Just A Girl Obsessed

It’s just another example of you going above and beyond for the club. Your intervention prevented a war, one that would have ended with bloodshed on both sides. He knows what it cost you to make that deal. He knows the victory is bittersweet. It’s another reason that he loves you, like him you make the hard decisions, the ones that benefit everybody.

The two of you are a power couple, Bobby had remarked last night, but it’s always on your terms.

Chibs hadn’t realised that until the other man mentioned it. He’s right, of course, he always is. You’ve been there for the club and for him, so now it’s his turn to be there for you.

He turns a few heads as he walks through the foyer. He cleans up well, he knows he wears the fuck out of this tuxedo, his beard is neatly trimmed, and his hair slicked back. That’s not the reason they’re looking at him though. He knows he has a reputation. Never in a million years, does he belong here with these people, but you do and that’s why he’s here tonight.

He didn’t get to see you before he left, he’d been tied up in Stockton but when he lays eyes on you right now, he can’t help but remember why he first fell in love with you.

You’re a fucking vision.

You’re wearing a nude-coloured dress that hugs your curves, the sleeves beaded with silver crystals that fall across your bicep, your hair is coiffed like a movie star from the fifties. You’re holding court like a queen, a glass of champagne in your hand as you discuss one of your cases. You’re in your element, your expression animated as you engage the three older men. He can tell the one on the left is attracted to you, it’s in the way he lingers in your proximity. When the other two drift back to the bar, he leans in close as he says something to you, and you give him a look that could freeze the devil in the very depths of hell.

It’s then that Chibs feels the urge to intervene, he knows how much you hate people in your personal space, it’s worse now since Galen and the fact the other man is crossing that boundary… It ignites something violent inside of him. He has no doubt that you can handle yourself but that protective instinct, it surges through every single one of his nerve endings. He strides towards you with purpose, his palm coming to rest on your lower back as his lips brush lightly over your temple.

“I’m sorry I’m late love.” He says in his thick Scottish lilt before he meets the other man’s gaze with ire.

His demeanour changes instantly. His eyes stray to the scars embedded in Chib’s skin before he swallows hard. He knows who he is, everyone here does. He may not be wearing his kutte or have his tattoos on display, but they know. You don’t keep your relationship a secret.

“My partner, Filip Telford.” You introduce him.

Chibs narrows his eyes just a little and the other man retreats, tugging at his bowtie as he disappears towards the bar.

“And thank you for scaring off that asshole.” You say, tilting your head up towards him.

That fucking smile. It gets him every time.

It’s like seeing the sun blossom over the horizon for the very first time. His thumb chases over the blush of your cheek, his lips brushing over yours. The kiss is heated and soft, filled with a tenderness that he reserves only for you.

“I know I haven’t been much of a partner recently; I’m trying to work on that.” He says gruffly as his forehead comes to rest upon yours.  

“I know how it is.” You tell him, your fingertips trailing along the back of his neck as he holds you close. “You’ve been managing a very volatile situation.”

The two of you are at the edge of the dance floor. The music shifts into Sam Cook’s ‘You Send Me’ and you find yourself swaying in time with it. It feels like you’re the only two people in the world right now, this moment, the sensation of being with Filip, it’s perfect.

“You’re the most important thing in the world to me love.” He tells you, his voice rough with emotion. “Don’t you ever doubt that.”

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He loves early mornings, hearing you bang around his kitchen trying to find shit. He loves the way you always greet him with a smile, that you are always happy to see him even when you’re distracted.

He loves the way you draw roses, and daisies and sunflowers when you're thinking, doodling different variations of the flowers over and over again until find a solution to the problem you’ve been tackling in your head. He collects each of the napkins you draw on and puts them away in a shoebox at the top of the wardrobe where he keeps his precious things. When you’re not around and he’s feels the darkness starting to creep in, he gets them out and he looks at them, tracing his fingers over each of the designs because they're beautiful and sometimes he needs a reminder that there’s light in the world.

