#chapter eleven

Logan never got caught.

It was part of his job – only being visible when he wanted to be.

People were oblivious—too caught up in their own worlds to notice the subtle things. The man who sat on the same park bench every other day, always scrolling through his phone. The extra customer in a café, sipping coffee while pretending to read today’s paper. The car parked just a little too conveniently on the corner, its driver somehow never actually going anywhere.

He leaned casually against a lamppost across the street from Brews & Books, dressed in a well-worn hoodie and jeans, a disposable coffee cup in one hand. The cup wasn’t empty, but he wasn’t really drinking it either—just using it as a prop like the camera slung around his neck to give him the appearance of any other student, perhaps one studying film or photography. 

Across the street, inside the sunlit café, Y/N sat at one of the back tables, a book open in front of her and a cup of tea resting beside it. The shop was quiet at this hour, none of the usual rush hour customers, their usual hum of conversation replaced by the occasional rustle of her pages turning or the faint clatter of a spoon against porcelain.

She looked up when she heard the phantom sound of a camera shutter, and had barely pinpointed a head of blond hair standing on the other side of the street.

But when she blinked, there was no one there at all.

It had started small.

A lingering glance over her shoulder as she left work. A slight hesitation at crosswalks, as if debating whether to change her usual route. She hadn’t altered her patterns yet, but Logan could tell she was considering it.

She was smart. Observant in a way most people weren’t.

It was a problem.

Logan exhaled slowly, tilting his head just slightly as he spoke into the discreet mic clipped beneath the collar of his jacket. His voice was low, casual. No one would think twice if they overheard him.

“She’s gonna catch on soon. This is why I don’t like round the clock work, strategically it's got the highest probability of–.”

Lando’s voice crackled through Logan’s earpiece. Steady, controlled.

“That’s fine.”

Logan’s jaw ticked slightly. He turned his head, pretending to check for traffic as he processed the words.

That’s fine?

He had expected Lando to tell him to pull back, to ease off before she fully realized what was happening. That would’ve been the logical move.

Instead, Lando wanted her to keep noticing.

It wasn’t a mistake. Lando didn’t make those.

Logan’s fingers curled slightly around his cup as he considered what that meant. Y/N was already tangled in something far bigger than she understood. And if Lando wasn’t cutting the thread, then that meant—

He wanted her there. Even if he wouldn’t admit it just yet.

Logan sighed, pushing off the lamppost and stretching slightly. Then, with practiced ease, he disappeared down the street.

Y/N would keep looking, and he would make sure she only saw what they wanted her to.

A few days later, they sat in Lando’s study—a sleek, dimly lit room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the scent of aged leather and faint cigar smoke hanging in the air. Lando, leaning back in his chair with a drink in hand, looked entirely at ease. Logan, on the other hand, sat forward on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, fingers idly turning his phone over in his palm.

“She’s definitely noticed now,” Logan said after a beat, his tone casual but pointed. “But she’s not panicking, not running scared or nothin’. But she knows something's off. If I keep tailing her like this, she’s gonna confirm it sooner or later. Give me some leeway, let me switch it up a bit.”

Lando hummed in response, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. His expression was unreadable, the dim light casting sharp shadows along his jaw.

“What have you got f'o me?” he said simply.

Logan exhaled and leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Nothing too interesting, I guess. Mostly just little things. She’s more aware of her surroundings now – stays in well-lit areas when she walks home, keeps her headphones out instead of wearing them. If someone’s behind her, she doesn’t look back, but she adjusts her pace—sometimes slows down like she’s testing if they’ll pass her, sometimes speeds up like she wants to lose ‘em.”

Lando’s lips quirked at that, amusement flickering behind his otherwise cool gaze. “Smart girl.”

Logan nodded. “Yeah, yeah. She’s got good instincts. I don’t think she’s ever been in a situation like this before, but she’s probably read enough crime novels to know some of the signs.”

Lando let out a quiet chuckle, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “You really think she’s piecin' it together?”

“Not fully? She’s suspicious for sure, but like, she doesn’t know what she’s looking for yet. If I pulled back for a few days, she’d probably convince herself she imagined it.”

Lando tilted his head slightly, considering. Then, after a long pause, he decided, “Stay on it.”

Logan raised a brow. “You sure about that, Boss? If she clocks me, this gets messy.”

“That won’t happen.” Lando says with a firm that has Logan questioning whether it's a statement of opinion or fact. The Brit leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk. “And if it does, well… we’ll deal with it then.”

Logan knew what ‘dealing with it’ meant.

He didn’t push further. Lando was the boss, and while Logan had enough leeway to offer input, he knew better than to question a decision that had apparently already been made. Instead, he exhaled through his nose and switched gears. “Right. Other than that, she’s been normal. Work, books, the occasional late-night tea. Still talks to that Alex guy whenever he stops by the café.”

That seemed to catch Lando’s attention. His fingers tapped once against the desk, barely perceptible. “How often?”

“Not every day, but regularly enough. She’s comfortable with him.” Logan watched Lando’s expression carefully, but his face remained neutral. Lando was silent for a moment. Then, instead of addressing that, he simply asked, “And the date?”

Logan shrugged. “It went fine. Nothing remarkable. She looked like she enjoyed herself, but she didn’t seem overly smitten or anything. She went home alone, no invitation upstairs, no lingering at the door like she was hoping he’d kiss her.”

Lando’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, almost smug. “Huh.”

Interesting.

Logan rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. He knew better than to dig into whatever that was about. Instead, he continued, “If you’re wondering, Alex didn’t say anything about who you are. Either he’s not suspicious about your connection to her, he doesn’t recognize you, or he’s playing the long game.”

I’ll take my chances.

He tapped his fingers against the desk again, just once, before settling back in his chair. “Keep watching her.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Logan stretched his arms over his head before letting them fall back to his sides. “If she does ID me though, I’m not gonna be the one explaining that.”

Lando just smiled.

It wasn’t reassuring.

She wasn’t paranoid—she wasn’t looking over her shoulder every few minutes or rushing home in a panic. But there was a newfound awareness in her actions, a certain scrutiny of her surroundings.

Her fingers hovered over the pages of her book instead of turning them with ease, her eyes flicking toward the window more often than before. When she got up to clear her table, she did it slower than necessary, almost like she was giving herself time to listen, to take in what was going on around her.

And when she finally locked up the café for the night, she didn’t just step outside and start walking. Instead, she’d linger. Her hand hesitated on the key for just a moment longer than normal, her head turning slightly as she surveyed both ends of the street before finally walking home.

It started as a whisper in the back of her mind. A quiet, nagging thought that told her something was off.

At first, she dismissed it as paranoia. She was tired, overworked, and had the expertise of someone who’d watched all 16 seasons of Criminal Minds. That was all.

But then there were the little things.

The first time, she told herself it was nothing.

There was flicker of movement in her periphery, a shape disappearing around the corner just as she turned her head. It could’ve been anyone. Just another pedestrian on the street, someone heading home like she was.

But the feeling lingered.

The second time, she tried to rationalize it.

Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was the murder mysteries she read growing up or listening to one true crime podcast too many, filling her head with nonsense about tailing patterns and body language cues. That was probably it. Or maybe she was just more aware lately because of the—well, the incident. Even if she hadn’t seen much that night, it had rattled her. The shock had faded, but maybe her body hadn’t fully let it go yet. Maybe this was just her mind playing tricks on her.

She let out a slow breath, shaking her head at herself. You’re being ridiculous.

But the next time it happened, she couldn’t shake it off as easily.

She was on her way home when she felt it again—that slow, creeping sensation of being watched. She didn’t stop walking, didn’t turn her head, but she adjusted her pace slightly, testing the presence.

The sound of footsteps behind her matched her rhythm for a beat too long before they finally disappeared.

She barely slept that night.

But then there was the third time.

The third time, it wasn’t just a flicker of movement. It was a presence. Not close, not intrusive, but there. A weight behind her, light but perceptible, like something unseen pressing against her back. She had slowed her steps, adjusted her pace, just to see if it changed. It didn’t. The presence lingered—never overtaking her, never retreating entirely.

She’d walked the long way home that night. When she finally shut the door of her apartment behind her, her hands were shaking.

It wasn’t every night, and that was the worst part.

If it were constant, she could confirm it. If it were obvious, she could prove it. But this? This was the kind of unease that nestled under her skin and made her feel like she was on the edge of figuring something out—only for the answer to slip through her fingers the moment she reached for it.

And yet, at the oddest of times, she still felt a chill run down her spine.

NOT MY ART.

Check out Deku Enchanted on Ao3 by s_the_queen!!!

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(DRAGONPUNK15/dragonpunk15)

Bilberry said nothing, but he looked on in fascination as RiverClan finished setting down their memories and well-wishes on Stonefur just as the elders arrived, panting and sore, but determined to see their Clanmate off. Together, they all carried him to the river, setting him down in the water and gently pushing his body out until the current caught him and he drifted downstream. They hadn’t closed his eyes, Firestar noted. Perhaps that was another RiverClan thing.

“StarClan,” Leopardstar called to the sky as everyone turned to her, her voice taut, “if he finds you as quickly as he rebutted with a joke, we won’t fear for him. Hurry home, Stonefur. They’re lucky to have you.”

RiverClan clumped into groups, all of them chatting quietly; Firestar caught things like “Remember that time when he…?” and “They won’t let him live that down, even in the sky.” He was surprised to hear purrs and jokes, even as grief weighed down their round, vibrant eyes.

“That’ll be our cue to go,” he murmured to his Clanmates. Dustpelt caught his eye, glanced over at his old apprentice, and Firestar said louder, “Thornclaw, can you come with me to bring Bilberry home?”

