Fawn Trager

|| A Dash of Nutmeg ||

— 𝘖𝘩, 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦, 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦? 𝘖𝘩, 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘰... [ Reader's Discretion Advised ]

I hadn’t meant to let myself get tangled up in this. Being back in Charming was supposed to be temporary— a stopover, a place to lick my wounds before disappearing again. But the moment I set foot back in town, I realized that wasn’t going to happen. Not when the weight of my sister’s murder still sat heavy on my chest, pressing into my ribs like a dull blade that never stopped cutting.

And especially not when I learned that the man responsible, Damon Pope, was still walking around untouched, untouchable.

I told myself I’d play it smart. I’d keep my head down, my hands clean. But vengeance had a way of twisting even the best intentions, and before I knew it, I was being pulled into the orbit of the very people who could help me get to him—or who could get me killed in the process.

It started with a name. Trey Parker. He was the key. A mid-level player in Pope’s organization, someone with just enough ambition to make him reckless but not enough power to be untouchable. If I could get close to him, I could get closer to Pope. It was a dangerous game, but I’d already decided I was willing to play. What I hadn’t counted on was Jax Teller finding out before I was ready.

I should’ve known better. Jax always had eyes everywhere, ears in places I couldn’t see, or so it seemed. I thought I was being careful, keeping my moves quiet, but someone tipped him off. The first time he confronted me about it, I played it cool, acted like he was imagining things. But I could see the shift in him, the way his gaze hardened, the way he started watching me like he was waiting for me to slip.

And then he stopped waiting.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Fawn.”

His voice cut through the air between us, low and measured, but there was something else beneath it—something sharp, something I wasn’t sure I wanted to name. We were alone in the back of TM, away from prying eyes, but I could feel the weight of his attention like a spotlight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I leaned against the wall, arms crossed over my chest, forcing myself to hold his gaze.

Jax took a step closer, and I caught the faint scent of leather and smoke. It was familiar, comforting in a way that made my stomach twist. “Don’t bullshit me,” he said. “You’ve been poking around in places you shouldn’t be. I need to know what the hell you’re doing.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m handling it.”

“No, you’re not.” Another step. He was close now, too close, his presence wrapping around me like a chain. “You think you can go after Pope on your own?”

My pulse quickened. “I don’t need your permission, Jax.”

His jaw tensed. “No, but you need to be smarter. You wanna take Pope down? Fine. But you don’t get to do it alone.”

I knew what he was saying, well, what he wasn’t saying. If I kept going like this, I’d end up dead. And if that happened, it wouldn’t just be my blood on Pope’s hands. It would be on Jax’s, too. And that wasn’t something he was willing to live with.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked, voice quieter now, testing him.

Jax exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna keep doing what you’re doing. Get closer to Parker, find out what you can. But you don’t make a move unless I tell you to.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And what do you get out of this?”

His lips quirked, but there was no humor in it. “Pope’s mine. The club will handle him. You keep your hands clean.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him I didn’t need SAMCRO’s protection. But a part of me knew he was right. If I did this my way, I’d never make it out alive. And if I let the club handle it, Pope would still pay.

I nodded slowly. “Fine.”

Jax studied me for a long moment, like he didn’t quite believe me. Maybe he shouldn’t. Because even as I agreed to his plan, I was already forming my own.

One way or another, Damon Pope was going to die. I just hadn’t decided whose hands would do the killing yet.

The days passed in a haze of calculated moves and forced patience. Getting close to Parker wasn’t easy, but I was determined. He was suspicious at first, but a well-placed lie about needing work and a carefully crafted air of desperation made me seem harmless enough. I played my part well—too well. He started trusting me. Started talking.

Parker wasn’t a mastermind. He was a man who wanted to prove himself, and that made him reckless. It made him dangerous, but it also made him useful. I listened, I learned, and I bided my time.

Jax, of course, kept a tight leash on me. He acted like he was letting me run free, but I knew better. He had eyes everywhere, watching, waiting. Sometimes I’d catch glimpses of his bike lingering at the edge of my peripheral, just far enough to remind me he was there. He wanted me in this, but not too deep. He wanted control.

The problem was, I wasn’t sure I could give it to him.

