Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy.
Clarence Morrow was not a forgiving man, especially not when his sleep was disturbed. Getting a good night's sleep in his current state—nursing injuries that would take months to heal—was extremely difficult. Not only did the pain of his healing bones keep him up most nights, but the weight of the heavy casts and the itch he could never seem to reach was almost unbearable. Clay coveted every second of sleep he could possibly get, so when it was interrupted, he was not at all happy about it.
Especially when it was about shit that had been kept from him!
As he stared at his son-in-law flanked by his VP and SAA, there was only one thought running through his mind.
If I could get my ass out of this bed, I'd beat the crap out of all three of them.
Although dawn had broken a couple of hours ago, with the sky currently overcast, very little light shone through the large window that was directly across from Clay's hospital bed. Only an hour before, Clay had been enjoying the sleep of babes when Jax had knocked on his bedroom door loud enough to wake the dead. As Gemma made her way to ream his ass, Clay had been drifting off again when he realized that the hushed whispers between mother and son were getting louder and angrier. And instead of going away, Jax was insisting on coming in.
"What the fuck is going on, people? I'm trying to get some sleep!" Clay bellowed.
Gemma, who was sporting some serious bed head and was wrapped in an old plaid robe, had a hand cocked on her hip as she turned to face her husband. "It's Jax. He says he needs to speak to you. He won't listen to me, so tell him to go away and come back at a godlier hour of the morning." She complained as she shuffled back to her twin bed, which was next to her husband's.
Clay was about to chew his stepson's ear off, when he saw that both Tig and Opie had followed Jax into the room. Correctly interpreting the looks on their faces, he turned to his old lady. "Baby, you need to leave us alone for a while."
Gemma rubbed at a crusty eye. "Are you serious?"
"Very." Jax replied for his father-in-law. "I'm sorry, Ma, but I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. Just crash downstairs in the family room. We're going to be a while."
Looking at her son through narrowed eyes, Gemma grabbed a pillow and a blanket from her bed and headed out the door, cursing under her breath.
Whatever this is, it's not going to help Clay get any better. I just know it.
Now, Clay ran his a hand through his hair. The shit that Jax had finally dropped on him was bouncing around his head, but all Clay could focus on was his rage. Rage against the ATF for going after his kid. Rage against that piece of shit Jimmy O for trying to destroy a relationship that had spanned over two and a half decades. Rage against his son-in-law and Acting President for keeping him in the dark. And rage because his current physical condition would prevent him from enjoying the satisfaction of beating Agent June Stahl into a bloody mass before snapping her pencil neck with his bare hands.
"So," Clay said silkily and softly, which was a dangerous tone for the outlaw biker and usually preceded the moment he started breaking skulls. "You've kept my ass in the dark all this time. You wanna tell me why?"
"Really? The reason why is not obvious to you? Why don't you try scratching your ass first and then tell me why I thought it best to keep this from you until now." Jax reasoned.
"Bullshit—" Clay started angrily, but Jax interrupted him.
"Nah, I'm talking now. Maybe that blow you took to the head has given you selective amnesia, so let me remind you. You almost died, Clay. That simple fact alone has affected this Club and your family in ways you don't even know. Your doctors—hell, my old lady and yours made it quite clear that they'd collect their pound of flesh if anyone stressed you out unnecessarily, causing you end to up in St. Thomas again. I agreed because we all knew, including you, that you were in no condition to take on the burden of something like this." Jax explained. "See, I'm assuming you chose me to stand in as Acting President because not only did you have faith that I could do the job, but also because you trusted my judgment. So just consider me leaving you out of the loop as a judgment call, but now that you're settled in and are stable, I have enough sense to know when to come to you for counsel. Now, you can lie there and bitch and brood, or you can work with me to protect the Club and our family. I gotta warn ya though, the position of grumpy old man has already been filled and Piney's not gonna give up his spot at the bar for no one. So, what's it gonna be because I don't have all day to stand here and hold your fuckin' hand."
The look on Clay's face could only be described as pissed-off shock and awe. As his father-in-law stared him down, Jax stared him down right back, knowing that under a different set of circumstances the older man would not hesitate to pummel the shit out of him. Which was why the shit-eating grin that suddenly broke out on Clay's face only served to shock and confuse Jax.
"What the fuck are you smiling at?" Jax asked perplexed.
I just got done tearing a strip off of him and he's grinning at me like I just told him he won the fuckin' lottery.
"I just had a déjà vu-kinda moment. I was Vice President of this Club for over thirteen years and the last dressing down that I can remember taking without losing my shit was handed to me by my last President—your father. And let me tell ya, you're just as diplomatic as your old man was." Clay chuckled as the other men in the room relaxed. "I guess it's just good to see you take the lead, son."
Jax shook his head. "We weren't gonna keep you in the dark forever, Clay. You know the gun business and our deal with the RIRA better than anyone at the table. More important, you know the Irish Kings. I don't see us getting out this mess without your input, but you do realize the affect your involvement can have on you, right? This shit hits closer to home than just our bottom line."
"I know," Clay nodded in agreement. "And trust me, next time I see baby girl, I'm putting her over my knee. First thing's first, however. What do you plan on doing to keep your old lady safe?"
"Jo doesn't know it yet, but she's under immediate lock-down here at the house." Jax replied.
"Good, but she's got the Prospect Andre the Giant wrapped around her pinky. Get a patch on her, too." Clay suggested.
