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I’ll need to get that fixed.
It was an incongruous thought, but the position she had been hung in meant that her right armpit took up most of her field of vision. And the rip in the black lace fabric was something she could imagine fixing. She could stitch it up…a sharp needle, some thread, and it’d be practically good as new.
She was a natural fixer. JT had always said that. The thought almost brought a smile to her lips, but as soon as the corner of her mouth twitched, her split lip began bleeding again. Blood trickled, rusty-tasting and warm, into her mouth.
She was doing a shitty job of fixing this.
The first time she’d tried, she’d waited until they had gone to another room before digging her bare heels into the openings of the chain link fence. The few seconds she could push up and take some of the strain off her shoulders felt heavenly, until the pain of the torn, burning flesh between her legs took over. It was a good few seconds, while it lasted.
Her heel slipped, though, and the sharp jar vibrated up and down her body as her arms took her full weight again. The walls of the room seemed to move in around her, then receded back out in sickening waves.
Head injury. Maybe from the blonde bitch.
She could get through this, she thought, even as her head drooped forward. She hissed and jerked up as the chain links pulled out more strands of hair. Something wet ran down her legs, leaving a sticky trail.
Her head fell forward again.
The snick of the cuffs opening caught her attention, then the stink of the man in front of her hit: Wal-Mart cologne, rank sweat, and semen. His words washed over her, a handful getting through the roaring from where one of them had slapped the side of her head earlier.
She heard threats, and messages, and a rumbled “Get on your knees, bitch.”
Her arms were almost useless, numb and stiff, half out of their sockets. It still felt so good to be off the fence. She focused on the relief in her back and arms as her legs were jerked apart again. She tried to hold on to that, the reduction of pain in a couple of places. A brutally hard thrust knocked her forehead against the concrete floor, and this time, she let the darkness take her.
................................
1991
He’d been gone before, meeting with SAMBEL for weeks at a time. Club business, he said. Guns from the Irish, he said. She didn’t know if his absence hurt worse when her nights had been spent at St. Thomas, watching her own Thomas fight his losing battle, or now, with her baby dead and buried.
She had skipped a tree last year. Jax had shrugged it off, told her it didn’t matter. The Winstons had a huge tree, crammed full of plastic icicles and Harley ornaments and a few glass balls from Opie’s grandmother. He and Opie had grinned at the “glass balls” remark, and Gemma’s concern that Jax was missing out was pushed aside as she broke up the fake-kicks and punches between the two.
He had bounced back so fast. She wondered if the weeks spent waiting in the hospital were real to him, the last days when she and JT watched Thomas fade away. Jax had spent most of his time at Opie’s house then, Piney quietly helping all of them get through the bleak days, trying to keep JT in one piece.
She stood back from the seven-foot tree, tilting a little in its stand. The boxes of lights and ornaments had been brought over from the storage unit. Bobby Munson stood by the couch and methodically unwound strings of tiny colored lights, testing each one before putting it into the “good” pile.
She raked her long red fingernails through her hair. JT should be doing this. They should be decorating the Christmas tree like a goddamn family, instead of JT handing it off to SAMCRO’s secretary.
“Just leave it, Bobby. I’m gonna wait until Jax gets back from Opie’s.”
The huge-bellied biker kept looking over the string of lights in his hand for a minute, then coiled it up neatly. “You sure? It’s no trouble.” He didn’t look like he was in any hurry to stop. She wondered if there were other reasons for him being around tonight.
“Yeah, Elvis, I’m sure. Thanks for the help, but I’m having trouble holding on to my Christmas spirit, okay? I’m thinking a hot bath and some Jack on ice is more my speed tonight.”
She fidgeted with the candle and evergreen centerpiece on the table, waiting for Bobby to get the hint. Sometimes he reminded her of a hippie outlaw Buddha, placid and slow. When she looked up again, he was still rummaging through the decorations, trying to create some order.
“Yeah…about that…JT asked us to keep an eye on the home front while he’s gone. Word is the Mayans’re stirring up some shit this week..”
“Really.” Her voice was sharp with sarcasm. “Great time for him to take off to the goddamn Emerald Isle, then.”
Bobby shrugged. “Fucking Irish, right? They don’t want to deal with nobody but JT or Clay.”
She slammed the candle down harder than she intended. “He should’ve sent Clay. JT should’ve stayed home with his family.”
“Not my call, doll. Not yours, either.” He grinned, gold tooth flashing. “I got an idea…lemme see what kinda sugar you got.” He walked towards her, and she laid her palm on her hand-woven Guatemalan shoulder bag on the table, feeling the outline of her “around Charming” handgun.
“What the fuck, Bobby? “ she said, but he had already breezed past her and walked into the kitchen, opening cabinets.
“I figured you’d have it goin’ on.” He held up the bag of light brown sugar he’s found, setting it on the counter as he hunted some more. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!” He pulled out the bottles of vanilla and almond extract. “You got one a’ those scrunchie things?”
“Jesus, Bobby….” She was starting to smile in spite of her anger at JT. “Do I look like a scrunchie kind of girl? Rubber bands are in the junk drawer.”
He pulled open the top drawer by the stove. “Score!” Gathering up his wild, wiry hair in both hands, he slipped a wide rubber band over the mass and pulled it back in a rough pony tail. “Go do whatever you feel like doing, hon. I’m gonna throw together some Christmas cookies.”
The biker looked like a cross between the Grim Reaper and one of Santa’s elves as he pulled flour and butter-flavored shortening out of the cupboards. Gemma knew when to quit. She grabbed her cigarettes and lighter off the bar.
“So, to be clear, you pulled bodyguard duty tonight, right?” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom.
He paused in his search for her mixer. “Something like that. I’ll be on the couch tonight, just so you know.”
She pulled out a cigarette and lit it as she examined a framed picture in the stairwell. JT, Thomas, and Jax, three Christmases ago. “What about Jax? He under Piney’s watch?”