One night, Parker took me to a club Pope owned. It was loud, the bass thrumming in my bones as we moved through the crowd. He was relaxed, cocky, a little too eager to show off. I played the role of a woman in over her head, letting him think he had the upper hand. It worked. He leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear as he murmured about shipments, about money, about things he shouldn’t be saying so freely. He was drunk on power, on the idea that I was just some girl desperate for his approval.

And then, I felt it—eyes on me. I turned, scanning the crowd, and there he was. Jax. Standing at the bar, drink in hand, watching me with that unreadable expression. The moment our eyes met, my stomach twisted. He wasn’t just watching.

He was waiting.

I forced myself to look away, to keep playing my part. But I knew then, in that moment, that this wasn’t just a game. It wasn’t just revenge.

— 𝘼𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙛𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚. 𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙠, 𝙨𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚. [ Reader's Discretion Advised ]

𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦... A sentence that was almost exclusively used for my sister in my head. She was trouble, and I was just her shadow. The one people thought was being cute by imitating her big sister. Nevermind the illegal shit we were doing, or how bad our attitudes and lifestyles actually were. Wasn't like anyone at home gave a damn. We lived in what is called the 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦. At least it is to us in it. I don't know if anyone else fucking calls it that. They probably just call us outlaws or rebels or something more accurate than how we all viewed ourselves. My father was a patched member. Sgt. At Arms of SAMCRO, and my mother was a Cro-Eater who couldn't swim her way out of a bottle to save her own life much less the lives of her daughters. For those of you not in the know, SAMCRO is Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Redwood Original. Simply put, the original charter. The big dogs of all those pretty patches you see running the west coast. And slipping out of their boundaries with nomad patches who go a little of everywhere. Fuck there's even a charter in Belfast. And yes, I'm talking fucking Ireland. My father? He's loyal to the club. Specifically. Clay Morrow. Part of me always suspected he probably loved Clay a little more than the way you would a brother. There was a point I thought he was in a throuple with Clay and Gemma Teller.

Well, Gemma Teller-Morrow these days. After JT died she hopped on Clay's dick real fast. Which always pissed me off. Even as a kid. See, my parents were too busy not remembering they had children so the other patches raised me and Dawnie. With brief parental interruptions from fuck up one and two. Piney and JT? They were my favorite babysitters. JT, was living poetry in leather. He had this dream of freedom that was... Infectious. It's what started the whole club. He had a vision. He never had a vision of the club becoming one thing or another. It just evolved on its own springing forth from his view on the world, but it twisted and corrupted. It weighed heavy on his soul, but it lead to him being one of my best teachers in life. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘞𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦, 𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘎𝘰𝘥. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. His words echoed in my head while I stood over my suitcase with tear-filled eyes. When JT was taken from me by that wreck they tried to convince everyone of as a suicide? I grew resentful. Piney tried his best to keep me occupied. He would teach me little things here and there around the garage in hopes of drawing me away from the ledge he saw me going towards. It worked, a little... Gemma tried to offer me a motherly presence. She was the self-proclaimed queen of the club. The Old Lady of two presidents? She commanded respect. And she thrived on it. She made my fucking skin crawl. She seemed so happy to benefit from the loss of JT. Even in her so-called grief she was happy. Jax didn't see it. No, Jackson and Opie stayed enamored by the club. Blinded by the chrome accents of bikes with blood freshly washed from them into the street amidst their war with the Mayans MC. I would start fights with them. Purely because they were so blissfully ignorant. I longed for that. The ability not to feel the full weight of the grief that was crushing me even then.