He loves the fact you sing in the shower despite the fact you’re terrible. You’re bold and loud and have no fucking shame and he adores it. You laugh when he joins in, his arms wrapping around your naked form as the heated water rains down on the two of you. After a few minutes the singing usually stops because you’re both too pre-occupied with other things.

He loves the way you hold him at night, his head tucked under you chin so he can hear your heartbeat in your chest. It’s a comforting sound in the depths of the darkness, the press of your bare skin against his as you kiss the top of his head. Sometimes you tell him that you’re terrified this is all a dream, that one morning you’ll wake up to find yourself alone. He kisses away those doubts, his thumb ghosting over the line of your jaw as he reassures you that he’s real, that what the two of you have is everything to him and he’s never going to vanish from your side.

He loves the fact you don’t judge him for his mistakes, the past or the present. He doesn’t want to scare you off, to burst this perfect bubble that the two of you have created. It’s impossible you tell him, to get everything right the first time. You’re both human, you’re both learning to love again, so long as you're open with each other and honest you’ll work through it. He finds being with you surprisingly easy. He was on his own for a long time, his only intimacies transactional, to find someone that actually cares for him and not what they can get from him is a blessing.

You fit into his life as if you were always meant to be there. He enjoys cooking for you while you draw up designs for your customers on the kitchen table. He loves the expression on your face as you focus on the flow of the design, the flourish of it. Your brows furrow when you concentrate, you pout just a little when things get tricky and it is the cutest fucking thing.

He calls you Nena.

It means babe, the only term of endearment he knows with his mix of Spanglish.

He loves the way you eat ice cream on the couch, spoon pressed against your lips as the two of you curl up under a blanket and watch ‘Escape to the Chateau’. He does not understand how it became his favourite show, only that he loves how fucking judgemental you get when someone starts to try preserving antique glass by bashing the frame around it with a hammer.

He loves the way you give without an expectation of return. To him, your business, to the kids at the community centre. Sometimes he worries you’ll have nothing left for yourself. He tries to speak to you about it, about overstretching yourself but there’s no stopping you. You’re a force of nature, a relentless storm trying to do everything you can to ease the burden of those around you.

When it all gets too much he’s there, a port in the middle of a restless ocean because you are only one woman, and you can only do so much. The thing about Neron is he grounds you; he keeps you on your feet when the realities of the world are too harsh to deal with, he never says ‘I told you so’. He’s always there, holding you up, supporting you and despite how fiercely independent you are, you need it. You need him. You’re cut from the same cloth you and him, two halves of the same soul.

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He looks down at the body on your floor and you see the way his jaw tightens, the muscles in his shoulders tensing. It’s his job to keep you safe but you’ve managed to do that all by yourself. He’s old fashioned sometimes with his thinking, he has no illusions about being a white knight, but he hates the fact you’ve been forced to take action.

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer scumbag.” He spits on the corpse before turning to face you. His eyes come to rest on the gun that sits in the space between the two of you, the one he had given you just in case. He had never dreamed that you would need to use it.

You offer him a cigarette from the cardboard carton on your desk and he removes one before using the gold Zippo to light it. He takes a drag before leaning against the wall, his gaze straying to the blood pool underneath Galen.

“You’re going to need a new carpet love.” He tells you. “There isn’t enough bleach in the world to get that up.”

Realistically it would be simpler to burn down the entire office, eradicate the evidence but that would bring the police calling and he thinks they probably hate you as much as they despise the club. It was the downside to being good at your job.

“The place needs refurbishing anyway.” You remark, tapping the ash from your cigarette into a silver ashtray. “I don’t think it will take Allie much convincing, she’s been wanting to change things up for a while.”

“I can get Juice and some of the guys on it, get rid of the body and the carpet but…” He trails off and you know that the ‘but’ is. It means that news of Galen’s death, the manner of it, spreads around the M.C like wildfire. Nobody would believe that Chibs had done this, it’s too personal.

“They need to see that I take care of my shit.” You state, blowing a stream of smoke out of your mouth and watching it evaporate into the air. “That I’m still taking care of their shit.”