Thornclaw, standing tall and straight, jerked his chin upward at the prospect of being helpful.

“Thank you.” Firestar walked up to Pikefang and Greypath, who were reclining with Mistfoot and another warrior Firestar didn’t recognize. To the elders, he said, “Would you like to come back to camp now, or do you want to stay here?”

“Well…” Pikefang glanced at Greypath, who hadn’t looked up at Firestar. “I think we’d like a moment here with our Clan.”

Greypath stared straight ahead. She rasped, “That was my son, you know. Can’t just leave after sending him away.”

“Oh.” Firestar’s heart sank. “I’m so sorry. That was rude of me. I’m more than happy to let you stay.”

“I can stick around and bring them back when they’re ready,” Greystripe offered.

Pikefang’s eyes slid over to him with a very unfriendly look in them. A moment later, realization lit them up and the unfriendliness faded. He looked back at Greypath.

“That’ll do fine,” she said softly.

In the background, sitting a bit away from everyone else, Mintpaw and Stormpaw fidgeted, staring at their father.

Firestar didn’t let them be caught. He instead said, “Thank you, Greystripe. Everyone else, head home. Thornclaw, Bilberry, come with me, please.”

“You’re an awful lot nicer than those street cats,” Bilberry remarked as he joined Firestar and Thornclaw, the three of them setting off while the rest of ThunderClan clustered together and started towards camp. “I always heard your colonies ate kittens and left bones and fur all over the borders of your territory.”

“W’oughta,” Thornclaw said, “but Firestar w’ldn’ like that.”

“I heard the same thing when I was little,” Firestar said, gently tapping Thornclaw on the haunch with his tail. “I used to be a kittypet myself. House cat,” he elaborated at the confused look on Bilberry’s face. “We call cats like you and I ‘kittypet’ out here.”

“Oh!” Bilberry’s already wide eyes almost outstretched his head as he stared at Firestar in amazement. “A house cat, the leader of the forest cats. Wow… the world’s a crazy place.” He winced as one of his lanky knees bumped against a twig sticking out from a bush. “A bit too crazy for me. I wanna go home.”

“And home we’re taking you.” Firestar gave him a friendly blink. “I have to make one stop before we get to your house, but it’ll be in the neighborhood.”

Thornclaw gave Firestar a curious look, but he didn’t say anything.

As they went through the forest, Bilberry seemed to shed his fear bit by bit, until he and Firestar were chatting like old friends, sharing stories about Firestar’s old home or inquiring about Clan life. Thornclaw had an awkward air about him, but he made an effort to contribute to the conversation.

“And there was this one tom, mostly white but with grey pointing,” Bilberry was saying, gesturing wildly with one of his front paws while trying to walk. “He was lingering outside of my house for a few days, and I asked him what he wanted, and he asked to meet the molly in my house.” His youthful face wrinkled in a deep frown. “And then I brought Mi out, and she couldn’t get a word in before he went like, ‘Ugh’, and then he left! What did he even expect if that wasn’t it?”

A familiar irritation curled around Firestar’s gut. “Was he big with a lot of long fur?”

“Yeah!” Bilberry perked up. “His name was, like, uh… Onion, I think. Something weird like that.”

Firestar’s tail twitched. “Yes, I’ve met him. Trust me, he isn’t worth your time, or your mother’s.”

“Are you gunna say something mean?” Thornclaw asked, his eyes lit with interest. “Who’s he?”

A disgusted scoff escaped Firestar. “That tom is Cloudnose’s father. He had no interest in being a part of his life, we’ll put it that way.”

“Huh.” Thornclaw looked straight ahead again. Just low enough for Firestar to barely hear, he muttered, “No wonder Cloudn’se’s so fluffy.”

By the time they reached the border of the Houses, Bilberry had to stop and catch his breath. He apologized repeatedly (“Just haven’t had to do so much walking in one day, is all…”) and Firestar simply sat down with him and purred, secretly pleased that not every kittypet could trot along like him as far as this. Thornclaw stayed standing, stepping in place with a degree of antsiness. Firestar made a mental note to discuss teaching Thornclaw some patience before giving him an apprentice.

Soon enough, Bilberry stood up again and they continued along the fenceline, Firestar silently noting the change of wood and paint color per yard until they got to a familiar set of white and dull cream next to each other. He signaled for his patrol to stop before raising his voice and calling, “Smudge? Witch-Hazel? Anyone here?”

Surprisingly, only a moment passed before scrabbling on wood announced Smudge’s face, round and black-and-white and surprised. Another moment, and then the wiry, long-necked brown molly that lived in Firestar’s old home popped up too, in the same yard.

“Fireheart!” Smudge hefted himself onto the fence. “Good night alive, it’s been a while.”

“Firestar,” Thornclaw corrected testily.

Smudge blinked, seeming to just now notice Thornclaw and Bilberry. “Oh, you have new friends.”

“Hi there,” Witch-Hazel said to Thornclaw. “Oh, hey, Bilberry. You’ve been gone.”

“Witchy!” Bilberry stood straight, puffing out his pathetically skinny chest. “You’ll never guess what happened to me!”

“That’s actually what we’re here to tell you,” Firestar said to Smudge. “There are rogues from the Aulmir kidnapping cats and trying to force them to be a part of their army. Bilberry was just rescued from a raiding party.”

“You’re kidding!” Witch-Hazel stared down at Bilberry. “Did they make you fight?”

“They tried, but I wouldn’t do it,” Bilberry said proudly. Firestar tossed him an amused glance and he shrunk a little, admitting sheepishly, “I just hid until these cats found me.”

“Sounds about right for you.” Witch-Hazel winked at him. “Did Damewort go with you? We haven’t seen her in a while.”

Bilberry stiffened. “Mi’s gone?” Before anyone could answer, he whirled to face Firestar frantically, hair raising along his back. “We have to get home. Now!”

“We’ll go,” Firestar promised. To Smudge, he said, “Warn everyone in the neighborhood to stay inside as much as they can. The Blood are willing to take cats younger than a year old to fight to the death.”

Smudge nodded gravely. “I’ll spread the word. Have you told Rosy yet?”

An ice-cold lump formed in Firestar’s stomach. “I… haven’t seen her in a while. She probably won’t want to hear it from me. Could you tell her?”

Smudge’s face screamed that he had thlain questions, but he simply said, “Get Bilberry home. Witchy and I will tell everyone.”

“Thank you.”

Just as Firestar turned to go, Smudge cleared his throat and asked, “So did I hear you’re Firestar now?”

“Leader of ThunderClan,” Thornclaw said, and his chest-puffing was much more impressive than Bilberry’s.

“I’ll be plucked,” Smudge said almost under his breath. His eyes crinkled as he regarded his old friend. “You really are in your element out there, aren’t you?”

Firestar’s own eyes creased back. “I guess I am.”

“Sorry, but—” Bilberry was fidgeting. “Can we go, please?”

“Right away.” Firestar waved his tail to Smudge and Witch-Hazel. “Stay safe.”

The kittypets waved their tails back, not saying anything as the trio of toms started off again at a hard trot. There was no further conversation, though Bilberry kept mumbling under his breath in a high, tense, whining sort of way. Even Thornclaw looked concerned for him. Firestar was just grateful that they went right past Rosy’s house, and even more grateful that she wasn’t outside.

Passing row after row of houses lined up neatly beside each other, they finally reached what seemed like the end of the neighborhood—even Firestar hadn’t gone this far in his days of wandering as a kittypet. The houses were larger than usual, with one of them being a dark blue and having a fence that wasn’t a straight wall of planks. Instead, poles were set up at a fair distance from each other, with only two bits of wood laying across the gap each pole made with another. The yard, thankfully, did not smell of anything but clipped grass and an unfamiliar cat.

“Mi!” Bilberry shouted, picking up his speed until he was running (Firestar and Thornclaw easily kept pace with him). “Mi, are you home?!”

They crossed under the fence and were halfway over the grass before the front door’s flap burst open. A lanky, ruddy-brown molly exploded from the inside of the house and barely had to look around for a heartbeat before spotting Bilberry, crying out in joy and crossing the distance in an instant, nearly knocking him over. Firestar noted with some amusement that the pair of them looked just like each other as the aging, mournful-faced molly rubbed her face on Bilberry’s, purring like she was weeping in relief.

“Billy, Billy!” She paused rubbing to lick his head-fur, still purring through her words. “I’m so sorry, love, I tried to come for you, I couldn’t, I’m sorry…” She pulled back, eyes, just as wide and nearly the same color as her son’s, wet and shining. “Did they hurt you? Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, Mi.” Bilberry was purring too, much more shakily. “I didn’t get in trouble, I promise. These cats saved me.”

Damewort (Firestar assumed this was her) finally appeared to notice the Clan cats, looking at them in surprise, confusion and relief.

Firestar dipped his head respectfully and gave a friendly blink. “I’m Firestar. This is Thornclaw. You’re Damewort?”

She nodded, her voice wobbly. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I saw them take him away, and I tried to go after them, but… I’m quite old, and not strong enough to fight back when they pushed me. They… they said they’d kill him if I tried again.”

“They said they’d kill you if I ran away!” Bilberry bristled. “They don’t get to threaten you like that, Mi!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Damewort waved a paw as if to swipe away the thought of dangerous thugs. “You’re home. You’re safe. That’s all I care about.”

“Remember to stay home this time,” Firestar said to Bilberry. To Damewort, he added, “Those cats are trying to recruit others to fight for them against us. Please, if you can, stay inside until it’s safe again.”

Damewort made a small, agreeable noise. Reaching out a long paw, she pulled Billberry towards her, which he didn’t resist against as she rested her chin on his neck. “You have no idea how much I owe you.”