“Yeah. Piney’s got it covered.”
Jax has Piney watching over him, and she had Bobby Elvis. She wondered who was under JT’s watchful eye tonight, over in Belfast.
Fuck it all, anyway. She grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s out from under the bar and went on upstairs.
.......................................
The two women were deep in conversation at the kitchen table, neither noticing that the school day had ended thirty minutes ago. Gemma had gotten up to refresh their coffee when the bus stopped outside, then pulled away again.
Luann tucked the joint inside her fist as Jax slammed the screen door and came into the kitchen.
“Hi, Jax. What’s new?”
“Not much, Luann.” He smirked as he balanced a basketball on his fingertips. “Watch you don’t burn your hand.”
Gemma came back to the table, two coffee cups in her hands. “Luann, you don’t have to do that. My kid’s not a narc.”
The brassy blond at Gemma’s table looked oddly pale without her heavy filming makeup on. “Yeah, I know. Force of habit, I guess.”
They both watched as the gangly teenager bounced past them and went up to his room, only coming back to their conversation after they heard his door bang shut.
“I’ll ask Otto, hon, but he’s so close-mouthed about club business.”
Gemma noticed Luann wasn’t meeting her eyes as she spoke. “Fuck ‘club business’, okay? Where my husband’s putting his dick is my business.”
Luann took a long toke off the joint and passed it to Gemma. “You don’t know that, though. And besides, Gemma, this ain’t your first turn at this. You didn’t get bent out of shape over the Sturgis Rally this summer. What’s the difference?”
Gemma took her own drag and held it deep in her lungs as she thought that over.
“I expect him to get his dick sucked in Sturgis. I get that. I don’t even wonder about it anymore. But this Belfast thing…every time he goes, he stretches it out a little longer. And he never sends the other guys anymore. When was the last time Otto went to the Irish?”
Her friend looked absorbed in the glow of the joint’s tip. “I can’t remember, Gemma. You know how busy I stay….”
“You’re a lousy liar,” Gemma said.
“Look, Gemma, maybe he’s just really struggling with losing Thomas, and Christmas makes things that much worse, you know?”
Gemma could feel the rage and hurt start to boil up. She was so sick of “poor, grief-stricken JT.” She was the one who carried Thomas in her body. She was the one who passed down the fucked-up heart defect that killed him. She balled her left hand into a fist under the table until the acrylic nails cut into her palm.
“Yeah, you’re right, Luann. I can’t begin to understand what that’s like,” she said, her voice dripping with dark sarcasm. She regretted her sneer as soon as she saw the wounded look in Luann’s eyes. Sighing, she opened her fist and covered her friend’s hand with her own.
“I’m sorry, babe. I’m just….” She tried to keep her lip from shaking, but Luann knew her too well to miss it.
“I just need him here. I need the JT he used to be. It’s more than Thomas, it’s how he is with Jax, with the club…he’s checking out of everything we have and I don’t know how to stop it.” Her rings flashed in the sunlight coming through the window. She wiped her eyes before her tears could smear her mascara.
Luann sipped at her coffee, the joint stubbed out in the ashtray between them. “How’s Jax doing with JT being gone?”
Gemma glanced at the stairs. “He spends a lot of time with Opie and his folks. He’s hard to read sometimes. I mean, I know he loves his Dad, but JT had been so wrapped up in Thomas, and then so out of it after he died…I don’t know if he even feels like JT knows who he is anymore.”
“Gemma, you don’t mean that.”
Gemma noted wryly that apparently there were still a few things that could shock “Miss Double-Penetration 1989,” judging by the look in Luann’s eyes. “Yeah, I do. He goes to Piney or Clay if he needs any kind of ‘Dad’ help.”
Her lips tightened. “Last time JT was home, Jax just wanted his dad to watch him do a new skateboard flip he learned. His father couldn’t pull his head out of this journal or whatever he’s been banging out on his typewriter to do that. Thank God Clay picked up on it. He hung out with Jax for a fucking hour, just watching him do one stupid stunt over and over.”
Luann nodded. “Yeah, at least you got Clay around. He’s had your and JT’s back from the start, same as with Otto.”
“It shouldn’t be like that, though. It should be JT raising his own son, goddamnit.” Her fingernails clicked hard against her coffee cup.
The pitying look in Luann’s eyes was getting hard to take. Gemma felt a surge of relief when she saw the other woman check her watch, stand up and grab her handbag.
“Shit—I didn’t realize it was getting so late. I need to set something out for supper.” She leaned over and gave Gemma a hug. “Chin up, babe. He’ll come around after he gets back.” She straightened. “The guys treating you okay?”
You mean, other than my husband?
Gemma gave her a thin smile. “Yeah, there’s been someone here every night. Some shit with the Mayans that’s going down? Anyway, Bobby Elvis baked me cookies last night after we put up the tree.” Her smile crumbled and the tears that had been threatening to flow finally spilled over, washing down her face. She whispered “he should have been here” over and over as Luann hugged her tight, until she no longer knew if she was talking about JT or Thomas.
The stomping of Jax’s feet upstairs pulled her out of her moment of weakness and away from Luann. “You should go. I gotta fix my face. Jax doesn’t need to think both his parents are basket cases.”
After a final squeeze to her shoulder, Luann said goodbye, and Gemma was alone again in her kitchen.
........................................
The last night JT had been home, over a month ago, she had tried, really tried to make a connection with him. Perfume, Frederick’s of Hollywood lingerie, hell, she’d even gotten the matching crotchless panties. Five minutes after taking the hot rollers out of her hair and doing a comb-out, she knew it was a waste of time.
“I’ve got a long day tomorrow, Gemma. The cargo plane takes off at six in the morning.” He’d kissed her then, a pale echo from the past, and pulled her into his arms, rubbing her back lightly.