Secrets is what it all came down to.

The Club’s secrets.

Galen had wanted to pluck each and every one of them out of your head and twist them to leverage his position with the M.C. Not a single one had passed you’re lips during your time together. He respected that, he’d told you, your loyalty. You couldn’t buy that shit, it was born out of love.

You weren’t sure when that had happened.

There were moments though, ones that stuck in your mind.

The look in Tig’s eyes when he told you about his girl, how proud he was of her whilst the two of you hammered out his investment into Cara Cara. The enquiry he’d made about making sure she received his share of the business in the event of his passing. He’d worried about that, you remember, making sure that she was taken care of, along with the two daughters he barely saw.

The taste of Bobby’s banana bread as he told you that his kid was better off not knowing him, that he had always been bad news, which was why he was on his third divorce. You knew a thing or two about making bad choices, you’d reminded him. He wouldn’t always be unlucky in love, especially not when he baked like that. His smile had warmed your heart.

Tara’s guardianship and adoption of the Able after you’d helped facilitate her marriage to Jax. You’d been invited to both the wedding and the subsequent adoption party. You remembered standing in the kitchen, talking to Juice about his weed shop when Jax had passed you baby Thomas for a minute because he’d had his hands full with Able. You think that was the moment it dawned on you how much trust they had in you, that they’d come to see you as one of them.

All of these things they weren’t just legal affairs; they were snippets of people’s lives. Important pieces that meant something deep to each and every one of them.

Strung up in that barn you had known that you could never let Galen have that. To him the M.C was a device to be wielded, a tool to build up his side business but to you they’d become a part of your life.

It would have been easy to relent. To divulge how the M.C were diversifying, making more money with legit businesses like porn and escorts than they ever had with gun running, which was why they were starting to pull out of the trade but the damage of revealing something like that…

It would have been catastrophic.

Noone would have blamed you, Tig had told you in the aftermath when he was helping Tara see to your wounds.

I would have, you’d responded.

You’re distracted as Chibs removes his phone from his pocket. You see him hesitate, his thumb hovering over the buttons before he looks at you helplessly.

“This will bind you to them.” He tells you, tilting his head towards Galen’s corpse. “After this there’s no going back, they’ll start looking to you. You’ll go from their lawyer to their matriarch.”

You understand what he’s saying, you’ve protected them once, allowing Galen to take his pound of flesh. This thing that you’ve done will reinforce the action, you’ve taken care of something that was very much a Club problem. Before his presidency, before killing Galen, you could have been viewed as collateral damage, an affiliate of the Club who been caught up in their mess but now…

You know how this looks. That they’ll see it as you defending them.

“Right now, you can walk away from me, from the club…” he trails off when he sees the look in your eyes. The glint of steel underneath all of that silk. “That was never going to happen was it?”

You shake your head.

“I didn’t want this for you.” He tells you honestly. “When I kissed you that night at my kitchen table, I had no idea we’d end up here.”

You know what he means. Him with the presidency, you standing along side of him, a part of the Club’s bloody history. Nobody could have foreseen this, the course of circumstances that has led you to this moment.

“Maybe it was always meant to happen.” You tell him stubbing out your cigarette before casting a glance at Galen’s corpse. “This feels like the beginning of a joke. What do you do with a dead Irish Man?”

He laughs, he can’t help it because it does. He feels that pressure in his chest relinquish as the edges of your mouth tip up into a smile. Anyone else would be horrified by what had happened here tonight but you’re anything but. He senses the relief in you, you’ve slayed another of your monsters, you can sleep easy knowing that Galen can never touch you again.

“I love you.” He finds himself saying.

He means it. He always has.  He’s just never been able to vocalise it until this moment. He’s never doubted your commitment to him, but accepting the Club, that’s always been at the heart of his reluctance. You don’t shy away from the life he leads; you embrace it. You understand that it’s part of him and now it’s a part of you too. It may not be what he envisioned but it’s the future the two of you are stepping into and he treasures it with every fibre of his being.