“You owe us nothing,” Thornclaw said, in a tone rather kindly for him. “We’re jus’ glad t’ see him home.”

Firestar gave him an approving beam. He flicked his ear in acknowledgement, looking a little awkward but pleased with himself.

“We better get back before we worry the rest of the Clan,” Firestar said. “Damewort, Bilberry, it was nice to meet you. I hope things stay calm around here.”

“Thank you,” Damewort said again, her son echoing her. She finally released him, though he lingered for a moment, and led him back inside, purring as she spoke to him, something quiet about, “I knew something was going to happen if you wandered off like that!” and him responding, “I’m sorry, Mi, really…”

“Well,” Firestar said once the flap stilled, “you ready to go home?”

“Yessir.” Thornclaw turned back in the direction of the territories as Firestar did. “Tornface’ll be worried about us.”

“I’m more worried about all these kittypets, honestly.”

“They’ll be okay,” Thornclaw said doubtfully. “As long as they stay inside.”

“It’s just awful,” Firestar sighed, going under the fence. “These cats—there’s so many of them, and they’re still stealing kittypets that are barely a year old to fight for them. I can only imagine how scared all those young ones are, how hungry they must be if they have to fight for their meals.”

Thornclaw said nothing, but his frown was troubled.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Firestar admitted. “I want this to end peacefully—I know that’s not realistic, believe me, but I wish I knew what could be done to keep as few cats getting hurt as possible.”

“Funny you say that.”

Both toms jumped in surprise, twisting to the right. A dark ginger cat leaned against a fenceline close to them, having somehow snuck up without them knowing.

Wait.

That long, hairless streak of back was familiar.

She didn’t have much time to focus on this realization nor this question though, the strong grip on her hand and the Scotsman ahead of her pulling her forward. His movement seemed far too quick for her; his legs were much longer than her own which meant that he moved forward at longer strides than she felt capable of. She was almost certain if he moved any faster she’d trip over her own feet…especially in the wet ground. Her lack of shoes seemed to give her no traction in the damp bit of mud mixed with grass below her feet. 

She thought to protest the swiftness in which he was pulling her forward, but had not a chance as he spoke, not even turning back to glance her way. “Jus’ a wee bit further. We’re close now.”

“Where are we going?” She dared to ask confusion washing over her as she struggled to keep up with his pace. She wanted to stop and force him to face her. She wanted to demand that he explain what was going on. She was sure if she stopped though he’d risk yanking her forward and making her fall to the ground with as quick as he was moving.

“You’ll see. We jus’ got a wee bit further to go. Trus’ me, we’re almos’ there.” Chibs replied his answer far too vague.

She parted her lips, tempted to prod him for more information. However, she remained silent; something about the pace in which he was moving and the demanding pull of her body behind him telling her he was the one calling the shots at the moment.

She stared down at her clothing, a greater sense of bewilderment washing over her. The knee length white nightgown she wore was not at all what she’d been expecting. The nightgown was sleeveless and sat loosely on her body; the fabric almost flowing as she moved. The delicate straps and the thin cotton of the gown seemed as though it would do so little to warm her in the cold night air. 

She was certain she owned a nightgown similar to this one. She owned quite a few nightgowns; most of them vintage pieces she’d acquired at thrift shops during her years in New York and a few vintage pieces that had once belonged to ancestors of hers. She had quite a few of her ancestors' old clothing sitting in a closet in one of the spare bedrooms. She’d always had a love for vintage pieces. Even if she didn’t wear some of the more delicate vintage pieces in her closet she still had an admiration for them. 

She preferred nightgowns when she slept, but didn’t quite understand why she was wearing a nightgown in the middle of a cemetery. This was never something she would wear outdoors, especially in such a public place. 

Chibs was dressed as he usually always was; jeans, a dark top, and his leather kutte. She could barely make out the reaper on his back in the dim light of the night. 

She glanced around her at her surroundings as Chibs continued to pull her forward. She didn’t recognize anything around her and she had a feeling it wasn’t just because it was so dark out. 

She could barely make out her surroundings from far away, but up close she could spot a few distinctive features. The cemetery felt old. The grass felt overgrown as though the grounds had not been maintained in a long while. She spotted none of the usual sightings of a cemetery; no flowers left out by mourners, no maintained trees and carefully landscaped plants, no sign of care. 

To her, cemeteries had always felt peaceful. She’d always been able to find some beauty in them. She wasn’t sure if it was just that she spent so much time in cemeteries due to her job, but she’d always been able to appreciate them. 

This place held no beauty though. It felt almost lifeless; like a caricature of a cemetery that one might view in some old black and white horror film.

The tombstones around her felt grand; towering obelisk monuments, old magnificent crypts, and worn gravestones whose inscriptions had long since faded. Everything seemed so gray and dreary. 

She was sure that she couldn’t possibly be in any part of Charming’s local cemetery, not even the older sections.

She was certain if she was in Charming’s cemetery then she’d recognize her surroundings. She’d been all over the property with her job. She knew every section of that cemetery by heart. She remembered the name of the first person buried in that cemetery and how many available plots remained in each section. 

This cemetery was nothing like the one in Charming, To be honest, it resembled a few of the older cemeteries she’d been to during her time out in New York when she’d first begun to work as a funeral director. She’d had to go upstate once or twice for a burial and a few of the cemeteries there had been filled with tombstones that dated back to the original colonies when the USA was still under British rule. 

She peered up at the night sky, the realization hitting her that it must be cloudy as the moon was barely visible. She could barely see a sliver of moon behind the dark clouds. The stars were not visible at all, the lack of moon and stars made her surroundings devoid of any natural lighting.

She frowned as she felt a light drip of wetness against her skin as the dark clouds above her started to release just a hint of rain.

She parted her lips to mention the rain to Chibs and request that they seek shelter indoors in order to avoid being caught in an incoming storm, but the comment died on her lips as she heard a distinct rustle of movement behind her.

She turned struggling to glance behind her as Chibs continued on his path, yanking her behind him. She peered through the dark of the night straining her eyes struggling to see just what was responsible for the noise, but spotting nothing.

The noise sounded out again close enough for her to recognize it as the shuffle of feet somewhere out in the pitch black of night. She couldn't shake the sense that she was being watched like prey by someone or something that was just waiting for a chance to pounce. 

She spoke, her voice faint and fearful. “Filip, there’s something out there. I think it’s following us.”

She earned no response, turning back to face the man who’d just moments ago been dragging her along her stomach dropping as she realized he was nowhere in sight.

She turned searching her surroundings for him seeing only the dark of the night and the shape of the tombstones around her, her voice growing frantic. “Filip? Where are you? Filip?”

She was met with silence, her arms wrapping around herself both trying to protect herself from the cold night chill and the sudden realization that she was alone in a strange place with something clearly stalking her out in the darkness.

She called out again her heart slamming in her chest she moving forward hoping she’d just gotten separated from him and would catch up to the Scotsman soon. “Filip? Where are you?”

She heard the shuffle of movement behind her, the sound close enough that she was sure she could reach out and touch whatever was responsible for it if she were to turn around and face it.

She turned to face it praying against odds it was Chibs. Bile rose in her throat at the sight in front of her. 

She recognized the man. It was one of the deceased men she’d allowed SAMCRO to borrow. He was mostly recognizable by the suit he’d been dressed in for his funeral…the suit he’d not been buried in as his body had been loaned out to the Sons prior to the funeral. Instead bags of concrete had been buried in his place…bags she’d placed in weighing them out carefully to imitate the feeling of an occupied closed casket. The unoccupied casket had not been found until later the bags of concrete missing compliments of SAMCRO. Not a soul other than the Sons and she knew this man had never occupied that grave. 

Decomposition had begun to set in to the man’s features. The man’s skin had taken a somewhat green tone and begun to split as bloat had set in; gasses from his decaying organs clearly releasing. She was confused by the sight as she had embalmed him, puncturing his organs with a trocar. There should be no gasses remaining in his organs. How were there still gasses to make him bloat? Black purge leaked from his orifices and insect life had begun to settle in. She could spot flies buzzing around him and maggots wriggling in a few pockets of his split skin. One of his eyes had gone a milky white and the other had rotted away completely leaving him with an open empty black socket.

Despite the advanced rate of decay the man managed to shamble forward his hands reaching out towards her his nails black a few of the nails having already fallen off his fingers.

She snapped out of her shock and disgust moving backwards barely escaping his grasp. She turned struggling to move forward the muddy ground below her and her lack of shoes caused  her to slide and struggle as she attempted her escape.

She heard another rustle of movement to her left, another body appearing to start a slow shamble in her direction.

She recognized this body easily. It was the very first deceased she’d been solely responsible for burying back in New York.

The young woman looked exactly the way she’d looked when Y/N had first stared down at her on that embalming table years ago before she’d gotten started on trying to make her look presentable for the modest funeral her family had paid for. 

She could remember how young the woman had looked laying there lifeless on the embalming table. They’d been close in age and Y/N remembered thinking that they could have gone to school together at one point. Y/N could also remember thinking to herself that it could have easily been her on that embalming table had she remained in Charming with Gunner and SAMCRO. The thought had been a sobering one especially for her first official solo embalming job. 

The dead woman was just as thin as Y/N remembered her being, the drug addiction she’d struggled from in life making her almost skeletal. Her skin held no sign of color to it. The skin was pallid aside from the pooling of purple where blood had settled on her right side. She’d been lying on her right side when she passed and once the heart had stopped pumping blood it had all settled to the lowest point in the body. Livor mortis truly was a fascinating thing, or at least Y/N had always thought it was interesting to consider. The dead woman’s long fair hair was stringy and greasy lying limply against her scalp. She wore the same stained yellowed white sundress Y/N could remember cataloging when her body had first been rolled into the funeral home back in New York. Her long nails were dirty and chipped bits of red polish still remained on them. 

