Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy.
A/N: First off, I know you guys were probably looking for a new chapter this past Sunday. My apologies, but I decided that this chapter needed a major overhaul and I ended up having to rewrite a lot of the scenes. It's an important chapter and I really wanted to get it right for you guys, so I hope that the wait was worth it and that you will let me know by your reviews.
Second, I have been trying to keep my chapters on the less wordy side. Unfortunately, that wasn't going to work for this chapter unless I split it into two. I decided against splitting it up because I didn't want to leave you with a cliffhanger and I really hate dragging out story arcs. Please enjoy and remember, your love hits are always greatly appreciated!
Clay sat in his motorized wheelchair and watched as his brothers absorbed every bit of Intel currently spread out on the coffee table and any other available flat surface in the Tellers' living room. By the looks of it, there seemed to be no end in sight to this interminable evening that had stretched into the wee hours of the morning after Jax had returned with the contents of Hale's envelope burning in his hands. It was pushing two o'clock in the morning and the Club was waiting to hear from Jax, who had locked himself in his man cave for his second phone call tonight with the Irish Kings.
After returning to Charming from his meeting at the streams, Jax headed straight to the Clubhouse instead of home. He couldn't escape the nagging feeling that whatever was in the thick envelope was something that could not wait to be dealt with until morning. Deputy Chief Hale had been clear in acknowledging that he was bending the rules by giving Jax this information. What he hadn't said in so many words, but which came across painfully loud and clear to Jax nonetheless was the fact that he was doing it all for Jolene.
The envelope contained an original ATF file, the contents of which were so explosive that Jax knew that Hale had risked more than just his reputation as a do-gooder by getting it to him. He had risked his badge and quite possibly his freedom for tampering with a federal investigation. Jax chafed at the thought, but he knew he would forever be indebted to David Hale for giving him the proof he needed to exonerate his old lady.
Jax had spent the better part of two hours in the Chapel reading and re-reading report after report, handwritten notes transcribing in-depth telephone calls and face-to-face meetings with Wendy Case, agendas and notes for meetings to discuss what had been termed "Operation Luck O' the Irish." And then there were the photos.
Setting aside the ones he knew would be of great interest to the Irish Kings, Jax had not been surprised to see numerous photos of his old lady. That is, until he continued flipping through them and saw that they ranged from very recent to as far back as Jolene's short time spent studying in San Diego. Feeling like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him, Jax held his head in one hand as he sorted through the photos and realized that Jolene had been under surveillance by the ATF since she had left Charming almost five years ago.
In the pile of over three dozen photographs were images of the woman he loved during the time they had been apart, starting with the last time they had seen each other in San Diego. Jax rubbed his hand over his mustache and down the hair on his chin as he picked up a photo of him and Jolene, taken seconds before she had hurled her friend's phone at him. His heart nearly stopped in his chest when he saw her lugging groceries while pregnant with Abel, followed by him standing on Ronnie's doorstep not knowing that Jolene had been close enough to hear every word he had said. He couldn't stop his own tears of anger and frustration from spilling over at the sight of Jolene being wheeled from Ronnie's house on a bloody stretcher.
Jax's nostrils flared and he suddenly slammed his fist onto the Redwood table. "She was in intensive care!" He growled, not understanding how the ATF could justify taking pictures of his wife and son shortly after his birth, when they had both been so close to death. Jolene was ghostly pale and attached to a heart monitor while a premature Abel had been in an incubator under heat lamps and barely recognizable as a baby, much less one that would thrive into the rambunctious half-devil, half-angel he was today.
After reading the transcript of Jolene's first interrogation by the ATF and all notes attached to the surveillance photos, he had been in such a rage that Jax barely remembered riding home. At the sound of his bike, Jolene had rushed downstairs to apologize about losing her shit in the morning, only to be swept into Jax's arms.
Hugging her tight, he peppered her face with kisses before whispering in her ear, "I love you, baby."
"I know, that's why I'm so sorry about this morning—" Jolene said as she pulled away, but Jax was shaking his head.
"Don't worry about that, darlin'. Is Abel sleeping?"
Jolene nodded, her eyes wide. She could feel the tension rolling off of him. "I tucked him in about an hour ago."
"Good. Neeta gone? I didn't see her car." Jax asked.
"Yeah, it's just Gemma, Dad, Phil, and Kip hanging around, plus Kozik and Donut outside. Is something wrong?"
With the memory of the photos of his old lady serving drinks in skimpy lingerie at the Lollipop Café still burning in his mind's eye, Jax shook his head. "It'll all be over soon, baby, but I can't get into it now. I need you to go upstairs and stay there. I'm calling an emergency meeting in about an hour, but first I need to talk to Clay."
Jolene nodded and, standing on the tip of her bare feet, kissed Jax tenderly before turning on her heels and running back upstairs.
That had been almost four hours ago. After discussing the most pertinent contents of the file with relation to their problem with the Irish in depth with his stepson, Clay had prepared Jax for the phone call of a lifetime. Even though Clay had a relationship with the Irish Kings that went back almost thirty years, as Acting President, it was Jax's duty to step up, present the Intel they had, and negotiate to get their gun deal back.
As Jax made that call down in his man cave, Juice had come over to send certain information for the Council to consider over a secure network. Anticipating that the Kings would take their time in digesting and considering the information he had provided, Jax had called his brothers to his home for an emergency meeting. Unexpectedly, Declan Brogan had returned his call before Piney made his way down from his cabin.
