A Prince's Part

"Certainly, in taking revenge, a man is but even with his enemy, but, in passing it over, he is superior, for it is a prince's part to pardon." ~ Francis Bacon

The Spangle Maker

Jax was balls deep inside of some nameless, faceless pussy when his cell rang. Looking back, he couldn't say what made him actually answer it - maybe it was boredom, or curiosity, or dutifulness, or maybe he really was just that well trained, but it sure as shit wasn't some kind of premonition. Nothing could have prepared him for the news he received.

With one hand holding the phone to his ear and the other holding the cro-eater's hips in place so he could fuck her hard from behind, Jax snapped, "what," upon answering the call. He never slowed his pace, and he didn't look at the screen to see who was calling him.

"You need to get down here."

Jax smirked and pulled the blonde he was banging back onto his cock while, at the same time, he rammed it inside of her. It amused him to know that, if David Fucking Hale was aware of what Jax was doing while they were on the phone together, he'd either be embarrassed or he'd cum so hard he wouldn't see straight for days. "I'm a little busy here at…."

"Donna's been shot. She's dead."

Hale hung up, and Jax stumbled backwards, consequently pulling out. For several seconds, he just stood there - jeans around his ankles, eyes sightless, dick suddenly flaccid and resting wet and sticky upon his left thigh, the rubber he wore cooling instantaneously.

It was a shrill, sullen "hey!" that brought him back to the moment.

"I gotta go," Jax said. In part, it was to appease the very naked, petulant woman in the bunkroom's bed, but it was also to motivate his ass into gear. While he said it, he bent over at the waist, reaching with one hand to pull his boxers and pants up and, with the other, he peeled off the condom he was wearing.

"But wait," the pussy cried, sitting up so that she was just kneeling instead of how he had minutes before positioned her on all fours. She turned around to face him - her pout replaced with apologies and self-reprimands. "I'm sorry! I'll… be better. I'll do whatever you want, however you want it."

Jax ignored her, picking his t-shirt and kutte up off of the floor and putting them on. Once he was dressed, he slipped his phone into a pocket and looked around the room for his keys. He spotted them on a nightstand and moved to grab them, but the blonde grabbed his arms and tried to hold him back, tried to pull him back towards her and the bed once more. Irritated, Jax looked at her hand for several seconds before moving his glare to her face, silently telling her to let go. She didn't take the fucking hint.

"You can have any hole. Or all of them! Just… please, let me get you off."

"Jesus fucking christ," Jax swore, yanking his arm away from the desperate, pathetic woman.

And Opie wondered why Jax was still single.

The sobering thought of his best friend had Jax scrambling to leave once more. Without a passing glance… let alone a response… for the pussy he was leaving behind - she'd either figure it out on her own and leave or somebody else would stumble upon her and finish what Jax had started, he ran out of the bunkroom. The clubhouse was still quite full, but Jax neither saw who was there nor heard them if they said anything to him in passing. Slamming outside, he ran to his bike, not bothering to put on any of his gear. Hale had failed to mention where 'here' was, but, in a town as small as Charming, it wouldn't be difficult to find the clusterfuck caused by the death of a mother of two and the wife of a Son.

As Jax drove towards the eerie collective wail of a maelstrom of sirens, he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Donna Winston was dead. No, not dead. Murdered. There was a big fucking difference there.

He and Donna weren't overly close. For someone else's old lady, she was nice enough. She was a good mom, and she worked hard. But Opie loved her, so that automatically granted her Jax's respect and affection. They could go months without seeing each other - and they had when Ope had been locked up in Chino for five years, but that didn't mean that Jax wouldn't drop everything if she needed his help. And, now that she was dead, he'd do whatever it took to make things right again.

