Trigger warning: Talk of suicide and suicidal ideation. If you are feeling suicidal please call 1-800-273-8255 and talk to someone who can help you through it. 💙
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Angela woke up with a start when Juice practically shouted her name. He was tossing and turning in the bed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his bare torso. "Juice!" she shouted, sitting up next to him. She knew better than to touch him. Once when Kozik was having a nightmare on her couch back in Tacoma, she'd shaken him awake and had almost gotten a fist to the face. "Wake up, baby!"
Juice came to with a jolt, sitting straight up, eyes wild as they took in his surroundings. His chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing. He could still see the images from his nightmare vividly in his mind. An unknown club member had stood at the edge of the land where Charming Heights was just starting to be constructed, his back to him while Angela stood next to the unknown brother. Juice had been facing them, his arms held back by a force he couldn't see. Between him and the two things he loved most was a dark figure with a silver gun. The shooter was threatening to kill them both if he handed over the sample of coke he'd stolen. At Juice's protests, he'd shot the member in the back, right through the Reaper on his cut. The shooter then repeated his request, aiming the gun at Angela.
Angela remained calm as always, that look in her eyes that showed just how dangerous she could be. Juice watched as she took a step forward, prepared to lunge at the man with the gun. Juice had been able to break free then, just long enough to grab the knife at his hip and sink it into the shooter's stomach just as Angela lunged for the gun. He'd looked up to see who the shooter was, but instead of finding the anonymous shooter's face, he'd seen Angela's eyes, wide with fear. Her blood ran over his hands as they both slowly fell to the ground. He watched as the light faded out of her eyes at the same he heard the soft click of a gun safety disengaging behind him. Without looking, he knew it was Happy; the Tacoma killer there to protect his little cousin. With one quick shot, he killed the unknown shooter just before Juice felt the cold, metal barrel of the gun press into the back of his skull. The last words he heard Happy say before he woke up still rang in his ears. "Time to die, rat."
Turning to the side, he was relieved to find Angela sitting there next to him, alive and breathing. He threw his arms around her, pulling her into his chest as he buried his face into her neck, pressing his lips to her throat to feel her steady pulse. "You're here," he whispered.
"Of course I'm here, goofy," she said softly. She kissed his temple, rubbing her warm hands up and down his back as she held him tightly to her. "What happened?"
He pulled away, shaking his head at her as he ran a hand over his face. "Nightmare," he explained, lying back down with a relieved sigh. She stayed sitting up, her worried eyes looking him over apprehensively. He grabbed her hand, tugging her to him. "I'm all right, Angel," he assured her. "It's just a dream."
That was a lie if she'd ever heard one. She'd seen the panicked look on his face when he'd woken up, felt him shaking as he calmed down...whatever he'd seen in his dreams must have been terrifying, but if he wanted to play the strong card, she'd let him. "Okay," she murmured, laying her head on his chest. With her ear pressed over his heart, she could still hear its rapid beating.
Juice kept one arm around her shoulders, his fingers slowly trailing up and down the skin of her arm as he tried to calm down. His nightmare was a clear warning that what he was doing wasn't going to turn out well for anyone. That if he continued, it'd end up hurting not just the club, but Angela as well. He couldn't risk that. No, he was going to get out of it. Somehow, he'd find a way. "It's going to be okay, Angel. I'm gonna keep you safe," he promised her. "Always."
Angela looked up at him, brows furrowed in confusion. Whatever his dream was, it'd seriously shaken him; she could see it in his eyes. Something bad had happened, maybe to him, maybe to her...whatever it was, he thought it was necessary to assure her of what she already knew. "I know," she said, nodding her head against his chest.
She remembered her cousin's words from the day before about what helped take the edge off of a hard day and smiled. Turned her head, she pressed a soft kiss to the 'A' on the tattoo over his peck before slowly working her way up his neck, her hand sliding down his chest towards his boxers.
He gave her a confused look. "What're you doin', baby?" he asked, swallowing hard as she nipped at his ear.
"Showin' you how much I care," she whispered, her hot breath sending shivers down his spine.
Juice caught her lips with his own, tangling his hands into her hair as his tongue slipped into her mouth. Gently, he turned them over so she was on her back underneath him. He knew she was giving him a much needed release and once again found himself thanking God for her. How she knew just what to say, what to do to make him feel better never ceased to amaze him. He pulled his lips away from hers for a brief moment, his eyes locking onto her dark, lust-filled gaze. "Love you, Angel."