"Damn, Clay. This is some serious shit." Tig said as he finished reading one of the reports and handed it over to Opie.
"Yeah, and it all has the potential to blow back on the RIRA, but nothing in here links them directly to SAMCRO." Juice said, flipping through several photographs unaware that Jax had redacted certain ones from the pile in order to protect his old lady's reputation. "Is this all of it? I mean maybe Hale's holding onto some info to use later on against the Club."
"That's always a possibility." Jax said as he entered the room and promptly collapsed into the plump softness of one of the unoccupied armchairs. "At this point, I'm not sure which way is up anymore, but my gut tells me Hale was being sincere."
Clay leaned towards Jax. "Anything you want to share?" He almost whispered.
Jax nodded. "Just give me a minute to process." He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hands. He could probably count on two hands the hours he's slept since all hell had busted loose and still have fingers left over.
"Sincere he may be," Opie started as he cast a knowing glance at Jax. "But I, for one, am still shocked as shit that he would do this for SAMCRO. After all, this is Captain America we're talking about, not Unser."
"He didn't do this for the Club. He did this for Kit." Bobby stated matter-of-factly as Jax, Clay, and Opie shot him a look that screamed "What the fuck, dude?" "Hey, the time for pussyfooting around the issue is long gone, Jax. I'm just calling it like I see it with no disrespect intended. Unser couldn't get within ten feet of this Intel. Deputy Dog's the only one in the entire station house in Stahl's inner circle. We couldn't buy him with money, so that leaves only one other thing an otherwise sensible man would throw caution—and maybe his career—to the wind for and do something as stupid and reckless as this."
Tig sniggered. "You saying Hale's got the hots for Doll Face?"
"What are you, blind or just plain stupid?" Piney called out from his corner of the room.
"Neither, bro. I'm just cautious. Doll Face has a real whack job for an old man. I prefer keeping my balls in my pants and not hanging like a trophy in his man cave." Tig replied, smiling at Jax. Jax had pushed his rapidly growing hair back and eyeballed his SAA like a testicle trophy was still a possibility. "Hey, you shoulda let me take that shot, man. I could've splashed his guts all over the streams while I had him in my sights, especially since my ass was up that fuckin' tree for almost an hour." Nudging Happy, Tig boasted, "Bro, I had the perfect kill shot, too."
"Shit, bro. Why didn't you let him take it?" Happy quickly sided with his brother-in-blood. "I hate fuckin' pigs."
"Can we just drop Hale and his reasons for giving us the file? We weren't there to kill a cop. Fact is, asshole or not, he did us a solid. The proof he gave us was enough to convince the Kings that my old lady wasn't the rat," Jax stated wearily. "And on top of that, Brogan gave us the go-ahead to take Jimmy and Luke out."
Suddenly, the room erupted with Happy and Tig almost doing a jig and questions being hurled at Jax from all directions. But the one that caught everyone's ear and caused the room to fall silent again came from Half Sack.
"You wanna repeat that?" Jax asked, trying hard not to smirk as he could hear Clay and Opie chuckling beside him.
"I said, take 'em out, meaning like kill 'em, right?" Half Sack rubbed his forehead and wished he had just kept his mouth shut.
"No, brutha," Chibs started with a dead pan look on his face. "I think he meant dinner and a movie."
Feeling the tension in the room ease a bit as his brothers joked and gave the new patch a hard time, Jax let himself laugh and when he did, he felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. They just had to get there.
Clay and Piney were the first two to sober up and stop laughing. The fact was that they had lost a good friend in Michael McKeavey and, thanks to the information contained in the pilfered ATF file, they now knew who was truly responsible.
"So I take it that the Kings didn't take kindly to seeing evidence of Jimmy O's involvement in McKeavey's death." Clay said, thinking of the grainy black and white pictures Jax had forwarded to the Council in Belfast. The photos had been taken from a security camera at the Oakland docks. In them, Michael McKeavey was being slowly beaten to death by Luke Moran with a billy club, while a jubilant Jimmy O watched.
"No, they didn't," Jax replied. "And judging by their reaction, the pictures only served to confirm something they suspected all along. Apparently, they believed that Jimmy had been skimming while brokering deals in Eastern Europe. That's why they reassigned him to NorCal. Jimmy O believes his own publicity and is a legend in his own mind. He thought himself untouchable, but the Council knew that if anyone could smoke him out, it would have been McKeavey."
"So Michael was onto him, that's why they killed him?" Piney asked angrily.
"That's one of the reasons." Jax confirmed.
"And the other?" Tig asked.
"Jimmy's first order of business was trying to convince McKeavey to cut ties with the Sons. He had made contact with Victor Putlova, who was showing interest in expanding his business to include gun running. Jimmy had even mentioned a $1 million vig, which the Kings are sure was actually at least double that, but McKeavey nixed the idea. He knew and trusted the Sons and believed that if it wasn't broke, don't fix it. McKeavey became an obstacle." Jax explained. "The big red flag was setting up Brenan Hefner, the Oakland port official for his murder. Hefner's mother was a first generation Irish-American. She and Irish King Peter Dooley's grandmother were cousins. Hefner was as loyal to the Cause as McKeavey."
"The ATF wanted Jimmy O, so if Stahl had these pics all along, why didn't she just go after them from the get?" Juice asked.