“That didn’t use to slow you down, baby.” She nipped at his chest, trying to force some playfulness into her voice.
“I got a lot on my mind lately. Shit’s bringing me down.” She felt his chest rise and fall as he lay there, staring at the ceiling.
“So, let me in, sweetheart. You always said that helped. That was one of the first things you said you loved about me…the way you could tell me anything.”
The long silence stretched thin in the dark. She could hear the noise of Jax’s television coming from his room and made a mental note to get on him about bedtime on school nights.
JT nudged her to move as he turned on his side. She waited for his body to curve around hers, asking her silently to push back against him, but he seemed determined to keep a few inches of space between their bodies. She’d begun to relax into defeat when he began talking, his mouth close to her ear.
“I don’t know how far we should keep going with the gun business. Things are getting out of scale…some of the guys are pushing for expansion.” His sigh tickled the back of her neck. “We’re moving way too far from what I wanted the Sons to be. What we all wanted the Sons to be in the beginning. There’s times I think maybe we should focus more on the legit business…maybe get out of gun-running.”
Gemma froze, her nerves humming. She might just be an old lady, but she was also the bookkeeper for Teller-Morrow, and the income from the shop was nowhere near what was needed to keep things going. The scar bisecting her chest throbbed with her panic…he shouldn’t be telling her all this. She wanted to hear his dreams, his plans, like he used to share with her. Not this litany of doubt he was trying to dump in her lap.
“You’re just tired, baby,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t make any decisions when you’re in a mood…that’s what you always tell me, right?”
He gave her a noncommittal grunt that could have meant anything.
“You sure you don’t want to….” She shifted her hips back, and heard his “I said no” as she felt his hard-on against her ass.
Mother-fucker has wood, but doesn’t want to….
Oh, hell. That’s not for me, is it?
He jerked back as soon as she touched him, turning on his other side like he was hiding from her. The light coming in from the window facing the street was enough for her to read the letters on his back, the Gothic-lettered “Sons of Anarchy” across his shoulders.
She used to love how his black hair would feather over the “of” in the middle, sleek, like the wings of a crow. She wondered if someone else was loving that detail about him. Wondered if some Irish gash was thinking about how it felt to run her fingers over the inked letters on his skin.
Fumbling in the dark, Gemma reached in the nightstand and took out the hard plastic vibrator Luann had given her for her birthday. Her chest tightened with the bitterness flowing through her. She wasn’t aroused at all, and couldn’t wait to strip off the trashy lingerie and pull her Harley tee back on, but by God, there would be sex in their bed tonight.
With a twist of the bottom, the vibrator started its loud hum, and she smirked as she saw his shoulders twitch. Let him say a fucking word…
As she stroked the cool plastic over her folds, she tried to think of a hot scene from their early days, when they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. Nights when he’d eat her until she screamed against her fist, trying not to wake Jax. The bike rally when he’d taken her to the edge of the campground, up into the hills, and bent her over his bike. She’d watched the bonfires below as he ate her from behind, running tongue and fingers over her throbbing clit and slickening folds, finally tonguing her tight pucker until she was begging him to fuck her there.
Goddamn him anyway.
The toy circled her clit, dipping inside her every few passes. Her hips rocked against the vibrator as she slid her folds over the slick surface. Hot memories and icy rage fought in her head as she kept her eyes on his bare back, hoping he could smell her arousal, that it was making him crazy in spite of himself.
Gemma closed her eyes, chasing her lonely, angry release. She felt the old images shifting in her mind. She thought of the new guy, Trager, Tig the pervert, and a shudder went through her.
Her belly tightened as she imagined the scarred face of Chibs over her, gripping her thighs as he pounded into her. So close…then it was Clay, face buried in her pussy, Clay bending her over his bike, his hands gripping her ass as he shoved himself into her.
She gritted her teeth and murmured, “yeah, baby, yeah…” into the silent room. A sharp, hard orgasm shot through her, hot and jagged, and she gasped into the silence as she rode it all the way, as far as she could. She was still quaking with the aftershocks when JT threw the covers back and sat up. For a second, she juggled her anger against her need, and knew that her emptiness inside would win. She’d take him, even now….
He got up and went to the bathroom, his hand already on his erection.
Not even now.
Hot tears wet her cheeks as she grabbed for a tissue. She wiped her eyes, then wiped her juices off the toy and dropped it by the bed. As she lay there, the last remnants of her orgasm washed away in disgust. He couldn’t even fuck her and think about whatever Irish whore he really wanted. When had he turned into such a pussy?
Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, Gemma got up and stripped off the sheer black lingerie. She was pulling on her Harley tee and panties when she saw his backpack, open, next to the dresser. She hadn’t heard him flush yet….Her smile was bright with malice as she wadded up the tissue she’d used, heavy with her scent, and pushed it deep inside his pack, shoving it into his rolled-up underwear.
She hoped the other woman choked on it, whoever she was. Hoped JT would feel her presence when he was banging his whore.
Territory marked, she got into bed, turning her back to the bathroom door.
He didn't wake her up to say goodbye when he left the next morning.
.....................................
Gemma shook a cigarette from the pack on the kitchen table, lit it, and took a deep drag. As she blew a stream of smoke into the air, she watched the lights on the Christmas tree wink on and off in the living room. Something told her there’d be an excuse in the next phone call, some reason he had to stay in Ireland. SAMBEL would need him to help out with the Troubles clashing into club business. The Real IRA would want him to personally handle some supply issue. There’d be some reason he couldn’t come back as planned.
She wondered if there was another Christmas tree that he was decorating, some red-headed freckled Irishwoman handing him tinsel and plastic angels. Her lip started trembling as her breathing became rapid and shallow. There’d be Irish Christmas carols playing in some little two-story walk-up flat…
Heavy metal blasted down from Jax’s room, startling her out of her imagining. Gemma glanced at the clock. Somebody from SAMCRO would be here soon, taking their turn at protection. As she got up to wash the dried tears off her face, she realized she was hoping it would be Clay.