She smiled up at him, her hand gently stroking over the back of his mowhawk. "Show me, Juan Carlos."
They lay together afterwards, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Juice slowly, trailed his finger up and down her arm as he looked at her. For that brief moment in time, he felt like everything would be okay. That it would work itself out. He'd make a deal with Roosevelt, save the club from RICO, and keep his girl safe. Once it all blew over, maybe he'd think about pressing Angela to get the crow or maybe he'd start looking at rings, just something to move their relationship forward. She deserved that much.
He looked over her shoulder at the lamp behind her, just noticing the rosary that was draped over the lampshade. Though he knew Angela was pretty religious, he'd never really thought about it. Sure, when he was younger he'd gone to Church with his mother and knew his prayers like any good Catholic boy, but he'd let it slide once he started prospecting. The club had become his religion of sorts, and he hadn't needed it anymore. "Where'd you get that rosary?"
Angela raised an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder to where his gaze was focused. "Oh, this old thing?" she asked, pulling it off the shade before turning back to him.
"Yeah," he answered. "Never seen one like it."
"My aunt gave it to Hap. She wanted him to have something holy on him and thought the Reaper might entice him to keep it," she explained, rubbing her thumb over the little wooden reaper. "It didn't. He gave it to me, jokingly telling me to pray for him because God might actually listen if I did...whatever that means."
"Cause you're an angel, Angel," he said only half teasing.
Angela rolled her eyes at him, though she considered it a small triumph she'd gotten him to make a joke. The last few days, his teasing had become scarce and she'd missed it. "Goof," she murmured, watching as his fingers started playing with the wooden beads of the rosary chain. "Want to borrow 'em? Sometimes praying helps clear my head, takes a weight off my shoulders...maybe it'll help you."
It wasn't a bad idea. Juice was willing to try anything to make the bad feeling he had in the pit of his stomach go away. "Yeah, sure," he said, holding out his palm to her. She put the rosary into his awaiting hand before kissing his forehead. He smiled at her as he closed his fingers around it. "Thanks, baby."
"Anytime," she said around a yawn.
Slowly, he got out of bed, pulling on his boxers and a fresh pair of pants. "I'm gonna go for a ride and...use them, I guess. You should get some sleep," he explained, pulling on a black t-shirt. Usually, he'd ask her to go with him, but this time he needed to be alone, needed to sort shit out by himself.
She sighed, watching as he strapped on his knife and tucked his gun into his holster. "Okay. Stay safe, Juice."
He nodded, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as he leaned over to kiss her before heading out the door. He didn't ride around much, choosing to go out to the spot where he knew Miles was buried. When he finally got there, he crouched down, his eyes transfixed to the unmarked grave in front of him. Tugging the Rosary beads out of his pocket, he began to say the Act of Contrition. "Oh my God, I am utterly sorry if I've offended you..." he began, whispering the words he knew so well from Sunday school back when he was a kid. He repeated them mechanically, his mind a whirl of images. Roosevelt's knowing smirk, Miles' face just before he shot him, Clay's proud look when he found out about Miles, Angela's dark worried eyes. All these images flashed through his mind on repeat as he recited the prayer in hopes that it might save his soul.
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Angela trudged into the funeral home, still half asleep despite the two cups of coffee she'd downed. She stopped in the main entryway when she spotted a teenaged boy sitting on one of the plastic covered couches, apparently waiting for someone. "Hello," she greeted politely. "Can I help you?"
"Um...Skeeter said to wait here for the other undertaker. I'm gonna be apprenticing with him," the young man explained, pushing his black framed glasses up his nose.
She smirked, of course he thought the undertaker would be male. "So you're the new guy. I'm the undertaker, actually. Angela Ruiz," she said holding out her hand for him to shake.
"Oh. Oh. You're a chick that's...awesome," he said obviously nervous. "I'm Leonard Kelley but my friends call me Bones."
"Bones," Angela repeated flatly. "Is there a reason you're called Bones?"
He nodded excitedly. "Yeah, on Star Trek..."
"Say no more," she interrupted with a smile. Skeeter was also a big fan of Star Trek, and they'd gotten into many an argument about the whole Star Trek vs. Star Wars dilemma. Mostly to combat boredom when they were light on work. She wondered if Skeeter chose the kid solely for his love of Star Trek. "I'm a doctor not a physicist. I get it."
