Slightly shorter chapter today, loves. But it gets the job done. :)

blind circle, moon and sun
body willing, mind undone
one pain ending while another begins
lies, ruin, disease
into wounds like these
let the truth sting
David Gray, "Let the Truth Sting"

Patrol cars from the sheriff's office lined the street. Their lights were on, bathing everything in a garish red and blue glow. There were some rubber neckers, and the general mood of the crowd was angry. Everyone knew SAMCRO rented the old ice cream shop. Now, typically, they'd brought more violence to Charming. It was their fault Sheriff Roosevelt was dead, after all, and death seemed to follow the club like a plague.

Happy and Quinn were waiting for Juice, Chibs, and Bobby when they pulled up. Rat was on hospital duty and West was guarding Gemma. Tig had been unreachable for the last half hour, which is what had gotten them worried about trouble in the first place.

Juice jumped off his bike before it even came to a complete stop. It stalled out and tipped over, but he ignored it as he charged toward the barricade. Happy and Quinn grabbed him, and a second later Chibs and Bobby joined them.

"Where is she?" he cried. "What the fuck happened?"

"Cops were already here," Happy said. "Won't tell us a fuckin' thing. New sheriff's a hard ass bitch. Juice, fuck, calm down!"

"Lad," Chibs said. "Relax a mo'. We'll figure it out. Doesn't help anything to fight us."

Reluctantly he subsided and slumped against Chibs. The older man took his weight easily, and waved the others off when they tried to help.

"Lady Sheriff?" Bobby said.

"Yeah," said Happy. "Donnelly." He nodded toward the shop. "Over there."

She was tallish, thin, with long dark hair pulled back in a tail. Late thirties or early forties. Extremely competent from the look of things. She was unhurried and calm as she ordered deputies here and there.

"Windows are broken out," Quinn said. "Maybe the place just got bricked."

"Don't think that'd bring every fuckin' cop in Charming," Juice growled. "It was him. It was Mick fucking Doyle."

"Wait here," Bobby said. "I'm gonna see if I can get some answers."

He trundled to the police tape and waved until he had the new Sheriff's attention. She gave some more instructions to the deputy before she headed his way.

"Your place?" she said with a raised brow.

"Yep. I'm Bobby Munson, President of SAMCRO. You can call me Bobby." He held out a hand, and after a long, assessing study, she accepted.

"Sheriff Kate Donnelly. You can call me Sheriff."

He liked her immediately. He wasn't sure why. Something about her wary, shrewd gaze, or the way she shook his hand, strong and direct. She pulled out of his grip, and he got the feeling the sentiment wasn't returned.

"Look, Sheriff, we've been gone all day, but we had people in there. One of our members. Our office manager. A mechanic. What the f—hell—happened?"

Her mouth quirked at his self-censorship. "We aren't exactly sure. The 911 call came in about twenty minutes ago. First responders found a man inside, injured but alive."

"Tiggy?" Chibs said as he and Juice joined them at the barricade.

"Don't know. He was gone by the time I got here. On his way to St. Thomas."

"Quinn, Hap, get to the hospital," Chibs barked over his shoulder. "An ambulance brought someone in, either Chucky or Tig."

They took off for their bikes and roared down the street.

"Was there a woman?" Juice said. "A redhead." He held out his hand. "So tall."

"Your office manager?"

Chibs' grinned, hard and cold. "Mechanic, and the lad's old lady."

She almost smiled at the irony of her assumption, but she swallowed it at the last minute. She was sure these men wouldn't appreciate it. The "lad," as the Scottish one had referred to him, looked terrified and half out of his head with grief. She reached across the tape and rested a brief hand on his arm, moved in spite of herself.

"There was no one else," she said. "I'm sorry. Maybe she wasn't here at all. You said there were two men and a woman; maybe two of them left together, and whoever did this caught the other man alone."

"Tiggy's bike's still here," Bobby said, grimly.

"Ollie's car, too." Chibs sighed and scraped a hand down his face. "Tell me, lass—" He broke off at her sharp, disbelieving look and tried again. "Pardon, Sheriff Donnelly. Chibs Telford. Juice Ortiz," he said, slapping himself and then Juice on the chest in turn.

She acknowledged his introductions with a brief lift of her brow. "Try to call them," she suggested.

"That's just the thing, ma'am," Bobby said. "We've been tryin' to get Tig and haven't had any luck."