...................................
“Hey, Piney, come on in. You’re not it for the night, are you?”
This was odd. She figured Piney would be at his own house, keeping Mary and Opie safe and offering to have Jax over later if she wanted. She’d planned to fix some pork chops for dinner, maybe watch her son play video games while she gave herself a break from thinking about JT.
Piney’s smile was oddly sweet for one of the Original Nine. A burly guy, he took his share of the heat the club’s activities produced, even when his jail time and injuries got Mary wound up and swearing she was going to leave for good this time. Jax’s bicycle had practically worn a path between their houses, especially after Thomas died. He still had a brother of sorts in Opie.
“No, doll, it’s going to be Tig tonight. John said it would be okay.”
Gemma frowned. “He’s only been around for, what, a couple of months? I don’t feel like I really know him that well. You sure about this?”
Piney glanced back at his truck and the man sitting in the passenger seat. “I was gonna take Mary and the boys up to the cabin, let ‘em do some target shooting in the morning. You can stay with us and come along if you like. Everybody else has…other commitments tonight.”
Gemma suppressed a shudder. Cooped up in an isolated cabin with an unhappy couple and two teenage boys sounded worse than being watched over by the outlaw incongruously called “Tigger.”
She shrugged. “Tig’s fine, I guess. Tell him to come on in.”
Piney waved at his truck parked by the curb. The man who got out looked pretty average at first, maybe a little on the tall side, good build…not as bulky as Piney or Clay, but strong and almost graceful. He’s got a nice smile, and all his teeth, at least. His arms weren’t covered in ink yet, and his mustache and goatee were neatly trimmed.
Above the nice smile, though, were light blue eyes lit from within by something crazy and dangerous. She’d caught him looking at her at the garage when he thought she was focused on accounts and filing. He had some hot, hungry eyes, although so far, he’d been quick to turn away when she glanced up.
As he walked to the house, Piney moved closer to her. “You call me if you don’t feel comfortable, hon. You know he’s been vetted, though…he’s kind of a strange bird, but he’s a solid member.”
Gemma’s lip quirked as she thought about that particular turn of phrase. “Yeah, I’m sure.” She put on her best “President’s old lady” smile.
“Hi, Tig. Thanks for coming.”
“No problem, Gemma.” Face to face, she realized he was younger than she thought…closer to her age than JT’s. Crazy eyes or not, she was confident there was nothing there she couldn’t handle, one way or another. Her thoughts were interrupted as Jax came pounding down the stairs with a backpack.
“Hey, Piney, what’re you doing here? I was gonna ride over to your place after dinner.”
“No, sport, you’re gonna throw your bike in the truck and ride with us back to the house.”
Gemma cocked an eyebrow at her long-haired son as he started to buck up at Piney’s edict.
“Mayans tried to sideswipe Lowell Jr. while he was riding his bike downtown. He wasn’t hurt, but we’re taking it as a sign that they’re seeing members’ kids as fair game for intimidation.”
Gemma waited for Jax to continue the argument. At thirteen, he had become all mouth when he didn’t get his way. To her surprise, he nodded, serious as a heart attack.
“Makes sense. Low profile…yeah, that’s good.” He gave Gemma a quick side-hug as he moved past her and went to get his bicycle. He looked like a younger, blonder version of his father, but without the world-weary thousand-yard stare JT had worn when she first met him.
Piney chuckled. “Boy’s getting more like John all the time. Good head on his shoulders.”
God, Piney could be so blind to JT’s weak side sometimes.
“Tig’s gonna ride back to my place with us, then come back on his bike. That okay?”
“Jesus, Piney, I think I’ve got enough firepower to hold off the Mayan hordes if they show up in the next twenty minutes.” She turned to Tig, who had been looking her up and down while she talked to Piney.
“Hey! Eyes up here, pal.” She snapped her fingers, distracting him from her cleavage. “You like pork chops?”
“Oh, yeah…I really do.” His grin bordered on lascivious. “I’m all about some pork, ma’am.”
This looked like it was going to be a long night.
Gemma gave Piney a goodbye hug, nodded at Tig, and went back inside to prepare dinner...and to think about what she’d say if she had to have a “Come to Jesus” meeting with Tig Trager.
....................................................
An hour later, Tig swiped up the last smear of pork gravy with his roll, eyes closed in gustatory bliss. Gemma lit her after-dinner cigarette and thought about how to handle the attractive but somewhat disturbing biker.
“So, Tig…you serve with JT and them in ‘Nam?” She blew a stream of smoke towards him.
He wiped his mouth before answering. “Nah, I met Clay a few years ago. We were…guests of Pierce County after some bullshit went down at a Tacoma rally.”
“Oh, yeah…JT sat that one out, as I recall.”
Thomas had gone back in the hospital that weekend, she remembered, and Clay had blamed JT for not having his back that weekend. He’d come back singing the praises of a Tacoma member who’d hung with him while they were in county lockup. They’d done some business together since, although Gemma had no idea of the specifics. Nobody was really surprised when Clay sponsored Tig’s transfer to the Sons a couple of months ago.
The pass she’d been expecting all evening finally happened when she came out of the kitchen, dishes washed and put away, and found him in the hallway. He was standing between her and the living room. He seemed bigger that he had while he was eating at her table.
“What, Tig?” She gave him an irritated look and put her hand on her hip, surreptitiously feeling for the handgun she’d slipped into the back of her jeans.
His eyes held an expression that would have been sort of sweet, if it hadn’t been for the crazy there.
“Gemma, I know your old man’s been away for a while, and I just want you to know that if, you know…you need some relief, I would be totally discreet.” At her silence, he gave her a hopeful look. “And I’d be happy to do stuff that’s not really cheating. I got a pretty broad skill set.”