"Already taken care of." Opie chimed in. "Sack's bunking down here until further notice and Happy put in a call to Tacoma for some back up. In a few hours we'll have a couple of seasoned patches watching the house from the outside."
"Okay." Clay said as he rubbed his gray stubbled face with his good hand. "Thanks to Jimmy O, we now have confirmation of the ATF gash's plan for getting rid of Jolene. Any chance Jimmy's in with the Feds?"
"There's always that chance, but according to Jo's two meetings with Stahl, the ATF is gunning for the Irish." Jax explained. "From what I can tell after reading the Intel Jo has on her, Stahl is looking to move up in the ranks. A big bust will go a long way towards making her Director of the Stockton Division."
"Stahl's hedging her bets." Tig said. "There's only one way to deal with a rat. You squeeze hard enough until they confess what they told and then you squeeze 'em 'til they're dead. My guess, Stahl doesn't trust that Doll Face will end up dead before she tells us about the gash's baby-murdering past. Feeding Jimmy O false information on Jolene gets her killed that much quicker by the Irish."
"And now Jimmy's using that information to kill a long-term business relationship. Why?" Clay asked.
"We have a theory, but from the information Chibs gave us on Jimmy, we can't figure out whether he would be reckless enough to go that route." Opie replied.
"Let's bounce theories, then. Me first." Clay said and then proceeded to run down his list of reasons why Jimmy O had rubbed him the wrong way since the word "go".
Aside from not being Michael McKeavey, Jimmy O'Phelan came across as a dandy, not at all like the soldier Clay had known McKeavey to be. It was obvious by the way he dressed, the car he drove, and the near-perfect tan he sported, that O'Phelan enjoyed the finer things in life. What Clay could see with his own eyes contrasted greatly with the information Chibs had provided several weeks ago. Jimmy O was no more a soldier of the Cause than the Sons were. Clay was willing to bet his ability to ever ride again that Jimmy O was in the gun business for the same reason he was: to turn a profit and make a living.
Clay had heard it said a thousand times before, especially when he was a young kid trying to find his way before he ended up in Vietnam. Dress for the job you want, not the job you have. Jimmy O didn't dress like a soldier and Clay was sure that whatever stipend the Council provided O'Phelan for his living expenses while stateside did not include a wad of cash to drop on $2500 designer suits. O'Phelan dressed like a business man because that's what he wanted to be. After his push to end the Sons' association with the Irish, Clay was convinced now more than ever that his attempts to raise the price on their shipments meant Jimmy O was skimming. Of course, he had no proof except what his gut was telling him, but Jimmy had been quick to back down on his refusal to accept SAMCRO's counteroffer when Clay had suggested talking to the Kings personally.
"I think Jimmy O has found himself a new distributor. My guess, someone willing to play nice and give in to his bullshit demands." Literally seeing the light come on in Jax's eyes, he quirked an eyebrow. "I gather from that look that you've come to the same conclusion."
Jax nodded. "Jimmy may have a death wish targeting my old lady, but he's not stupid. He wouldn't cut ties with us, effectively cutting off the cash flow back to Belfast, without a replacement waiting in the wings. After our conversation with the Kings at the wedding, I don't see them breaking a deal with us unless there was an internal threat, like a rat." He replied.
"That makes a whole lot of sense, AP," Clay said. "And in my mind, there's only one crew strong enough to push us out without much resistance only because they outnumber us at least 10 to 1."
"The ROC." Jax supplied and Clay nodded.
"The Russians have their finger in every pie spread across the Northwest. Guns, drugs, pussy, you name it, they own it. Shit, they own law enforcement wherever they set up shop, basically run the prisons and have their way with Port officials. If Jimmy is indeed smart, he tapped the crew running out of Oregon." Clay added.
"Putlova. Jesus, Jax! You called that shit earlier at the table." Tig marveled.
"You did, huh?" Clay asked Jax, who just shrugged his shoulders modestly.
"I had some help."
"Good call." Clay rolled his fingers together, missing the feel of his favorite cigar between them. "This is all good, but it won't help us much in making any headway with the Irish to let us back in, especially as you've already figured out that SAMCRO does indeed have a rat. If Jimmy O is setting the Russians up to take over for the Sons, chances are the deal is pretty much a lock."
Jax nodded. "What are the chances that Jimmy would set this deal up for the Russians free of charge?"
Tig snorted. "Zilch, man."
"You think he brokered the deal for a vig?" Opie asked.
"If he didn't, it doesn't make him much of a business man." Clay replied.
"And if he did, if your hunch about Jimmy skimming is true, who's to say that the RIRA will get its fair share, or that they even know a broker's fee is on the table." Jax added.
"Pocketing the whole vig?" Tig asked. "Shit, that would be pretty ballsy, even for Jimmy."
"It's entirely possible and I'm guessing that might piss the Council off quite a bit." Jax replied.
"Enough to give us our business back." Opie added.
"Absolutely. See, there was no need to wake my sorry ass before the sun came up. You got this, Jax." Clay declared. "All I ask is that you get my baby girl off the Irish radar. We need Intel that points the finger in the right direction and gets her off the hook. The Irish Kings are honorable men and I know that same evidence will help us in taking our business back. Whatever you can get to prove there's money involved that the Kings don't know about might just seal Jimmy O's fate. After that piece of shit is taken care of, you deal with Agent Stahl, you gets?" Clay growled.
Jax nodded grimly. "Figuring this shit out was the easy part, Clay. I doubt Jimmy's gonna slip up any time soon.