While Jax had never been close to marriage himself, he recognized the bond that was between his best friend and his best friend's wife. Given the Samcro lifestyle, their own less than stellar role models growing up, and their shit life prospects, it still amazed Jax that Opie had married such a good woman. But women like Donna didn't come around the club often. She was a once in a lifetime kind of girl, and she had been Opie's. Jax would stick to his meaningless sex with meaningless women, and he'd be glad of it. He didn't need the pressure or responsibility of a family, and, now, he sure as shit didn't need the heartbreak.

But, as he pulled up at the scene of Donna's murder - just another intersection, nothing about it standing out from all the rest except for the flashing lights, utter chaos, and the scent of copper raindrops, Jax admitted to himself that, despite not wanting a relationship, he had always been jealous of his best friend's marriage - of the life and family Opie had built with Donna. That was all gone now, though. With a few shots to the back of the head, everything that Jax had secretly envied had been taken from Ope. Maybe his best friend was one of the only people in Jax's life who had known real, true love, but it was lost now, and there was no way that was better than never having it in the first place.

As Jax climbed off his Dyna and started searching the crowd of first responders, cops, and curious onlookers, he snorted to himself. Tennyson was a fucking moron.

/

It didn't take a badge to see what had happened.

Someone had rolled up behind the old truck when it slowed at a stop sign and shot through the rear window.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Only… it wasn't Ope behind the wheel but his wife.

What Jax didn't understand was who was behind the hit. Relatively speaking, they were good at the moment with both friend and foe. While an outlaw MC would never have sunshine coming out of its ass, they were also a long way from women getting slaughtered by gang hits.

But the who and why could wait. As much as Jax wanted to find answers for both himself and his best friend, as much as he wanted to find the fuckers who thought it was a good idea to go after Opie and, by accident, murder his wife instead and get a little… or a lot… of payback, there was something he needed to do first.

No one got in his way as Jax walked through the crime scene. Passing by Donna's lifeless body - her eyes still open in permanent horror and realization, Jax ordered some random tech to cover her up. Ope was just standing there by his dead wife, staring sightlessly. Jax wasn't sure if Opie was in denial, looking for some sign of life - one that he'd never find, or if he was just too empty and devastated to process anything else - paralyzed in his grief. It was probably a combination of the two. Having never loved someone the way that Opie had loved Donna, Jax could only imagine what dark and twisted shit his best friend was going through.

So, when he made it to Opie's side, he didn't offer him some bullshit, empty platitudes or a fucking apology that would only make the situation worse. He stayed quiet, simply lifting his left hand to rest upon and squeeze Opie's shoulder in silent support. If Ope wanted to talk, Jax would listen. If Ope wanted to rage, Jax would be right there by his side, leaving a trail of damage in their wake. And if Ope just needed to know that he wasn't alone in his grief, Jax could do that, too.

"You know, all she wanted was for me to get out."

"And you did," Jax tried to comfort his best friend. "You served your time, and you came back to her and your kids."

"No," Ope argued. Although he didn't look away from where Donna was now laying underneath a black, plastic body bag, Jax could hear the frustration and anger oozing from his brother's voice thick with unshed tears and scratchy from too many cigarettes. "She wanted me to leave the club."

"I mean, it's been rough lately, man, but Donna loved you. She wouldn't have…."

Opie cut him off, obviously not interested in listening to Jax's pathetic attempts to ease his guilt and grief… even if fractionally. "I was too selfish. We always did what I wanted. I wanted to join the club. I wanted to get married. I wanted to have babies right away. And Donna went along with it, because she loved me. But the one time that she actually wanted something, do you think that I loved her enough to do it?" Neither of them needed Opie to actually answer his own question. The self loathing weighing upon his shoulders, haunting his gaze, coating his every word was answer enough.

"Even when Donna finally had a chance to get us out - if I wouldn't do it, then she was our only hope, she didn't. Instead, she put my needs, my wishes, first - above her own, above our children's, and she did what she thought was best for me, not herself, or Ellie, or Kenny."