She gave him her best “come-on” grin, hiding the smirk behind it. “Really…is that so?” She stepped closer and put one hand at his waist, gratified to see a light sweat break out on his brow.
“Oh, God, yes…Gemma, the things I could do to you with my tongue….”
“You like to go down, do you?” she purred.
His belt was unbuckled and his pants were half-unzipped when she slipped her hand down the front of his jeans. He’d undone only one button of her shirt when she reached past his dick (taking note that it was pretty impressive, if you liked girth) and zeroed in on his balls.
It took a few seconds for the pain to register in his face. She had done the initial grab and squeeze and had started twisting when he yelped and gave her a wounded look.
“Gemma, what—Jesus God, what the fuck?”
She snatched the handgun out from her jeans with her free hand and pressed it against his belly.
“Down on your knees, Tiggy. Thatta boy….” She moved with him until they were both kneeling on the floor, her nails digging into his sensitive skin.
She shushed his increasingly frantic babbling, then calmly explained the difference, at least in this MC, between crow-eaters and old ladies. Particularly the old lady in front of him. He finally seemed to get the point, although it was kind of disturbing that the more she threatened him, the harder he got.
By the time she finished explaining the facts of life as she saw them, she knew two things: he’d never make unwanted advances towards her again, and he was at least half in love with her.
When she finally turned him loose and got up, she felt completely comfortable turning her back on him as she went to wash her hands. They had recognized something in each other, as she had held him at her mercy and he’d allowed it. She wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but it felt like it was built to last.
..............................................
Another day closer to Christmas....
Gemma looked around her tidy suburban home and wished she could capture that satisfaction she used to have as Christmas Day drew closer. Once upon a time, she had been happy with a tacky aluminum tree with colored lights and second-hand ornaments from Goodwill. As long as the guys were content with pots of chili, platters of spaghetti, Old Milwaukee and off-brand whiskey, she’d felt like she had really arrived as JT’s old lady. It had been a good feeling.
Those cheap, second-hand Christmases had been a million times better than the sterile, themed Christmases her mother had arranged, when she took a break from berating her husband and daughter about Not Living Up To Standards. She and the guys, and Jax…they’d been happy then. No club wars, no politics…just freedom and living however they wanted.
She straightened the holly and berries arrangement in the middle of the dining room table and wondered what her eighteen year old self would have said if she’d gotten this glimpse into her future. Probably would have sneered at her for turning into Martha fucking Stewart, she mused as she added two gold balls and a green and red plaid bow to the centerpiece.
“Yo, Mom, time to call Dad yet?” Jax bounced into the dining room from the yard, sweat matting down his long blond hair as he passed his basketball from one hand to the other.
“No, baby, he’s calling us this time.” She checked her watch. “It’s eleven-fifteen at night over there, so it should be any minute now.”
JT had made excuses about not wanting to run up their phone bill, but she knew he didn’t want to give out his number, at least not to her. When the phone finally rang just before four o’clock, she let Jax pick it up. That was the only reason he was calling, she was sure. Jax gave his father an awkward update on school and friends, and Gemma could hear the distance that was growing between their son and JT as he talked.
“Okay, Dad. Love you, too, man. Bring me back something bitchin’, okay? Here’s Mom.” Jax handed her the phone. She gestured for Jax to light her a cigarette as she gave her husband an impersonal, “Hey, baby.”
Gemma carried the phone back to her bedroom—she hardly thought of it as “their” bedroom these days—and sat back on the bed as she toed her boots off. She listened as JT ran down his list of apologies and lies about what he’d been doing in Ireland. The lies were expected; you never knew when ATF was tapping in, but there was a time when he would share enough information so she could get a sense of his life away from home.
Not one word about Thomas. That hurt the most. Not a single question about how it felt to hang up only one stocking again this year.
She was exchanging stiff “love you, babe’s” with him when she heard a faint humming on his end of the line. Her brow wrinkled as she tried to place the sound. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on in the background when she heard the sound again, clearer this time.
It was a woman’s voice, singing, crooning something that sounded like a Christmas carol.
Just like she’d imagined.
She had been trying to envision him sitting in a back room in the SAMBEL clubhouse, but the picture had indelibly changed. In her mind’s eye now, he was in a shabby, warm apartment, a younger version of her singing to herself as she decorated a tacky, cheap tree.
Gemma barely got through the goodbyes and promises that he’d be home soon before it was time to hang up. As she gripped the handset, ears straining to catch the sound of the woman’s voice again, she realized the call hadn’t disconnected on his end. She could almost see the old-fashioned phone in the shabby apartment, the receiver almost, but not quite, on the hook.
She quietly settled in to listen to her husband’s other life, hand over the mouthpiece as she lay on their bed. Tears began silently streaming down the sides of her face and into her hair as she listened to JT make love to his Irish whore, telling her he loved her. She heard the soft cries and gasps she hadn’t made with him in two years.
When he came, he sounded like he used to, with her.
She quietly hung up, wiping her tears away as she stared blankly at the window and watched the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun . She should get up and wash her face, fix her cried-off eye makeup before Jax or whoever was protecting them this evening saw her.
She lit another cigarette instead and closed her eyes, the groans of her husband’s orgasm still hanging in the room.
.............................................
It had taken her another half-hour to feel like facing life and Christmas again. The first thing she’d done was strip off the old shirt of JT’s she had been wearing. She’d ended up showering again for the second time that day, trying to wash away the images that had played in her head.
It hadn’t helped.
Gemma pulled out the closest thing to a Christmas top she owned—a black velvet shirt spangled with white and red sequins around the low-cut neckline. She started to pull a plain white bra out of her underwear drawer when she imagined the soft singing again. She pressed her lips in a thin line and shoved it back, reaching for a black lace push-up bra with rhinestones on the hook set between the cups.
She bet they didn’t have any Victoria’s Secrets in Belfast.