"Only fools rush in, Jax. I'm a reactionary—what does baby girl call me behind my back?" Clay asked curiously.
Jax lips curled up in a slight smile. "A reactive nutjob."
"I got news for you, Clay," Tig started. "Doll Face's not the only one that calls you that."
"Fuck you, alright?" Clay groused. "My point is, you're a thinker, okay? You see outside the box and when we're in the shit as a Club, you always manage to see us out of it. You've pulled my reactive ass off the ledge more than once as VP. This is no different, except that it's coming at us in all different directions. Think of it as a challenge."
Opie slapped Jax on the back of his cut. "Don't sweat, bro. We'll figure it out together, but first I think we should get at least a couple hours sleep."
Jax started to protest, shaking his head, but Clay cut him off. "Hey, I knew when to listen to my VP. Learn to listen to yours. Trust me, shit ain't gonna get much worse than it already is. Get some rest and tackle this shit in a few hours. You know where to find me if you need me."
Jax ran his hands over the scruff on his face and through his hair. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. Clay was right. Jax needed a clear head to deal with what was coming next and the first step in that direction was getting at least a few hours in the sack to re-energize.
As each of his brothers made their way to the door after saying good-bye with a shoulder-bumping man hug, Clay called out to Jax.
"That crank whore has caused this family a lot of grief, Jax." Clay said ominously.
"Trust me, nobody knows that more than me."
"Good because broad or no broad, there is only one way to deal with her this time. You got the stomach for that?"
Although Jax blamed himself for bringing her into the life he had shared with Jolene the first time around, he had given Wendy an out along with $20,000. He had done her a favor by chasing her out of town because Jax knew how close he had come to causing her harm. He had wanted to kill her for jerking him around about their divorce and then basically blackmailing him into giving her a large sum of money and the house he had brought for Jolene in return for his freedom. It was clear that Wendy did not realize how lucky she was that he had outsmarted her by getting a divorce inReno. Nothing or no one was going to keep him and the woman he loved from being together, even if he had to kill Wendy with his own bare hands.
Now, Jax had to believe that Wendy had finally fried her brain on meth. Wendy had lived the Life long enough to know that turning rat was punishable by death. Working with the Feds to implicate his old lady while covering her own ass just proved that whatever mercy Jax had shown by running her out of town had been interpreted as weakness on his part. He wouldn't be making that mistake again. There would be no second chances for Wendy this time around. It was going to end between them the way it should have ended the first time.
Looking Clay in the eye, Jax nodded. "Yeah. I do."
Jax Teller was going to kill Wendy Case.
"Are you sure you have that, baby boy?" Neeta asked as she watched Abel struggle up the front porch steps.
"I got it, Miss Neeta. I'm strong just like my Daddy." Abel replied as he carried a canvas shopping bag from Murphy's Stop-N-Shop.
Neeta, who was also burdened down with bags, managed to close the front door with her hip, following Abel across the large foyer and towards the kitchen.
"Well, let's get these groceries in the kitchen and then you can go see your grandpa."
Walking into the kitchen, Abel smiled as he saw his new friend. "Hiya, Bear."
Filthy Phil was sitting at one end of the kitchen table with a massive bowl of cereal. "Hey, Champ." Phil smiled. "Do you need some help with the bags, ma'am?" He asked Neeta.
Eyeing the humongous young Prospect, Neeta shook her head. "No, Abel and I didn't pick up too much stuff. I hadn't planned on food shopping, but as we passed the store after playtime at the park, I got the urge to make Beef Stroganoff for dinner. I only picked up a few things, but by the looks of it, I think we need to get some more cereal." The woman chuckled under her breath as the young man blushed.
He's a little too young, sweet and polite to be a Prospect.
Phil shrugged his shoulders. "Miss Neeta, you weren't around to give me one of your especially fantastic meals, so I fell back on my old standby."
Neeta shook her head as she put away the groceries. "Serves you right, young man. Keeping you fed is a full-time job. You either need to learn how to cook or, after patching in, you need to snag yourself an old lady to do your cooking for ya." The housekeeper smiled as Filthy Phil blushed again. "Just don't go hooking up with one of those s-w-e-e-t-b-u-t-t-s." Neeta cocked her head at Abel to explain her sudden spelling fit. "Find yourself a good old lady, like Jolene."
"Yes, ma'am."
After placing his sack of groceries on the table, Abel looked at the young man, whose curly dark brown hair reminded him of a large bear, hence the nickname. "Bear, where's Papa?"
"He's in his room watching TV. He told me to tell you to come watch it with him when you came back."
"Okay. Miss Neeta, we gonna need some cookies." Abel smiled up at Neeta angelically.
"All right, Little Man. I got you covered." Reaching into the Winnie the Pooh cookie jar on the counter, Neeta pulled out a large double chocolate chip cookie with pecans and handed it to Abel on a paper plate. "Here's yours. Now you give these two to your grandpa."
Opening a cabinet, Neeta snickered to herself as she pulled out a box of low-fat vanilla wafers. Hearing a snort come from across the room, she turned to see the Prospect trying to stifle a laugh. Ignoring him, Neeta started to open the box to pull out two cookies when Abel caught her eye.
"What is it, baby?"
The young boy shook his head. "Papa don't like those cookies. He said they taste like cardboard. Can't he have one like mine?"
"I'm sorry, baby, but your Papa is on a strict diet." Neeta replied.