Jax leaned back in his chair. "Jimmy O was just a means to an end. Stahl wanted to bring down the RIRA. She was pressuring Wendy to confirm the identities of the Council, information that even as an old lady she never would have access to. I'm sure that if every other play of hers hadn't panned out, she would eventually buckle and try to get O'Phelan and Moran to roll by picking them up for murder. Even then, it would have been unlikely. Jimmy had to know that the docks are under heavy surveillance. He just didn't give a shit."
Clay was still looking at the photos of his friend. Seeing the pain that he had endured, Clay slammed his good fist on the armrest of his chair. "Michael was a good friend, so what's the plan, AP, because I want this fat bastard to die slowly and painfully."
"And I don't mind volunteering for the job." Happy raised his hand, all the while wondering where he would place his next smiley face tattoo.
"Noted," Jax smirked. "But first, we have to track Moran down. The Council will get information to us on several safe houses throughout NorCal through McGee. They want a confession and they want us to go as far as necessary to get it, and they want it on video. Jimmy has a lot of supporters back in Belfast and the Kings want plausible deniability. They want to be able to claim their hands are clean when we finally get rid of Jimmy. We only get one shot at this, so we CANNOT fuck it up. Juice, you should get that Intel in the next few hours. As soon as you do, start pinpointing locations."
"Oh man, brutha, getting rid of Jimmy could wreak havoc for the Cause in Belfast." Chibs chimed in. "And potentially bring a world of trouble to our doorstep."
"Especially since it seems like this plan to bring in the ROC is a done deal. With $1 million at stake, do you really think we'll get our business back?" Bobby asked. "SAMCRO is not hurting for money, but we ain't got scratch like that to counter an offer made by the Russians to keep the new arrangement even after Jimmy's gone."
"I really don't think it's about the money with the Irish. It's about loyalty. Jimmy was a trusted soldier and he betrayed the Cause. At this point, it's about honor." Jax replied.
"Okay, so we pick up Luke. Flay him a little, set fire to his genitals until he confesses, ON VIDEO, of course, then we kill him." Tig was almost rubbing his hands together. "How do we get rid of Jimmy?"
"He's due back in Belfast in, what, the next 48 hours?" Chibs asked for confirmation.
Jax nodded. "He uses a boat he keeps docked at the marina on Alice Street in Oakland to get to Canada. I have a couple of ideas I want to talk to Ope and Bobby about."
"What about the rat-faced ATF bitch?" Happy growled. "And her junkie source?"
"We'll deal with the both of them later. They're not going anywhere and right now, our window to nail Jimmy O and Luke is closing, fast." Jax said.
The strategy session continued well into the early morning before Jax slammed the gavel down and called it a night.
Jax rubbed his face wearily as he headed up the stairs. The events of the day had been overwhelming, to say the least. What he needed was a good night's sleep, which he knew he wasn't getting any time soon, so a couple of hours would have to do before heading back to the Clubhouse.
Jax stopped briefly to peek into Abel's room. Seeing his son sleeping peacefully brought him a sense of contentment.
All I know is the outlaw life, son and all I can hope to do is protect your legacy.
Thinking that it was best to forego a shower in order to avoid waking up his old lady, Jax was surprised to find her wide awake and reading a book.
I should have known she would stay up.
Unlike Gemma, who had balked a little when Jax "requested" that the old ladies vacate the first floor for the emergency meeting, Jolene had not batted an eyelash, and had retreated to their master bedroom. Clay, on the other hand, had to not-so-gently nudge Gemma away before she reluctantly headed to the family room to get lost in a marathon of The Real Housewives of New Jersey.
Jolene, however, knew her man well and could not bring herself to go to sleep knowing that he might need her and was prepared for the time when he finally made his way to their bed. Leaning against the massive headboard, his old lady's face showed the concern she had for him.
"Hey, baby." She put her book down and beckoned him towards her.
Closing the door behind him, Jax crossed the plush carpet, stripping off his cut as he walked. Tossing it onto the foot of the bed, he climbed fully clothed on top to rest his head on Jolene's lap. For a long while, the couple said nothing. Jolene simply stroked his blond hair, which had grown considerably since leaving Chino and which curled around her fingers. Jolene smiled to herself, thinking how much she loved that.
Finally, Jolene spoke, her voice as soothing to his soul as her touch. "Anything you want to talk about?"
Jax sighed. "I'm not sure."
"Oh, then I'm afraid we have a problem." Jax's eyes flew open as he could hear the mischievous grin in her voice.
Wrinkling his brow, Jax flipped onto his back in order to stare into Jolene's determined seafoam green eyes. "And why do we have a problem, darlin'?"
Arching one eyebrow seductively, Jolene let the wine-colored comforter tucked under her arms fall to reveal her creamy breasts, the titanium nipple piercings winking in the glow of the soft light coming from the lamps on the night tables.
"You can't clam up on me, baby. I'm completely naked right now, so the full disclosure rule is in full effect."
Jolene smiled to herself as she saw her old man's eyes latch on to her breasts. The wicked sparkle in his eyes making the pain of putting the bars through her pregnancy-swollen nipples all worthwhile.
"Shit, darlin'," Jax ran his hand over his face before closing it over one of her supple orbs, the tender flesh of her pink nipple tightening into a bud as his thumb lightly grazed over it. "Are you trying to kill me?" All thoughts of getting some sleep were pushed to the back of his mind as soon as Jolene had dropped the comforter.
I can live to be a hundred and the sight of her tits will still get me going each and every time.
