💘( Healing the King! )✨

TEN

[ Una Venta ]

( 🤴🔨👸💋💑🏍 )

" Well, isn't that ironic? The wolves are guarding the henhouse. Or maybe they're just setting the barn on fire. "

~ LINCOLN POTTER to GRAD NICHOLAS 

☆《》¤ 

ALU'S OUTFIT 

ALU'S HOUSE WAS FILLED WITH THE SOUNDS OF LAUGHTER AND CHATTER as she arrived home with Abel, Moss, Gemma and Chuckie after a long day at the park. The boys were giggling about their messy clothes, their shoes caked with dried mud from their adventure walk through the muddy bush tracks. 

As Alu pushed the door open, still cradling a squirming Abel, her smile faltered. Piney was sitting at her dining table, his oxygen tank resting beside him, a solemn look on his face.

"Piney?" she said, the confusion evident in her voice. "Wasn't expecting you."

Piney shifted in his seat and looked down, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his vest, "Yeah, I just—sorry, I...I just let myself in."

Alu's eyebrow arched, but her voice stayed light, "It's okay. People tend to do that around here." She shot Gemma a pointed glance, earning a cheeky smirk in response. "What's, uh, what's going on?"

Piney's eyes flickered to Gemma, who immediately seemed to catch on. She stepped forward, reaching for Abel and taking Moss by the hand.

"I'll get the boys ready for lunch," Gemma said smoothly. "They're a mess. Come on, Chuck, you can give me a hand now that you've got some."

Chuckie nodded dutifully, following Gemma and the kids as they headed toward the bathroom. Gemma glanced back briefly, her eyes meeting Alu's in an unspoken exchange, before disappearing down the hall.

Alu turned her attention back to Piney, her concern deepening, "What's going on?" she asked again, softer this time.

Piney took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging, "Uh, you remember those questions you were asking me about a year or so back...about John? You said you read something."

Alu's eyebrows furrowed, "Yeah, but from memory, you shut me down."

He sighed heavily, "The club is headed into troubled waters, as you know. And maybe there's something in whatever you read that helps me to keep the boat from, you know, rocking too much."

Alu couldn't help but chuckle softly, though it didn't reach her eyes, "Those are some really vague metaphors for a guy as direct as you."

Piney's gaze sharpened, his tone firm, "I want to read whatever it is. John was my friend. I have a right."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced over her shoulder toward the bathroom, making sure Gemma wasn't listening, "Of course you do. I'm not saying you don't," she said carefully. "It's just...a lot of people want to get their hands on it, and I—"

"I'm just gonna tell you point blank, darling," Piney interrupted. "I need some leverage. And that pointed history you read may be—"

The sound of the bathroom door opening cut him off. Gemma stepped into the room, holding Abel on her hip and guiding Moss by the shoulder. She stopped in her tracks, looking at the two of them with mild surprise.

"Oh, sorry," Gemma said, her voice edged with sarcasm. "I thought youse were done. Didn't mean to interrupt."

Piney cleared his throat, pushing back his chair, "That's okay. We are done." He stood up, gathering his oxygen tank and headed for the door. 

"No, no, no," Alu protested, moving to follow him. "We should finish—"

Gemma's hand shot out, gripping Alu's arm and pulling her back, "What's going on, babe?" she asked pointedly. Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes narrowing, "I thought we agreed to keep those letters between you and me."

Alu's head snapped toward Gemma, her eyes blazing, "You were listening!" she snapped, her voice rising.

Before Gemma could respond, Chuckie came rushing into the room, his face pale.

"Alu, Gemma, it's Piney!" he shouted in a panic. "S-Something's wrong!"

The women didn't hesitate. They rushed around the corner to find Piney collapsed on the floor, his breathing laboured and shallow. Moss was kneeling beside him, his small hands resting on Piney's arm, his face pinched with worry.

Over the past two years, Moss found in Piney a grandfather figure he never knew he needed. Piney, with his gruff demeanour and world-worn wisdom, initially seemed like an unlikely candidate for forming such a bond, but his quiet kindness and occasional grunts of approval resonated with Moss in ways words never could.