"She was loyal," Jax summarized, his tone low, and solemn, and respectful. It was meant as a compliment, but, before the last syllable left his lips, Opie was turning on him, confronting him, glowering at him.

"Was she really, Jackson? Because, after everything the club took away from her, after all the shit it put her through, Donna had no reason to be loyal to Samcro. No," Ope shook his head, backing away and letting his first tears fall. He did nothing to curb them, to wipe them away. In fact, to Jax, it felt like Ope wanted the tears to burn the next words he spoke into Jax's mind, memory, heart, and conscience. "It wasn't loyalty; it was fear."

With that, Ope faded into, first, the chaos of his wife's murder scene and, then, the inky nothingness created at the very edge of pandemonium - where the blaring lights and bright sirens clashed and contrasted with the black of night. Before Jax could argue - let alone follow, Opie was gone… as was Jax's reason for being there. Retracing his steps, Jax left everything at that intersection behind - Hale and the ATF fighting over blame and responsibility, Samcro simultaneously plotting payback and shallowly mourning, the crime scene techs and paramedics who were just trying to do their jobs, and poor Donna who would never be able to do anything again - in favor of once more climbing on his bike and taking off in search of his best friend. Even if Opie didn't want to be found, Jax had a feeling that Ope shouldn't be left alone… if for no other reason than that's not what Donna would have wanted. Maybe he couldn't bring her back, and he certainly couldn't solve her case that night, but he could look for Opie. After all, Donna had never given up on her husband, and Jax wasn't going to give up on Ope either.

/

"You know, for someone who is practically allergic to the law, you sure as hell spend a lot of time in my police department."

"Last time I checked, it's still Unser's department," Jax challenged with a smirk. He was sitting behind Hale's desk, spinning the tipped back chair from side to side. Perhaps it wasn't the best way to go about asking for a favor, but it sure as shit got the deputy's attention. Plus, at least this way, even if Jax left without the information he sought, he wouldn't be walking out empty handed. Hale's annoyance was never something he'd pass up. "Besides, maybe I like the coffee."

"I swear, Jax, if you spiked the…."

Deciding they had shared enough banter, Jax sat up with a snap of the leather chair, his twisting coming to an abrupt stop as well. "We need to talk about Donna's death."

"You mean her murder."

Although he thought the same thing about the shooting, Jax didn't give Hale the satisfaction of agreeing, nor did he waste time saying what they both already knew. "I'd like to give Ope some comfort, some… closure. He's… he's not doing so well."

Hale scoffed. "His wife just had the back of her head blown off. I wouldn't think he'd be in a good place right now."

"So, you agree that we need to find whoever did this."

"And what," the cop challenged him. "Get some payback? Killing Donna's killer won't bring her back."

"No, it might give Opie a little peace," Jax contended.

"Nothing can make this right, Jax; nothing can give him any peace. He will never be the man he used to be, your best friend, again. Besides," Hale added before Jax could argue with him, "I'm an officer of the law. Even if it was that simple - an enemy of Samcro killed Donna, so you kill the enemy, I wouldn't allow you to make me an accessory to murder."

"But you'd let a murderer go free, no consequences," Jax snapped. He stood up, leaning forward to brace his fisted hands on the top of Hale's desk.

"If I had any actual evidence, I'd have already made the arrest." Then, much to Jax's surprise, Hale looked around the police department before stepping further into his own office and shutting the door behind him. Lowering his voice, he said, "but I think we both know that, if either of us is going to find the proof I need to lock up Donna's killer, it'll be you."

Jax stood up straight, folded his arms across his chest. "What exactly are you saying, Hale? Cut the cryptic bullshit."

"The ATF planted bugs to make it look like Opie ratted. I think Clay found out."

And then Jax exploded. "Oh, give me a fucking break! You think Samcro did this, that the club went after Ope but killed his old lady instead? We'd… I'd never sanction something like that!"

"I never said you would," Hale tried to placate him.