"I love you, Jax. I know sex won't fix anything, but I know my man and I know it'll make you feel a lot better." Jolene smiled wickedly. "I'm your old lady and I want to take care of you, any way you need me to. I suggest physically first. You can unburden yourself and unload on me later, okay?"
With a half-grin, Jax wrapped his palm behind her neck, pushing himself up as he pulled her towards him for a kiss. As their lips crashed against each other, Jolene brought herself onto her knees, her mouth whipping Jax into a frenzy as she alternated invading his with her tongue and biting his lips. Jax groaned, his hand balling into fist in the hair at the back of her head as she pushed him onto his back. Pulling away and slightly breathless, Jolene pushed his white SAMCRO t-shirt up. As Jax yanked it off, Jolene dropped kisses onto his rippled chest and down his abs until she reached his happy trail beginning at his belly button.
"Oh, yeah, baby." Jax heard himself moan as his old lady straddled him in reverse, her tight round ass and pretty pink pussy mere inches from his face as he felt her unbuckle and unzip his pants. Not bothering to take his jeans off, Jolene pulled his stiff cock out of his boxers. Throwing her loose long curls back, she looked down at Jax over her shoulder and smiled at him as he dug his fingers into the flesh of her hips. "You are so fuckin' hot, Jo." He nearly growled.
"And don't you ever forget it." Jolene laughed as she teasingly stroked his dick with both fists. "Especially when I start getting fat with your baby."
Jax chuckled, his eyes closed as he focused on the pleasure she was giving him with just her hands. Taken by surprise, Jax suddenly groaned as he felt himself hit the back of her throat as her lips wrapped tightly around him. "Fuck! Never, baby, I promise."
Opening his eyes, Jax growled again as he caught sight of the view that was now open to him as Jolene was bent forward and over his dick, loving him with her mouth. Deciding to return the favor, he pulled her ass towards him. Now it was Jolene's turn to moan around the more-than-a-mouthful that was her husband as she first felt his fingers break through her folds and then his tongue.
Pulling him out of her mouth, Jolene fell against his denim-clad thighs, her hand still stroking him as he forced sounds out of her that sounded foreign to her ears.
"Oh God, Jax!" She was panting, trying to control the urge to push herself against his face as she felt the familiar and delicious heat building in her core. "Fuck!" Reaching back, Jolene grabbed a fistful of his hair, unable to control the scream that escaped her lips as Jax held onto her hips, her clit vibrating against his tongue as she came.
Pushing her onto her back, Jax pulled himself up. Hovering over her, he smiled as Jolene tried to catch her breath. "I am so glad we sound proofed this room, darlin'. I think you pierced one of my eardrums."
"Shut up!" Jolene playfully swatted at him. "And come here." She pulled him towards her with her legs now wrapped around his waist.
Jax bit into his upper lip, his face suddenly serious as he pushed himself into her moist heat, forgetting about wanting to get out his jeans. With their eyes locked, Jolene pushed several unruly locks away from his face and tucked them behind his ear. Gently thrusting into her as he rolled his hips, Jax dipped his head and kissed her softly.
"I promise, Jo, I'm working on making everything right again."
"I know, baby, and I have no doubt that you will." Jolene whispered back against his lips. "I trust you with my life."
And because she did, Jax knew that he would not be able to rest until he told her everything as he expected it to go down. But right now, he was going to make love to her like it was their last time.
And considering how many different ways shit could go sideways for him and his family in the next 48 hours, it could be their last time in a long time.
Or ever.
It was barely nine o'clock in the morning and Clay was lying wide awake in his bed. Being awake at this hour of the morning wasn't unusual for him, especially since his accident. With Neeta getting to the house between 8 and 8:30 most mornings, the Prospect Tiny Tim would help him get ready in order for him to have breakfast with his family before everyone took off in different directions for the day.
But today was different.
It had been way after five o'clock in the morning before Clay had finally made it to bed. And once there, he didn't feel much like sleeping. His mind was too active and he had been wired. This was a crucial turning point for the Club and it killed him that he had been sidelined. With Jax at the helm, however, Clay was positive that all would work out in the end and SAMCRO would have its gun business back.
What had Clay concerned the most for his son-in-law was how he would deal with the ATF gash and her stoolie Wendy Case. Although the prospect of losing their livelihood had been an unexpected blow, the fact was the Club still had plenty of ways to make money, the garage and Cara Cara being just two. Although none of the men who sat at the Redwood table had ever set foot inside an institution without bars, much less one of higher learning, there was a lot of brain power backing the presidency of SAMCRO. Clay knew that without gun running, someone would eventually come up with a scheme that allowed the Club to earn big again, and Clay knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Jax Teller would be the one to figure some shit out for them to do.
Jax was the embodiment of an outlaw biker. Clay, along with his other First 9 brethren, had chosen the Life, but had to strip away years of a middle-class upbringing before they could truly call themselves outlaws. Having been born into an MC, the Life had chosen Jackson Teller. He simply didn't know any other way to live, and more importantly, didn't care to. But like most supermen, Jax had a weakness and Clay knew that his beautiful, strong-willed, and insanely smart daughter was Jax's. He had witnessed the young man brought to his knees more than once because of the love he had for Jolene.
Almost losing her to a would-be assassin's bullet had devastated Jax. Losing her for almost five years, knowing that she was alive and keeping herself hidden from him, had almost killed him. Now, with knowledge of the information contained in the file Hale had stolen from the ATF, Jax was in that fragile state of mind again where he didn't care what dark path the love he had for his old lady took him down as long as he could protect her and keep her by his side.