"Dude, yeah," he said, clearly impressed with her knowledge. "Are you a fan?"
Angela shrugged a shoulder indifferently. "Not particularly," she replied, more to get out of talking more about it than anything. It wasn't that she didn't like it, she just liked Star Wars more. "C'mon, I'll show you your new place."
Bones nodded, following her outside. He checked her out discreetly as she walked in front of him, thinking about how her grey work slacks clung to all the right places. She was wearing a simple black camisole, but he'd seen a grey blouse draped over the chair in the office. Something he'd seen as strange originally, but now it made sense. "So am I gonna be working with you or..." he trailed off, hoping he'd be working with her and not with the old sweaty dude.
"Primarily with me, I guess," she replied as she climbed the stairs, key already in hand. A white piece of paper shoved under the mat caught her eye. She picked it up before opening up the door. "It's not much but it's fully furnished. Just needs a couch, if you want one. You can go ahead and explore."
"Nice," he said looking around the room before heading down the hallway.
While Bones was discovering his new abode, Angela unfolded the white sheet of paper. Her breath caught in her throat when she read the simple type: I'm going to hurt you, then kill you undertaker whore. "Shit," she murmured just as her phone went off. "Angela Ruiz."
"Hey sweetheart," Gemma's tired voice replied. "Tara just found a death threat in her car. You get anything?"
Angela fingered the note, contemplating whether to admit she had it or not. Her mind was walking on overdrive. How could she and Tara be the only ones to receive threats? If an outside entity was trying to get at their boys wouldn't they go through Tara and Gemma? Where the hell did she fit into it? It didn't make sense. Unless...unless whoever had sent the note was trying to hint at the dangers of the letters, in which case, it'd probably be better for Gemma not to know about the note. "Nope," she answered, ripping up her note into tiny pieces. She felt stupid for being so paranoid about the letters, but she couldn't help it; Tara had officially freaked her out when she said they were dangerous.
"You sure? Kinda seemed a little hesitant."
"I was checking through my mail again," she lied, watching as Bones walked back into the kitchen.
Gemma's sigh was audible on the other end. "You should get to the clubhouse, anyway. We can keep you safe just in case."
"Gemma, I'm working..."
"Now, or I'll sic Hap on ya. We're puttin' all the old ladies on lock down," she ordered. Angela was about to interrupt when Gemma cut her off, "Yes, you are an Old Lady. Act like one."
With that the phone went dead. Angela looked at the little piece of technology, her fingers closing tightly around it as she fought the urge to throw it across the room. "This place is pretty chill," Bones stated, completely oblivious to Angela's inner turmoil.
"Yeah," she answered curtly. "I got to go talk to Skeeter. You all right up here?"
Bones nodded, leaning against the counter across from her. "Sure, 'course," he said on another nod.
Angela gave him the best smile she could before heading down the back stairs that led straight into the funeral home. Turning into the front office, she was relieved to see Skeeter there. "Hey Skeet. Do we have anything on schedule today?"
"Nah. Just showin' Bones around, getting him acclimated," he said flipping through a magazine idly. "You got somethin' to do?"
"Club drama. Gemma wants me to go down to the clubhouse."
"Go 'head, sweetheart," he said, pushing himself away from the desk and ambling towards her. "I'll get the Bonehead."
"Thanks, Skeet." Angela pecked his cheek quickly as she made her way out the door. In the years she'd been working at Dubrowski's they'd developed a familial sort of relationship. He was like that creepy uncle everyone had and loved. "Call me if anything comes up."
He nodded, giving her a quick wink. Like hell he'd call her. If the club needed her, he wasn't about to interrupt unless they had a really complicated case. He could handle simple embalmings and cremations just fine on his own. "Will do, Ang."
Angela pulled into TM just behind Unser's truck. She parked and quickly got out when she recognized the blue Ford. She'd stolen that truck many times in her youth and was surprised it was still running. She spotted Raffa first, his arms around Marcus' shoulders as he and Pedro helped the Mayan President down from the big truck. Alvarez was clearly injured, blood spotting his hand that was pressed to the wound. "Shit," she cursed, rushing over to where Raffa and Pedro were helping Alvarez out of the truck. "Que paso?" she asked Raffa as she fell into step next to him. (What happened?)