Feeling a little better about herself, at least for now, she went downstairs to check on dinner. Somebody would be over soon, and cooking for others usually helped steady her nerves.
Earlier, she had cut up carrots, onions and potatoes and put them in with a chuck roast, sprinkling dry onion soup mix over the top. She’d added a slug of Jack Daniel’s for good measure before she slid the heavy roasting pan into the oven. The kitchen smelled wonderful now...at least somebody would be happy tonight. Whoever was sent over was usually hungry and ready for home cooking while they played watchdog.
She pulled the living room curtain back and checked on her son. Jax was still outside, shooting hoops on their backyard basketball court. The eight-foot-high privacy fence gave her some sense of security, at least as far as threats from the rear. She moved her purse closer to the couch, poured a generous shot of Jack over ice for herself, and tried to focus on the evening news.
The roar of a familiar bike had her up and opening the front door before the bell rang. She’d heard that particular sound for as long as she’d heard JT’s engine growl. She was surprised to feel herself smiling.
“Hi, Clay. Glad it’s you tonight.”
Gemma waved him in, feeling her shoulders relax under the velvet. Being around Clay made her remember the good parts of the old days. JT had been the soul of the group, the visionary who would go on to form SAMCRO. Clay was the strong back and capable hands that would see to it that shit got done. And Gemma had been the fulcrum, keeping the two best friends balanced as they built their anarchic outlaw life with the other Redwood Originals.
There were days, even back then, when she wondered how things would have gone if she’d slept with Clay first. JT had that hippie Jesus look, though, and Clay…what beauty he had was in his strength, in the jut of his determined jaw. She hadn’t seen it then, of course. He’d looked crude and primitive, rough-edged next to JT.
“Hey, babe.” He kissed her cheek as he gave her a bear hug. “Good news. You might not need a baby-sitter much longer.”
Her stomach twisted unexpectedly. She’d be glad to get back to normal—whatever passed for normal around the Teller home, anyway—but looking at the brawny biker in front of her, she thought she could stand a few more nights of company.
It made it harder to fixate on JT.
“What’s up? Something new happen?” She leaned against the counter, watching him sit down at the kitchen table like he belonged there. She guessed he did, in a way.
“There’s a sit-down tomorrow, the Mayans and Sons are gonna see if we can get this beef contained again. Get our families safe on both sides.”
Gemma frowned. True, JT was being a dick to her, but he was still president of the MC.
“You doing this on your own, not waiting for JT to come back?”
His clear blue eyes slid away from her. She braced herself for the lie she knew was coming.
“JT’s approved it by phone. He’ll be back any day now, soon as he gets a flight out. It’s all good, babe.”
She grabbed her pack of cigarettes and fished out the joint with her fingernails. She lit it, avoiding looking right at him. No need to make this any harder on him…JT’s bullshit wasn’t Clay’s fault.
“So, you called him, let him know what was going on?” She took a deep drag, held it, then passed it over to him.
“Yeah…sure. I wouldn’t make a move like this without his okay. Talked to him this afternoon.” He toked a couple of times before offering it to her again.
She turned her back to him as she opened the oven door to check on the food. “He still staying at the clubhouse there in Belfast?”
“Yeah. I talked to McGee after I talked to JT.”
She slammed the oven door shut and took the joint from his hand.
“Fuck you, Clay. Fuck you and him both.” She stalked out of the kitchen and headed up to her room before he could say a word.
Everything was quiet for the next half hour. Gemma smoked and looked through the photograph album she kept in their bedroom bookcase. She pinched the pages together at the front, the ones that showed her laughing and pregnant and ignorant of what was to come.
She wanted to see her sons…the last time she’d truly been happy. Jax holding Thomas, her holding Thomas after one of his hospital stays…the one they thought would fix his heart for good.
For the first time, she noticed how many of the photographs had Clay in them, but not JT. He’d been behind the camera for all but a handful of shots.
She stopped at the last page that held pictures of Thomas. The rest of the book was too stark a reminder of their family shrinking from four to three. She felt her lip quiver as she wondered if it had now shrunk down to two.
Two was dangerously close to being alone. Jax would only be at home for another handful of years. And then there would be one, an aging, graying scarred woman who’d once been married to John Teller.
She caught a look at herself in the dresser mirror. She was already on the wrong side of thirty-five. In the dwindling light, she could see that woman, five, ten years down the road, solitary and scared of more emptiness to come.
She let the tears slip soundlessly down her cheeks and fall onto the album. The tracks had started to dry, tightening the skin beneath them, when she heard the knock on her door…a heavy fist trying to pound quietly. She smiled at the door as she grabbed a tissue to wipe her face. God, he’s such a Neanderthal sometimes.
Gemma tried to put some attitude in her stance as she opened the door but suspected she just looked tired.
“Yeah?” She stood there with arms crossed.
She regretted her bitchy tone immediately. Clay was hunched in the way he stood when he wanted to look less…large, not as threatening. His ice-blue eyes gave her a hopeful look from under his heavy ridged brows.
“I took the roast out for you. Hope that was okay.” He smiled tentatively. He was keeping to his side of the doorframe, she noticed, boots planted firmly in the hall.
“Fine with me.” She winced inside as his smile faded. Something inside her thawed a few degrees.
“Thanks for taking it out. I….” She sighed. “I’m not having a good day, hon.” She looked down and blinked hard against a sudden threat of more tears until the feeling passed.
“Anyway, you get something to eat?”
“Yeah. I made a plate for Jax, too, told him you had a migraine. Piney came and took him over to his place. I told him to take his homework with him.”
“Jesus, he’s gonna forget where he lives, the way he keeps going over there.”
Clay laughed, a deep rumble that was somehow reassuring. “Nah, Gem, that’s what guys do. I was always at a buddy’s house when I was his age.”
Guys…she’d about had it with guys and “what they do.” She could feel her temper rising again.
