glared up at him. "It killed me. It killed me. I quit my job because I can't deal with kids anymore. I can't be around my friends because I'm terrified they'll see what kind of monster I am."
Tig's response was cut off by Gemma's firm voice. "Get in there!"
Gemma pushed Half-Sack into the room. She pointed at the couch and gave the prospect her full don't fuck with me glare. Kip closed his eyes, sighed in frustration, and complied.
"You too." She jerked her head at Anne, who stood frozen until Tig gave her a push.
Gemma set a paper bag on the table. From it, she produced a large bottle of Bacardi 151, another of Pepsi, and an expertly rolled joint large enough to knock someone Bobby's size on his ass. She set each on the table and fetched two glasses from the kitchen. Lastly, she placed a Zippo next to the joint with a decisive click.
"This, children, is Sam Crow style therapy. Neither of you leaves this place until you settle whatever shit is eating you alive. Either of you try to bail, I'll shoot you myself. We clear?"
Tig suppressed a grin. It was too funny, too awful. Half-Sack nodded, and Anne stared at Gemma with a look of utter dismay.
The queen gestured for Tig to follow her. He reluctantly left Anne with Half-Sack. He trusted Gem when it came to emotional shit, but he didn't like the idea of a girl he half-way thought of as his getting drunk with another man, even a brother.
Gemma closed the door behind them and sighed. Her hazel eyes narrowed at Tig. "You owe me a mirror."
"Yeah, yeah." Tig rubbed the bridge of his nose. The clubhouse was empty at this time of day. He glanced back towards Jax's apartment. "You sure about this?"
"I'm sure that something's got to give. I'm tired of watching that boy act like a goddamn ghost."
"So he gets okay with Anne again, then she leaves. What's the point?"
Gemma deftly lit a cigarette and eyed Tig. "You keep girls at arms length. I know there are lots of reasons for that. But here's a girl who survived a month of… whatever that was… and still has the heart left to walk away from it. You wanna throw her away? Fine. Just don't kid yourself that you're doing it for her sake."
"What do you want me to say? I can't be a husband. I can't. I can't give her a white picket fence or kids or any of that shit. It's no use."
"She ask for any of that?"
"Not yet. But it's what they always want."
"They? Honey, women come in more breeds than just whore and homemaker." Gemma put her hand on Tig's cheek, and he breathed the familiar scent of her perfume. "I just wanna see everyone in my family happy. And for all that she's screwed up, that chick might be your best shot at something good."
It was too much to think about. Especially wondering what might happen between Anne and Half-Sack behind a closed door with enough booze to drop more than one pair of panties. Tig just shook his head and retreated to the garage.