"No te preocupas, 'mana," Raffa replied, brushing her off as they headed inside the clubhouse. "This don't involve you." (Don't worry, sis)
She scowled at him, moving to greet Gemma."Go help Tara," the Queen instructed, gesturing towards the clubhouse just as Unser approached them.
Angela nodded, hitching up her pants and chasing after the group of Mayans and Sons. She hesitated at the doors to the chapel, peeking in to find the boys helping Alvarez onto the big redwood table. She'd never been inside and knew better than to just walk in uninvited. It was a sacred club place meant only for the Sons and their business. Tara was already inside, pulling her hair back and snapping on gloves, but that was understandable; Tara was not only the VP's Old Lady, but the resident shot doctor. Angela was neither, and she didn't want to overstep her boundaries.
"C'mon, Angie-girl," Chibs said clapping her on the shoulder and gently pushing her over the threshold. "Need your help."
As soon as she stepped in, Tara tossed her a pair of latex gloves. At Angela's questioning look, she explained, "Need another set of hands to keep pressure on it while I get ready. Can you do that?"
"Yeah, definitely," Angela answered, snapping on the gloves. She gave Marcus a small smile in greeting.
"Gusto a verte otra vez, mija," he said between painful breaths. "Lastima que es durante estas circumstancias." (Good to see you again. Too bad that it is under these circumstances)
"You too," she replied, pressing the gauze into the bullet wound. She grimaced as he grunted in pain.
Chibs gave her a curious look as he rolled a joint. "You understand Spanish, Angie-girl? Didn't know tha'."
"Yeah," she said on a sigh, wondering how the new knowledge would come bite her in the ass. She had a feeling most of SAMCRO didn't speak Spanish and while Hap knew the slang terms, he didn't know enough to really understand it.
Tara swatted her hands away, a pair of roach clips at the ready. "Let me see the wound."
Angela stepped back, putting the bloodied gauze on the table and taking the seat Chibs had nodded at. She watched as Chibs lit up the joint and handed it to Alvarez. If only Esai could see his father now. She knew he'd give him shit for the joint, especially since Marcus had gone ape shit when he'd caught them smoking weed in high school. Her eyes met Raffa's; she could tell by the smirk on his face he was thinking the same thing.
"Keep the pressure on it," Tara instructed, moving to get the anesthetic.
Angela easily stepped around the doctor and pressed her hand against the wound. She looked up as Tig and Clay walked in, Juice appearing behind them. Her eyes stayed on the slump of his shoulders as he headed towards the safe. He hadn't noticed her there yet, so she took the opportunity to really look at him. She could tell by his posture that he was still feeling guilty. This thing with Miles was far from over.
"Ang, I need to get in there," Tara said, the loaded syringe in her hand. Angela quickly snapped out of her study and moved out of the way.
Juice turned from the safe when he heard Tara say her name. She was standing next to Chibs, gloved hands covered in blood. Her eyes met his briefly, and she smiled, that worried look in her eyes. He tried to remember a time in the past couple of days when she wasn't worried about him and found he couldn't come up with one. He wished there was a way to assure her that he was okay. That everything would be fine so she would stop worrying so much.
"What happened to you? Jax was very concerned," Alvarez asked Tara.
Tara didn't answer him, just nodded towards Angela before removing her hand. Angela stepped in, putting more pressure on the wound as Tara went to disinfect. "She found a note in her car," Clay answered for her. "Death threat."
Juice's head snapped up from where he was getting the guns at that word. "Death threat?" he repeated, his eyes going over to Angela. If Tara had gotten one, it was within reason that she had too. Angela's body tensed up and she wouldn't look at him, her gaze was firmly fixated on Alvarez's wound, her jaw ticking as she listened to the rest of the men theorize about who had sent the letter. There was something she was hiding; he could feel it.
"Talking in families is what drug cartels do," he said, interrupting Clay's bullshit theory that it was a local threat. His eyes never left Angela, though she was doing her best to ignore him.
Angela's phone went off at the same time Chibs' did. "Work," she explained on a grimace. Chibs nodded, placing his hand over hers to take her place as he answered his phone with a free hand.