“So, do you feel like telling me the truth about your buddy JT? Or should I crawl back in my room again and catch another buzz?” This time, when the tears welled, she let them stay in her eyes. Let him see what his best friend was doing to her.
“Gem, what’s this about?” She hated the cautious look that had come into his eyes. It said he knew there was some bad shit about to come down.
“Is the house locked up?”
“Yeah, of course.”
She grabbed his sleeve. “Get in here. I want to talk to you, one old friend to another.”
He shrugged and let her pull him into her room. She sat against the throw pillows arranged at the head of the bed and patted the space beside her. The bed dipped as he lowered his bulk onto her bed.
Her bed.
She realized she’d stopped thinking of JT as having a place here as well.
“So, what’s going on?” He tried to look sincere, but he wasn’t doing a very good job. Guilt was all over his face.
“Why’re you lying to me about talking to JT?”
One thick eyebrow shot up. “How’d you…why—“
“Shut up, Clay. You didn’t call him at SAMBEL today. You probably didn’t talk to him about this meet at all.” She wrapped her arms around her propped-up knees, staring him down until he turned his eyes away.
“How’d you know?” he said quietly. The small bedside lamp illuminated his strong jaw and tight mouth, but his eyes were shadowed under his heavy brows.
Her chest clutched at his confirmation and for one terrifying second, she thought it was her heart finally going. She winced and laid her head on her knees, staying like that until the pain ebbed.
When she spoke, it was in a harsh whisper.
“The same time you said he was on the phone with you, I was listening to him fuck his Irish whore.”
Something cracked inside her soul, and Gemma sobbed from her gut, pressing her face into her arms. She felt so ugly when she cried, ugly and weak and broken. If it had been someone else sitting on the side of her bed, Luann, or even one of the new guys, she could have handled it, toughed it out.
Clay, though…he’d seen her and JT from the day they fell in love. He was a witness to their lives, their marriage, their family…and now it looked like he would be a witness to it all falling apart. The terrible sadness of it all was sharp and jagged, ripping like a rusty scalpel through her heart.
“Gemma…oh, shit…c’mere, baby.” She felt the bed dip again as he moved closer. An awkward hand touched her shaking shoulder, patting her a few times before easing into slow strokes up and down her back. “It’s gonna be okay.”
She shook her head, still not looking at him. “It’s not going to be okay, Clay. It’s never going to be okay.” Her breath hitched in her chest.
She felt his huge hands pull her out of her curled posture, and then into his broad chest. He feels solid as a giant redwood. His denim-clad arms circled her, protective and warm. She felt his moustache brush her ear, his breath soft against her skin.
“I’ll make it okay, baby. Shh, Gemma…I’ll make everything okay.”
....................................................
She still hadn’t eaten. She supposed a dried-out plate was downstairs on the table, waiting for her, the grease congealing. She didn’t want it.
She didn’t know what she wanted.
Somewhere in the crying and not being able to catch her breath and Clay not having any more words to offer her, she had pushed out of his arms and curled up on the bed. Apparently not knowing what else to do, he had padded around to the other side, tugging off his heavy boots and stretching out behind her. His bulk made the mattress sink, and she found herself rolling back towards him just enough so that they lay together, awkward spoons not sure of their places.
“Clay?” she turned her head and whispered over her shoulder.
“What is it, doll?”
“You ever been betrayed like this yourself?”
Now that the words were out, she admitted to herself that she was curious. Clay Morrow got his share of action from the crow-eaters and sweet-butts hanging around, but he’d never come close to taking an old lady. She’d always wondered about that.
The heavy arm he’d rested on her shoulder stiffened.
“Once, yeah. It was a long time ago.”
She turned until she could see his face, the hallway light throwing just enough illumination so his eyes shone like a night animal’s. His arm fell across her breasts, and she could feel the muscles tighten before he moved it down to her waist.
“Who was it?”
She thought he wasn’t going to answer. He looked down at her, mouth grim and pulled down at the corners. Finally he nudged her back on her side with his bulk, leaving his hand flat on her belly. His voice was flat and arid as he spoke.
“There was this local girl I met on leave, back in the war. She was sweet, loving...I brought her back to Da Nang, put in her in a hooch I built outa busted crates and scrap metal.”
He paused, his hand absently rubbing in small circles against her.
“I’d get in from the shit at the DMZ, and she’d be waiting. She had a great smile...it was like a break from hell,” he continued.
She’d heard some war stories from JT and Clay when they were shit-faced or had been sparking up all night, but this was new.
“So, did you think about trying to get her out? Bring her to the US?” she asked hesitantly.
“No.” She could feel his chest jerk as he drew in a long shuddering breath, and she began to wish she hadn't asked.
“I found out after a raid that she was VC...she’d been the enemy all along. She played me good.”
His hand was clenching into her skin under her shirt now, old pain twisting his fingers.
“What’d you do?”
“She betrayed me, Gem. I was a soldier. I did what I had to do.”
Gemma let out the breath she’d been holding. “I get it, babe. Some betrayals are so deep, there’s just no other answer.”
“I’ve never told anybody about that. Not even JT.”
She mulled over that bit of information in the darkness. It felt good, knowing something intimate about Clay that JT didn’t know. Maybe there was enough of a schism to drive a wedge in between them. Her confused, bitter thoughts began to clarify themselves.
“Your secret’s safe with me, Clay.”
His hug felt like gratitude from an absolved sinner. He’d needed this for a long time. Maybe for as long as she’d known him.
“Man, JT...he’s a fool for screwing around on you, Gem. He’s lost sight of how good he’s got it with you.”
She pushed back with her hips, just enough to seem like an accidental shift. “I don’t think he cares anymore. He never...he doesn’t want to be home, doesn’t want to touch me when he is.” She gave another subtle twitch against him. “There hasn’t been anything down there that wasn’t plastic in months.”
His breath was on the back of her neck now, warm and moist, and a tremor went through his arm against her skin.