Looking at the box, Neeta couldn't really blame Clay. These weren't even the full-calorie deal she used to make her banana pudding. Jolene had picked these up so Clay could continue his daily ritual of having a cookie with his grandson as they bonded while discussing "man stuff." Neeta had tried one herself and had to spit it out it tasted so bad.
"I guess maybe we can cut him a break today." She put the cookies away and instead pulled out probably Clay's only favorite treat from his new diet, a fat-free chocolate pudding cup and placed it on Abel's plate with a spoon. "Better?"
"Much better." Abel beamed up at Neeta. "Papa likes these."
As he trotted off to the room, Neeta called after him. "And you tell your Papa to let you eat that cookie all by yourself, or he's gonna get it." She ordered.
"I will." Abel called out with a giggle.
Trying not to imagine the sulky expression on the face of the second "child" she was responsible for when he saw his grandson's cookie, Neeta turned her mind to dinner. Remembering the piece of tilapia that she had left in the refrigerator to defrost that morning, Neeta shook her head.
Hmph! Clay sure ain't gonna be happy that he's eating fish and steamed vegetables while the rest of the family is smacking down on some succulent beef and creamy noodles.
Slamming the refrigerator door closed, Neeta turned to the Prospect. "Where's Jolene? You didn't let her out of the house, did ya?"
Filthy Phil shook his head adamantly. "Oh no, ma'am. She went upstairs. I think she said she was going to take a shower, but I think Mrs. T needs to take a nap instead. She looks kind of tired."
So you noticed too, huh?
Neeta Benson had often told her friends that she may not have graduated high school, but she was not a stupid sister. However, it had taken nine years in a state prison before Neeta had finally learned to use the brain that God had been gracious enough to give her. Past indiscretions notwithstanding, He had also given her a boat load of common sense and Neeta decided that now was as good a time as any to put the two to good use. Jolene hadn't been herself lately and Neeta was determined to get to the bottom of it.
Neeta headed for the stairs, which with her bad knee was the bane of her existence.
"My fat ass really needs to lose some weight." She complained to herself as she trudged up the stairs. Reaching the landing, Neeta realized that it was awfully quiet up there, but then she reasoned that maybe Jolene had decided to take a nap after all.
Jolene had been so disappointed that she couldn't join her and Abel for their play date at the park. Neeta thought it was strange that Jolene had not come down to see her baby boy as soon as they arrived, especially since she was sure that the noise her clunker had made as she pulled in was enough to raise the dead. Making a mental note to talk to Jax about getting someone at T-M to check out her car, Neeta headed towards the double doors directly across from the stairs which led to the master bedroom. Neeta knocked on the partially opened door, but got no response. Pushing it fully open, she expected to see Jolene snuggled down underneath the covers in her massive bed only to find it empty. She was about to turn around to walk to the other end of the hall to check Jolene's office when she heard a soft groan.
"Shit on me! That doesn't sound right." Neeta protested.
For a big woman, Neeta could move quickly when she needed to. Rushing into the bedroom, she whipped her head around when she heard the groan again. Spinning around, she saw Jolene laid out on the floor by the side of the enormous tub in the master bath looking as pale as death.
"Oh my God!" In an instant, she was at the young woman's side. Still wet from her shower, Jolene had a damp towel wrapped around her as she tried in vain to get up from the floor. "Okay, take it easy, don't move too fast."
"Fast?" Jolene said weakly, almost breathlessly. "I don't think I can move at all, Neeta."
"Then lie still." Snatching a dry towel that was draped over the tub, Neeta fashioned it into a makeshift pillow and placed it under her head, then grabbed another, larger towel and placed it under Jolene's knees to elevate her legs. Jolene's face alternated between white as a sheet one moment and flushed as if she were sunburnt the next. "I'm getting you some water and then I'm calling Jax."
"Neeta, no! Please don't call Jax just yet. Just get me the water, okay?" Jolene begged anxiously.
Quickly moving to the sink, Neeta ran the cold water at full blast, filling a glass that she found on the sink and returned to the stricken woman. Using her strong right arm to prop her up, Neeta watched anxiously as Jolene drained the glass dry.
"I think I could use a little more." Jolene said.
After about five minutes and another glass of water, Neeta gave a little sigh of relief. Jolene's face had finally stopped doing its imitation of a traffic light and her complexion settled back to its normal golden glow.
"Okay, let's get you up off of that cold floor." Grabbing Jolene's terry cloth robe off of a hook in the bathroom, Neeta ably hoisted her off the ground and, in one quick motion, removed the damp towel and got her into the warm, dry robe. Taking small, tentative steps, Neeta guided Jolene to her bed and deposited her in it, tucking the heavy covers around the prone woman, who managed to sit upright.
Neeta straightened up from her administrations and glared at the young woman.
Oh, shit. I'm in for it now.
"How long?" Neeta, although just under 5'6, made an imposing figure when she crossed her arms.
"How long what?" Jolene tried in vain to play stupid while flashing Neeta wide doe eyes.
It wasn't working.
Neeta let out a long, drawn out sigh. "How far along are you and don't try to fob me off. You think I forgot the last time this shit happened?" She started pacing back and forth in her anxiety. "Hell, I could probably guess. What are you, two, maybe three months along?"
Jolene's eyes widened. Damn, she's fuckin' good.