"The girl then." She waved a hand.

"Olivia," Juice said, his voice bleak.

"Olivia. Try her."

They'd tried earlier when they couldn't get Tig, but with a sigh Juice dragged out his phone and hit her speed dial button again. "Straight to voicemail," he said.

She glanced over her shoulder. Her face was tight and angry. "You assholes," she said when she looked back. "First your club gets Roosevelt killed—a good man and a good cop—and now this fuckin' shit. I should haul you all in."

"Sheriff, Eli was a friend of Olivia's," Juice said. "They respected each other. He would help us try to find her rather than standing in our way." His voice was low and cold, and it vibrated with barely-contained tears.

Her head tilted. "Was that a threat, Mr. Ortiz?"

Chibs held up his hands. "All right, let's all just relax. That's not at all what he meant. Was it, Juicy? He's just upset."

"Right. She's his old lady." She said the words with a mix of disgust and skepticism.

Chibs took Juice by the arm and pulled him away. "Go sit down," he said and pointed to the curb.

"Chibs—"

"Go, Juicy! Get your head together. You're not helpin' anyone, least of all Ollie, actin' like a dumb shit."

"We gotta find her, Chibs. I can't lose her. I can't—I shouldn't've left her. I shoulda stayed here." His chin fell to his chest and he let out a quiet sob.

He gripped Juice's shoulders and shook him just a little. "Tig was here. She wasn't alone. We'll find her." He pulled him close and cradled the back of his head. "We'll find her, lad." His eyes met Bobby's, and they shared matching expressions of icy fury.

"As you can see," Bobby said to Donnelly, "Olivia and our brother—Tig—are important to us. We want 'em back safe and sound. Anything you can tell us would be appreciated."

"Mr. Munson," she said with a hard smile, "you need to understand something. I don't like you. I don't like your club. I want you gone, put away and dismantled and out of my county."

"Understandable," he said. "But you should know we all liked Sheriff Roosevelt. He was a good man, like you said. None of are happy about what happened to him."

"Hum. Does that have something to do with this?"

"Might."

"You need to tell me what you know."

"Quid pro quo," Chibs said. "We'll show you ours if you show us yours."

Her eyes narrowed, but after a moment she called a deputy over and whispered something to him. He cast a doubtful glance across the barrier, but he nodded and ran to do as she ordered. He was back fast, and he handed her two clear evidence bags. She waved him away.

"We found these on the counter." She held them up for their inspection. "This," she said, shaking the bag that contained a bloodstained switchblade with a brass knuckles handle, "was weighing down this." The other bag held a photograph. She flipped it over and Chibs leaned closer to read the writing.

I always did love strawberries.

"Mean anything to you?" Donnelly asked.

"No," Chibs said. "Juice?"

He shook his head, but of course it was a lie. They all knew of Olivia's aversion to strawberries; she couldn't even stand the sight of them, much less the smell or the taste. No one had ever asked her about it, and they assumed it was an allergy or something. Apparently not.

"Gentlemen," she said, "it might be easier for me to help you if I get a little something back. I think you know who did this, and I think you know why. It doesn't feel like a random attack to me, or even retaliation for your gang activity."

"We're not a gang," Bobby said. "We're a motorcycle club."

"Mea culpa," she said with a smile that didn't touch her dark eyes. "I misspoke." She stepped a little closer and lifted her chin to look Bobby in the eye. "Keep your cuts covered in my county," she said. "They're gang colors and I don't wanna see them."

"Roosevelt felt the same," he said. "We don't have a problem with it."

"Good." She turned on her heel, but Bobby's voice stopped her.

"How long till we get our shop back?"

"I don't know, Mr. Munson. Depends on if your guy dies or not. I'll keep you posted." And then she was gone, out of earshot and out of sight amongst the milling deputies.

"Jesus," Juice said. "Happy wasn't kidding."

"I like her," Bobby declared.

"Oh no, Bobby. No crushes on the new lady Sheriff!"

"I didn't say that," he said. "I just said I like her. She's got balls."

Chibs rolled his eyes. "You get a good look at that photo?"

"Nah, not really. Just looked like a warehouse to me."

"It's where he has her," Juice said.

"Aye," said Chibs. "She said he wouldn't kill her…right away." His voice caught and he cleared his throat. "Still. The sooner we find her the better."

"You think he took Tig or Chucky?" Bobby said.

