Jackson and Opie have been pretending to pump gas for long enough to get lulled into a state of boredom. The attendant inside the dinky establishment is also pretending he is not aware of the group's presence nor is he frightened by their colors or peeved that they are likely slowing business for him. He sits with his back away from the road, determined not to become a credible witness.

Schuyler stands a ways down the road listening for the sound of tires on asphalt. Today would prove to be her most important challenge yet. Aside from Jackson, who represents upper management, the club has sent its most disposable members on the roster into the heart of the wolves' den.

When a pair of ape-hangers crest into view, Schuyler makes like she is tying her shoe and settles into a non-intimidating position. Ripe for the taking.

"Phase one." A cigarette smokes from an ashtray beside Clay's hand. The clubhouse has been transformed into a war room in a matter of days. He concludes with a summarization of all his soon to be moving pieces. "If Alvarez isn't willing to come to the table with us, there's no point in continuing the plan."

Tig sneers encouragingly, "Because you'll be dead."

Schuyler is cautiously optimistic. "If their target is The President, us foot soldiers can act as bargaining chips. Get me through the door, and I can find a way to set up a meet."

"If you can, we will follow behind you to carry out phase two," Bobby states.

Juice chuckles childishly, "And if you can't, we'll move on to plan B."

"'Hope you know what you're doing here Jackson." Opie mumbles from his knees. He is last to be shoved into the back of a nondescript van next to his closet aged siblings. Due to his stature, he had to put up the largest struggle to convincingly sell their act. The trio gets packed together in a V-shape with blindfolds tied around their eyes.

"The way I remember it, you volunteered, Op," Jackson replies. He notices his sister doesn't speak when the Mayans pick them up after 'conveniently' finding the trespassers alongside the Mayans' turf. He figures she has her reasons, so he carries on in conversation speaking enough for them both.

The van travels thirty minutes before pulling to a stop in front of an abandoned warehouse. 'Abandoned' in the same way the old Bluebird was once made to appear. Schuyler has been listening in to their captors' conversations. Careful to conceal her voice and keep her head turned downwards, to keep from showing she understands their words. The men have no idea she has been eavesdropping. They assume the white woman, like her counterparts, speaks little to no Spanish. They haven't spoken candidly about Mayan business or plans for the captives. But Schuyler has managed to find a way to breach their ranks.

Once parked, the blindfolds are removed, but the zip ties remain in place. The trios' weapons are confiscated with haste.

The groups stand three to two; however, another more senior Mayans member is said to be lurking in the building, waiting to be introduced. From the private conversation, Schuyler has deduced the men's names are Cristobal and Russel. Newly Patched and being overseen by a similarly aged peer who has been a member a little longer than themselves.

The captors are clearly inexperienced. This endeavor is likely a big break in their careers. Although it appears they are taking the opportunity lightly. They hadn't questioned the validity of being able to overpower a group who outnumbered them. And they almost completely ignore the Sons once everyone piles inside. The Mayans face each other more than they face the hostages.

Cristobal took one of Schuyler's knives. It's doing somersaults across his palm. "(I'm telling you. I could have done anything I wanted to, to that skank,)" Paco bolsters in fluent Spanish. "(Had her screaming my name horse. No joke.)". His friend remarks about being impressed by the tale.

"(She didn't like you, you know)" Schuyler butts in. Her brothers smirk, glad to hear her voice again, despite not understanding the words.

Russel freezes. A blush creeps upon his face. He feels caught red-handed. Cristobal, meanwhile, turns on the offensive, feeling he has been spied on. "(Damn mole.) Were you all listening in on us?"

Jackson acknowledges the question. "Nah. Just her. Our secret weapon."

Cristobal snarks, "(This bitch has been playing us!)"

"This bitch did play you." Schuyler draws the attention solely onto herself. "My Swedish is a little rusty, but I remember enough. Maybe try Latin if you want to trip me up."

Cristobal squares up against the lone woman. "(How would you know anything about it?)".

"(That woman was using you to get over her last boyfriend. They just broke up. He was a bigger and smarter man than you. You were easy.)".

Christobal steps forward with the knife grasped more firmly in hand. Russel tries to warn his friend to mind his temper. "(Are you a mind reader? Why don't you shut your damn mouth, little girl? Be a shame if you kept flapping your jaw and wound up with it broken.)". Cristobal reconsiders Schuyler, eyeing her up and down. "(Or full of something you weren't expecting)".

Schuyler laughs in his face. "(From what I hear, you do not have much to give in the way of that. And I know it is true because Princess knows the girl you are remembering. And we both know Princess would never lie.)".

Christobal's blood runs cold. "(How do you know that name?)"

"(Your sister? Yeah, I met her a few weeks back. She had lots of nice things to say about you. When you weren't being a misogynistic prick.)"

"(Don't you dare bring my sister into this. She has no idea what I do here)".

"(And why not? You're the reason Princess was so upset that night. Hooking up with the friend she brought to the party even though you berated her in front of everyone and said she was too young to be doing the same.)". Schuyler braces herself for an attack as she lets slip the most damning evidence against her character. "(She's twenty-two after all. How much longer do you expect her to keep waiting and behaving passively? I mean, she is bound to act out like her big brother, eventually. You're the only role model she's got.)".

"How do you know so much about it?" Russel questions, bewildered. Opie doesn't add anything, but he knows what a fight looks like in any language and readies himself like a battering ram.