She snapped off her gloves and walked out of the room. After a quick talk with Skeeter about where the spare key to the apartment was, she hung up, turning to find Juice there just inches away from her. "You got a letter," he accused, his voice a low whisper. Luckily, everyone else was inside the chapel and couldn't hear them.
She hesitated, not wanting to add more to his plate. "Juice..."
He shook his head quickly, cutting off whatever excuse she was going to use. "Don't lie to me, Angel. You got one too, didn't you?"
Angela hung her head, her eyes on her boots as she nodded. "Yeah. At the funeral home."
"Shit," Juice cursed, rubbing a hand over his head. He'd been afraid of that. As much as she tried to stay out of club stuff, she was still his girl, still a target. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because I'm going to be fine. I can take care of myself," she assured him. It wasn't a total lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. The reason she hadn't brought it up the club was because she knew Hap would seek out a way to end the threat, and she wasn't sure he'd kill the right person. As much as she loved her cousin, he tended to kill first and ask questions later, especially when it came to his family. "I want everyone to focus on protecting Tara. She's the most important. She has her boys to worry about."
His jaw grew slack as he looked at her. There was that selfless streak he absolutely both loved and hated. "Are you serious, Angel?"
Before she could answer, Chucky came running in. "Sheriff's here. He's lookin' for Tara."
Juice slipped off his cut and handed it to her as the rest of the guys followed Tara outside. He grabbed Angela's wrist before she could move. "Stay here. He doesn't know about us. I want to keep it that way, Angel. Promise me," he whispered, leaning forward to press his lips to hers. He was afraid if Roosevelt knew about their connection, he'd use her against him too, and he couldn't handle that.
"Yeah, okay," she replied softly. She watched him leave, clutching his cut in her hands as she felt that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
A hand settled on her arm and made her jump. Turning she found Raffa standing there, a concerned look on his face. "You okay, Angelita?"
Angela sucked in a breath as she nodded. "Totally fine."
"Podemos cuidarte. No estás protegida aquí, 'mana. Este cartel no te va a dejar sola. Tú lo sabes. Los Sons no te quieren como nosotros te queremos. Sos parte de nuestra familia, Angelita." (We can take care of you. You're not protected here, sis. This cartel won't leave you alone. You know that. The Sons don't love you like we love you. You're part of our family.)
"Estoy bien acá, 'mano. No te preocupas," she assured him with a small smile. She let him hug her before pulling away quickly. "I can handle myself. You know that." (I'm good here, bro. Don't worry.)
He just nodded in response, heading back into the chapel to talk to Alvarez. Angela avoided the room like the plague. She felt out of place sitting there with the Mayans. Almost as if her allegiance lay with them instead of with the Sons. But her allegiance didn't lie with either. She was loyal to three people: Juice, Kozik, and above all, Happy. Whatever cut was on their back, was the club she associated with.
Juice breezed in, stepping in front of her to dig something out of his cut. "I got to go to the Sheriff's department for a piss test. Stay here, Angel. Don't leave the compound," he ordered, catching her lips in a quick kiss. "Stay safe."
"Yeah, 'course," she answered on a nod. "I'm sorry about before."
That was the least of his worries now. He shrugged a shoulder. "Don't worry about it. We're gonna protect ya either way. Just stay here, all right?"
"Okay," she said, catching his lips in a quick kiss. "Be safe, Juice."
Juice nodded though he wasn't so sure what was safe anymore. The sample of coke that was stashed in between his cigarettes in the little carton weighed heavy in his pocket. He knew that's what Roosevelt wanted, but he wasn't going to give it to the Sheriff. Not until he met the guy who could make the deal and get him out of this awful mess.
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Angela sat at the pool table with Abel in her lap, watching as he grabbed the balls out of the pockets. He'd grab one, hold it up so her, wait for her to say the color, and then throw it down the table, giggling at the thunk it made. "Blue," she said with a bright smile.
"Boo!" he exclaimed, throwing the ball down the table. Angela was distracted for a moment when Gemma and Tara walked in, so Abel smacked the ball into her jaw impatiently. "Gee! Gee!"
"Ow," she said moving her head away from his little arm. "Yellow, Abie baby. That's yellow."
Gemma smiled at the toddler as she picked him up off Angela's lap. "Are you torturing the undertaker, Abel?" she teased, pressing a kiss to his head as she watched Angela rub at the tender spot on her jaw.