Her eyes were a pale shade of blue, any sign of life behind them long gone. Those lifeless eyes were fixed on Y/N and as strange as it sounded Y/N was almost certain she could spot a sense of hatred in them despite the lack of light behind the dead woman’s eyes. 

Y/N continued to move forward struggling in the wet ground as the rain above her fell harder making the mud feel sticky and thick below her. Her nightgown was drenched quickly, the fabric feeling heavy on her form as she tried her hardest to escape.

She fell to the ground, the slickness of the mud far too difficult to maneuver through at such a quick frantic pace. She cried out the deceased pursuing her, growing closer and closer by the second.

She felt a strong pair of hands grip her upper arms, her heart lifting hoping it was Chibs. Perhaps he’d returned to rescue her.

Her blood ran cold as she was roughly pulled back upright meeting the eyes of who she’d foolishly hoped would be her savior. 

Gunner smirked down at her his grip on her arms growing harsh as he spoke a sense of glee in his voice. “Hey, Girl. Did you miss me?”

He turned her around to face the deceased who were still shambling towards her his voice was cruel but so amused. “Here she is, guys. Come get her.”

She cried out begging to the dead to leave her be and spare her. “No, please, no. Stay away from me, please. I’m sorry, please don’t.”

A familiar voice sounded out among her panicked cries, the Scottish brogue soothing and gentle. “Hey, Hen. Yer havin’ a bad dream, Lass. Come on, wake up.”

The voice continued, sounding out over the horror in front of her and her cries of panic and pleas for forgiveness. “Come on, Love. It’s okay. Ya can wake up now, Hen. Yer safe. I’ve got ya.”

Awareness kicked in rapidly; she shot up in bed, her breathing labored. She gazed around the dark of her room, her heart slamming in her chest.

She struggled to comprehend that none of the horror she’d just experienced had been real; it had all been manufactured in her mind. She struggled to accept that she was in fact safe and sound in her bedroom, her concerned boyfriend staring up at her through the darkness of her room.

Chibs felt her shoot up out of his embrace. He reached out blindly in the unfamiliar room, it taking him a moment to find the lamp on the nightstand at the side of her bed he’d fallen into the night before.

He finally located the switch turning the light on giving the room a dull pleasant glow in an otherwise stressful situation. He sat up alongside her, reaching out hesitantly to place a hand against her lower back. He was almost sure touching her too quickly would send her into an even more frantic state. It seemed as though she was locked in a panic attack whatever she’d dreamed about horrifying her. He was almost certain that touching her too hastily would send her into fight mode. 

 He rubbed soft soothing circles into her back trying to give her some silent reassurance while she sorted through whatever had just occurred in her sleep. 

He’d woken when she’d begun to thrash beside him the murmured words leaving her lips more and more rapidly by the second. No, please, no. I’m sorry. Please don’t. Please no. I’m so sorry. Please no. 

She struggled to catch her breath for a moment, it always feeling like this when she woke from one of the nightmares that had become frequent since she’d agreed to help out SAMCRO. She always struggled to pull herself out of that sense that she needed to fight for her life or run screaming. It always took a moment for her to reassure herself that she was safe in her bedroom and not in danger of losing her life and her soul to the dead who pursued her so relentlessly. 

The only thing that seemed to be different this time around was that she was not waking up all alone to deal with the aftermath.

Chibs continued to rub her back, uncertain of what to say. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to her but none of them felt quite soothing nor good enough.

He was tempted to bring up his own experience with nightmares. Lord knows he’d had a few of them all about how Jimmy O’ had attacked him back in Belfast. He was tempted to reassure her that he’d experienced the same sense of panic she was currently locked in. He was tempted to promise her that it would all be alright. 

He kept his hand pressed to her back, his eyes scanning the room feeling dazed, worried, and exhausted.

He’d not had much of a chance to really take a look around the master bedroom before they’d gone to bed the night before.

He’d been more focused on stripping down to his boxers and undershirt and getting into bed beside the woman he had been imagining having the privilege of sharing a bed with probably from the moment he’d realized that his liking her went far beyond just lust.

He’d folded up his kutte and clothing leaving them on a red velvet living chair in the corner of the room by the closet. He’d placed his gun and his knives between his clothing and the kutte uncertain how Y/N would feel about the weapons being out in plain sight.

The room was larger than he’d anticipated. 

The room was a bit cluttered but nothing compared to the rest of the house. The clutter felt more personal than any of the family heirlooms in the other parts of the house. The belongings spread throughout the space made it feel cozy and welcoming. It seemed to reflect the woman who rested here. 

The walls were painted a deep navy tone though he had a feeling that may have been her father’s choice given the room had once belonged to him and several ancestors prior. 

Chibs took notice of the old vanity table sitting directly across from her side of the bed studying the bottles of perfume set out on it alongside a surprisingly large wooden grandiose looking jewelry box, and a large collection of makeup that was all neatly sorted in an organizer. 

A soft looking purple rug sat out in front of the vanity table; it seeming far less intimidating than the exquisite looking persian rugs throughout the rest of the upper portion of the house and downstairs in the funeral home portion of the house. 

Her closet appeared large from what he’d seen it looking more like a walk in closet than anything. Two dressers sat in the room and a few items sat spread out over the tops of them; a few small framed photos from Y/N’s childhood. There were a couple of crystals sitting out; a large piece of rose quartz and another amethyst, this one much larger than the one he’d spotted out in the living room.

A few small framed taxidermy butterflies were mounted on the wall alongside a couple of paintings that looked to be antiques. The paintings featured delicate flowers and songbirds. 

There were several books on gardening stacked on a dresser showing Y/N had a love for the hobby. He found it kind of amusing. His Hen who worked daily with death and who everyone knew as the town undertaker loved a hobby that was all about nurturing something that most people associated with life. 

The queen sized bed held a heavy looking tall ornate headboard made out of dark cherry wood. The headboard was something Y/N had casually mentioned, the night before, that she’d gotten in a thrift shop back when she’d been living in New York. it had been a steal she’d claimed as it was old and obviously had been well cared for. 

Her bedsheets were a soft mint tone and they felt comforting and soothing to his mind. A heavy gray comforter and a handmade colorful quilt covered the bed making it feel cozy and safe.

The houseplants had caught Chibs' attention. There were several of them; all well taken care of sitting throughout the room. Those that needed bright light sat along her window seal and others sat throughout the room in ceramic pots. The plants made the room feel fresh and full of life. 

The room felt like a nice escape from the sensory overload in the rest of the living quarters portion of the house and the dreary knowledge of what happened on a daily basis in the downstairs funeral home portion of the house. 

Chibs easily realized he could grow accustomed to spending his nights in this room if she allowed him the privilege. It felt far more comforting than his bed in the dorm at the Sons clubhouse or the pathetic bed he kept in a small studio apartment he rented for when he wanted to take a rest away from the noise of the Sons clubhouse. 

The gentle rub to Y/N’s back was enough to break her out of the panicked sense of dread she’d been locked in; she was surprised as tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes.

She turned to face Chibs, scooting close to him, her arms wrapping tight around him. She allowed the tears to fall more rapidly. She was too exhausted to bother attempting to wipe them away or hide them the way she usually might when she had to cry in front of someone.

She’d never felt 100 percent comfortable crying around people. She had to wonder if it was just because she’d grown up in an environment where there seemed to be a constant stream of crying mourners coming in and out of the home. She’d always associated crying as something that was only meant to be done in front of others in serious situations like the death of a loved one.

As she’d gone into the funeral business she’d learned to hold back tears even more. It was inappropriate to cry in front of the mourners you were meant to serve. She’d adopted the concept that their grief was not hers so she had zero right to cry. She had learned to keep her emotions locked tight close to her chest. Crying was only done in private and never in front of anyone else. 

She’d found that crying in front of anyone just made her feel awkward and embarrassed. Her tendency to compartmentalize her emotions on the job had seeped into her personal life it seemed. 

Chibs wrapped his arms around her, rocking her against him, his voice soft and soothing. “It’s all okay now, Hen. I’m here, I’ve got ya.”

She gripped down onto his undershirt, her face burying against his chest wanting to be surrounded by the familiar scent of him. It was a scent that had soothed her to sleep the night before; a hint of cigarettes and the faintest hint of his cologne. 

He ran a hand up and down her back continuing to rock her his words soft and soothing reminding her that he had her and that everything was okay in this room.

He found himself repeating the phrases I’ve got you. It’s okay now. It’s over now. You’re okay now. You’re safe. 

His soothing managed to calm her enough to stop her tears but she remained locked in his embrace. They both found themselves holding on to one another tightly both seeming to seek reassurance and a sense of peace. 

He dared to speak though he already knew the answer to his question. “Nightmare, Hen?”

She nodded her head wordlessly. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, he quick to speak again. “You want ta talk bout it?”

She let out a heavy sigh, a cruel voice in the back of her brain telling her that if he knew about the content of her nightmares he’d write her off as being unstable and therefore a risk to SAMCRO. 

She shushed the voice, choosing to give him a brief summary. “You, me, some cemetery…the dead I’ve buried stalking me in the night. You disappeared this time around. Usually you let them drag me away screaming. You actually usually seem pretty thrilled when they drag me away, kind of like you were in on it…almost like it was a trap and you were an accomplice. This time Gunner was there too…he offered me up to them gleefully. One of the bodies I loaned to SAMCRO and the first body I ever embalmed all alone were the dead who were after me this time around.”

He spoke absorbing this information the need to reassure her sliding from his lips. “You know I’d never let anythin’ happen to ya, Lass. I’d sure as hell not let anyone drag ya away from me. As far as Gunner goes. Ya never gotta worry bout him again. We’ve already established I’ll fuckin’ break his legs and arms if he comes near ya ever again.”