Schuyler drives in the final nail. "(You practically drove her away. But it's hard to blame her. Forced to go looking for fun in other towns. Searching for acceptance you refuse to grant her)".

"(You fucking bitch!)" Cristobal's hand falls swiftly, making contact with Schuyler's lip. "(You're the dirty whore dike that slept with my baby sister. You confused her.)".

Schuyler widens her jaw in a stretching motion. She feels blood pool at the corner that was impacted. "(First off, I am a stag, get your stereotypes correct. Secondly, that's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you agree?)"

"She said you ruined her for men!" Cristobal spits in English this time. Jackson tries his best to overtalk his sister, but she plows ahead anyway.

"She developed a crush. You should be grateful Princess opted for a girl's night." Schuyler taunts further, "(And I was a perfect gentleman.)".

A few things coincide, seemingly all at once. Cristobal raises Schuyler's own knife to her throat. His shouting becoming increasingly louder and obscener. Russel steps close. He attempts to pull the weapon away. He mentions something along the lines of how the captives are only valuable if alive. Opie, like a bull, charges Cristobal. He works their shoulders together to pull the young brute off Schuyler. It's a wonder how Schuyler is not stabbed in the altercation.

What brings the room back to order is the introduction of a new element. The supervisor, overhearing the commotion, appears from a back room. With him, he carries a wooden crate weighing in at well over thirty pounds. He drops the cumbersome item from his arms and the resounding noise startles the party enough to separate them. Even as Cristobal continues huffing and puffing his frustrations.

"Meredith Schuyler, as I live and breathe."

"Miguel Rosario!" Schuyler returns with equal warmth. She steps out of reach of the blade. She had a sneaking suspicious she knew the identity of the man who was talked about but had yet to be seen. And she was well acquainted with him to boot. "How long has it been?"

Miguel is Schuyler's age and height. His gun is holstered in front of his slightly sagging blue jeans. He is pale, lean, and has several tattoos poking out from underneath the t-shirt he wears. He stomps into the onslaught and confiscates the knife from Cristobal. "Long enough for these idiots to hear me tell stories about you. The fuck are you thinking kidnapping and tying up people without orders?" He cuts Schuyler free, and she wrings her wrists in demonstration. "Much less the only woman to ever hold a club status. You couldn't be bothered to put two and two together guys?"

Schuyler motions towards her own crew. "I could tell by looking at these kids they were not leadership material. Someone else had to be waiting in the wings. You mind cutting my new friends lose?"

Cristobal tries to push back. ("She disrespected my family, brother. I cannot stand for that.)".

"(You hit a woman because she spoke up, Cristi. What could be more disrespectful than that?)" Miguel grunts an apology to the men as he cuts their bonds. He returns the blade to Schuyler's outstretched hand. ("You've retaliated enough. Watch out I don't let her get a free one in on you.)"

Miguel turns his attention, speaking the common language. His actions are to bring about a more peaceful proceeding. "What are you doing outside of Texas? I'm wounded you didn't reach out. I would have offered to take you out on the town!" He doesn't recognize the men she travels with by sight alone.

"You heard about my dad this year?"

Miguel nods, "Sorry to hear it. I always looked up to him."

"That's the long and the short of it. I'm with the North Cali boys now. And it's no accident we were picked up." She side eyes the two Mayans who will soon be cut from the loop. "Believe me, they needed the help."

Jackson adds on, "Oh yeah they did. At one point Opie was wearing one of them like a backpack and they didn't find anything odd about it when he just gave up the struggle."

Opie concludes, "We were hoping to be picked up by someone with more reach. Someone who contributed to the club. But beggars can't be choosy."

"We were hoping to score VIP seats with the real man in charge," Schuyler puts plainly. "Have you seen Alvarez lately? I gather he's too important to be here."

Cristobal barks, "Mayans don't take orders." Russel tries in vain to lead Cristobal away. "No, and we don't deal with strangers either. And you, you are straight up radical. You're not worth the time it would take Alvarez to spit in your face!"

"(Alvarez is a seasoned man, Cristobal. He will deal if the price is right, and he doesn't need you making decisions for him.)" Miguel back hands Cristobal so hard and without warning that the man stalks several feet away in discombobulation. ("Leave. I will deal with both of you later. And anything that shies of striping you of your kuttes, you will be grateful for.").

Face swelling in equal parts from the blow and from shame, Cristobal exits the facility with his gob smacked friend in tow.

("No hard feelings?") Schuyler gathers some blood and spits it on the ground at Cristbal's dragging feet. ("You hit like a girl any way."). Miguel and she share a laugh at the fleeing man's expense.

"Are they your prospects?" Schuyler questions. All collected weapons are handed out, returned to their rightful owners.

"I haven't quite taken that leap yet. But they're new enough that they can be taught better. I'll make sure they are not a problem." Miguel waves a hand, gesturing further inside the facility. The small clustering follows suit. "And I'm sorry for you folks getting picked up. It wasn't sanctioned. They were easily tricked by you, I am sure. But I do run this safehouse. I can get you anything you might need to make up for the inconvenience."

The group passes several locked rooms and one room with a door ajar. Inside there's half a dozen women striped to their undergarments packaging large amounts of bulk product into single doses for widespread distribution lining several propped-up picnic tables. The group continues down a long hall. "There's enough tension between our communities. No more fires need to be started over this miscalculation."