Moss admires Piney's stories about the 'good ol' days,' the life lessons tucked between tales of mischief and rebellion. Piney, in turn, has grown fond of Moss' inquisitive nature, often calling him 'kid' in a tone that's more affectionate than it appears. Moss helps Piney around the clubhouse, handing him tools or fetching his oxygen tank when needed, and Piney has taken to teaching him small, practical things, like how to fix a bike or the proper way to swing a pool cue.

To Moss, Piney represents resilience, someone who's seen the worst and still finds a way to keep going. For Piney, Moss is a reminder of the better parts of life—family, connection, and the joy of passing something on to the next generation. Their bond is simple yet profound, with Moss often joking that Piney's his 'cool gramps,' much to Piney's mock annoyance. But anyone can see that Piney takes pride in the title. 

"Piney!" Alu exclaimed, dropping to her knees beside him. She looked over her shoulder at Gemma, panic in her voice, "Call 911!"

Gemma nodded, already pulling her phone from her pocket, while Chuckie hovered nearby, wringing his mechanical hands nervously.

"You're gonna be okay, Piney," Alu said, her voice firm but shaky as she grasped his hand. "Just hang on."

Piney's eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, his lips moving as if trying to say something, but the words wouldn't come. 

Moss leaned closer, his voice quiet but steady, "It's okay, Gramps," the boy said. "I'm here."

Alu's heart clenched as she glanced at Moss, then back to Piney. The old man's hand squeezed hers weakly, his eyes filled with an unspoken apology before they closed again. The sound of sirens echoed in the distance, growing louder with each passing second.

***

The dimly lit back room of the abandoned warehouse buzzed with a quiet tension as Clay and Jax walked in. Vinny sat at the head of the long table, his imposing figure leaning back casually, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his displeasure. Beside him sat Romero, his right-hand man, whose dark, calculating gaze moved between Clay and Jax as they entered. The air was heavy, and it was clear this meeting wasn't just a social call.

Clay gave a nod of greeting, his gruff voice breaking the silence, "Vinny. Romero. Appreciate you takin' the time."

Vinny didn't immediately respond. He tapped a cigar against the edge of an ashtray, letting the moment stretch just long enough to remind them who was in charge here. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, "This morning was sloppy," Vinny said, his tone flat but edged with irritation. "That's not the kind of attention I like."

Clay exchanged a glance with Jax, who shifted on his feet but kept his expression neutral. Clay stepped forward, resting his hands on the back of a chair, "We hear you, and we're on it," Clay said firmly. "What happened this morning...it's on us. We think it was local law sniffing around, nothin' big. But it's a reminder we can't afford to get sloppy. From now on, we're sending four guys with the trucks."

Vinny's sharp eyes flicked to Jax, "Four guys. That's twice as many as before. Won't that draw more heat?"

Jax stepped in smoothly, "Not the way we're planning it. Two in the cab, two in a separate vehicle tailing from a distance. Looks like a convoy, nothing more. If the law's watching, they'll see a transport crew, not a gun drop."

Romero's lips curved into a faint, sceptical smile, "Clever, but clever doesn't mean fool proof."

"Nothing is," Clay shot back. "But it's the best way to keep things smooth and out of sight. We're not takin' any more chances."

Vinny tapped his cigar against the ashtray again, letting the ash fall. He appeared to mull it over, then gave a slow nod, "Fine. Four men it is. But this is your last warning, Clay. I don't like loose ends."

Clay's expression hardened, but he nodded, "Understood. And speaking of keepin' things tight, there's somethin' else we need to discuss."

Vinny arched an eyebrow, gesturing for Clay to continue.

"The Irish," Clay said, his tone lowering. "They're gonna want to meet before the next big deal. Make sure everything's solid on your end before they commit to expanding the pipeline. You know how they are—cautious as hell, especially with new partners."

Vinny's eyes narrowed slightly, "The Irish don't trust easily. But they trust you, Clay. That's why we're working together. So, what do they want?"

Jax chimed in, his tone steady, "They'll want a sit-down. Probably in neutral territory, away from eyes. They'll ask questions, feel you out. It's not personal; it's just how they do business. They need to know you're reliable before they invest more."

Vinny's lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded slowly, "Fine. Set it up. But I'll tell you this—I don't jump through hoops for anyone, IRA or not. If they've got doubts, they better put them to bed quick."