But Jax was too far gone inside of the vacuum that was his anger, inside the void that was his own suspicions buried deep beneath his vehement denials. "You and your family have always had it out for Samcro. You'd do anything to take us down, including, apparently, using an innocent woman's death to your advantage."

In contrast to Jax's own resounding voice, Hale maintained his cool. He spoke evenly, smoothly, never losing his temper or composure, and the contrast forced Jax to actually listen to what the deputy was saying. The words themselves in their shocking nature helped, too. "You know, I remember your old man quite well. I never actually had a conversation with him, but, growing up, my father hated him, so JT fascinated me. Contrary to what you believe about me, I am capable of thinking for myself. Sometimes, I have an opinion different from those of my family."

Hale paused, seemingly to gauge if Jax was willing to hear him out. He was. So, David continued. "I think JT had good intentions when he started the club. Just back from Vietnam, disenfranchised with the people and the institution that sent him there, he was trying to make Charming a little slice of what he remembered of life before the war. And many of the people here wanted the same thing, and they appreciated someone who was willing to stand up to the man and keep their small town small, their businesses their own. But, as the Sons grew bigger and became more powerful, they lost sight of that. All roads to hell are paved with good intentions, and JT's were no different. It was inevitable that his good intentions would become corrupted, because absolute power - and, let's face it, that's what Samcro has always had around here - corrupts absolutely."

"Do you have a fucking point," Jax snarled, "or are you just going to spew cliched axioms to me all goddamn morning?"

Changing topics suddenly and blindsiding Jax, Hale asked him, "how much do you really know about your dad's death?"

"JT's accident has nothing to do with Donna's murder. It's ancient history."

With a sad, wry twist of his lips, the deputy chief argued, "except, when that ancient history becomes precedent, it's not so ancient after all."

For several moments the two rivals and former classmates just stood across from each other in silence, neither willing to concede but neither willing to offer anything else to the other either. Although Hale wasn't without sympathy, there was also a smug sense of knowing about him that rubbed Jax the wrong way, because it meant he simply couldn't dismiss the cop's words as his typical, vendetta fueled nonsense. There was validity to Hale's remarks, a logical line of thought that, if Jax were to follow it, would not only lead him back to Donna's killer but would also blow up his entire fucking life. Hale was implying that perhaps JT's death wasn't an accident, that someone wanted his dad out of the way so that they could have and wield the power he possessed within the Sons, and that Donna was killed by that same person in order to protect the club but, more importantly, the power it afforded her murderer, his father's murderer.

But as easy as it was to connect the two deaths with Hale's theory, it also made no sense. If someone in the club had murdered his old man, Jax would have known. Gemma would have known. Someone else within the club would have found out, and they would have righted that wrong. As for Donna, Samcro didn't go after women, and they certainly didn't go after wives or mothers. Even if Samcro believed Opie to be a rat, something like that would have been brought to the table. They had ways to handle shit like that. Bottom line, what Hale said might have made some kind of sense, but Donna's death made none, so its explanation had to be just as senseless.

And if it wasn't, if Hale was right and someone within Samcro had killed JT and murdered Donna, then Jax sure as hell wasn't going to give some pissant cop, David Hale of all people, the satisfaction of watching Jax come to that realization. So, instead, he left, roughly shouldering past the deputy without another word being said between them. Jax slammed out of Hale's office, pulling the door open so hard that the handle left a dent in the sheetrock when it collided with the wall.

Despite leaving with his determination washed over his face like a shield, Jax felt the shadows of their conversation nipping at his tennis shoe clad heels with every step he took outside of that office, with every mile he put between his bike and that police department. His sudden doubts about… everything would not, could not, leave as easily as Jax himself had. It was just one more thing that he resented about, that he held against, David Hale. Unfortunately, though, before everything was said and done, Jax had a feeling that he would need the cop in order to sort through the shitstorm that had suddenly become his life.

And that realization just pissed him off all the more.

/

"What the hell was that, Old Man?"