Schuyler uses flattery. "I hope you're not showboating on my account. We hold no ill will. That's why our club sent us. And besides Miguel, I always knew you had it in you to go the distance."

Opie asks, "How is it you know each other? You seem chummy."

"We go way back," Miguel informs. "I used to follow her around high school like a lost puppy. I was what you call a 'late bloomer'."

Jackson and Schuyler share a look. She nods an affirmative as he remembers one of their past talks. He asks, "So what? You two dated?"

"I tried, man. Boy, did I try." Miguel throws a laugh over his shoulder. "We got close once, didn't we Sky?"

"These boys don't need to hear about my early escapades…"

He leads them into a makeshift office in the furthest back corner and sits behind a wooden desk. "It's Alvarez you're looking for?"

"Our crews squared off a few nights ago. We're hoping a sit down would keep war from breaking out. Our President has a deal that he thinks will make both clubs whole again," Jackson informs, professionally.

"I didn't think SAMCRO was interested in the drug business?"

Opie supplies, "We're not. We're hoping to offer Alvarez a buy in into our business."

Jackson says, "We'll let the number one's iron out the details. Right now, are you high up enough to arrange a meet?"

"I would owe you big for this one Miguel."

Miguel waves off her offer and pages through a calendar in front of him. "I won't hear of it. Mostly because my mother would be ashamed if I did. If she knew I turned down a Schuyler in their time of need. How many times did you have my back in school? How many times did your dad look out for all of us kids in Valor? You both tried to keep me on the path of the straight and narrow."

He adds some context. "They never did let me prospect for the SOA. I was always a close family friend, but Schuyler isn't the only one who left Texas for a change in scenery. I really came into my own when I joined the Mayans."

Miguel rifles about through some sticky notes and slaps his hands on the table. "Tell you what. I will talk to Alvarez. I am not a counsel leader, but I will do what I can to make him see reason. We can arrange to meet somewhere public. Somewhere neutral. The only thing Alvarez wants more than to take over your territory is more resources to protect what he already has."

Jackson agrees. "We want to keep the peace. And more commerce never hurt anybody."

Schuyler shakes Miguel's hand. "I appreciate it. Edward always taught us to take every step to avoid war and bloodshed. I think this will be the best move."

Burner numbers are exchanged. Miguel plans to reach out with details after touching base with the Mayans' President. Miguel does them another solid. He sends the failed captors off with a flatbed to retrieve the trios motorcycles. Only the start of their penance.

The down time gives Jackson, Schuyler, and Opie an opportunity to recap without senior ears forcing in their two cents.

"'Can't believe we pulled this off," Opie ponders in amazement.

Schuyler clarifies, "Assuming there isn't another shoot out and Tig and Clay can come to a deal with Alvarez, sure we pulled it off. Honestly, I didn't think it would be so fast or easy."

Jackson praises his sister. "All thanks to you. We never would have gotten past the first line of defense if you hadn't been with us. Known the guy on the inside. You really didn't know he was a Mayan before today?"

"Miguel, no. He left Texas a little while before my dad got sick. It was a busy few years, so I didn't keep the best contact with him." She looks remorseful for the fact. "I heard he headed north. Left his mom behind, no real family outside of the club. Really thought after he witnessed the war we raged, he'd keep away from it all, but I guess not. Linked with a crew like he always wanted, I suppose."

Jackson assures her. "He's bound to come in handy later. This was thanks to you. We'll have an inside man and we don't even have to buy him off!"

"Thanks for letting me tag along, guys," Opie adds. "I really needed this. I'm ready for phase two when you are brother."

"Op, you've done plenty today and the club will see that. You protected us in there. But the next thing is going to be real bloody and real serious."

"Don't push yourself too fast Opie. You and me, we did our parts today. We are going to need alibis…" Schuyler begins to explain.

"I appreciate you looking out for me, but you did all the real work in there. You got injured for the team, Sky."

"It's no big deal."

"It is too me. Jackson said I was the muscle, and I tried, but there was still blowback. I didn't handle any of the negotiations. There's still work to be done. If this retaliation for Cameron gets messy, you need me there. And I'll make sure to get it right this time." Opie is steadfast in his decision.

Jackson relents. "If you're sure it's what you want brother. I can't stand in your way. You, me, and Bobby, we'll take care of Cameron's problem soon." Jackson turns to extend his thanks to Schuyler for a final time. "You take the rest of the day off. We'll let you know when the meet is set with Alvarez. Hopefully the rest of the plan goes as smoothly as today did."

"We've got no reason to believe it won't," Schuyler concludes.

The motorcycles are loaded off the flatbed and returned to their owners within the hour. Miguel apologies for his crew's behavior again. He offers Schuyler his personal cell number and tells her to stay in touch. "We found ourselves in the same zip code again. No reason we can't get together."

She agrees, "And not just for business either. There's plenty of catching up we can do."

Amidst farewells, Schuyler's burner draws her attention. She signals to her friends to get a head start. With Miguel inside the outpost and her club mates exiting onto the highway, she brings the phone up to her ear.

"What's the verdict?" Tig snarls.

"Alvarez was never here. Luckily for us, I had an in with his Lieutenant in charge of the outpost. I swear it, I haven't had contact with him in months, so I didn't know he was stationed here. But I think the element of surprise really endeared me to him."

"Never hurts to have friends in high places. As long as you can bend him to be useful."