He paused, clearing his throat knowing the exact incidents that had been the culprit behind these dreams. He felt an awful sense of guilt claw inside of him digging its nails in making him feel anguished.

He spoke wanting badly to fix this for her even if he was uncertain that what he was offering to her was even possible. “If…if ya doin’ favors fer the club, if it's hurtin’ ya like this. I can get ya out of it…I’m sure Skeeter would be happy to pick up yer end of the deal even if he’s tryin to quit gamblin. As long as we still got a funeral home connection ya shoul’ be in the clear.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure my backing out on my end of the deal and handing the responsibility over to Skeeter will be just fine and dandy with the MC. I won’t be seen as knowing too much and being a risk at all.” She snarked back, unable to hide the venom from her voice.

She cringed parting her lips to apologize for her harshness but she didn’t have a chance as Chibs spoke, sounding surprisingly certain of his words. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt a hair on yer head…not even my club.”

She sighed wishing that taking the solution he was offering was that simple. She could distinctly remember her talk with Clay just last night though. 

SAMCRO’s Pres had urged her to keep making both Chibs and the Sons happy. She was certain backing out on her end of the partnership she’d offered to develop with SAMCRO would not make the Sons happy at all. Chibs might forgive her for backing out of the deal she’d made, but the rest of the Sons most likely would not be so understanding. 

As much as she trusted Chibs, she was quite certain that even he couldn’t protect her from the wrath nor the suspicions of Clay Morrow. If she backed down and handed over the responsibility of the bargain she’d made with SAMCRO to Skeeter, she’d be written off as a threat to the MC. She knew too much. She would be viewed as a loose end that they could easily snip off. 

She was certain that Chibs would be powerless to fully provide her protection if she was viewed as a threat to SAMCRO. Even if he tried to protect her, then who was to say he’d not be given the same treatment; treated as a threat. They would most likely view his attempts to protect her as a sign of weakness and disloyalty to the club. 

She spoke her voice soft but determined. “I made a deal with SAMCRO. I intend to keep up my end of the bargain.”

“Even if it’s torturin’ yer mind, Hen?” Chibs countered he scooting back just enough to peer into her eyes.

She let out a soft sigh averting her eyes from his, the words soft. “The nightmares are not happening as frequently as they did at first. The nightmares are probably just picking up because of all of the stress of tonight. I had a nightmare the night after I was practically interrogated by Hale. I think stress and anxiety triggers them. My brain is just a jerk who can’t process guilt and taunts me with things I don’t feel so awesome about…the guilt of what I’ve done along with the fear of being caught.”

She let out a shaky breath feeling safe enough to say the words out loud. “I can accept that what I’ve done means I’m an awful person who deserves hell. I betrayed the profession I swore to uphold the ethics of. I have caused immense pain to the bereaved. I disrespected the dead that were entrusted in my care. I could and should lose my license for what I did. I deserve any suffering that comes my way. I know that. I’ve made my bed and I need to lie in it”

“Ya ain’ an awful person. What ya did fer the club was…” Chibs started to say before she spoke, interrupting him.

“Morally repugnant, abuse of a corpse, an insult to decent society, a sin.”

He spoke again, rolling his eyes somewhat at her comments. “Ethically…questionable. Yer far from bein awful and deservin any torture. The world ain’ that black and white, Hen. Ya gotta realize shite is more of a shade of gray…at least in our world. Jus’ focus on the fact that ya made sure those bodies did get a final rest when SAMCRO was done with em. Ya weren’t responsible fer what we did with em. We didn’t tell ya why we wanted em. What happened after ya agreed to help us, that’s my sin to suffer fer, Lass. I’ll take hell fer ya. Those families will never know the truth. They didn’t blame ya fer the version of events they were given since ya didn’t get sued. They don’ know what ya did. Only SAMCRO does, and we ain’ judgin’ ya. The bereaved and the rest of society know nothin’ bout what really happened, and they never will. What they don’t know won’t hurt em.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple as he spoke again. “ I want ya to think bout what ya did fer those bodies we had ya cremate…ya cared nough to give em a final restin’ spot. Ya buried em with care under that rose bush. Ya made sure they found peace somewhere beautiful to rest, even if ya didn’t know what they’d want. Ya gave em that care in the end. Someone truly morally repugnant wouldn’t bury cremains of lasses she didn’t even know with such care. Someone who was so awful wouldn’ care bout what happened to those cremains. Ya cared though. Yer carin means ya ain’ so bad.”

She sighed, wanting to argue that she was just as responsible as him as she’d agreed to loan out the bodies in the first place even if it had been for much needed money. 

The fact that she’d sold her morals for money made her feel even worse. She knew the debts she’d inherited had been crushing her, but she also knew she’d had other options. They’d just not been options she wanted to take. She’d been selfish and greedy. She’d been impulsive and dived face first into danger. She had proven she hadn’t changed as much as she’d claimed she had when she exclaimed she was nothing like the girl she’d been almost a decade before. She was still prone to run towards danger like a moth to the flame. If she was feeling the burn of the flame then she had no one to blame but herself. 

She held her tongue though knowing that this was one argument she had zero chance in hell of winning. She knew enough about Chibs to realize that his stubborn streak was equally the width of hers.

She dared to speak, bringing up something that had been troubling her. “What am I supposed to do if anyone ever asks where the money you guys gave me came from? I paid those bills in cash…they were large payments for cash…cash that I just seemed to get out of nowhere. Suppose someone ever looks into my financial records if the police keep looking into those empty graves.  What do I do if anyone ever asks me just where I got so much money out of nowhere?”

Chibs sighed, wracking his brain for a reasonable answer. He spoke as an idea crossed his mind, hoping it was a reasonable solution. “Ya tell em ya did some funeral plannin fer Gemma…Tell em she wanted to make funeral plans fer Clay an her…ya know plan ahead of time fer the future. Say she paid ya in cash fer it all. Clay and she got nough investments in all sorts of legit shite. It’d sound reasonable to think ya got paid in cash. Ya can throw some bullshite plans together as evidence ya planned it. Gemma and Clay would cover fer ya and collaborate yer story if anyone ever asked.”

She sighed knowing that counting on Gemma Teller Morrow or Clay Morrow to be an essential alibi for her wasn’t ideal. She had a feeling that it would work in a bind though. They wouldn’t just be protecting her after all. They’d be protecting the misdeed she’d done for the club and therefore protecting the club itself.

She nodded her head, unable to stop herself from voicing her fears. “I always worry that one day what I’ve done for SAMCRO will lead back to me and I’ll lose everything. I love my job, Filip. I’m where I was meant to be, working here. This is essentially what I was born to do. It’s my legacy and I’ve finally gotten to a place in my life where I want to accept it. I’m good at what I do. I can’t lose that. It’ll be like losing part of my identity. I won’t know who I am without my job.”

“Ya ain’ goin’ to lose a thing, Hen. That fuckin’ case in Lodi is cold and the local PD there have given up on it. We’ve been havin’ Juice monitor shite gettin intel from a connection we got outta the San Joaquin county department. They’re able to call in and see what’s goin in all the departments in the county without it soundin’ suspicious. Those empty graves and that staged crime scene are old news in Lodi. Cops there got bigger fish to fry. The case ran cold and leads ran dry. I think yer in the clear.” Chibs reassured her she frowning slightly at the mention of this connection in San Joaquin. She would never cease to be amazed in how long the arms of SAMCRO reached.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, he fast to speak again. “I love how much ya love yer job, Hen. Yer righ’, yer fuckin incredible at yer job. Ya ain’ losin’ yer legacy. Ya ain’ gotta worry about losin that part of yerself, not fer the club and never fer me.”

He pressed another kiss to her temple, his words soft. “Trus’ me Mo ghràidh. I’m not in the habit of lyin’ to pretty lasses.”

“What does that mean…Mo ghràidh?” She dared to ask as she soaked in his reassurances, this not being the first time she’d heard the unfamiliar words leave his lips.

He spoke, managing to pull back just enough from her to press a soft kiss to her lips as he spoke. “Scottish Gaelic, Hen. It means "My love.”

If her heart hadn’t already overflowed with devotion for him at least a dozen times tonight she was certain it would have in this moment. Her lips pressed to his cheek, her voice soft and filled with a sense of fond adoration. “Oh, Filip. How are you this sweet?”

He chuckled, shaking his head at the comment not helping but to lean into the press of her lips to his cheek. “I’m only sweet to ya, Hen. Don’ tell no one. Gotta keep up my reputation, especially with the prospect. Can’t let em know I’m this soft.”

She smiled, wanting to point out that he was far sweeter to more people than he realized. She held it in though, pressing another kiss to his cheek.

Her lips ran across his skin adoringly, Chibs not helping but to sink into the affection. He was certain he’d never grow accustomed to someone kissing him with such tenderness and he knew for a fact he’d never be entirely convinced he deserved such warmth. He was eager to soak it up all the same.

He managed to turn his face, his lips sliding along hers with ease. The kiss easily grew impassioned, his tongue finding no resistance, she parting her lips.

She let out a soft moan as he slid his tongue along hers, easily dominating the kisses she sank into his affections.

She reluctantly parted her lips from his an idea crossing her mind. She smiled at him, her voice soft as she reached out toying with the collar of his undershirt. “So, you said that tonight was all about me…making me feel good?”

“Aye, it was.” He insisted his heart rate picking up, he trying not to get his hopes up on what she might be about to offer him. He was quite certain he’d eagerly take anything she was willing to give him. 

She leaned in her lips brushing across his so lightly; the kiss was not nearly enough for him. She smirked as she pulled away, he leaning forward chasing her lips.