Jax didn't knock. He didn't ring the bell or even call out a greeting before barging his way into Piney's house. When he and Opie were kids, they used to treat each other's houses as their own, but this entrance had nothing to do with familiarity or family and everything to do with rage brought on by fear. One of the two only living, non-incarcerated members of the First Nine seemed to be anticipating his arrival, though, for he didn't react. Not a blink. Not a drop of spilled tequila. Not a wheeze.

"That was desperation," Piney answered succinctly. While the older Winston, much like his son, wasn't much for conversation, his brevity and futile candor took the storm out of Jax's sails. His turbulent, charging steps came to a skidding halt, while Piney just sighed. "It had to be the Niners. Because, if they didn't kill my daughter, then we both know who really did."

Jax had followed Piney back to Charming after the old timer had barged into a Niner bar and taken one of their members hostage at gunpoint, demanding answers about Donna's murder. "You have no proof!" Despite the vehemence behind his denial, they both knew his words were empty. Jax wasn't so much arguing against Piney as he was still fighting himself.

Proof or no proof, what Hale had more than hinted at, what Piney was now confirming, what Jax himself more than suspected went against everything that Jax had believed and built his life around since he was a kid. When his dad died, Clay had stepped up to fill John's shoes - not just with the club but with Gemma and Jax, too. And while, yeah, sure, teenage Jax had hated the idea of his mom with his dead dad's best friend, as long as he didn't have to see it, and he sure as shit never thought about it, then a happy Gemma was a distracted Gemma, and that kept her occupied and out of his face. Clay was not only his mother's husband and Jax's stepfather, but he was also his club's president. In regards to something so important - a woman's murder, reason should have been all that mattered, but it wasn't that simple. It couldn't be.

As Jax had been standing there, lost in his own thoughts and waiting for Piney to respond, the older man had pushed himself up off of his couch and ambled away. It was only when Piney reentered the room that Jax noticed he had left it in the first place. But what really captured his attention was the thick, open envelope Piney was carrying.

"Here," his best friend's father grunted, tossing the package at Jax's face. Though he caught it before it could smack or cut him, he still glared at the older man. But Piney ignored the look of censure, huffing and puffing as he collapsed back onto the sofa with an audible groan.

"For me, Old Man," Jax hassled - part out of habit and part out of sincerity, for he had a feeling he wasn't going to like what was inside the envelope. "You've never gotten me a gift before. Don't fucking start now."

"Just shut the hell up and open it, Shithead."

Despite wanting to toss the package back at the older man, Jax refrained. He wasn't sure if it was habit, for he had been listening to Piney for one reason or another - Piney was his dad's best friend, he was a member of the First Nine, he was Opie's dad - his entire life, or self-preservation. Piney might be old, and he might already have one foot in the grave, but Jax had no doubt that there was at least half an arsenal of guns hidden in the living room alone, and Piedmont Winston did not suffer fools at all… let alone gladly.

Then, once he had the envelope open, Jax was once more reminded that sometimes in life restraint wasn't just necessary but preferable, because, inside, he found a note written to Piney from John Teller. "To my oldest, dearest, and wisest friend," Jax paused in reading out loud the short missive, fighting back a laugh. Oldest and dearest, at least for JT, might be true enough, but he had never heard anybody refer to Piney as wise before. "What we started, you and I, was a good thing for a good reason; what we've become is a different thing for reasons I no longer understand. I feel angry winds at my back, and I'm not sure how much time I have left in this kutte I love so much. This book is for all the things we wanted. And for all the things we still can be." Skipping the salutation, Jax started to page through the manuscript. Without looking up to meet Piney's gaze, he questioned, "what the hell is this? JT wrote a book?"

"That's what you just read, wasn't it? What, can't you handle basic comprehension?"