I'd lost the best father figure in my life, and his own son was able to pick the weight up and fool around with that brat Tara Knowles and Dawn and everyone like there wasn't a crumbled Pan-Head being rebuilt as a monument in the garage bay 50 feet from us. I slammed the top of my suitcase down with a frustrated scream that I was feeling anywhere close to this again. Jackson, Opie, and my Father crashed into my fucking life just to tell me my sister was dead. And when I asked for the one comfort I wanted? The only other father figure I'd have had wanted in that moment? I was told he was also dead, but no one. Not one fucking soul thought to tell me! No one called me! Who gives a fuck if I moved away from the bullshit, I would have showed up for Piney. I would have sucked it up and faced my father and that bullshit town just to tell him thank you for not letting me jump that cliff all those years ago. He was there for me when no one else was. Instead, I had trouble's favorite duo and my father hovering. "Fawn... Just..." "Keep your fucking money, Teller!" I snapped slinging my suitcase around in a wide swing that I had hoped would strike him, but I missed, which only deepened my glare up at the man. 𝘗𝘪𝘵𝘺 was dripping from him and I hated it. I didn't want pity. I wanted fucking blood. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘣, 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥. John's words invaded my head again making me shake my head and sling my luggage to the ground so my hands could lift to press to either side of my head. "Shut up! Shut up!" I could feel the eyes of my boyfriend on me, but he was becoming more and more put off by my crumbling sanity. The carefully knitted-together mask I wore and held together with drugs and alcohol was being ripped apart in front of him. Whatever he said I didn't hear, but I heard Opie telling him, "Yeah, you do that." While my father tried to pull me back to reality. "Fawnie, no one is saying anything... " "Don't! Don't Fawnie me, you fucking bastard!" I snapped shoving my hands into his chest. "Where the fuck were you?! You kill and kill and kill, and the one time she needed you! THE ONE FUCKING TIME!" I was slamming ineffectual fists into his chest until Jackson was dragging me back from him. It wasn't that I didn't have some strength. I did, but I was too busy crying to care about the force in my hits. I was defeated. I was drowning in this fucking grief like it was the damn ocean, and I'd forgotten how to swim. "I don't believe you! I don't believe any of you! They're not dead!" I protested. My therapist would point out this was the stage of denial. Next would come the stage of Anger, and no one did anger like me.

"Fawn, calm down. 𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯! You're going to hurt yourself!" Jax reasoned as I fought against his hold. "Fuck you! Where's Morrow?! He did this! I know it! I know he did! HE TAKES EVERYTHING FROM ME!" Him and Opie shared a look that stilled my blood and I think I was even holding my breath for a moment as I tried to decipher the silent communication. And when it clicked? I was screaming. A sound of sheer pain and anger ripped from my core as I shoved Jackson back away from me, and snapped up my suitcase using it to hit Opie and then my father in turn before rushing out the door and grabbing the keys to the jeep on the way out. I tossed my bag in the back and was peeling out onto the road as Jax and the others rushed out to try to catch me. My hands gripped against the steering wheel until my knuckles were turning white. 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘍𝘢𝘸𝘯. JT's ghost was pleading with me from the past again. 𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦? 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘦. "I don't want to survive!" I cried out as I shifted gears. I was speeding right back to Charming with 3 bikes tailing me at speeds way above the limit. I wanted my sister. I wanted my protector. I wanted... I wanted... I wanted... But I'd never get what I wanted. That's not the cards I was dealt in life. I only started to slow up because I was moving through to Bargaining and breaking down against the steering wheel as the car came to a stop with my father cautiously approaching my door. He reached in and took the jeep out of gear and I slid over to the side laying my head against his shoulder as a sob wracked my body. "Shh... It's okay... It's okay..."

"I shouldn't have stayed away... I should h-have... If I had been there. 𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘵." My voice broke and so did the embrace, only long enough for the door to open so he could pull me fully in against him. The smell of cigarettes and whiskey told me he'd been hating himself as much as I would want him to for this. Dawn was the favorite. She was treated like the baby of our family, but she was always taking care of all of us. Dragging me out of gutters and pushing me into Rehab when I hated my body a little too much. She was our mother's keeper. She was the only one who could tolerate Colleen. Not even our father dealt with her anymore. His hand rubbed along my back, and I let him. I was furious and in pain, and a part of me wanted to recoil from his attempt to be a father at this moment. 20 some years of life and now he wanted to be a father? But he was there. Where was Colleen? In the bottom of a barrel in some distillery? Was this not something that would warrant a mother wanting to be there for her daughter? "Hey, not to rush this along, but we need to get out of the road." Jax spoke lowly. "Can you drive?" Opie asked and I shook my head slowly against my father's shoulder. I couldn't. Not like this. I was going between crashing out and being blind with rage. If I had kept driving the way I was? I'd have probably been dead before reaching Charming. In the middle of some building or smashed into some other car on the highway.

"Ditch the Jeep." Jackson said with a voice that reminded me of his father. His true father. Decisive. When I looked up at his kutte I blinked at the patch with a frown. "Little Teller... All grown up with a gavel." I muttered through my tears. A Teller at the head of the table again. Had it been because of what happened? "We don't have time for this shit. Fawn, get out of the car. We'll send one of the prospects back to pick it up with the tow truck. We got to get out of the open." The lines of fatigue on his face made him look so much like his father.