“I know.” You tell him, clasping his hand. “I’ve always known Filip.”

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When the door to your office opens you think it’s Filip, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s turned up to bring you home because you’ve gotten caught up in something.

You don’t expect to see Galen.

The Butcher of Belfast closes the door quietly behind him before coming to stand in front of your desk. There’s a moment where you don’t move, you can’t. You can feel your heart palpitate against your ribcage, the scars on your back scratching against the fabric of your silk shirt. He tips his head slightly to one side before the left corner of his mouth twists up into a smile.

It takes you right back to that moment, the one where his hand threaded in your hair, gripping it and yanking your head right back so that you were staring into those malevolent eyes of his. You thought you knew fear up until that point, you’d endured a man who’d beat you because of your success. You’d slayed your monster. Galen had proved you wrong, he’d taken you to new heights, you hadn’t tasted terror not until you’d met him.

“What do you want?” Somehow you spit out the words, you can taste the vitriol on your tongue.

There’s a rage somewhere deep down inside of you that fucking burns. It’s violent, the fire that licks up your bones, you can feel it flooding through you as your hand comes to rest upon the top desk drawer. He takes a step forward and you hold your palm up as if to ward him off.

“Don’t…”

“Come on lass, you know that word doesn’t mean anything to me.”  He reminds you as he places both hands upon the surface of your desk and leans in close. You can smell his aftershave and it makes your stomach twist because you remember the way it clung to your skin in the aftermath.

It’s almost intimate the way he holds your gaze. He’s seen parts of you that no one else has, not even Filip, and you’ve seen the depths in him. The joy he takes in extracting what he wants, the pleasure he feels during the act itself. There’s a bond between the two of you that no one in the world can understand except each other and you know that’s why he’s here tonight. You didn’t break in the barn. That presents a challenge and to a man like Galen, it’s like ringing Pavlov’s bell.

“The last time I had you I took exactly what I wanted.” He reminds you in a hushed tone. “I told you that I would keep doing it again and again and again and you would know every time that your man can’t protect you. That he’s nothing but a pawn on a chessboard and I’m a King.” His hand wraps around the glass of Scotch before he brings it to his lips. “Pawns can’t kill a king.”

“They can’t.” You agree, sliding open your desk drawer. “But a Queen can.”

The gun roars to life in your hand, the recoil vibrating through your arm as the first bullet strikes Galen in the chest. The glass slips from his hand, Scotch spilling over the front of his shirt as he stares at you in surprise. You fire a second time and his back hits the wall, his knees buckling from underneath him. You raise to your feet as he slides down it slowly, tsking as you shake your head.

“You underestimated me.” You tell him as you crouch down beside him and review your handiwork. Crimson stains grow across the white of his expensive shirt, his breathing is laboured and ragged, you can hear the catch in every breath, and you savour it. “You thought I would break but everything you did to me just put this fucking fire, right here in my chest.” You tap your finger against the space where your heart beats. “And the only thing that is going to sate that is watching the light die in your eyes, knowing that it was me that did this to you, the woman you spent hours torturing in a shitty broken-down barn in the middle of nowhere.”

“I should have killed you!” He snarls, blood staining his teeth as he bares them at you.

His pallor is already turning ashen, his skin taking on a waxy sheen. The stench of copper is in the air, you can taste it in your mouth as you survey the blood pool steadily growing underneath him.

“Your second mistake was leaving me alive to teach the man I love a lesson. I never told him what you did.” You say shaking your head. “I didn’t want that for him. He has enough to live with. I have to shoulder that burden, but I trust me it sits a lot fucking lighter knowing that you’ll never touch another woman again.”

You lower the gun, aiming it at his groin. His eyes widen and for a fraction of a second you think you see terror.

“You don’t have the balls…”

You pull the trigger, and he screams. It’s a hoarse sound, a strained bellow of agony that vibrates through his chest. You clap your palm over his mouth, stifling the noise, the same way he did to you when he fucked you.

“This is how it ends.” You tell him. “You and me in this room.  A Queen and a cockless fucking King.”

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