Letting the pages fall flat once more but not letting go of them or the envelope, Jax glowered. He was standing in the middle of a room that he would know like the back of his own hand drunk, stoned, concussed, and sleep walking. It was the room of childhood sleepovers, of adolescent video game wars, and teenage hangouts and hangovers, and, yet, the only thing familiar in that moment was Jax's irritation with the older man. So, he went with it, embraced it, and he accused, "it's been fifteen years since JT died, Piney! Why are you just giving this to me now; why give it to me at all at this point?"

While Piney didn't stand, even still sitting he was a belligerent force to be reckoned with, oxygen tank and all. "Because, while it's too late for me to do something to help my own kid, it's not too late for you."

"What are you talking about? Opie's still here. He needs you… perhaps now more than ever. He's still alive, Piney!"

"Without Donna, he might as well be dead. And probably will be soon, too." When Jax opened his mouth to argue, the older man talked right over top of him. "Look at me, Jackson. If I'm not proof to you that breathin' ain't living, then you're just as lost as my son."

Despite wanting to fight Piney further, there was an undeniable element of truth to what he said - whisperings of his own silent fears concerning Opie and how his best friend would handle Donna's death echoed back at him. So, instead, he sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumping under the weight of duty, obligation, and what would inevitably come next. "So, what now?"

Piney stood and slowly advanced towards Jax so that they were eye to eye. "You worry about the club. I'll handle Clay." Jax opened his mouth to protest, but the old man simply held up a hand asking for, demanding, silence. "It's something I should have done years ago."

Jax didn't want to touch those implications - someone, once more, hinting towards Clay's past misdeeds, because he knew Piney, so he knew that there was very little which could cause JT's best friend to take such a proactive stance against another member, another of the first nine, Samcro's long-standing and current president. So, instead, he just nodded his head in recognition of Piney's command, and he left, his father's manuscript tucked safely under his left arm.

/

For as much booze and weed that was churning its way through Jax's system, he was still painfully sober. After all, there wasn't anything in this world powerful enough to numb his current pain or stifle his ever increasing fury. But did he want it to; did he deserve respite? Jax didn't think so. It would be his penitence to bear. After failing to help Opie in life, he'd now be forever trying to make it up to his best friend in death.

Despite his staggering regret and remorse, when Opie left Donna's funeral service, no one followed him. Even if someone had, there's no guarantee that they would have been able to keep up with the mourning man. If Ope wanted to get lost, he would. Jax might have stood a chance - what, being his best friend and perhaps even more familiar with all of the roads, lanes, and paths in and around Charming, but Jax had been battling his own demons, wrestling with what he could possibly do with the suspicions he knew were true but could not prove. And, in all honesty, until Hale crashed Donna's wake with the unbelievable, unbearable news that, shortly after he left the cemetery, Opie ate his own gun, Jax never would have pegged his oldest friend as suicidal.

As he drank straight from his bottle of whisky and tried to not only drown his sorrows but also drown out everyone else around him, Jax considered why this would be so, why Opie killing himself was so unthinkable. After all, he had witnessed just how ravaged Opie had been by his wife's death. No, her murder. How inconsolable. How angry and guilt-ridden. Yet, he still hadn't seen Ope's suicide coming, had been blindsided by it. Although he had known loss during his life - first his little brother and then his father, Jax realized that, while painful, those deaths were nothing like what Opie had experienced when he saw the empty, lifeless eyes of his wife and the mother of his children staring up at him. Jax had simply never loved anyone to the same depths as Opie had loved Donna. Even now, even after losing his best friend, Jax would never contemplate ending his own life, not for a second.

Sitting there in the clubhouse alone and yet surrounded by more Sons than he could name, Jax could admit to himself that, in hindsight, this whole, entire mess was inevitably going to end like this. As soon as that first slug entered the back of Donna's head, Opie was already gone. In all honesty, Jax had actually lost his best friend the same night that Ope had lost his wife. Even if he hadn't committed suicide, Opie never would have been the same again. He could have gone on, and he could have still existed, but he would have been a dead man walking. By his own hand or by forcing someone else's, once Donna died, Opie was destined to follow her.