Remembering the contents of the file, Clay couldn't really say he blamed him. Agent June Stahl had a dangerous hard-on, not only for the Club, but for his little girl as well. She had employed every dirty trick she knew in order to get Jolene to turn rat. When that didn't work, instead of letting her go on with her life away from the MC, Stahl had caused Jolene to lose a prestigious job at some hoity-toity school. Clay was sure that had been another smart, yet devious play on the agent's behalf to get Jolene to run back to her family.
Even though the plan eventually worked and Jolene had returned home, Stahl had made a fatal error in judgment by following her back to Charming. Jolene had found her way back into the over-protective and possessive arms of her old man. After discovering that the ATF had been tracking Jolene for years, Jax was more determined than ever to make anyone who disrupted his happy home pay for their transgression in blood. Although Clay supported Jax's plan for dealing with Stahl, his only wish was that the father of his grandson did not act in haste and end up in a cell right next to Lenny Janowitz for killing a Fed.
The soft knocking on his door brought Clay out of his own thoughts. "Daddy, are you awake? Can I come in?"
Clay smiled. He was sure Jolene had gotten as much sleep as he had, but you could never keep a natural born early riser down and that was Jolene since she was a little girl.
"Come on in, baby girl." Clay called out.
Nudging the door open, Jolene entered the room with a beaming smile and a TV tray table with two covered dishes and a mug. "Neeta had to go to Stockton today, so I made you breakfast."
Clay attempted a half-heartedly enthusiastic smile which looked more like a grimace. "Gee, thanks, sweetheart. You shouldn't have."
Really, you shouldn't have, Clay thought disdainfully as he cursed the stupid diet his doctor was trying to kill him with.
"I can see you're overjoyed." Jolene smirked, handing him a mug of what Clay was sure was some watery decaf. "Here, start with this."
With a fake smile plastered onto his face, Clay brought the mug to his lips, his nostrils suddenly assaulted by the magnificent aroma of REAL coffee. He had to take a sip first to be sure, but his eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head when he did.
Afraid to say anything in case it was a mistake, Clay was ready to wrestle his daughter if she dared try to take it away.
"Good, huh?" Jolene smiled, wishing she could have a cup of strong black coffee herself. "Get a load of this." She lifted the plastic covers off one of the plates.
Clay's eyes rounded in wonderment as he saw a short stack of pancakes, eggs over easy, and three fat and juicy sausage links. "Funny. Teasing your father with your breakfast is not only mean but heartless." Clay grumbled, waiting for her to lift the lid off of his breakfast of egg whites, dry wheat toast, and fruit.
"Actually, this is your breakfast. Unless you want mine." Jolene removed the lid from the second plate. "I made myself French toast using Uncle Elvis's homemade cinnamon walnut bread, but you can have it if you want, Daddy." She smiled pleasantly as she pulled a linen napkin from under one of the plates and draped it around his neck.
Clay was blinking rapidly, trying to convince himself that he was dreaming. Retrieving a tray table from one of the closets, Jolene set it across his lap and fluffed up his pillows in order to prop him up comfortably.
"After breakfast, I'll get Phil in here to help you get out of bed." Jolene dropped a kiss on her father's forehead. "So, what'll it be? Pancakes or French toast?"
"Pancakes." Clay replied, bewildered as he watched his daughter pick up his plate and set it before him, along with a bottle of maple syrup she pulled out of the front pocket of her apron. "You feeling alright, baby girl?"
Making eye contact with her father, Jolene quickly looked away, but not quick enough. Clay caught the sad, almost terrified look in her enormous and expressive eyes.
"I'm fine, Daddy." Jolene occupied herself with getting Clay's utensils before settling herself in a chair by his bed with her own breakfast on the tray table before her.
"Bullshit. That's the most you've called me 'Daddy' in a conversation since you were seventeen. What's bothering you, little girl?" Clay set is coffee mug down on his table next to his nearly forgotten breakfast, a pleasant, but otherwise unexpected treat. "Holy shit! I'm dying, right?"
"No, you're not dying." Jolene couldn't help but giggle. "This is a one-off treat, Dad, so don't get used to it." She said, indicating his breakfast.
"Something's still bothering you, Jolene. What is it?"
Jolene shrugged her shoulders as she set her own napkin on her lap. "It just feels—" She started, but stopped herself. "Dad, why does anything have to be wrong?"
"First of all, you come strolling in here with an artery-clogging breakfast—my taste buds are doing back flips right now, by the way—and second, you look like shit." Clay replied, earning him a death glare from his daughter. "Either something's wrong or you're trying to soften a blow. Which is it?"
Jolene sat with her eyes downcast and jaw clenched as her fingers absently toyed with her wedding ring set. Suddenly looking into her father's piercing blue eyes, Clay could see that hers were moist and she was on the verge of tears.
Jolene cleared her throat, sucking back the urge to cry. "It's just that everything feels—different, that's all. It just feels like after today, nothing will ever be the same again. I just wanted us to have breakfast one more time like we used to when I was small in case everything goes to shit."
Clay shook his head slightly as he reached out for his daughter with his good hand. Getting up, Jolene quickly moved his tray to her chair and climbed onto the bed and snuggled up against him.
"Baby girl, your old man has a handle on shit. You just need to hold on tight until it all blows over." Clay said and pressed a kiss against her hair.