"Impatient little sucker," Angela said, rolling her eyes as she stood. She listened as V-Lin explained why Lyla wasn't there and sighed. She really wished the blonde had called her before deciding to duck out on the poor Prospect. Ever since she'd caught Opie cheating on her, Lyla had been more distant than usual. Ellie was the one who filled her in on the porn star's whereabouts. "I'll give her a call. See if I can find her."
"Thanks, sweetheart," Gemma said on an appreciative nod. "We're going to go run some errands. You want to come?"
Angela shook her head. Hanging out with Tara and Gemma was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment. "I'll just hang out here, thanks."
Gemma nodded, hugging her quickly before heading out the door, Abel in her arms. Tara sighed as she looked at her friend. "You got a note too, didn't you?"
"Jesus, am I that transparent?" she asked on a scowl. She held out a finger to Thomas who gladly took it, shaking it in his little fist.
Tara sighed lengthily. "You have to tell the club, Ang."
"I'm fine, T. I can handle this," she insisted, trying for a smile. "I'm on lockdown anyway, right? Might as well just stay under the radar as per usual."
The doctor frowned and shook her head. "If you don't tell them, I will."
Angela's eyes darkened with anger at the threat. Her face taking on that eerily calm look that Happy always had. For once, she could see the resemblance. "You really think this is about the cartel, T? Look who got the notes. Think about it for a fuckin' second. You think if someone was goin' after Old Ladies, they'd go after me and not Gemma? I'm not even an old lady, T. Only reason I don't bring it to the club is because I don't want my cousin goin' ape shit on some poor sucker who doesn't deserve it."
Tara's eyes widened slightly. "Jesus," she breathed, slowly linking things together. She heard Gemma call her name from the front and looked towards the door. "We'll talk later."
"Yeah," she agreed on a nod. "Be careful."
"You too."
Angela watched her go as she sucked in a deep breath, trying her best to calm down. She hadn't meant to get so angry at Tara, but after all the crap she'd gone through for the doctor, it pissed her off that she would turn rat in a heartbeat. Whether it was for her own good or not, Angela did not appreciate the threat. She needed something, anything, to distract her. Her eyes fell on the red felt of the pool table and she sighed. A solo pool game was as good as a distraction as any.
Juice stopped short when he saw her standing there in the middle of the clubhouse. He was relieved she'd listened to him. For some reason, he thought she'd leave to go to work. He was aware of Chibs calling his name from outside, apparently he had something he wanted to share, but Juice didn't care. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. He'd already betrayed the only people he called a family, lied to Angela, killed a brother.
He circled back to the dream he'd had that morning. This damned deal with Roosevelt had gotten the club killed, had gotten Angela killed. It was a sign, it had to be. If he continued through with the deal, it'd kill the two things he loved the most. He couldn't have that. He wouldn't have that. It was on his shoulders to save the club, to save her, and he'd do it. Even if it meant sacrificing his own life.
He watched her line up a shot, taking in the smooth curve of her back as she bent over, dark hair pooling underneath her head on the red felt as she tilted it this way and that, studying the shot. The muscles in her arm moves smoothly under her skin as she adjusted the shot and then, with a quick jab of the stick, she hit her mark perfectly sending the ball into the pocket. He caught her triumphant smirk as she moved around the table to set up another shot and sighed.
His sigh caught her attention, lifting her gaze up from the table and to his face. "Hey you," she greeted softly, straightening up slightly.
"Hey," he replied, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm gonna go..." he trailed off, starting to head to his dorm room.
Without another word, she dropped the pool stick and followed after him. She didn't need to be told to follow him. It was all in his body language, the gleam in his eyes. He was on the edge of a breakdown, and he wasn't about to do it in the middle of the clubhouse. She stopped at the open door of his dorm room and watched as he paced back and forth on the wooden floor. Stepping inside, she turned to close the door behind her. When she turned back around, he was standing right there, his face just inches away from hers.
Slowly, he took her face into his hands, his calloused thumbs trailing over her cheekbones. His brown eyes seemed to study every inch of her face as if it'd be the last time he'd see it. He dipped his head, catching her lips with his own in a long, soulful kiss that she could feel right down to her toes.
She returned the kiss, matching his fervor as she slid her hands up the back of his black t-shirt, clutching the soft fabric in her hands and holding on tightly, praying that they wouldn't be interrupted; she needed this just as much as he did. She found strength in his embrace, in his kiss. Strength that she needed to get through the day's drama and to help him.