“We should probably talk about something else. This may not be such a good idea.”
Gemma’s lips curled up in a smile he couldn’t see. “Clay Morrow, is that a hard-on I feel?”
His chuckle surprised her. She wasn’t expecting him to come out of his dark mood so fast. Something else about him to file away.
“I can’t help it, Gem. You’ve got a great ass...and I’m only human.”
She turned under his arm until she was on her back, looking up at him again. He was smiling that sweet, shy smile he had, the one that just showed his front teeth and made him look like a little boy caught with a handful of cookies. The honesty, the simplicity of him just killed her sometimes. And tonight, it was making her see him in a new light.
He looked like an answer to so much that was wrong.
She raised her hand to his face, touching the short strands of hair that were starting to turn white at the sides, then running her fingers down his stubbly cheeks to his lips.
“Human sounds great right now, Clay. I’m so sick of tortured plaster saints that don’t know what they want.”
He looked like he was still teetering on the edge of fidelity to his best friend when she grabbed the coarse hair at the back of his head and pulled him down. His lips were soft under his bristly moustache, so different from JT’s soft, silky hair and beard.
As soon as her questing tongue touched his lips, the last of his reserve over being with his best friend’s wife seemed to shatter and blow away in a fresh wind. He pulled back enough for her to make out his expression: he was a man looking all the way down into the chasm and feeling his feet slipping off the edge.
Gemma flicked open the buttons on her shirt with a shaking hand shoved between their bodies, her other hand remaining firmly coiled in his hair.
“He’s betrayed me, Clay. He’s gonna end up betraying the club.” She unhooked her front of her bra, feeling her breasts spill out of the lace.
He groaned and brought his head down to kiss her throat, tracing the scar between her breasts with his lips, gentle and warm. She reached under his shirt and felt his heart pound as he kissed, then sucked, her nipple into his mouth, caressing the other with a firm calloused hand.
She moved her legs under his, shimmying between him and the bed until his bulk was squarely over her, his hard-on pressing against her jeans-covered center and teasing her clit through the fabric.
His lips were reddened and wet when he took his mouth away from her flesh. The desire, the sheer want she saw in his eyes was a balm to her battered heart.
She knew if she wanted him to stop, all she’d have to do is to say so. They could undo this, even now. She could say she’d come to her senses, and he’d get up, go jerk off in the bathroom, and it would be like it never happened. And he’d never think less of her.
That was the final straw, the safety she felt blanketing her when he looked into her eyes. He loved her, and it was that simple.
“He’s betrayed both of us.” She reached down and unbuttoned the first button on the fly of his jeans. He buried his face in her neck as he lifted his hips to give her fingers the room they needed to work.
She reached into his open fly and wrapped her hand around his erection, heavy and hot against her skin. The power she felt there brought a rush of wetness to her core.
“You sure you want this, Gemma?” He raised up, his knees between her legs as she held his length. The hesitancy she’d seen in his face had burned away, and there was no resemblance to a little boy left in his smile. His grin was dangerous, reckless, and his eyes glittered with barely contained passion when she nodded.
For a second, when he reached for the snap of her jeans, she felt a stab of fear, withdrawing her hand to brace it against his chest. He was huge, the bulk of his cock matched in the bulk of his thick muscled body. The fear melted into a delicious wondering if she could take it...if she could take him. Another rush of heat soaked her panties as he moved to pull her jeans down her legs.
I’m gonna do what I have to do.
She had to do this.
She lost herself against his mouth again, kissing deep and hungry, reveling in being touched by a man who truly wanted her. Thick fingers entered her, and his groan against her lips made her wonder how long it had been since he’d touched someone he really cared about.
He murmured ragged words about her tight pussy, how wet she was. She gave over to the sensations he was creating in her body with his surprisingly sure fingers. He waited until she had climbed and broken in a spine-melting climax that hit quicker than she expected. Through her slitted eyelids, she saw the look of pride in his face as he readied himself.
He was as rough as he’d silently promised, shoving his arms under her knees to bring her legs up, high and apart. Teeth gritted, he shoved into her, pain flickering around the edges of pleasure as she opened to him, wet and lush.
Your best friend is nailing your wife, JT. I hope you feel it, you son of a bitch. I hope you smell him on me when you get back. I hope you can feel what we’ve done in this bed.
She flew apart a second time, the vision of triumphant blue eyes and pain-ridden brown ones shining in her mind.
She had already started planning her next steps when Clay jerked and shuddered, then spilled into her, gasping her name against her ear.
“You’re right, baby,” she murmured, rubbing his broad shoulders as he collapsed against her with a sated grunt.
“It’s gonna be okay, Clay. Just like you said.”
.............................................................
The pain came through first, burning and sharp over throbbing aches. She was on something cold and hard, but at least she was lying down. Gemma wanted to weep with gratitude at that small relief. Light seeped in through the crack at the bottom of the door she’d been carried through so many hours ago. The silence was absolute. Her attackers had left. They’d done what they brought her here for…they’d laid down a warning to the MC.
Her face was sticky with blood. She knew everything between her legs would be the same; bloody and torn. She closed her eyes against the whirling of the room around her and clutched the filthy blanket someone had tossed over her unconscious body. Their demands rang in her ears even now.
She’d have to suck it up, do what needed to be done. She always had. In her mind,she could see his ice-blue eyes, full of love for her. She couldn’t taint that with guilt for this happening on his watch. Couldn’t let the club be dragged into a war they couldn’t win.
She’d become a good liar. She could keep a lie solid for years if she had to.
She heard a faint “Gemma?” through the steel door. Wayne Unser was there. She wasn’t surprised it was him who’d found her. He’d help her, and keep her secrets. He always had. She was getting out of this nightmare…she’d get patched up on the quiet, and she’d be strong enough to handle it.
It’s gonna be okay, baby.
She didn’t know if the words were for Clay or for herself.