"He's fairly certain he can set a meet. Pass Jackson the details. It should be tomorrow. I think the Mayans might hear us out yet."

"The day wasn't a total wash," Tig sounds appreciative. "We're avoiding a total lock down because of this. You deserve some kind of promotion. Any chance you might be looking for ways to celebrate tonight?"

Schuyler knows Tig has himself in mind. She rests her weight on top of the handlebars, leaning closer to the phone. "Maybe. But not with you. It's going to be later than you want it to be before you see me again." Since the concert, the two have developed their own coded language. 'Sooner' means the same day. 'Later' means it will be a few days before the two will have a chance to be alone again. "The good news is I already made plans to sneak out past curfew tonight. Meeting with a mutual friend of ours."

Tig catches her meaning without a name. The excitement in his voice is palpable. "Finally! You know, if you let me tag along, I could offer a second opinion."

"No can do. This is a private get together. We owe him the same curtesy he gave us. That night."

Tig lets go of an airy sigh. "What I wouldn't give. To see you together. It's a short list."

"Maybe one day. He would like that, I know. And so would I." Another promise.

"You better put that memory of yours to use. I want every detail. And we can compare notes."

….

Schuyler rolls to a stop on the side of the road. Chibs has taken to leaning against the wooden sign denoting the boarders of Charming. His bike faces out of town, having been anticipating her arrival.

She removes her helmet and plants her feet on the ground. Not even a moment later, Chibs stands before her cradling her head in his hands. His critical stare is intense. An indication her face has sprouted with bruises.

"What the fuck happened to ye?"

Her pride keeps her from wincing. "Proving once more, I am the strongest person in a room full of men."

"No man would hit a woman and continue to call himself a man." Chibs brushes his thumbs over her cheeks. The split lip is surrounded by a swollen jaw making her face puffy and lopsided. But to him, she is no less beautiful.

It's safe to say that after a few moments of staring into each other's eyes the two lean in together. Schuyler parts her lips, a clue she wants the kiss to deepen. Chibs tenses in response. He makes himself motionless and loosens his clasp under her chin. Yet, he doesn't release her, afraid if he does he'll never hold her again. Afraid of being caught (despite the empty sidewalks) and of being too decisive too soon. His unwillingness to overstep boundaries only serves to make Schuyler want him more.

She hums as they separate. "Wow. Still think we need to cross out of Charming's jurisdiction if we're going to continue this…date?"

Chibs laughs in response. When was the last time he had done anything that could be considered a date. Even when trying to defuse the tension, there's still the seriousness of the matter at hand. He still carries fear with him. Fear of the question: What if? What if this doesn't work? And how? How will they proceed in the same charter? Could they forget whatever transpires between them and go on calling each other 'friend' and 'sibling'? Especially when they didn't start out using those labels in the first place.

The same questions are infiltrating Schuyler's mind. She's especially aware of the consequences tonight may have on her standing with the chapter. Aren't these concerns the precise reason why she made herself rules to follow? Yet she practically came running when they agreed to meet. Apparently willing to risk it all. For what exactly, she is still unsure.

Chibs' hands drop. He gazes over her head and grinds his teeth in consideration. The streets are quiet. He takes the leap. He brushes his whiskers along her reddish, purplish chin and plants a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"It's not far," he promises in a whisper. "Follow me. I'll make it worth the trouble."

Anticipation builds steadily as Schuyler mounts her bike. Eager to see what he has planned.

They travel side by side out into the desert with Chibs placing himself between Schuyler and any oncoming traffic they pass. Eventually, Chibs crosses the double line and drives about a mile off the road. There's hardly a tree or shrub for as far as the eye can see. The sun sets on their travels and stars are showing brightly overhead without any light pollution from any neighboring cities. It's unlikely many cars will pass by or be able to see them from the road as the evening grows later.

They line their motorcycles in a straight-line tire to tire. Chibs pulls a blanket from a travel bag that he normally doesn't ride with. He walks behind the bikes so they can create a small barrier to shield the couple from the road and he shakes out the material.

"I should have brought wine. Could have been a picnic." Schuyler takes time to remove her heavy boots and leather. She places them carefully on or around her bike so as not to forget them should they need to move hastily. She pats the ground to avoid hard rocks and lays on her side propped up on one elbow. The blanket is thick and soft, almost the size of a queen bed comforter. She motions for the man to join her. "Is this where you take Tig when you two need to be alone?"

"Sometimes." Chibs removes his shoes and paces himself when getting down on the ground. He settles with one leg crossed in front of himself. He plants the other foot flat and bends his knee towards the stars. There's about a foot of space between them, but there's little to no tension residing. They can speak plainly, out in the desert. "Sometimes we go to Vegas and gamble money we donnae have."

"Sounds fun. I've never been." The air is dry and cool. Schuyler observes her surroundings, admiring the clear, picturesque view of the sky. She is reminded how Tig would gush about Chibs during their previous interactions, and suspects Chibs would be willing to do the same. A safe place topic to choose, needing to start their talks somewhere. "Tig had an interesting idea. If things work out. All in all. He said the club should see the two of us together. From time to time. Doesn't have to be serious." She moves to settle the older man's nerves before they can spark a fire in him. "Or at least, not at first. We're not on anyone's radar with the way business is going these days."

"His idea?" Chibs sounds surprised. But he leans heavily into the topic, finding it comfortable. "He's been protective of you. Even before the concert. Would think it would make him jealous. If people thought someone else had a claim to you."