He tangled a hand into her hair, pulling her in even closer and deepening the kiss as he did so. Pulling his lips away from hers, he dotted kisses across her cheek before moving down to her neck. Burying his face into her warm skin, he held her close, knowing it was his last chance to do so. He selfishly hoped she would remember this moment, this kiss, when he was long gone.
A throat cleared behind them, and he sighed. Of course they were interrupted. His brothers couldn't just let him be, not when he'd walked away from them before. He should've stayed and heard them out to avoid this, but he hadn't really thought about it. He looked over her shoulder to find Chibs leaning against the doorway, a worried look in his eyes. "Clay wants ye," he said to Juice, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Chapel."
Juice just nodded, lifting his chin off her shoulder. He pressed his forehead to hers, looking into her dark, worried eyes. He carefully tucked a stray hair behind her ear, before moving his grip to the back of her neck, his thumbs brushing over her swollen lips. "Love you, Angel," he murmured, his voice cracking. He kissed her one last time, savoring the taste of her lips. "Don't forget that."
"Love you, too, Juice." Angela nodded, tears welling up in her eyes for no reason. She was stupid to be getting all emotional for something so stupid. He was just going down the hall to talk to Clay. It wasn't like he'd never left her for that reason before. But something about his words, the tone of his voice put her on edge.
He kissed her once more before letting her go and heading out the door, leaving her standing there with Chibs. The Scot looked her over, taking note of the bags beneath her eyes, the way she was hugging herself, as though trying to make herself smaller. The girl in front of him was so different from the bright, spirited girl he was used to. She looked beaten down and broken as she stared at the floor, a glazed over look in her eyes. He'd seen the same look on Juice's face before, had to shake him out of it. Everything that was going on with Juice seemed to be weighing her down too. "Everything all right?" he asked, breaking her from her trance.
Angela shook herself out of her thoughts and forced a smile onto her face. "Yeah, 'course. I'm...I'm fine," she replied quickly, her voice rougher than usual. She swiped a hand under her eyes, rubbing away the smudged eyeliner before heading to the door.
He stopped her by holding out an arm across the doorframe. "What's goin' on, love?"
She shrugged a shoulder, trying her best to hold back the tears she felt gathering in her eyes. "Look at him, Chibs. He's...he's checked out and I want to be there for him and I want to help him but...I don't know how."
Chibs took a step closer to her, hooking a finger under her chin and lifting so her eyes could meet his. "He's all right, Angie-girl."
Angela shook her head slowly, swallowing the lump that was in her throat. "No, he's not," she said softly. The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her, made it hard for her to breathe. "You saw him, Chibs. He's not okay."
He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. "This'll pass, Angie," he assured her before pulling her into a hug. "You just need to be strong for him...for you. Love him through it. He needs you, love. Don't give up now."
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Tig watched slightly amused as the undertaker fought with the Prospect. It was time for the Old Ladies to go home, and V-Lin had followed her out to the car to get directions to her place. It appeared she hadn't taken that very well. Tig hadn't expected her to. Hap had warned him that she wasn't used to having the club look after her like that. In Tacoma, she'd been so outside the club most of its members didn't even know who she was. If she needed protection there, Hap or Kozik stayed with her, none of this Prospect bullshit. Tig couldn't blame her for putting up a fight.
"There a problem here?" Tig asked as he approached them.
"She won't tell me where she lives!" V-Lin exclaimed, frustrated beyond belief. First, Opie's Old Lady had ditched out on him, now Juice's was trying to do the same. Why couldn't they have given him one of the easier women to watch?
Tig smirked at the young undertaker who had her arms crossed over her chest, jaw set. He knew that stubborn "Lowman" look well. "You coulda just followed her," he reasoned with the prospect.
V-Lin shook his head. "Like hell I could. You seen the way she drives."
The Sergeant looked from the prospect to Angela who seemed to fighting the urge to smile. He knew she was proud of her driving skills. "Would you give the idiot a break, doll? Ain't his fault I told him to look after ya."
"This was you?" she asked, uncrossing her arms, a surprised look on her face.