"Tiggy. More valuable as a hostage."

"If he's still alive," Juice said.

"Thank you, Mary Sunshine," Bobby said and clapped him on the back.

He shrugged and made a face. They both watched him as his jaw worked and his fists clenched and loosened. He raised his head and look at each of them in turn. "There's somethin' I gotta tell you guys. You can do whatever you think is right and I won't argue, but I think you should know the truth."

"About what, lad?" Chibs said.

"Tara. The attack. Who did it."

They exchanged puzzled looks. "Doyle's guys did it. The postcard…?"

"Doyle's guys killed Eli." He swallowed hard and clenched his teeth. Then, "Gemma shot Tara."

They were suddenly enclosed in a bubble of silence. All the hustle and bustle of the crime scene faded. It was just the three of them, alone, the two bigger men glaring in disbelief and Juice calm and steady, dry-eyed and collected.

"How would you know somethin' like that, Juicy?" Chibs said, carefully.

"Pretty serious accusation to make without any proof," Bobby added.

"I don't have proof, exactly," Juice admitted, "but I was there. I tried to stop her, but I fucked up. When she shot Tara I thought she was dead. I kind of—I panicked. I know Gemma's just an old lady, but she's important to this club. It woulda imploded a long time ago without her."

Bobby tugged hard at his beard while Chibs spun around in a full circle, a hand fisted in his hair. He crowded close, glowering down at Juice.

"You knew this all along? You knew what she did and you covered it up?"

"I'm guessing Ollie knows, too," Bobby said.

"You wanna be the one to tell Jax?" Juice said. He didn't flinch from Chibs' glare. "Go ahead. You know what he'll do. And you know what it'll do to him. You want that on your head?" He lifted his arms in a shrug. "I don't. I thought she was dead. I didn't think there was any way to help her. Yeah, that was a fuck up—I admit it. But I don't regret covering for Gemma. There's gonna be a time for justice, but right now ain't it."

"Goddammit," Bobby said. "You arrogant little prick. You think you got a right to decide what's best for this club? That's the table's job, not yours! You shoulda brought this to us!"

Chibs inserted an arm between them. "The lad's right, Bobby."

He turned on him and Chibs held up his hands. "He brings this to the table, and what? The whole club knows that Gem tried to kill the President's old lady. Her own daughter-in-law. The mother of her grandchildren. We're on thin ice, brother. This could divide us like lightning hittin' a tree."

"I'm telling you now," Juice said, "because you need to know. Olivia was keepin' Tara safe—she told Gemma she'd keep her secret as long as Tara was okay—but with her gone, Gemma might try to do something."

"Kill Tara, you mean."

"If she gets her memory back Gemma's fucked."

"This is a fuckin' nightmare," Chibs said. His phone rang and he cursed again. "It's Hap," he said and answered it.

"It's Chucky," Happy said. "I talked to him already. He's kinda dopey, lost a lot of blood, but they got him stitched up. He said a guy Ollie called Teddy cut his fuckin' wrist with her knife. He had a bunch of guys with him, heavy artillery. They got Tig and Ollie, drugged 'em and dragged 'em out. He passed out after that and doesn't remember anything else."

"Fuck me sideways," Chibs said. "Thanks, Hap. Stay with him. Keep him talkin' to see if he can remember anything else."

"Sure thing, brother. Talk soon."

They disconnected and Chibs shook his head. "They got Ollie and Tiggy. Doyle came personally."

"This girl got a platinum pussy or somethin'?" Bobby said. "Why the fuck's everyone got such a hard-on for her?"

Juice snarled and Chibs grabbed him again. "All right, enough. We're still brothers here."

"A brother's somebody you trust," Bobby said, heavily. "Not sure that applies to all of us."

Juice glared at him. He reached up and ripped the Redwood Original patches off one side of his cut, and the Man of Mayhem patch off the other. He held them aloft for a moment before he opened his hand to let them flutter to the ground.

"Don't worry about it, Bobby," he said. "You think you can't trust me. That I'm a danger to this club. After everything I've done—" He broke off. "Fuck it. I'm gone."

"It ain't that easy, Juicy!" Bobby called as he walked away.

He picked up his bike and got it started on the second try. They watched him drive away, each thinking his own troubled thoughts. Chibs knelt to retrieve the patches and shoved them in his pocket.

"I'll talk to him," he said.