"Based on our introductory conversation, it seems to me you have a bit more of a jealous streak in you than he does."

"Aye. I see his point though. If we went public, it would explain at least the two of us. Take the eyes away from Tig." Chibs views the problem from every angle. He rests his elbow on top of his bent knee. "He'd be free to carry on doing whatever the hell it is he gets up to. From the club's perspective. I'm not sure how Clay and Piney would see it though. May not like it if we presented as less than 'official'".

Schuyler grumbles. Her hand fiddles with the material in front of her, but her fingers are creeping closer to Chibs. "Gemma neither. Now that you've brought it up. Just an option to keep in mind. If things progress."

"And he didn't push for it to be him who is seen with you?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"He said the club wouldn't believe someone as smart as myself would fall for his charms."

Chibs shakes his head. "That doesnae sound right."

Schuyler smiles. She blushes light pink. "Ok I fibbed. He said, 'the club wouldn't believe I could handle him' myself."

"There he is. Yes." They laugh in unison. They bond over feelings for the man who isn't physically there but always seems to be present in their thoughts.

"I held my ground just fine. In case you were wondering."

"Donnae have to convince me of that. He spares no details. I've been rather eager to see it for meself."

And suddenly, Schuyler is flushing for a different reason.

"And Tig is, well," Chibs continues. He appears to ponder how to finish the sentence.

"What?" Schuyler finds herself eager to hear the answer. She leans in. Her fingers reaching their destination to clasp his ankle over his jeans.

"Malleable."

Schuyler turns inquisitive. "Explain."

"Tiggy wasnae interested in you until you proved you could keep pace with us. He had no interest in my either, same way, just with me joining the club. But with you…With the idea of you, a person who could – be that missing puzzle piece for us... It had to be someone who could meet him. On that level."

Schuyler pushes back. Needing more context. "He's the SA. Theoretically, he can have anyone he wants. Even if it's temporary. What makes me any different?"

Chibs clears his throat. "It's difficult to explain. Tig always has been. He thinks he is weaselly. 'I'm off to visit my kids back east'. No, hasnae seen them for years. But occasionally. He goes a couple of states over. Somewhere he's never been before. When the CrowEaters and the fans and the women, are not what he's in the mood for."

Sky catches his meaning. Warmth spreads throughout her body at the mere thought. "Does he know, you know about it?"

"Nah. Not a clue."

"Do you consider it cheating? His being with other men? Under the rules."

Chibs runs his fingers through his short beard. He gives a shake of his head. "It's not about men or women for Tigger. Never has been. Sometimes, he needs a break. From the image. The title," Chibs gives a pause. "He needs to let go sometimes."

Schuyler helps to fill in the gaps. "It's about personality. It's about being able to be led. It's not necessarily about physical prowess. It's about wanting to feel secure. Held."

Laying but a short distance from him, he watches Schuyler's chest rise and fall with her words. Undressing her with his mind's eye in a dozen ways. His finds his thoughts are too fast for his liking. So, he slows them down and listens to her words. Maps her facial features. Cherishes her. Only for his thoughts to race again.

"He was waiting to see if the club would accept me, so that he knew I would stick around. That I wouldn't just disappear. He built that trust before even knowing if I could…handle his predilections."

Chibs knew with certainty his caution was more than unwarranted, it was meaningless. The woman before him was far from innocent. She had experience rivaling his own. Tig had assured him as much. And Chibs was no saint. He had worried himself sick with the thought that if he didn't keep himself in check he could hurt her, even unintentionally. Or worse, disrespect her. The idea of losing her trust pained him in a way he didn't believe a woman could hurt him any longer.

Chibs recenters himself on the conversation. "Maybe that's why he is so drawn to me. Or maybe I think too highly of myself. Maybe I am his only option when it comes to all that."

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit. Tig is extremely lucky to have you. It's incredible you found each other the way you did."

Chibs finds himself in agreement. "A miracle most days. Maybe it's miraculous: the way you wound up coming here of all places. Sure, there were few choices in the matter. But you came here all the same. Maybe there's a reason for that."

Schuyler bats her eye lashes a few times. "Why are you still wearing that?" She's grown bored of caressing his leg. She pushes herself to a sitting position. She leans in and her hand falls on the zipper of his riding vest. When he doesn't pull away, she helps push the leather from his shoulders.

She's displeased there's another layer of clothes underneath, but it's a start. It's evident a toned chest is hidden below the dark colored material. She's eager to see the ink she knows to be on his arms. Her hand comes to rest over his sternum. The heat radiating from his body makes her aware of how little contact they've shared.

Chibs breathes deeply, focusing on her gentle caress, and he pushes every negative thought out of his mind. He collects her hand and brings her knuckles up to his lips. In a whisper, he breathes, "I canna believe yer here." The motion drawing her even closer, nearly into his lap.

Schuyler is completely transfixed by the deep recesses of his brown irises. "Where else would I be?"

Chibs pulls her arm gently to wrap around his neck. She follows his cue and climbs into his lap in a sitting position to face him. He drops his arm to wrap it around her waist. Then he brings his opposing hand up to cup her face mere inches from his own.

Schuyler seizes the opportunity to toy with his short mess of brown hair. "You should grow this out." She finds purchase at the base of his neck to hold him steadfastly. The grasp feels like she is afraid of letting him go and encourages him to feel the same way.