Although Clay was at home with Gemma, and Piney was off somewhere alone, drinking his body weight in tequila, the rest of Samcro was lined up at the clubhouse's bar. Other charters lingered in their shock despite the fact that the wake had long since dissolved into near silence. Besides the occasional murmur, the scratch of a lighter, and the desolate thumpings of liquor bottles hitting varnished mahogany, the only thing, the only person, to trespass against the stillness was Tig. While the sergeant at arms might have been mumbling more to himself than he was addressing the room, in the quiet, his distraught ramblings carried.

If anyone else found Tig's level of sorrow suspicious, they didn't visibly react to it. Eyes remained downcast or closed, and no one moved to comfort the distraught Son. As Tig's tearful, drunken, sloppy ramblings went on, Jax found himself caught between the urge to see his own knife slice through the older man's throat, silencing him forever, and hanging on Tig's every word. Tig and Opie had never been particularly close. In fact, lately, their relationship could have been labeled downright contentious. Yet, for some reason, Tig was the one most torn up by Ope's death. The only way that made any sense to Jax was if Tig's grief wasn't motivated by feelings of loss but, instead, by feelings of guilt.

"Opie should've known better. I did, and I'm a sick, twisted freak. Ope was a good man. He should've known."

Jax's brain might have been swimming in whiskey, the air he released from his lungs with every inhalation more smoke than carbon dioxide, but there was something about Tig's tone that made him sit up straight and pay attention. In fact, not caring if anyone noticed his intent focus upon the inebriated Tig, he noiselessly put his bottle down, snubbed out his latest joint, and turned on his barstool to face the older, nearly incoherent man.

"If you love a woman - and I mean really love her… like Opie loved Donna, then you gotta let her go. You don't bring her into this life. If you have to, you kill her yourself. Before this life can. Because it will. It killed Donna, and now it's killed Ope. That's why you gotta push 'em away. Right from the start. Even if it kills you, you kill her. That's what I did. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her."

Even after Tig's voice faded away into nothingness, his lips kept mouthing those same words. I killed her. If Jax had read between the lines of Tig's nonsense correctly, then there had once been a girl, a woman, who Tig loved enough to walk away from. While Jax believed Tig fully capable of murder, when he said I killed her, Jax believed Tig meant the relationship. Yet, at the same time, the longer his confession went on, the more meaning and weight it contained. More so now than ever, Jax was convinced that the hit on Donna had come from within Samcro, and, while Clay might have been the idea man, he didn't like to get his hands dirty, so he had sent his little errand boy.

After the Marines but before he patched into Samcro, there had been someone in Tig's life that he had loved enough to leave behind before the life he had chosen for himself took her from him, and, now, thirty years later, Tig had become the very threat the MC life posed, taking Donna from Opie and then pushing Opie to take his own life. Maybe Jax couldn't prove that Clay and Tig were behind Donna's murder, but what if he could make it right in a different way, a darker way, in a way that no one would understand better than Tig himself?

What if Jax took from Tig exactly what Tig had taken from Ope: the only woman he had ever loved?

A/N: I know, I know. How could I do that to Opie? Well, to be honest, Jax's thoughts on Opie's actions were much my own in regards to what happened to Opie's character after Donna's murder. Plus, trust me that, even though he is dead, Opie will very much have an important presence in this story. He is a driving force behind it. For those of you concerned that Tara did not make an appearance in this chapter, don't worry. We'll meet her soon, and once we do, she'll be in this story for good. On a final note, the chapter titles may seem rather random, but they have a very specific meaning. Two, in fact. One is more obvious, and another is a testament to my love of research. Feel free to offer guesses. If you get it right, I'll let you know. No matter what, I'll explain the chapter titles for everyone then with the last post. And that's all... for now. As always, enjoy!

~Charlynn~