Tig nodded. "Yeah, 'course. I told Hap I'd look after ya, and I ain't goin' back on that. He's just gonna stay there 'til Juice gets back, all right? Ain't gonna be long. We got a quick vote, that's all," he explained setting a hand on her shoulder. "Just suck it up and let him follow ya. Hap'll come after me if I send ya home without protection."
Angela nodded, raking a hand through her hair. Despite the fact he'd been tasked with looking out for her, she didn't interact much with Tig. It wasn't that she didn't like the guy; it was just they were rarely in situations where interactions were necessary. Unlike Kozik's nosy ass protection style, Tig's protection approach was 'live and let live', and she'd appreciated that. If he thought it was necessary for her to go home with protection, then it probably was. "Fair enough."
"Atta girl," he said, squeezing her shoulder before turning to V-Lin. "Grow some balls, Prospect. She drives perfectly fine. If your bike can't keep up with that little cage, maybe you don't deserve your top rocker."
V-Lin watched as Tig headed back to the clubhouse, an angry look on his face. "Do you still want the address?" Angela asked softly, feeling a little bad for the poor Prospect.
He shook his head, scowling at her. "No. I can follow you just fine."
Later on that night, Angela sat at on the couch a book in her hand, keenly aware of V-Lin sitting at the kitchen table behind her. The tanned prospect was currently spinning a quarter on the table top, trying to stop it on its edge with a finger. The sound of it was driving her crazy.
She closed the book with a snap and walked over to him, stopping the quarter perfectly on its edge to catch his attention. He glared up at her, and she sighed. "Look, V. I'm sorry. I should've just given you the address," she started, a sincere look on her face. "It had nothing to do with you. I'm just not really used to this stuff, that's all."
V-Lin smiled slightly, happy with her apology. "All good, Ang."
"You bored?" she asked, flicking the quarter back at him. At his nod, she smiled. "Me too. Let me call Juice, and then we'll play some video games. I wasn't planning on sleeping 'til he gets home anyway."
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Juice heard his phone ringing over and over again as he sewed on his Man of Mayhem patch. He wasn't sure who it was, but he had a strong feeling it was either Chibs or Angela. He glanced at the ring on his thumb, the one he'd been using to help sew the patch. It was the one she'd given him, the one that was a perfect mix of Angela and the Sons. It was another reminder of why he had to do this. For the club. For her. If he was gone, they'd both be safe.
He wondered idly if the club would miss him. If he'd get the big ceremony he'd seen for other brother's who had died. Probably not. Suicide wasn't an honorable death according to the club. He knew that. The idea they'd just bury him and forget all about him stung a little. Bury or burn him. Whatever was easier.
But Angela wouldn't let them burn him; he was sure of that. The girl would fight tooth and nail to give him the best goodbye she could. He knew she'd be angry at first, but he also knew she loved him more than that and would always want the best for him just as he always wanted the best for her. It was slightly comforting to know she'd be the last person to ever touch him, see him...take care of him.
His thoughts drifted back to the times he'd watched her work. Remembering the jealous feeling that always came over him when her gloved hands would slide all over the stranger's body, carefully working each muscle. Every time he watched her, they'd gone home and he'd made her do the same to him. He loved the way her hands felt as they moved all over his body, kneading and rubbing in just the right places. It wasn't long after she got started that he'd feel her lips on his skin, pressing kisses along his back. Kisses that always led to more.
Finished sewing on the patch, he heaved the chain over his shoulder and carefully climbed up the tree, finding a branch that was high enough off the ground that his feet would never be able to touch and that could support his weight. He slowly coiled the chain around the branch next to him, feeling guilt pool at the pit of his stomach. That moment in his dorm room was the last he'd ever have with Angela. The last thing he could give her. He'd thought about writing her a note but couldn't bring himself to put pen to paper to explain the reason behind all this. He was a coward, and he knew it.
He wrapped the chain around his neck, the cool metal biting into his skin. He'd thought about shooting himself and found he couldn't bring himself to do it. Shooting himself was too easy, too quick. He deserved to suffer for what he'd done. He'd talked about hanging once with Angela when she'd been working on a woman who'd hung herself. She'd said it sounded like the most painful thing ever, that it took awhile to actually die unless the jump was so jarring it snapped your neck. He decided he didn't want that to happen. He wanted it to be slow and drawn out because that's what he deserved.
He glanced up at the full moon, tears burning at the corner of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured to no one in particular before he sucked in a quick breath and slipped off the tree branch.