Chibs' stare is intently on Schuyler's mouth as her lips part to inhale. The look on his face is one of questioning as he slowly leans forward to meet the woman in his arms. He knows he'll only ask once for her permission.

Their lips meet, two soft and plump contrasting with a thin, chapped pair. Schuyler enjoys the abrasive facial against her skin. A deep, open-mouthed kiss is shared only for them to separate less than an inch apart for air.

Schuyler feels her lower lip tugged down by a persistent thumb. She grows bold. Finding the hem of his black shirt, she raises it over his head and throws it towards the motorcycles. Beneath the material is yet another layer, a thin tank top tucked into his jeans. "You're really showing your age now," she teases. He captures her lips in a kiss, hungrier than the last one, to silence her once more.

Schuyler was right in her assumption. Despite the fact Chibs is more heavily set than herself, especially around the middle, his chest is well toned as well as his arms and chest are littered in tattoos. She continuously passes her palms over his strong chest and arms, feeling secure in his embrace.

Without his knowledge, Chibs' belt is unbuckled, and he feels it pulled carefully from his jeans. It nosily protests being dropped in the dirt. In the meantime, his hand works its way into Schuyler's back pocket drawing their hips together in search of closer contact.

Schuyler grinds into his hips salaciously before abruptly standing. She coyly unbuttons her jeans, remarking, "Feels like I am doing all the important work here."

Chibs' hands unbutton his jeans, sliding them off easily despite being on the ground, and pulling them clear past his feet. "No' hard at-tall." His accent shines through as clearly as the erection against his boxer briefs.

Schuyler might have laughed at his word choice if she weren't so genuinely offended by the dark colored garment obstructing her view. "Need some help getting out of those?"

The older gentleman clears his throat a second time. "Should be mentioned?" Chibs sobers as he suddenly becomes aware of his physicality as though for the first time. "You should know I'm -."

"What?" Schuyler interrupts him. She has her maroon shirt off and over her head in an instant. "European?" She crouches to be eye level with the man.

Chibs knocks his head to the side in amusement. He reaches out, parting Schuyler's knees, and pulls her back into his lap. They find the lack of clothing between them enticing, but it feels as though they will never have enough contact. "I want you out of this." Chibs refers to her black satin bra.

"What have you done to deserve that privilege?"

Chibs surprises Schuyler when he can pick her up and roll her onto her back against the blanket. He kisses his way across her covered chest as though taking time to worship her body, pausing long enough to make eye contact between each dip of his head, as though engrossed in silent prayer.

Schuyler hums sweetly, appreciative of the attention, before returning to work. At this angle, she is able to remove his pants and occupy her idle hands. Expertly experimenting with speeds and pressure while cataloging Chibs' reactions as she torments his fully intact member. Pulling the foreskin between her fingers, she's treated to an insightful groan. She stops completely, which earns a dissatisfied sigh and the use of two fingers to roll the excess skin has him dropping further to the ground on one of his forearms to support himself over the woman. She's enticed by his every breath. Hot against her quivering skin.

This isn't Schuyler's first time. She's traveled the world and lived in England for a period of several months. For her entire adult life, she has known she blatantly and unshakably prefers natural men. She'd be lying if she claimed she hadn't anticipated Chibs' status.

Chibs' rakes short fingernails repeatedly up and down Schuyler's deep curves. He warns her, "Slow, slow…"

Schuyler hums against the artery in his neck. "I want to keep playing with you."

"Why should you have all the fun?"

His callused hands trail further until his fingers hook into her panties and he pulls them down her soft legs. For a moment, his eyebrows furrow openly communicating his disappointment at a discovery of his own. She is, as promised, shaved bare. He shakes it off and makes quick work of removing the tank top from his body, the temperature having grown unbearably hot between them.

Suddenly, a foot comes to rest on his chest, keeping him from returning to the blanket.

"Look at that," Schuyler musses.

"What?"

"Your ink - what."

"Oh? Well, between you and Tigger…" Chibs grasps Schuyler's right calf. He places a kiss upon a small tea pot on her ankle. "I'm the least bit interested in these."

"I showed you mine." Schuyler bolts upright. Kneeling before him, her eyes take in the sight. He has tattoos on either arm, reflections of his club or his religion that she has mostly seen, yet the one she gravitates to is the mock dollar bill in the center of his chest that is revealed. It doesn't have numbers to indicate worth, but it has random characters written all about. Her hand traces a hard edge. "Does it say or mean anything?"

"Mhmm." When he doesn't explain, Schuyler fears the meaningless numbers may actually indicate something memorable. That is, until he lowers his voice, getting right in her face. His hand disappears behind her, unclasping her bra and yanking it off her in an instant. "Fuck you. Pay me."

Chibs moves unbelievably swiftly. One arm wraps around Schuyler's shoulders, protecting her while forcing her firmly onto her back. One hand hikes Schuyler's left leg around his waist. In one motion, he manages to pull their bodies flush together against the ground with no space between them.

Loosening his dominant arm, he kisses her once, tilting her head up for the chance to tug at the locks on her hairline. His free hand moves to fondle her tits, each more than a hand full in size. When they part for air, his mouth joins in, eagerly enveloping the right nub and taking it between his teeth before thoroughly soothing over it with his hot tongue. His mouth lingers while his hand travels.

He deliberately trails his fingers over her skin until he reaches her sex and abruptly rescinds the contact. She is satisfied with his mouth for a time, but it doesn't take long to miss the attention of his digits. Closing her eyes tightly, she lifts her hips, asking for their return.