"All right. You busted me." Jolene confessed. "I'm pregnant—"
Neeta threw her hands up in the air, a look of fake amazement on her face, and her voice full of snark. "Ooh, surprise, surprise! Why don't you tell me something I don't know, like the numbers for tonight's lotto drawing?"
Jolene rolled her eyes. "Can't help you out there, but what you don't know is that we can't tell—"
Neeta's head snapped back. "Your husband? The seriously hot, but crazy old man you're married to? The outlaw that will cut a bitch for coming between him and his family? Are you shittin' me?" She demanded hotly.
Jolene rubbed her forehead, dislodging the towel that held her damp hair, which fell around her shoulders. "No, you don't understand. Jax already knows."
Neeta looked at Jolene disbelievingly as she tried to towel dry her hair. "Oh, my Lord. I need to sit down." Walking around to the other side of the bed, Neeta quickly made herself at home on Jolene's bed and faced her. "You're telling me that he knows you're pregnant? Little girl, you better not be bullshitting me."
"No bullshit. I promise." Jolene held up a hand.
Neeta slowly relaxed her shoulders at that piece of Intel. "Then I don't understand. Abel is going to have a little brother or sister. This is wonderful news! Why are you keeping it a secret?"
"It's my Dad. We can't tell—"
Hearing Jolene's words, Neeta leapt off the bed. Pointing a finger at her, she cut loose. "Oh, no you don't! I love you dearly, girl, but don't you dare pull me into the middle of this shit storm. The last time I helped your mother-in-law keep a secret, I almost ended up one dead black woman at the hands of your outlaw daddy. That was too damn close for comfort. I'm not going out like that, especially since he already hates me for cooking all that healthy shit you are forcing him to eat. He finds out about this, he won't kill the vessel carrying his next grandbaby. Oh no! In his tore up, fucked up state he's likely to sic his crazy-eyed sidekick on me." Neeta threw up her hands. "I might as well slit my own damn throat."
"Neeta, please sit down. I need you to understand."
"Understand what? What's there to understand? Your ass is knocked up!" Neeta practically yelled.
"Sshh! Jesus H. Christ! You want the whole house to hear you?" Jolene implored.
Neeta stomped over to the door, her steps barely making a sound in the plush carpeting, and slammed it shut before returning to the bed. "There, now I can holler all I want. With the soundproofing you had done in here, there won't be any witnesses to me tearing a strip off your stubborn hide." Throwing her hands up again, Neeta implored. "Dear God, please save me from crazy white people and their secrets!"
"Relax, okay? No ripping will be necessary, but you have to hear me out first, damn it." Jolene demanded.
Neeta crossed her arms. "This had better be good."
Quickly, Jolene ran down her list of reasons why she and her husband were keeping the news of their impending joy from her family—at least the reasons that did not go into detail about Club business. As Jolene watched the expressions flying across Neeta's face, she quickly realized that the woman wasn't buying what she was selling.
"Nuh uh."
"Neeta—" Jolene sighed.
The older woman came back to the bed and sat down. "Look, I might cut you a break considering your father's accident. You were rightly worried about him and his condition. And yeah, you have a lot on your plate seeing after him, being strong for Gemma and your family, helping out at the office, while still being a mother to your baby and a wife to your man. I for one can certainly understand that moving your parents into your home and dealing with the HBIC on a daily basis is no easy feat, but you're not thinking this through. Clay and Gemma would be over the moon to know that you're carrying their next grandchild, especially when you consider how much they missed out on with Abel—" Neeta paused. "So that's it."
"What's it?"
"I know you, girl. I've been around you since you were 12 years old. And I know that as much as you love your family, you hate having people muscle in on your independence by hovering over you. I remember what it was like for you after you got shot." Neeta explained.
Jolene dropped her gaze as memories of that dark time of her life came flooding back. Jax had asked her to marry him the night before two bullets to the chest had altered her future and it would be almost five years before she felt such happiness again.
"I felt like a prisoner in my own home, Neeta." Jolene said, referring to her father's lockdown. Remembering the horrible scars on her chest after multiple surgeries, she felt a tear running down her cheek. "I felt like a prisoner in my own body and I never want to feel that way again, especially not because I'm pregnant. This baby means the world to me and to Jax and as long as he knows, that's all that matters to me right now. I'm barely twelve weeks along, so there will be plenty of time to share and enjoy this experience with my family. Just trust me when I tell you that, with everything going on, now is not the right time."
Neeta stared at Jolene long and hard. She had just arrived to work this morning as Jax was leaving for the lot and had overheard Jolene's "disagreement" with her old man. Jolene was apparently on lockdown again, with Jax forbidding her to set foot outside the house, not even to sit on the porch or in her own backyard. As much as Neeta loved her "family", she would never understand how seemingly intelligent and independent women like Gemma and Jolene would choose to live this life, all for the men they loved.
Although Neeta felt like a part of the Teller-Morrow clan, she was still an outsider. But even as an outsider she knew the stress the young woman was under with the Feds pulling her in for questioning as a result of, Neeta was sure, her husband's outlaw lifestyle. There was probably another shitload of grief, that Neeta had no need or desire to know about, weighing heavy on Jolene, none of which was going to help that precious life she carried inside her. Right now, Jolene needed an ally, not more stress.
"You do realize that whatever it is you're going through will have an impact on that little girl on board."
Jolene smiled as she tenderly caressed her flat stomach. "According to Jax, you're dead wrong. He says it's another boy for sure."