She gently shoved him back to rest against the bed, her voice teasing. “So…it’s around three a.m…I could argue that last night was just about me. It’s technically a new day.”

“Aye, it is.” He agreed a heat spreading to the lower region of his body, his heart beating all the quicker.

She laid down beside him, her lips sliding along his cheek down to his neck. “So, can this morning be about you?”

“Aye, Hen. I wouldn’t say no to tha’ offer.” He insisted a low moan leaving him as her lips moved along his pulse point, pressing soft sucking kisses into his skin.

He was certain she might leave a mark behind and he couldn’t help but to love the idea. He knew he’d wear any lovebites from her proudly. 

She ran a hand down his torso teasingly her lips focused on his neck, his head falling back soaking up the attention.

She ran a hand under his undershirt caressing his warm skin, a small sense of anxiety building ever so slightly within him. He was almost tempted to attempt to suck in his stomach. He knew his midsection was far wider than he’d prefer.

She didn’t seem to notice that he was a little heavier than he’d like her hand caressing his skin, her touch soft and teasing.

He turned his head, her lips pressing to his, the kiss growing deep as her hand ran down his torso far too slowly. Her fingertips passed over his hips gently running along his thigh, a groan leaving him.

She ran her hand back up his thigh, sliding it over his abdomen, a groan leaving him the lower region of his body perking up almost as though it was trying to tempt her into touching him.

Another groan left him as she gave in her hand pressing over his boxer clad member a soft moan leaving her as she spoke. “Can I touch you, Baby? I want to stroke this cock and make you feel so good.”

He eagerly nodded his head, the words becoming jumbled up on his lips he wanting to say a million things.

She spoke teasingly, almost parroting a phrase he’d murmured to her the night before in pursuit of pleasuring her. “I need words, Filip.”

He groaned, nodding his head. “Fuck, Hen. Aye ya can do whatever ya want to me.”

She giggled at the comment the action making his cock twitch. She spoke, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “That’s a dangerous offer to make, Handsome.”

“Never been one to shy away from danger, Lass.” He remarked his heart lifting at the word handsome. It had been so long since anyone had called him such a thing.

He whined as she pulled away all too suddenly. She smirked, shaking her head at the whine that left his lips. 

She pressed a reassuring kiss to his cheek, her voice soft. “I need to grab something that’s going to help us out.”

He furrowed his brow as she turned in bed reaching for the drawer in her nightstand. He smirked understanding as she rolled back over holding up a tube of lubricant. 

He spoke nodding his head at the tube, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Ya keep lube in yer nightstand, Hen?”

She returned the smirk as she spoke. “Yep, it can be helpful especially when I’m a little too eager to really work myself up and get as wet as I want before I make myself cum with my vibrator.”

He groaned the words making his cock throb. He closed his eyes for a brief moment overcome with imagery of what she was describing. He could so easily imagine her lying back in this bed, a toy buried so deep in her wet center. He could imagine her writhing against the bed as the toy buzzed away moans pouring from her lips. 

He spoke daring to open his eyes as he watched her open the tube squirting a healthy amount of lube into her hand. “Fuck, Hen. I think I may need a demonstration some time.”

“You want to hump my vibrator?” She teased a giggle leaving his lips , he shaking his head.

“Nah, think we already established I wanna give ya the humpin round ere. I wouldn’ mind seeing ya play though, Love. Bet it’s a fuckin’ beautiful sight.” He insisted his cock throbbing at the thought.

She spoke knowing just what to say to make him moan. “Last time I did it, we’d just ended a phone call. The sound of your voice was enough to make me want to make myself cum. I think that accent of yours is a kink I didn’t even know I had.”

“Christ, Mo ghràidh.” he moaned, his reaction being exactly what she’d envisioned.

She spoke, a surprisingly dominant tone entering her voice. “Get rid of those boxers for me, Filip.”

He groaned, shoving the bed sheets and comforter down with zero shame as he frantically reached down practically ripping his boxers off his movements a little clumsy. 

His boxers were kicked off somewhere off the side of the bed, she gazing down at his cock a soft moan leaving her as she spoke. “Fuck, Filip. You’re way more impressive than I’d hoped.”

He groaned knowing this wasn’t the first time a sexual partner had made a comment about his dick. In the past though, when a croweater thought to comment on his size he’d always assumed it was absolute bullshit. The club sweetbutts tended to just say whatever they thought whichever Son they were with wanted to hear.

Talking about how huge a guy was seemed to be a favorite line among the croweaters no matter what size their bedroom partner might be.

With Y/N though, he had the sense that her words were genuine judging by the sense of lust washing over features.

She stared down at him, her clit distinctly throbbing. She wasn’t lying. He was thicker than she’d hoped for and longer than she’d thought he might be. He was just above average enough to pack the promise that he’d feel good without it being too much. 

He wasn’t so huge that she was certain he’d just be painful buried inside of her. She knew some guys were deluded enough to think that the bigger the more pleasurable. She knew though that too big could just be uncomfortable. Some guys seemed to think that a woman’s body was unending but that was not the case at all. She’d found in the past that too big meant less inside and a sense of discomfort. There was a fine line between being thick and long enough to provide a pleasant stretch and being so brutally huge it felt like you were being ripped in half.

She had a feeling that Chibs favored the pleasurable stretch side of the coin.

She pressed her lips to his, the kiss growing deep without any effort. Chibs groaned into the kiss as she wrapped her lube slicked hand around his cock.

She stroked him slowly, his head falling back moans of pleasure spilling from his lips. He rocked against her touch she pulling her hand back a frustrated whine leaving him.

She spoke her voice so teasing. “Stay still and enjoy it, Filip.”

He groaned gripping down onto the bedsheets nodding his head frantically, having to wonder when he’d become so submissive. 

There was something incredibly erotic about letting her take control though. It was not something he’d thought he’d be willing to do with any bedroom partner.

He found that he was all too eager to lie back and let her take control for now at least.

She wrapped her hand back around him stroking him so slowly a groan leaving him he resisting the urge to rock against her to increase the pleasure. 

She spoke her voice soft and sweet. “So beautiful, Filip. You’re so handsome.”

He spoke his voice thick with lust. “We gotta get ya glasses, Hen. Fuck.”

He paused, shaking his head a giggle leaving him as he spoke again. “Actually nevermin’. Don’t wanna get ya glasses. Ya migh’ see what an ugly bastard I am if yer vision gets better.”

She spoke pressing an adoring kiss to his lips, he moaning against her lips. She spoke as she pulled from the kiss far sooner than he’d hoped. “Shush, you’re not ugly. You’re the sweetest, the bravest, and the most handsome man I know.”

He groaned as she sped up her movements, her voice teasing. “If you weren’t handsome I wouldn’t have worn out the batteries in my vibrator thinking about you.”

He grunted the words leaving him. “Fuckin jack off too much to ya, Love. Livin’ with my hand down my fuckin’ boxers every nigh’ since we met.” 

She moaned her clit throbbing at the confession. She spoke, reaching forward with her other hand massaging his balls, the action making his eyes practically roll into the back of his head, a loud moan leaving him.

She spoke pulling her hand from his balls all too soon but he didn’t have time to focus on the loss as she spoke. “What do you imagine, Baby?”

“Takin ya in every position, Love. Makin ya moan my name. Makin ya cum over and over again. Makin ya cream all over this cock. Cummin in that pussy, lettin ya know it’s mine. How tight yer pussy woul’ feel. Yer fuckin tits.” He moaned his eyes gazing down at what she was doing to him wanting to commit the sight to his memory.

It was the hottest thing he was sure he’d seen in a long while; her lube slick hand sliding over his cock, pre cum desperately seeping from his redened tip, her nails that soft pink, her hands so delicate wrapped around his thick length.

She spoke, reaching out with the hand that wasn’t occupied placing it over one of his. She pressed his hand to her breast over the silk of her nightgown “These tits?”

He groaned at the action, his cock throbbing painfully. He massaged her breast over the silk of her nightgown, a moan spilling from him. “Aye, fuckin perfect breasts. Perfect handful. Stared at em too much when we firs met. Couldn’t wipe em from my brain.”

She smiled a soft moan leaving her at the words and the feel of his hand working her breast. No guy had ever managed to make pleasure course through her so rapidly just by touching her breast alone.

She was tempted to lower her nightgown and let him have all the more access, but held back stroking his cock more rapidly, the action making his resolve break his hips rocking.

She did nothing to stop him, allowing him to help her chase his orgasm. She spoke her voice soft and adoring. “Want to make you cum, Handsome. You deserve it. Such a sweet brave man, trying to protect me tonight, promising to keep me safe.”

He groaned, nodding his head frantically, the words spilling from him. “Gonna protect ya with my life, Hen. Always gonna be safe with me.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, her voice sweet. “You’re going to be safe with me too, Filip.”

He groaned the words making his heart ache with adoration. She continued to stroke him, her lips pressing along his neck. “You made me feel so good tonight, Filip. Never had a man eat my pussy so well. Never had anyone make me cum from that alone.”

“Fuck, gotta treat ya how ya deserve.” He grunted the comment making his balls ache hinting that she would soon be successful in getting him to his end.

She spoke continuing to stroke him he chasing the sensation with rapid thrusts helping her please him. “Want to treat you how you deserve too, Handsome.”

He moaned as she nipped at his pulse point his balls throbbing pulling closer to his body the end so deliciously close.

He twisted the bedsheets in his hands unable to form any responses to her words he devolving into moans and groans as she continued to stroke him her lips and tongue soothing the nip to his neck.