Jolene nodded into her father's chest. "I know he does, but he wouldn't have to if it weren't for me."
"Jolene—"
"Dad, please, there's no way around it. I know about the ATF's file. My stubborn pride put me on their radar. I never should have left Charming. Doing so was a weak move and it only opened me up to people like Stahl. Without the Club backing me up, I was like a wolf cub separated from the pack, just an easy target for the jackals." Jolene pushed herself up into a sitting position. "No matter how much the shame of the whole Wendy situation hurt, I should have stayed and fought for Jax and the life we had. Instead, I was too damn proud thinking that it couldn't—that it shouldn't be happening to me. I let that crank whore win by letting her get into my head, by letting myself believe that Jax wanted her here."
"You don't really believe he wanted her here, do you?" Clay asked disbelievingly. The one thing his daughter did not lack was self-confidence or the goods to back it up.
Jolene shook her head. "Honestly, I try not to think about it because we promised each other a clean slate, but yeah. At the time, I believed that's exactly what he wanted."
"What about now, Jolene? You still believe that?"
Jolene looked into her father's eyes for a long time. "Like I said, Dad, I try not to think about it."
Clay shook his head regretfully, hating himself for the part he had played in all this. If anyone was to blame for pushing his daughter away and into the ATF's sights, it wasn't Jolene or Jax or even Wendy. He was the only one to blame. Even though SAMCRO was so close to righting the wrongs that had plagued them for so long, Clay could not rest easy until he fessed up to his participation in the chain of events about to culminate in a clusterfuck.
"Baby girl," Clay started, longing for a fifth of bourbon. "The only thing Jax ever wanted was you. After the shooting, Jax was guilt-ridden and I tried to exploit that because I had almost lost you myself. Somewhere along the line, he came to his senses and realized that he couldn't live without you and he wasn't gonna let you go." He stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve the tension. "If he couldn't break it off, I knew you could if confronted with the cheap pussy he'd been tapping in order to get shit straight in his head."
Jolene felt the heat drain out of her face and into her hands, leaving her fingers numb and tingly. "What are you saying, Dad?"
Clay's deep blue eyes focused on the form of his trembling daughter. "What I'm saying, baby girl, is that I was responsible for bringing that gash to Charming. She showed up at the Clubhouse that day because I called and left a message that Jax wanted her in Charming and to pack her shit and get here as fast as she could."
"What?" Jolene recoiled, her hand flying to her still-flat tummy as a wave of nausea assaulted her. "Why would you do that to me? To us?"
"Because I loved you, and sometimes parents do really shitty things out of love and fear." Clay rubbed his forehead wearily. "All I cared about was your safety and it was easier to convince myself that all you had with Jax was a teenage infatuation that had gone on for far too long, instead of the deep and abiding love that the two of you had for each other. The end justified the means if it meant that you would be safe."
"But I wasn't safe, Dad!" Jolene said angrily.
"That's right. You weren't. Because of me. I put you in the position of a cub all on its own, having to fend for yourself and Abel, and yet, despite that, you managed to survive without your family holding you up. I guess I can take a measure of pride that we all had a part in raising you, making you strong enough to handle your shit."
Jolene rested her head in her hands. Finally looking up at her father she said, "Why? Why tell me now, especially when Jax is out there risking his life in order to clean up this mess?"
"Because I can't let you think that your old man ever wanted that gash over you. You are his life, Jolene, but I was too stupid to see that. I don't want her overshadowing what you and your old man have. You need to let that shit go, baby girl, and maybe, someday, you'll be able to forgive me for all the sorrow I caused."
Looking at her father's face full of regret and remorse, Jolene realized that it took a lot for him to confess that he had made a mistake. Clarence Morrow was not a man known for apologizing for the shit he did, right or wrong. Even though she was angry and hurt finding out about his role in her break up with Jax, she had recognized her own failings and had admitted as much only moments ago.
"Dad, you didn't have to tell me, but in a sad and twisted way I'm glad you did. If I can forgive myself for not sticking by Jax back then, I can forgive you, too. It won't change my feelings for him because I can't possibly love him anymore than I do right now, but knowing that Jax never wanted that POS means a lot." Jolene swiped away at her tears. "Ever since you came into my life, you and Uncle Elvis have always done your best to love and protect me. Being away from my family for so long taught me how precious every single moment with them is and I'm not gonna waste our time together being mad at you, no matter how misguided your intentions were." Reaching out to wrap her arms around her father, Jolene whispered in his ear. "I love you, Daddy. I always have, and I always will."
According to the information forwarded to Juice by McGee, a member of the First 9 and President of the Belfast charter, the Irish had two safe houses in NorCal. Both were frequently used by Luke Moran and, occasionally, Jimmy O when he was states side. As soon as Juice had pinpointed the exact locations, Jax had dispatched Tig and Happy to Visalia and Kozik and Chibs to Galt.
It was still morning when Jax got word from Tig that there had been movement in Visalia. They had spotted Luke at the safe house, but there was no sign of Jimmy and Luke appeared to be alone. Giving Tig and Happy the word to make contact, Jax had also given the Brothers Grim the go ahead to start working Moran over until he got there. As long as they remembered to get whatever he said on video, Jax really had no need or desire to be there while the fun and games ensued. Leaving Opie and Bobby at the Clubhouse to continue hammering out the rest of their plans, Jax headed to Visalia to pay a certain fat Irish fuck a visit.