Chibs begins slow, passing his thumb lightly over her soft mound. She allows herself to moan when she lifts her hips again in search of more pressure. The sound she produced causes him to search for her face, wanting to witness her pleasure. His thumb becomes more insistent for a time, languorously massaging between her parted lips. Slowly, he introduces his fingers within her folds.

A second finger easily joins the first. It's addition catches Schuyler off-guard as it presses into her at once. She accepts the stretch and attempts to invite Chibs closer with her heel pressed against his lower back. Chibs remains firm, more invested in the view of the woman he towers over who withers under him. With a flick of his wrist his fingers glide inside her. Occasionally he returns his thumb to brush against the nub that's hardening to see her arch towards him.

The finale time his thumb returns to her clit, she clamps a hand hard around his wrist to keep his fingers buried deep inside her. Her mouth falls open to pant as her body wracks with waves of intensity.

Chibs' eyes never leave Schuyler. Observing the steady rise and fall of her weighted breasts. Soaking in every twitch of her legs as her body betrays her attempts to stay still. Chibs supports her thighs against his hip as she rides out her short-lived orgasm.

When she comes back to herself she weighs her words carefully, understanding they carry a great deal of weight. She opens her eyes to look up at him and proclaim, "I want to feel you."

Chibs, member stiff between them, is in need of his own release. He sets her leg down as though he is going to separate from her in search of something.

Her hand catching his stops him. She shakes her head, and he hesitates.

She leans backwards atop her forearms and draws him in until he fully cloaks her. Face to face, she captures his bottom lip, nibbles at it, and repeats, "I want to feel you inside me."

He blinks as if processing her words. He knows she has already made the decision once with Tig. He grasps the level of intimacy that accompany such a request. "Are you sure you want that…with me?"

Schuyler's arms snake around his neck. Her fingertips dotingly trace his skin as they go. "That night in your house I told you what I expected. I told you," she stresses, "that I wanted to belong." She kneads his scalp while gazing deep into his eyes. "I'm choosing you."

Chibs' priority is Schuyler's level of comfort. Only after he has her consent, does he allow himself to settle between her legs.

Schuyler assures him that his hesitancy is unnecessary by hooking her ankle into the same place on his lower back.

Reassured, Chibs' free hand rises to lay against her neck, and he leans in to kiss her. His own distraction. So, he can confidently line his length against her sex, stimulating them both with a gentle rock of his hips.

"Quit teasing."

"No, no, this," Chibs takes himself in his hand. He presses the tip against her entrance and fists himself lazily. "This is teasing you."

A moan involuntarily escapes from her chest. It takes everything to keep herself quiet. She covers her face with both hands. The stimulation too intoxicating to bare.

"I'll take pity on ye." He lowers himself until he's bearing down with his forearms on either side of her. Her head tosses to the side after he's fully seated and she grates out a curse. Her body shudders contentedly, triggered by a deep sigh.

"Firs' time with a European?" Chibs' manages to ask. His forehead rests against her collar bone.

"Been a long time," Schuyler answers softly. Her hands clutch desperately to his shoulders when the sensation overwhelms her body. Breathing shallowly against his ear she tilts her hips, thus willing him to move. He submits, focusing attention on the pace. Methodical, long strokes intended to make him last. Though his ability is tried with Schuyler's voice whispering words as sweet as sins. "Too long. Better than I remember. So much better…"

Schuyler, herself, is unable to articulate exactly how she feels with the intact cock pumping effortlessly inside her. The only word coming to her mind is, 'more'. She pushes against him, willing him deeper still.

They share a thought and without needing to voice it they find each other's lips. They meet between gulps of air and only separate as long as either can bare.

When they finish, it's nearly in unison, as though they have no other choice, panting into each other's mouths.

In a haze, Chibs rolls onto his side as he slips out of Schuyler, but an arm stays strown across her abdomen. Desperate to maintain contact.

After a few minutes filled with heavy breathing, Chibs is first to speak. "Stay awake with me."

Schuyler lifts her head to survey the scene. Surely no cars have passed. She hadn't heard any, although she was rather occupied. She searches for her undergarments. But she is certain she will not be able to stand and even less likely to walk steadily for several minutes. She opts to gather the end of the blanket nearest her and halfheartedly covers a third of her body. "We need a second blanket, too. I'll make a list for next time."

"Next time?"

"Without question," She seeks his eyes. They share a kiss. Chibs gathers his side of the blanket and tucks it between his legs, so the edges are more likely to reach Schuyler.

He arranges their limbs gently, so that they lay flush together. She is resting on his arm under her head like a makeshift pillow. They turn on their sides and tuck into one another for warmth as their heart rates slow. He pulls the blanket around them to craft a cocoon.

Schuyler formally lifts her right hand and traces the tattoo on his chest once more curious as to when and how he acquired it. The ink is faded with age, telling her it's old. However, instead of inquiring about the design she asks a far broader question gauging that would be safer. "What do you remember of Ireland?"

Chibs' response almost sounds bitter. "Now we're free to talk?"

"You want to cuddle; I want to ask questions. If you want me awake we need to talk."

"It's a magical place painted green," Chibs answers crossly with his bushy eyebrows quirking upwards despite the fact she isn't looking him head on.