Neeta smiled. "We'll see. In the meantime, you need to be careful. I knew something was up. Your eating habits have changed drastically, and you haven't had your usual get-up-and-go. Is it just that baby that had you redecorating the floor in there or is it something else? Are you at least seeing a doctor?"
Damn! She's just too good at digging shit up.
Jolene moved quickly to soothe Neeta's fears. "I saw one in Stockton to confirm the pregnancy and she prescribed prenatal vitamins, which I'm taking. I made an appointment to see a doctor at St. Thomas, but I canceled it when we got the word that Dad was coming home." Jolene placed a hand on the older woman's arm. "Look, as soon as things calm down and once Jax—" Jolene was about to say once Jax released her from lockdown, but changed her mind. "Once Jax is available, I promise that I'm getting myself checked out by an OB here in Charming as well as my own doctor, Dr. Negron. Neeta, I really need for you to keep mum about all of this. I'll talk to Jax about what happened earlier, I promise, but just keep this incident and my knocked-up status to yourself for a little while longer."
Damn, I'm such a sucker.
Neeta shook her head and threw her hands up. "All right, all right, but just remember that keeping secrets from your family is never a good idea. You know, if Gemma wasn't so worked up about Clay, there would be no way you would have gotten away with this for as long as you have."
"Don't I know it? But it won't be for much longer."
"Well, I'm going to go downstairs and make you up a tray of something to eat, maybe some soup and some crackers, a little fruit." As Jolene began to protest, Neeta waved her off. "Now, don't worry. I'll make sure that your father and boy are occupied before I bring it up here and you can hide the dishes away until later. I want you to eat and then stay in that bed for the rest of the afternoon, so that by the time your sexy old man shows up, he won't suspect that your ass was almost a permanent resident on the bathroom floor."
Jolene reached over to hug the woman fiercely. "Thanks, Neeta." As Neeta sauntered to the door, Jolene called out mischievously. "Hey, Neeta, I never realized just how much you appreciate my old man's charms."
Neeta replied without giving her a backwards glance. "Humpf! I may be old and fat, but I ain't dead or blind, honey."
The sprawling split-level Ranch sat on an elevated hill above the sparkling waters of Blue River Lake. It was a beautiful house situated on an acre of land. Hidden by a heavily wooded tract of land surrounding the property, the retreat seemed no different than any of the other weekend homes bordering the lake, except for the roving patrols of burly men in expensive suits sporting crew cuts and automatic weapons.
Sitting on the deck overlooking the lake, Jimmy O'Phelan and Luke Moran sipped at the ice cold vodka their host had so graciously served them. As Jimmy O absorbed his luxurious surroundings, he smiled at the realization of all his dreams come true. James Patrick O'Phelan, after a wasted youth fighting for a lost cause, would soon become a man of leisure, finally able to enjoy the finer things in life, and he had the Irish Kings and the Sons of Anarchy to thank for it.
It had taken some convincing, and Jimmy was sure that his conversation with Declan Brogan would have gone a lot smoother in person, but he had finally been able to convince the Council to sever ties with SAMCRO. With the information Jimmy had couriered back to Belfast in his hands and in his face, Brogan really had no other choice. After 48 hours of waiting on the edge of his seat, Jimmy had received word that the Council had agreed to kill its deal with the Sons and gave him their blessing to proceed with his plan to bring in the Russians as their new Northwest distributors.
Looking at his shot glass of the best quality Russian vodka money could buy, Jimmy O longed for several fingers of his much-preferred Irish Whiskey instead. But since the vodka they were drinking had been his gift to Putlova, Jimmy O had no choice but to partake of the swill. After all, it would be rude not to be sociable, especially when their host was about to make him a very rich man.
Victor Putlova, the head of the Russian Organized Crime Syndicate operating out of Southern Oregon, better known as the ROC, grinned as he poured himself another shot of his favorite vodka.
"It was very kind of you," Victor said in heavily accented English. "To bring to me a case of my favorite Vodka. It is very hard to locate here in the States."
Jimmy gave the man a charming smile. "It was the least I could do. After all, it is a favorite of mine as well and how could we have a proper toast without the best vodka to celebrate our new business venture?"
Bringing his shot glass up to his lips, Luke took a small sip in an effort to hide his smirk from both men. Jimmy O certainly had the gift of gab, but even in his vodka-induced mellow state, Luke couldn't help but think that what they really needed tonight was the luck of the Irish.
Although Jimmy O often praised his mind for business, Luke was no fool and knew that his rise as Jimmy's second-in-command had more to do his knowledge of weapons and his ability to use them, including his fists, than his brain. When it came down his opinion and advice, even though Jimmy O would hear him out, he almost always did as he pleased anyway.
In Luke's opinion, this meeting with Putlova was over a year too early, but as usual, Jimmy O had convinced him that his misgivings were uncalled for. Instead of waiting a year as they had originally planned, Jimmy couldn't resist taking advantage of SAMCRO's vulnerable position. With Jax Teller at the helm while Clay Morrow recovered from his accident, the news about Teller's old lady was a God-send. While still adapting to his new leadership role, Teller had the added pressure of dealing with the consequences of having a rat in his own bed, as well as any ATF fallout that followed. By the time SAMCRO got their shit together, the ROC would be long-since installed as the RIRA's new partners.
Once again investing his blind faith in Jimmy, Luke turned his attention back to what Putlova was saying. "Is good that we should start our new relationship properly. When can we expect first shipment?"
"It's already on its way, Victor. We expect to make the transfer in four days." Jimmy replied.