After the patching out of Kyle Hobart, Jax swore to himself that if never smelled burning flesh ever again, it would still be too soon for him. Apparently, neither Tig nor Happy got to read that memo as that seemed to be their go-to method of extracting information from Moran. The stench of overcooked human meat hit Jax like a slap to the face as soon as he stepped foot inside the house. As Tig led him down the stairs into the basement of the one-story ranch-style house, Jax had to cover his nose with the sleeve of his plaid shirt.
"Jesus Christ!" Jax practically snarled at Tig. "Is he still alive?"
"Yeah. Sure." Tig responded quickly, but then shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe just barely."
Jax shook his head as he glared at Tig.
"Don't sweat, Pres," Happy called out from the chair he was casually sitting in, his feet crossed at his booted ankles as they rested on the edge of an old washing machine. "We got it all on tape." He said as he tossed Jax the small video camera while taking a drag from his cigarette.
As Jax caught the camera, he looked at the hunk of charred raw meat that used to be Luke Moran as he hung from the ceiling by his bound wrists. He was a whimpering and bloody mess as he drooled incoherently into his chest. Turning away from Moran, Jax pulled a smoke out of the breast pocket of his shirt, lighting up mostly to make the stench burning his nose at least somewhat tolerable. Switching on the camera, Jax watched the almost fifteen minute tape in which Luke Moran atoned for all his sins, coming clean about the skimming and their plan to replace SAMCRO with the ROC for a hefty cash vig, all of which was made possible by the murder of RIRA soldier Michael McKeavey, which he committed with his bare hands as he obeyed a direct order from James O'Phelan to make it as brutal as possible.
It was clear from the tape that by the time the confession was made, Moran had suffered quite a beating by—Jax was 100% positive—his SAA. After all, Tig was more the face-to-face, hand-to-hand-type of interrogator. It was obvious that Moran had been fucked over thoroughly, but nothing compared to the lump of dying flesh suspended at least two feet off the ground now. Apparently, after his confession, the camera was switched off and the master of all that was painful and torturous took over. Jax wasn't an innocent man. He had done his duty on behalf of the Club and had dispatched his fair share of rival MC members, gangbangers, and rats. But confronted by their handy work, Jax was suddenly very grateful that both Tig and Happy were on his side.
Hearing the Irishman gurgle and hiss, Jax realized Luke had lifted his battered head and was looking straight at him with the one eye still left. Handing the camera to Tig, Jax reached into the holster under his shirt and pulled out his Glock before taking a step towards Luke. Moran continued hissing and gurgling in his effort to speak and after about a minute or so, Jax was finally able to figure out what he was saying. Grabbing the silencer in the front pocket of his jeans, Jax screwed it into the muzzle of his gun with his gloved hand.
Please kill me.
"There's no need to beg, Luke." Jax drawled, his nostrils flared with a mixture of hatred and disgust. "I told you, the next time you saw me would be your last."
With the Glock pointed at dead center of his chest, Jax pulled the trigger, piercing Luke Moran's heart. He was dead before Jax dropped his hand to his side.
Casually unscrewing the silencer, Jax shoved it back into his pocket and his gun back into his holster. Pulling a thick, white envelope stuffed with cash from his back pocket, Jax turned and slammed it into Tig's chest, taking the camera back with his other.
"For Bachman." He said before climbing up the stairs and heading back to Charming.
It was almost two a.m. and Jimmy O was getting impatient. His second-in-command and—more importantly—his money man was late.
Hours late.
It pissed Jimmy off that instead of preparing for his long trip back to Belfast, he had spent the better part of the day and most of the evening fielding calls from Victor Putlova, all the while trying to locate Luke. Not only was Luke supposed to meet him at the marina in Oakland where they stored their cabin cruiser by midnight, but he had never made the drop to the Russians earlier in the day.
Jimmy O paced the deck of his boat impatiently as the stiff breeze coming off of the water at the Alice Street Marina blew against his lightweight black trench coat. He shivered a little, grateful that he had kept the coat stored away on board. Despite the fact that it was mid-summer, the temperature on the docks was usually a good 20 degrees colder than anywhere else in Cali, especially at night.
It would take at least seven hours to travel by boat to Vancouver. Jimmy preferred travelling during the cover of night and because of the excellent radar tracking system they had on board, there was no chance of them getting lost or caught by the Coast Guard. It was important that they arrive in Vancouver no later than mid-morning in order to make their first flight. It would take about two days of travelling on several crisscrossing flights before Jimmy would safely arrive in Belfast.
It wasn't like Luke to be late and Jimmy couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone wrong. Luke did not eat, sleep, or shit without Jimmy knowing about it and he always answered his mobile. Jimmy was starting to regret his decision to send Luke back to NorCal alone with the money they had received from Putlova. The Russian had been a gracious host, insisting that Jimmy stay in Oregon to celebrate their new partnership until he was due to head back to Belfast. Luke had grumbled about not being able to partake of their host's hospitality for more than one night, but Jimmy needed him to take care of business first.
Leaning against the railing, Jimmy lit a smoke and took a deep drag, refusing to entertain the thought that Luke had taken off with his $2.5 million. He'd be better off dead, Jimmy O reasoned, because if he or—God forbid—Putlova ever got a hold of him, that's exactly how he'd end up. And it wouldn't be quick and painless either.