"I know it wasn't ever that for you. I grew up in Texas where it was a hundred and two degrees three hundred and twenty days out of the year and it was easy to forget what rain smelled like. Tell me, was it cold?"

"You want to talk about weather?"

"Tell me."

Chibs signs deeply. "It could be. It rained more often than not."

"Very heavy." As she waited for him to answer, her hand casually moved up from his chest and is now gliding a finger over his facial hair following the path of his jawline almost subconsciously. His hand snaps up quickly to halt her movements as she nears the scar on his cheek, and she knows she has overstepped. Up to this point, she has purposely been avoiding touching his face out of respect despite the attention he has given to hers.

Her jaw tightens. She attempts to pull away. Unwilling to wait for the harsh words of rejection. Except he doesn't let her move. Rather he places her hand directly on his cheek and holds it there as he answers. "Sometimes." His hand eventually falls back to the blanket underneath them. "And it snowed every other year." Schuyler finds the courage to trace the scar. "Would stay frozen to the ground sometime after."

"What's the lowest temperature you can remember?" Schuyler picks her head up to meet his gaze. She wants him to continue talking as she finds herself literally drowning in his voice with an accent that is, to her, intoxicating.

Chibs' lips tuck in as he thinks about a serious answer. "Not too much below freezing. Reasonable."

"I'm so glad you didn't make me do conversions. That could have been bad." Chibs genuinely laughs with no expectation to. "Anything else?"

"You think my accent is t'ick now," Chibs drops the 'h' on purpose as he rarely does in normal conversation after years of assimilation. "You should o' heard the things I said when I first arrived."

"Gorgeous." With her gaze never wavering, Chibs has no reason not to think that she believes the words she is speaking are true. "The word you're looking for: gorgeous."

"If you say so. Your turn. Have you ever ridden a horse?"

Schuyler rolls her eyes. She should have expected the counterattack. She flips on her back with her shoulder resting against Chibs chest unwilling to make direct eye contact while speaking about herself. "Yes, I've been on the back of a horse. Just fair horses though, meaning someone else was always leading it around on a rope. So, I haven't technically ridden a horse. I've also owned boots. Cowgirl boots. I don't have them anymore."

"When was the first time you shot a gun?"

"My dad started teaching me when I was fourteen. Ready by the time I started prospecting at seventeen."

"Why so young?"

"In my head, I couldn't spend a year of my 'adult life' without the Reaper on my back. It's all I've ever wanted. And I knew I couldn't wait even a year for it."

Chibs ponders his next question. "When was your first?"

Schuyler knows he isn't referring to sex. "About six months after. Normal run. No affiliation. These men found out about one of our drops, but didn't know we were the ones' delivering. They grazed Beau – he patched in the same year as me."

His eyes are burning holes in the side of her head, granting her the same respect in turn.

"Anyway, my dad handed me the gun. He saved the ringleader for me. The guy tried to plead his case, but hearing it would have only made things harder, so I didn't let him get into it. I remember how brightly the sun was shining on him. I buried him south of the border that same afternoon." She lifts her arm to weave it underneath Chibs' own so he rests some pressure on her. "But, enough about me. Same question."

Chibs sweeps a strand of hair off Schuyler's shoulder. "I grew up jus' outside of Glasgow. My old man died when I was," he considers, "three. No pictures. My Ma died when I was fourteen and left me enough to get to Ireland. Distant cousins on her side."

"So, are you half and half?"

"Three fourths or more. And I don't recognize the Irish bits…I joined the IRA when I was nineteen. My first was a boy. My age. It was…hard. I couldn't look him in the eye. Shot 'im in the back o' the head. Dinnae see it coming…" There is a long pause leaving Schuyler to wonder if he'll continue. "Shit broke me."

"No!" Schuyler proclaims sounding angry at the notion. "If it had you wouldn't be here to tell me. Fucking IRA, you had to do it. Shit's supposed to be hard. That's how I know you care about the consequences your actions have."

"Are you saying you donna?"

"Not saying that. I care a little. Sometimes."

"It's not a bad thing."

Schuyler thinks she'll be stable enough on her feet to redress. But she's come to the conclusion they will be sleeping under the stars tonight. Neither wants to risk breaking the spell. "It's what we do. It's part of it."

"I'm not proud of it. Any of it."

"If you know you're doing it for the right reasons and you're protecting those who need protection, then you shouldn't ever be ashamed. That was Eddie's philosophy."

Chibs' arms wrap around Schuyler pulling her hard onto her side to face him again. "My conscious is clear," he says against her ear and kisses it through a few strands of hair. "Is yours, love?"

Schuyler's mouth falls open at his use of the word. A nickname, difference in dialects is all and she knows it doesn't have to mean anything. But she wants for it to mean something when he uses it in regards to her.

She answers with all the honesty she can muster. "My father gifted me my first gun on my sixteenth birthday. I've never thought much of it. Knowing it's what he did and what I was supposed to do. He handed me the gun, his gun, for my first kill. He put it in my 'wrong' hand. And that's when I knew it was important. It means something, every time you pull the trigger. I never have doubts. It's never an accident."

She feels as though she has said too much too soon with no inclination of where tonight will lead beyond daybreak. Still, she finds herself admitting, "I've never told anyone that."

Chibs lifts her chin using a single finger. His eyes burn into hers with a searing passion. "You donna have to be strong all the time."

"Force of habit." Schuyler's lips meet his own as both a 'thank you' and a request to fall asleep.