Putlova smiled. "Excellent! Jimmy, you made right decision coming to us. My organization is constantly expanding. We will raise much money for both of our causes, yes?"
"Absolutely. It took some convincing getting the Irish Kings on board, but they have finally seen the wisdom of partnering up now. Even though the RIRA has always had great success in doing business with the ROC, there were a few on the Council who considered making the Armenians an offer to expand their business from Southern California. Although the Council have now deemed SAMCRO a liability, they feared that the Sons would not go away quietly and would start trouble that the Armenians would not be able to handle, especially since they have no NorCal crews currently in operation. It quickly became clear that the ROC were the only crew who could handle taking on such an enterprise." Jimmy explained.
"Fortunately for all of us, yes, you can be so persuasive. Then again, I am sure $2 million can be quite persuasive as well." Putlova laughed.
"It certainly helped, my friend, but consider it money well spent, Victor. The Kings have agreed to open a pipeline for more high-powered assault rifles and RPG's to the ROC. This new merchandise will bring you a whole new client base that will triple your business in a year's time."
"It better." Although Victor smiled, Jimmy O could see the stone cold killer hiding behind his eyes. "I would hate forcing a renegotiation of our deal."
Snapping a finger at one of the silent guards standing watch, Luke watched with anticipation and fear as the man retreated into the house. Luke felt naked without his sidearm in his holster as both he and Jimmy had been relieved of their weapons upon entering Victor's home.
If shit goes sideways, we're dead before we can finish drinking this shitty vodka.
Jimmy O's second-in-command almost gave a sigh of relief as the guard returned with two large duffle bags. Placing them on top of the wooden table, he unzipped both of them to show the contents. Luke's eyes nearly glazed over as he saw the stacks of hundred and fifty dollar bills.
Finally, Jimmy closed his eyes and savored the moment.
At 52, he had promised himself that he wasn't going to die an old man fighting a Godforsaken and never-ending war. It was time to look to the future, to make a career change that would propel him into a lifestyle of good times, fine wines, soft, willing women, and the best clothes money could buy. He wanted his share of the spoils of war, but he was no longer willing to wait for them while risking his life. The time had come for Jimmy O'Phelan to finally live the life of a wealthy Irish gentleman that his dear Ma had wished for him on her deathbed.
"You wish to count?" Victor asked.
Jimmy leaned back in his lounge chair and crossed his legs. "Is there a reason I need to?" He replied.
"Of course not, my friend. It would be bad for business to start our relationship by cheating you."
"Just as it would be bad for business for me to start our relationship without trust and insulting you by counting it."
Victor laughed as he slapped Jimmy on the back. "Then, why don't you have your man put the bags in the rooms I have allocated for your use. I have arranged for some entertainment." Snapping his fingers again, the door to the patio opened to reveal several scantily clad women. "Come, you must enjoy my hospitality. Join me at one of my Clubs for the evening before you return to California tomorrow."
Jimmy smiled as a tall dark-haired beauty wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Wrapping his arm around her waist, Jimmy O laughed. "Why the hell not?"
To the victor belong the spoils of war!
The moonlight shone brightly and danced on the water, making it sparkle despite the pitch darkness of the night.
For the second time in as many days, Jax had made an unexpected trip up to the streams. In the silence so loud it roared in his ears, Jax leaned against the base of a large tree. Coming here had always been like a salve for his damaged soul, especially during Jolene's time away from Charming. The streams had borne witness to many a rendezvous he had enjoyed with his old lady when they had first become a couple. He couldn't help but smile as he remembered that the tree he was leaning against had been one of their favorite spots for "target practice".
Jax itched to light a cigarette, but decided against it. Not only was he down to less than a half a pack nowadays, but lighting a cigarette would serve as a beacon to anyone in the area and, for this meet, he needed to remain low profile. In hindsight, the streams may not have been the best place for a meeting under the cover of night, but at least Jax was familiar with the territory.
The fact was, Jax still didn't know what to make of the call he had received earlier this evening as he was about to head home. He had been tempted to tell Hale to fuck off, considering the weight of the problems that he was currently shouldering, but curiosity had bested him. Jax was anything but careless when it came to business and his gut was telling him that Hale had called this meet for more than just jerking his chain. Or, his brain reasoned, he could be walking right into an elaborate ATF trap. Not ready to go down without taking care of some business first, Jax had come with insurance backing him up just in case things went sideways.
Hearing what was undoubtedly Hale's Jeep Wrangler, Jax turned his head and saw him pull into a shadowy clearing. Cutting off the engine, Deputy Chief David Hale stepped out of his vehicle as Jax strolled over to him.
"Glad you showed up." Hale said by way of greeting.
"I wasn't going to. After all, I think we pretty much said everything we needed to say the last time we met outside Charming." Jax replied, referring to the epic beat down he had given the deputy chief. "So why did you drag my ass out here, man? I have a warm bed and a loving old lady to get home to."
Hale looked at the hardened outlaw biker, his cut gleaming in the moonlight, and smirked. Part of him couldn't believe that he was here, that he had actually initiated this meet.
I'm not Wayne Unser. I am an officer of the law and I shouldn't be here, Hale berated himself.
But at the same time, Hale thought about the young woman who shared her life with the man standing before him. He knew that, despite all of the crimes perpetrated by Jackson Teller and his brotherhood, he could not allow harm to come to Jolene Teller. If it was within his power to prevent such a thing from happening, then he had no choice but to act as he was about to.