He grunted his cock twitching his orgasm hitting him harder than he’d anticipated his head falling back his eyes practically rolling into the back of his head. He felt her name spill from his lips his accent growing thicker praises spilling from him as ropes of cum spilled from him coating her hand and his stomach. “Fuckin’ shite, oh, Hen. My Lass. Fuck, yes. Fuckin’ perfect, makin me cum. Wish it was in ya, fuck.”

She stroked him through his release a moan leaving her lips at the sight of him so lost in pleasure and the evidence of that pleasure spilling onto her hand.

He whined as he came down from his end the light stroke to his oversensitive cock too much.

She reluctantly pulled away he panting towards the ceiling his body shaking and damp with sweat.

He turned his head, meeting her gaze a groan leaving him as she brought her hand up to her lips, her tongue peeking out to taste the release coated along her skin she moaning at the salty taste of him.

He groaned at the action, his hand pulling her fingers from her lips, his lips pressing to hers.

He kissed her deeply, his hand pressing to the back of her head keeping her there. He reluctantly pulled away from her his voice drowsy. “Gonna be the fuckin’ death of me if ya keep bein this perfect, Mo ghràidh.”

She giggled at the comment not helping but to tease him. “Good thing I have caskets downstairs huh?”

He rolled his eyes, his hand reaching down to her backside giving it a playful swat. She gasped, jumping slightly at the action. She spoke her voice a mix of scolding and playfulness. “Filip.”

“Don’ bury me yet, Love. Still got life in me.” He remarked his body feeling heavy and relaxed.

She shook her head giving his shoulder a playful nudge. “You better go clean up before you pass out. Buddy. I am not sleeping pressed to you if you’ve got dried Chibs juice on you.”

He snorted at the comment a huff leaving him. “Aye, things I do fer ya.”

She shook her head, reaching out to find a tissue to clean her own hand as she watched him pull from her bed.

She smirked lust washing over her as she admired his backside as he disappeared into the master bathroom shutting the door behind him.

She was pleased to find that his backside was just as much of a gorgeous sight sans clothing.

She relaxed against the bed tossing the tissue into the wastebasket by the bed satisfied her hand was clean enough.

Chibs cleaned himself up as thoroughly as he could, losing his undershirt as it hit him; he'd definitely spilled his release far enough to hit the article of clothing.

He left the room not ashamed to be completely nude not helping but to look forward to any hint of lust that might be on her features at the sight of him totally bare.

He was only somewhat disappointed to find her fast asleep as he reentered the bedroom. He felt a sense of comfort hit him at the sight hoping that she would find a more restful sleep than she had moments ago.

He found his boxers within the bed sliding them back on before he slid back into bed beside her.

He scooted close to her his arms wrapping around her torso, his head resting close to hers. He spoke a surprising statement leaving his lips as sleep began to sink in. “I love ya, Hen.”

He was too exhausted and far too satisfied with what they’d just done to consider the statement that had left him too hard.

His heart screamed though that he was certain of his words. He loved her.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chibs rolled his eyes at the low whistle that left Juice’s lips at the clear love bites pressed into Chibs’ neck. Y/N had not been subtle about her choice in placement of hickies and he knew he had not entirely been subtle in his choices either.

Juice leaned in examining the darkened marks visible under the collar of Chibs’ black shirt and his kutte. “Y/N did that?”

“Ya shoul’ see her neck.” Chibs commented knowing he would not go into any greater detail than that.

He sat back at the bar satisfied enough with the little bit of bragging he’d done. He knew he’d never share any of the details about Y/N. He was quite sure she’d embalm him alive if he got too vocal about their bedroom activities. He figured he could get away with bragging about his own sexual prowess though. 

“If she didn’t scare the shit out of me, I’d ask if she has any sisters or cousins.” Juice commented Chibs smirking at the words as he sat back at the bar in the Sons’ clubhouse.

He spoke, raising a brow. “My lass scares ya? Sweet wee thing like her scares ya?”

“She told me where the blood goes in an embalming, dude. Shit is spooky,” Juice shuddered remembering the conversation that had happened at the fairground the night before.

Chibs smirked, eager to respond, making Juice shudder all the more. “Aye into the sewer.”

Juice groaned, shaking his head. “Shit, I do not want to be a fly on the wall in you twos private conversations.”

Chibs smirked all the more tempted to prod Juice all the more but held back as Jax Teller entered the clubhouse.

Chibs sighed pulling from the bar knowing a serious talk was needed between his vice pres. and he.

He spoke nodding his head. “Jackie Boy, can we talk?”

Jax nodded off towards his Chapel having the feeling Chibs wanted to talk about something that he didn’t want Juice’s ears lingering around to hear.

The Scot followed Jax into the room, the doors shutting behind them giving them a sense of privacy.  

They both sat at the reaper table in their usual spots, Chibs letting out a sigh knowing he had to jump into this right away. “Gunner ran into Y/N at the fairgrounds last night.”

“Shit, fucking asshole. How’s she doing?” Jax dared to ask his jaw tensing at the news. He’d been dreading this possibility the moment Y/N had become once again entangled with SAMCRO. 

Chibs shook his head, his fists clenching. “As alrigh’ as she can be. Fuckin terrified her seein him.”

Jax cringed at the comment he daring to speak. “I’m guessing this wasn’t just him being his usual shithead self in front of a woman. From your reaction, I’m guessing she filled you in on the background with him?”

“Aye.” Chibs snapped, taking a deep breath, his eyes crossing over the sign proudly displayed on the chapel wall. Brains Before Bullets.

Jax shook his head, a heavy sigh leaving him, he pulling a cigarette from his kutte pocket lighting it. “Shit was awful. They were this destructive force together. I tried my best to keep him away from her and to talk her out of being stuck to him…but you know how stubborn she is. She was even worse at nineteen.”

“She told me everything.” Chibs blurted out reaching into his own kutte pulling out a cigarette of his own.

Chibs spoke again gripping down onto his cigarette so tight it almost snapped in half. “He fuckin violated er more than once back then. Did ya fuckin know bout that?”

Jax grimaced, shaking his head. “I knew the sex was rough. Gunner loves to brag. If I’d known she…If I ever knew he forced himself on her, I swear I would have killed him.”

Chibs was tempted to say the words What about now? Would you kill him now? I would.

He kept the statement in not having a chance to say the words as Jax spoke. “Shit back then was a blur, Chibs. She was a mess…shit with her brother. I think she was in self destruction mode. She was so young…she loved her brother and he loved the hell out of her. He complained about how much she followed him around, but if anyone else said a word he’d beat their face in. The accident took him from her mentally at least. I felt like I owed it to her and him to let her work shit out. I enabled her. I’ll own up to that. I felt guilty. Ope and I are the ones who encouraged her brother to get that Harley, more me than Opie. After the accident, I blamed myself as much as she blamed me. In my own fucked up way I thought letting her work out her pain in the clubhouse was the right move. If I had been able to predict Gunner, then I would have told her to get the fuck out of my face that very first night she showed up blaming me for her brother’s accident.”

Chibs spoke, taking a long drag of his cigarette, the words harsh. “I want to fuckin kill Gunner. I know I can’t. Shite would bite me in the arse.”

Jax sighed nodding his head in agreement. A member of one charter murdering a member of another charter would likely result in a Mayhem vote towards the killer. 

If Chibs killed Gunner and it was found out, Chibs would most likely be killed in retaliation. 

Chibs spoke venting out loud talking more to himself than to Jax. “What kind of fuckin man am I if I let him live knowin he violated the woman I love? I don’ care how long ago it was or how fuckin determined she was to destroy herself. I know he hurt her and I know he’d do it again if he was given the chance.”

Jax widened his eyes not missing the word love.

He chose not to address it quick to speak trying to break Chibs out of his vocal inner dialogue. “Then we don’t let him ever be alone with her. Anytime he shows up in Charming, we’re going to make sure those two never cross paths…not without you or me around. The rest of SAMCRO will look out for her too. Her being a business association of the club protects her alone…you being with her guarantees it.”

Chibs let out a shaky breath, his words tense. “I can’t promise I won’t beat the shite out of him on sigh’ if he’s even in the same room with her Jackie. I see him an all I see is red. All I can think bout is him violatin’ her…He bruised her damn wrist at the fairground…if he was willin to do tha’ in public…If I didn’t know wha’ he did to her in private…I’d shudder at imagining it.”

He gazed down at the lit cigarette in his hand remembering his statement to her when she told him about Gunner. If he’d known her back then…he had not finished the sentence yet he knew what he’d say.

His heart screamed he would have protected her had he known her back then. She would have been cherished by him. He would have appreciated her and shown her how to channel her pain without harming herself. He would have fallen for her.

A more sensible part of him knew he was damaged by his past so thoroughly when he first arrived in Charming. That sensible part of his mind told him he would have been so lost in his own misery he might not have had it in him to take on hers. He would have been in no shape to play protector. Perhaps they would have destroyed one another due to their own fear and anguish. Perhaps they would have just used one another to avoid facing their misery. Perhaps they could have been toxic for one another.

His heart battled that thought though the over romantic organ insistent she would have been good for soothing his misery and he would have been good to her. He would have worshipped her making it known mistreatment of her would be met with violence against anyone who laid a finger on her. They would have not destroyed one another the way his mind insisted but instead would have healed each other.

Being by her side now felt so healing. He felt lighter than he’d felt in years. She didn’t make him feel like the dirty damaged outlaw. He felt like Filip who loved deeply and protected those he trusted.

Jax was fast to speak, providing reassurance. “If it comes down to that, you’ll have my support. I think you’ll be justified to knock him out for what happened at the fairground alone. You throwing any punch his way is going to be seen as you defending your ol’ lady.”

The comment about Y/N being his ol lady only brought a small sense of warmth to him, his anguish and rage towards Gunner casting a shadow over what should be such a delightful statement.