At least, not as quick and painless as Jimmy had initially planned on disposing of Luke. Despite all of Jimmy's promises, he had no intention of sharing the monies they had extorted—and would continue to extort—with Luke. Luke Moran was simply a tool, a workhorse to be used and road hard until it was no longer of any use. He basically kept Luke around to do all of the leg work of running the shipping and exporting of the merch, collecting the payments, skimming their share and storing the funds until they could be transferred to a safe offshore account.
Jimmy thought about the two duffel bags last seen in Luke's possession. $2.5 million was a lot of cash and, falling back on his alter boy days, Jimmy said a quick prayer for Luke to show his fat face and soon before he himself ended up on Victor Putlova's hit list. The Russian was foaming at the mouth, accusing Jimmy of stealing his money and his guns.
Throwing his cigarette overboard, Jimmy O walked towards the stern of the boat as he heard footsteps on the dock.
Opie thought he was crazy coming to Oakland by himself, but his brothers had risked enough already, with miles still left to go. Earlier in the day, with information provided by Luke, Opie and Bobby had taken on the task of making the execution of James O'Phelan as easy as pushing a button and now all Jax had to do was follow through. Even though Jimmy O had jeopardized the entire Club's livelihood, putting its survival at stake, closing this chapter on SAMCRO's history was a much more personal matter for Jax.
Jax pulled up the hoodie of the sweatshirt he was wearing, the breeze coming off the water sending a chill up his spine as he walked towards the marina. Thinking of his old lady at a time like this was not where he needed his head to be, but Jax couldn't deny that she was the driving force behind his need for vengeance. Jolene would hate knowing that. Thoughts of what he had done earlier, what he was about to do, and what he would end up doing before all of this was over gave him pause. After all, bat-swinging incidents aside, Jolene didn't have an evil bone in her body and hated to see anyone suffer. That empathy was just one of the reasons she made the perfect old lady for him. Jolene brought balance into his life of blood and mayhem.
Jolene makes me human.
As Jax descended the wooden set of stairs leading to the dock, he suddenly crouched down as he saw his target. Even from this distance, Jax could tell that Jimmy O was pacing nervously back and forth on his cabin cruiser. Jax grimaced to himself as he wondered what had the Irishman more worried, the fact that his second-in-command was MIA or that he was missing and so were the two duffel bags full of money.
That had been an unexpected find. Jax had just made it back to Charming after paying Luke a farewell visit when Tig called on his prepay. He and Happy had made an interesting discovery as they entertained themselves ransacking the safe house while Bachman worked his magic in the basement. Although Tig couldn't say for sure, he estimated that there was a good chance there was more than $1 million in the two duffel bags. In those bags, Tig also found the paperwork and keys to a container at the Oakland shipyard holding what was probably the Sons' last shipment, which Jimmy O had refused to turnover.
Deciding that he wanted the last thing that Jimmy O knew for certain was who had killed him, Jax pulled the TEC-9 he held in his back waistband as he stood up straight and headed for the slip that housed Jimmy's boat.
"It's about bloody time, you fat piece o' shit!" Jimmy started berating the dearly departed Luke Moran before he had a chance to register his error.
Nearly shitting himself, Jimmy O saw the tall, lean figure heading his way dressed in black plainclothes from head to toe. Even before the man pulled his hood back, Jimmy O knew he was about to meet his maker if he didn't light a fire under his own ass before Jax Teller made his move.
Running to the cockpit, Jimmy quickly started the boat's motor. The high powered engine quickly roared to life and, with a debonair wave of his hand, Jimmy pulled out of the slip to head out for the open sea. Distracted by his immense relief at having made a quick getaway, Jimmy barely heard the pops that signaled automatic gunfire until he felt several bullets hitting the boat as others whizzed by and splashed into the water.
The farther he got away from the docks, the more Jimmy started to feel safe enough to put the boat on autopilot. Walking to the stern, Jimmy laughed whole-heartedly as Jax took several more shots at him.
"That's the luck o' the Irish for ya, boyo!" Jimmy called out as he tossed off another wave.
Suddenly realizing that Luke was more than likely dead, probably tortured for information on his whereabouts, Jimmy angrily slammed his hand on the side of the boat. He was making it out of NorCal with his life, but with only the clothes on his back as well as he realized that he was making his getaway without his money.
Without that money, he was as good as dead. With Luke never making the drop-off to the Russians, he couldn't count on Putlova for protection. And if the Council had caught wind of any of his schemes against them, that was protection he would need as he may never be able to set foot in Belfast again.
Picking up the pair of binoculars that were laying on a seat, Jimmy wanted to take one last look at the Acting President of SAMCRO.
At least I had the last laugh on Teller, that fuckin' son of a bitch.
Cutting the engine so that he could focus on the bastard that destroyed his plans, Jimmy saw Jax Teller as he it finally dawned on him that Jimmy had escaped. Tucking his TEC-9 back into his waistband, Jimmy O saw Jax reach into the front pocket of his hoodie. The small black object he held in his hand looked familiar to Jimmy, but he couldn't place it at first. It wasn't until Jax waved good-bye at him before pulling out the antenna that Jimmy realized what it was.
Flinging aside the binoculars, Jimmy desperately tried climb onto the bow in order to leap out of the boat. He would have made it too had it not been for the lack of traction provided by his $500 pair of Bruno Magli shoes.
BOOM!
The explosion lit the night sky for miles around as pieces of James Patrick O'Phelan's body were scattered all over the bay.