"Let's be perfectly clear, Jax. I don't like you. Our differences aside, we are too much alike. Too stubborn, hard-headed, and we both have codes of honor we would die for. In spite of being at opposite ends of the spectrum, in another life," Hale shrugged. "We might have been friends."
"Maybe, if a certain woman weren't involved," Jax shrugged his shoulders as well. "But I still find it rather unlikely."
"Yeah, maybe," Hale agreed. "But there is one other thing that we do have in common, Jax and that's this town and its inhabitants. In your own warped way, I know that you don't want any harm coming to an innocent. Neither do I, not on my watch. And even though I will never sell out to SAMCRO, sometimes you have to make a deal with the devil."
"And SAMCRO's that devil." Jax shook his head as he chuckled bitterly.
"You're definitely not angels," Hale shot back. "But you do your best to protect your family and I want to help."
At Hale's words, Jax stiffened. "And what does my family have to do with you?"
"Jolene—" Hale started.
Taking a step towards Hale, Jax growled. "Be very careful where you go from there."
Hale continued. "If there is anything in this world that can redeem your soul, it's the choice you made in marrying Jolene. She may be your old lady and the daughter of a criminal, but she's a good person, Jax. The ATF going after you and the Club is one thing. Stahl putting an innocent woman in grave danger is something else."
In a flash, Jax had Hale by the throat. "What the fuck are you talking about? What do you know?"
Jerking out of his chokehold, Hale shoved Jax back. "You might want to refocus your anger just a bit." Breathing hard, Hale walked over to the passenger side of his Jeep, reached in and pulled out a thick envelope. Walking back towards Jax, he handed it to him.
"What's this?" Jax glared at Hale.
Hale walked back towards his ride, but turned back to face Jax. "It's important shit you need to know. Look, Jax. I'm a badge, you're a criminal. I go after you. I stop you. You go away. That's what I do and that's the business I want to get back to. I am not about to let an outsider come in and disrupt that balance by fucking with my town. Jolene is a good woman, more than you deserve, but I know you love her and more importantly, she loves you and I know she believes she is safe with you. So prove it because this shit," Hale pointed at the envelope in Jax's hand. "Should not go down like this."
Getting into his ride, Hale started the motor. "You know, I'm actually surprised you decided to meet me out here all alone."
Jax's smile glinted in the moonlight. "And I'm surprised you would think that I came here alone." Jax whistled sharply. Suddenly, Hale heard the distinctive click of a high-powered rifle being cocked. Looking down, Hale was shocked to see the red dot aimed dead center on his chest.
Jax turned to walk back towards his bike, which was parked on the other side of the tree. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Deputy Chief."
Hale accepted another drink on the house from Patsy. He was grateful for it. It was his fourth whiskey and far from being his last. Hale had already given Patsy his car keys and directed the old man to point him in the direction of the station house when the time came for him to leave. Hale knew he would be better off sleeping on the tiny couch in his office rather than risk getting behind the wheel.
After his meeting with Jax Teller, drunk and on the verge of passing out was where he was headed and where he needed to be. Seeing the red dot of the rifle scope on his chest had caused his colon to clench, which he was grateful for because the other alternative would have left him staining his boxers brown. Pulling off and exiting the area, Hale couldn't shake the perpetual fear of feeling a bullet tear through the flesh, veins and arteries in his chest. He'd be dead before his head hit the steering wheel.
Fortunately, Teller had decided not to kill him. That would be the thanks I get for trying to save his Club from killing his old lady.
Hale was at war with himself over what he had done because only God knew what events he had set in motion by giving Jax the Intel he had pilfered from June's office. It hadn't been easy getting his hands on the material as Stahl had been paranoid to the point of obsession making sure that the highly classified material stayed out of the wrong hands. Fortunately for Hale, she had trusted him, or at least she had until he had questioned her judgment on setting out an innocent woman as bait.
Now Hale sat, stewing over the decision he had made and the possibility that by saving one woman, he had knowingly and willingly signed the death warrant of another. In the end, Hale had set himself up as Judge and Jury, with SAMCRO as Executioner. Wendy Case was a human being after all, but unlike Jolene, she had squandered her life to drugs and ended up caught up in a web of lies of her own making. Stahl was willing to throw Jolene Teller, a young mother and well-respected high school teacher, under the bus in order to protect the former stripper and current meth junkie.
Wendy, along with her Nord boyfriend, had gotten into a shit stew with the ATF and because Hale believed that Jolene should not have to pay the price for loving the wrong man, he had put Wendy in SAMCRO's crosshairs. That was a decision he would probably live with for the rest of his life, but it had come down to a choice really. Although he believed that his feelings for Jolene had finally died, mostly due to lack of attention on her part, a part of him still cared enough that he could not allow her to be left at the mercy of June Stahl.
Stahl worried him greatly. As much as he hated SAMCRO and what they stood for, Hale could not see himself working outside the law in order to bring them down. Stahl's lack of remorse and her willingness to do anything to get the job done had convinced Hale he was dealing a sociopath, someone devoid of a conscience and, if recent outbursts of unprovoked anger were an indication, she was mentally unstable, as well. It was that instability that had allowed Hale to make the tough call of working with SAMCRO in order to stop her.
Hopefully someday, someone would realize that the woman was a danger not only to others, but to herself as well. In the meantime, all Hale could do was sit and drown his own conscience.
Even if only for one night.