“Aye, I’ll defend her. I’d kill fer her Jax. I offered to kill the prick las’ nigh’ and ya know what she said?” Chibs blurted out, taking another drag from his cigarette.

He spoke again before Jax had a chance to reply. “She tol’ me that me killin him would bite me in the arse. She fuckin’ knew how that shite would go down with the club, without even havin to be told. She jus’ knew how our world works.I hate tha’ she’s righ’. She’s too damn clever…makes too much sense even when I’m pissed off.”

Jax shook his head fast to speak. “She’s always been clever.”

Chibs cringed knowing he needed to say the words. He wouldn’t be able to push it from his mind until he cleared the air. “She mentioned her past with ya.”

Jax cringed at the comment knowing that it the conversation was unavoidable. He’d known it would come up the second Chibs started to get close with the local undertaker.

Jax spoke knowing he had to lie it out on the table. “We had fun…when we weren’t arguing…which was most of the time. We argued about everything. I was a prick and she was mouthy. She was angry and I was nursing a broken heart. It wasn’t love, you don’t have to worry about that. We were a good distraction for each other. I never meant for it to go in that direction. At first I just wanted to let her vent about her brother. She seemed like she needed a friend or at least someone who let her talk without judging her.  I think we were both caught up in our own problems…our grief over her brother, our mixed feelings about our legacies, and other bullshit. We worked shit out on each other. The sex was good, but we weren’t committed to anything deeper than just fucking each other. I wasn’t looking to make her anything more than a friend who I occasionally hooked up with and she wasn’t looking to be my ol lady. I’m sure my mom would have loved her to be my ol lady…but I wasn’t interested. I’m still not. Trust me, brother. I know she’s yours. I have zero interest in pursuing anything with her and I know the feelings are mutual on her end.”

Chibs let out a shaky breath, his heart lifting at the words I know she’s yours.

He couldn’t ignore the possessive little voice that piped up in the back of his head. Yes she is.

Jax spoke again, a sigh leaving him. “She leaving Charming was what she needed. She was going to wind up dead if she stayed here…especially with Gunner. I worried about her getting so deep back into SAMCRO. She doing okay?”

“I’m takin care of her. I ain’ goin to let nothin happen to her.” Chibs insisted not wanting to spill his guts about her nightmares or the sense of guilt she felt over what she’d done for the club.

That was not his secret to share. Sharing that would be a betrayal of her trust in him. 

He spoke needing to say the words he knowing that what he'd said to her the night before as she slept was not just his orgasm talking. His heart screamed that he meant it. “I love her."

He cleared his throat he fast to speak again. "I'm crazy bout er, Jackie Boy. I will make sure she never has the need to leave Charming ever again.”

Jax nodded his head, Chibs almost certain he spotted a hint of relief in the younger man’s eyes.

He spoke a heavy sigh leaving him. “I know she’s not my biggest fan…but I do still care about her as a friend. I know she’s in good hands with you. I’ll do what I can to help you any way I can when it comes to Gunner.”

Chibs let out a sigh of relief nodding his head. “Aye, I appreciate that.”

He stared back up the sign on the chapel wall. Brains Before Bullets.

He knew just putting a bullet in Gunner’s skull was not the answer. 

He would have to be smarter than that. 

==============================================================

If anyone had told Y/N just a year ago that she would find herself walking arm and arm with a member of SAMCRO down Main Street, sharing a bag of candy, she might fear she had encountered someone who was quite delusional.

Here she was though walking with Chibs arm linked with hers a bag of chocolates in her hand they shared them as they strolled past shop windows.

Chibs spoke, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. “I use ta steal chocolates from the petrol station when I was a wee lad…that and dirty magazines when I firs realized jus how appealin lasses were.”

She chuckled at the comment, it taking her off guard. “You had sticky fingers?”

“Aye, Christ. If my poor Ma had known she’d have skinned me alive.” Chibs commented a chuckle leaving his lips.

“I imagine so, especially with the titty mags.” She remarked a shaking laugh spilling from his lips.

He spoke, shaking his head. “Aye woulda been drug down to the local Priest by my Ma. Woulda been given so many Hail Marys I woulda had to have been raised in a confession booth.”

She replied to this comment giving his hip a playful nudge as they walked. “So I’m taking it you weren’t a good Catholic boy?”

“I tried…I maybe lied a wee bit in confession sometimes though. Figured some shite is better off between me and God alone…Father Anderson didn’ need to be part of that conversation.” Chibs admitted knowing he probably was considered to be a poor catholic as an adult. He’d not been to confession since he’d lived in Belfast.

He spoke a small sigh leaving him. “My poor Ma…both er kids went astray. She was a good Catholic lass. Cait was less bad than me. She was a wee bit more obedient. Her son though…he’s all his Uncle Filip.”

“You have a nephew?” Y/N dared to ask not helping but to soak up every story Chibs told her about his immediate family though she’d always got the sense it brought up a hint of sorrow in him.

“Aye, Padriac. He adored me growin up. I used to visit Cait and him…make the trip out with some cash and we’d have a wee party, good food and drinks. His da…my sister’s ex, fuckin bastard was a wee bit too much like our Da. Cared more bout the bottle than his family until he disappeared. My Da was older than my Ma when they got together…too damn old to be messin round with a lass er age. My Ma was sweet as can be, loyal heart and tender. She was a saint. She was stern with me and Cait when we needed it but she had a soft soul. She put up with too much from my prick of a Da, and when he left no one missed him. He was a fuckin brute. We were glad to see him leave. Our Ma died a few years after Padriac was born…Cait and I were the only family each other had. After I patched into SAMBEL I visited more. Padriac  followed in my footsteps ya know? Prospected fer SAMBEL. Pretty sure he’s been patched in now. He’s bout twenty seven now. He was a teenager last I saw him but he was a handsome lad. Got those Telford genes, tall and dark headed. He’s got that Telford mischievous spirit. He’s a good lad. I love him to death and miss him more than ya know. Made me proud when I heard through the grapevine that he patched in to SAMBEL jus like me.” Chibs recalled, she not helping but to adore the fondness in his voice as he spoke about both his sister and his nephew.

She picked up on the comment about his father and his mother. She guessed that explained some of the sorrow that she sensed when he discussed his mother. 

She spoke not helping but to tease him. “So, from what I’m hearing…there’s a younger Telford out there? Crap, I could have gotten a younger model.”

He let out a huff giving her backside a swat not caring if they were in public a laugh leaving her along with a slight squeal.

She buried her face against his arm, a little embarrassed as her squeal caught the attention of a passing man.

Chibs smirked, wrapping an arm around her waist, his voice low, a hint of husk in his voice. “Ya weren’t complainin bout my age when I ate yer pussy the other nigh? Think ya were too busy cummin on my tongue to say much of anythin legible.”

She felt her cheeks flush all the darker as she gazed up at him, his lips pressing to hers he tasting like chocolate and a sense of adoration.

She spoke her voice soft as he pulled from the kiss. “Don’t have any complaints about the older model I got.”

She paused, unable to stop herself. “I have always liked antiques.”

He snorted at the comment, giving her backside another swat, choosing to keep his arm wrapped around her waist as they continued to make their way down main street.

They were unaware of the eyes watching them from within a nearby diner.

Agent June Stahl watched the Scottish Son and the mysterious young woman with avid interest. 

She’d not been expecting to spot a Son walking down Main Street when she stopped for a bite to eat the Charming Police Station feeling far too stuffy and Deputy Hale feeling far too suffocating.

She watched the pair as they stopped in front of a shop window the Scot leaning down to say something that the young woman found humorous judging by how her head fell back she clearly giggling. Stahl studied the pair as the Son’s lips pressed to his companion’s they making it clear they did not shy away from PDA. It was an odd sight; the rough looking forty something year old biker and the young elegant looking woman wearing a black dress that could only be described as prim. 

She had a feeling judging by their interactions and the way the Scot was staring down at her with devotion that she was no croweater. She looked a little too polished to be a biker groupie. No, the way the Scotsman was staring at his companion screamed ol lady.

She spoke as her waitress refilled her cup of coffee. “Who is that young woman over there? The girl in the black dress across the street?”

The much older waitress who wore a name tag stating her name was Pearl rose a brow, she looking hesitant to speak up about anyone walking hand and hand with a member of SAMCRO.

Stahl resisted the urge to roll her eyes, having taken notice of the residents' hesitance to say much about SAMCRO. The MC had a hold on most of the residents of the town.

Pearl apparently decided her need to gossip was more tempting than the need to stay mum about SAMCRO. “That’s Y/N Y/L/N. She owns Y/L/N and Sons Funeral Home. Her dad died a few months back. She inherited the family business. It’s a good thing she took over since she is the only available heir to do so. She has a brother but the poor dear hasn’t been the same since his motorcycle accident about a decade ago. He’s out in some institution in Lodi allegedly. Poor dear just isn’t right in the head, such a shame. Y/N came back to town for her father’s funeral and stayed. She was living out somewhere else for a while…out east somewhere. I don’t like to gossip but she had a wild streak about a decade ago…got into a lot of trouble, gave her poor dad a time. She seems to have cleaned her act up though…not her taste in men it looks like, but she’s grown up a lot…to be honest, she’s always been a peculiar girl…never quite fit in and didn’t seem to even try to, but she’s running the funeral home now. She seems good at her job at least even with as strange as she’s always been. She made the funeral home look real nice.”

Stahl raised a brow at the information. A funeral director who just happened to be walking down main street with a known criminal?

Stahl frowned, tempted to point out that this Y/N didn’t seem to have cleaned up her act too much if she was buddying up to a member of SAMCRO.

She held in the comment though making a mental note of this young woman.