"Don't bother," said Bobby. "He wants to go? Let him. He belongs in a fuckin' grave anyway."

Chibs shook his head. "You got no idea the shit Jax put that boy through. He made a bad choice about Gem, but he did it for the right reasons." He was glad, then, that he hadn't told Bobby about Miles and the coke. There'd be no way he could talk him into something different if he had. "He wants out anyway. After we find Ollie we'll take the vote and let him patch out the right way."

Bobby fixed him with a gimlet stare. He was furious with Juice, betrayed and seething, but he was sick of all the death. He'd voted Mayhem for Clay because it was right for the club; once Jax found out about Gemma it would be a huge blow to everyone. Killing Juice in addition to all that just seemed…excessive. But Bobby couldn't let him off the hook. Couldn't just swallow what he'd done and let it fly.

"You want me to give him another chance, then you gotta vouch for him. He fucks up again it's on you, Chibby," he said, jabbing his finger at Chibs with every word.

"As you say, Bobby," he said with a grave nod.

"Good." He rubbed both hands over his face. Fuck he was exhausted. "Now let's fuckin' find Olivia and Tiggy and kill that motherfucker Mick Doyle. I think we're gonna have to draw straws to see who gets the honors."

Chibs thought, but didn't say, that it would take a braver man than Alice Telford's boy to go against Olivia Gable on this one. A dangerous woman, he mused. Indeed.

When Olivia opened her eyes the light was like an assault. She shut them again, fast, and after a moment spent cringing against the brightness, she slowly cracked them again. Held a squint as she waited for them to adjust. Eventually she could sort of see, but still it was painfully bright. Pupils dilated from the drugs, she reckoned.

Her head ached. Her mouth felt like sandpaper. Her hands, tied as they were behind her, were numb and her wrists chapped and aching. She was secured to a metal pole in the middle of what seemed like a warehouse. Other poles stood nearby, but they were all empty but one.

"Tig!" she croaked. Her voice was a dry rasp. She rolled her tongue around in a desperate attempt to moisten her parched mouth. "Tiggy, please." He was too far away for her to kick. "Wake up, Tig!"

He jolted upright and slammed his lids shut as soon as he opened them. "Holy goddamn motherfuck what the ever-lovin' fuck Jesus Christ son of a bitch."

She was impressed by his ability to curse given the situation. "Take it slow," she said. "The drugs are fucking with your eyes."

He muttered under his breath for a while, but finally he took a deep breath and tried again. "So I'm guessin' that was your long-lost father-in-law," he said, squinting at her across the light-flooded space.

"The one and only. Charmer, huh?"

He snorted. "Real one of a kind." He went quiet. Then, "I'm sorry, Ollie. I fucked up. Shoulda been more careful. I got lazy."

"No, Tiggy, it's not your fault. If there'd been more than just you and—and Chucky there, he probably would've killed all of you."

"Where is Chucky?" he said and craned his neck to get a better look around.

"I—" She didn't want to tell him the truth. She needed him calm. "They left him back at the shop. Tied him up. I guess so he could tell the guys what happened."

"Fuck. Poor guy can't even jerk off to deal with the stress."

"Priorities, Tiggy."

"Yeah," he said. "Any idea where the fuck we are?"

"I was out when they brought me in, just like you. Drugged and black-bagged."

He caught her gaze with his. "What're our chances?"

She was silent so long he thought she wouldn't answer. "I don't know," she finally said. "I thought I could predict him, but I honestly wouldn't have expected him to grab you. It might mean he's looking to negotiate."

"Negotiate what?"

"No clue. He's got a lot of business interests. Maybe, for some reason, he thinks the club can be an asset."

"Fuck that," Tig said. "I'd rather be dead than let the club get in bed with this shit bag."

"Oh, Tiggy, be careful what you wish for," a voice cooed from the shadows.

The both recognized it. Tig's head fell back and he cursed some more, even more impressively than the first time.

"Such a mouth," she said. She sauntered into the light, and the trashy blonde from the salon was transformed into a sleek, elegant minx. She wore a figure-hugging black dress and four-inch heels with Louboutin's signature red soles. Her blond hair was pulled up in a sexy, tousled chignon, and her makeup was impeccable, from her sultry, smoky eyes to her raspberry lipstick.

Now this woman looked more like someone who would interest Teddy. Olivia smiled a little. "Is your name even Cindy?"

"No," she admitted with a pout. "But that's what Teddy likes to call me. Short for Cinderella. He says I'm his Pygmalion."

"What the fuck's that?" Tig said.

"You seen My Fair Lady?" Olivia said.

"With Audrey Hepburn. Of course. Was Fawn's favorite movie when she was little. I think she just liked the costumes. Dawnie hated the whole thing."

"It's based on Pygmalion by Bernard Shaw. She means she's Teddy's project."

Cindy slinked closer and ran a hand down Olivia's face. Her nails were sharp and blood red. "So you're the famous Audra. Teddy's told me all about you."

"I go by Olivia now."

Her mouth curved. "Not anymore, sweetheart." She grabbed Olivia's chin and pressed a hard, punishing kiss against her mouth. Olivia endured it with a tense jaw and set shoulders, and as soon as Cindy released her she turned her head and spat.

Cindy ignored that and brushed her tongue over her lower lip. "You don't taste anything like strawberries," she said, "and you're not even that pretty."

"I've got a lot goin' on under the hood," she rasped.

That seemed to genuinely amuse her. "That must be it. Otherwise I can't imagine why Teddy would waste so much time and energy chasing you all over the country."

"I killed his son, Cindy. He tell you that?"

She flicked her fingers. "Of course he did." She patted her flat belly. "Don't worry, though. Nine more months and he'll have another one."

Tig decided it was time to intervene before Olivia figured out a way to bite Cindy's face off. "Hey, gorgeous, you think you could get us some water? Parched as hell over here."

Her head tilted. She didn't take her eyes off Olivia. "I don't see why not," she said at last. She spun toward Tig and grabbed a handful of his hair. Pulled hard enough to make him wince. She giggled at his pained expression.

"I'll send someone in with it." She pressed a finger to her mouth. "I'm not supposed to be in here," she whispered. "Shhh!" She melted back into the dark, and they waited until the click of her heels had faded before either of them spoke.

"What a fuckin' fruitcake," Tig said, pitching his voice low. "You okay?"

She shrugged as well as she was able. "Fine. She's a cream puff. I could handle her on my worst day."

He wondered how much worse her days got. "Right" was all he said. He let his head fall back to rest against the pole and closed his eyes. "I'm gonna get us outta this, Ollie. Don't you worry."

"I believe you, Tiggy." The lie fell from her lips as easily as breathing. Tig meant well, and she didn't doubt his courage or his conviction, but she knew Teddy Flanary. Whatever he had planned for them, it wasn't going to be pretty, and it wasn't going to be sloppy. He was a man who rarely made mistakes.

The empty poles worried her. They lurked in the shadows just outside their pool of light and seemed to be waiting. For what, she could only imagine. She counted them and shuddered.

"You believe in God, Tig?" she said.

He lowered his chin to look at her. "Why?"

"Don't know. Just thought now might be a good time to pray. If that's what you're into."

He shifted a little in an attempt to ease some of the pressure on his hands. "Ever since I watch my Dawnie burn there's not much that scares me."

"Hhmm. I wish I could say the same. Shit scares the fuck outta me."

"No it doesn't."

She cut him a sharp look.

"You think you're afraid, but I saw you back in the shop. If me and Chucky hadn't been there you probably woulda taken on all those guys. You were fuckin' pissed, Ollie. That's bigger than fear."

"Is it? Seems like anger would've just gotten me killed faster."

"You gotta learn how to use it. You got a good start yesterday."

"Yesterday?" she said, confused.

"What you said at the table. The way you stood up for Juicy. And today, with those pictures. You got a lot of fury in you, Ollie. Make it count."

She settled back against the pole and tried to ignore her aching shoulders and numb fingers. "That's the plan, Tiggy," she said, softly. "That's the goal."

So I read that Annabeth Gish was cast as Eli's replacement for s7, but I couldn't find the character's name. I didn't look that hard because, like I said, for the purposes of this story I don't really care about s7 at all. Regardless, I decided to go with an Annabeth Gish type for the new Sheriff...and I'd like to apologize for the guys' blatant misogyny. If Olivia had been there she would've set them straight. But, alas.

I went ahead and had Juice tell the guys about Gemma because as far as he's concerned he's done with the club. I, haha, think he's lying to himself. Good luck, kid.

Oh, so, ch51 is...um. Not. Yet. So. As per usual: blatant review whoring. I can has?