Clay nodded, "Fair enough. We'll make it happen. Just keep things steady on your end, and this pipeline'll be stronger than ever."

Vinny leaned back, his gaze shifting between the two men. Finally, he extended a hand. Clay stepped forward, clasping it firmly. Jax followed suit, though his eyes lingered a moment longer on Romero, who was watching him with a strange intensity.

"Don't make me regret this," Vinny said, his voice low but weighted with authority.

"You won't," Clay replied, his voice equally firm.

With that, the meeting ended, and Clay and Jax made their way back to their bikes. As they started the engines, Jax glanced over at Clay, "Think they'll play ball?" he asked.

Clay lit a cigar, exhaling a plume of smoke before answering, "Vinny's a businessman first. He'll play ball as long as the money's keeps coming. But keep your eyes on Romero. That guy's got his own agenda—I can feel it."

Jax nodded, revving his bike, "Always do."

The two men rode off into the fading light, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy in the air.

*** 

Alu stepped into the sterile, faintly lit hospital room. The steady beeping of the machines and the faint hum of fluorescent lights created an odd rhythm, a constant reminder of the fragility that Piney faced daily. He was propped up against the thin hospital pillows, his weathered face pale but alive with that familiar glint of defiance in his eyes. He offered her a faint smile as she pulled a chair close to his bedside and sat down.

"So, what's going on?" Alu asked, cutting straight to the point.

Piney shrugged, his voice gruff but steady, "Doc wants to keep me in for 24 hours."

Alu's eyebrows furrowed, concern immediately etched into her features. 

Piney let out a rough chuckle that turned into a wheeze, "Just observation, darling. Nothing to worry about."

Alu's eyes narrowed, "It didn't look like nothing to me."

Piney hesitated for a moment, before letting out a sigh, "It's my oxygen levels. They dip sometimes. Happens once in a while."

Alu crossed her arms, leaning back in the chair, her expression sceptical, "Bet the alcohol isn't helping," she said pointedly.

Piney chuckled again, this time without the wheeze, and gave her a wry look, "Yeah, I know." He paused, his expression softening. "I'm...I'm sorry if I was hard on you before."

Alu waved a hand dismissively, "You weren't. Now," she said, leaning forward. "Tell me about John Teller. What was he like?"

Piney's eyes softened as he stared past her, his gaze distant. Memories flickered in his mind, tinged with both warmth and pain, "He was a complicated guy. Angry, impulsive..." He chuckled softly. "Just righteous as hell. Hated being wrong. Not much of an education. But book smart, though. Used to devour three, four of 'em at a time. He was loyal. Too loyal."

A small smile tugged at Alu's lips, "Sounds familiar," she said knowingly.

That was Jax in a nutshell, and thinking about it made her chest ache. Jax had the same fire as his father—the same dangerous mix of passion and self-destruction. She couldn't help but think of a moment long ago when Jax had tried to push her away, just like his loyalty and righteousness made him try to push everyone he cared about away when things got hard.

2 Years Ago

It had been raining. Alu was drenched, her leather jacket sticking to her skin as she pounded on Jax Teller's door. When it swung open, Jax was standing there, shirtless, his hair damp from a recent shower.

"Alu, what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, his tone sharp, but there was something softer beneath it.

"You tell me," she snapped, shoving past him into the room. "You're the one who decided to ghost me. Thought I wouldn't notice? Thought I wouldn't come looking for you?"

Jax sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Alu, this ain't about you. It's about me. I'm no good for you, alright? I'm just gonna drag you down, and I can't—I won't do what I did to Tara to you. I won't hurt you too."

"That's bullshit," she said, her voice trembling with anger. "I'm not Tara. And you certainly don't get to decide what's good for me, Jackson. I do."

He turned away, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the back of one of the dining room chairs, "You deserve better," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"And what if I don't want better? What if I want you?"

He spun around, eyes blazing, "You don't get it! I'm not some fairy tale prince, Alu. I'm a goddamn train wreck, and if you stick around, you're gonna end up just like me—broken."

Alu stepped closer, let out a humourless chuckle, "I'm already broken. I'm not scared of you, Jax Teller. I'm not scared of what comes with loving you. But you..." she jabbed a finger into his chest. "...You're scared. And that's why you're doing this. Don't you dare tell me it's for my own good."

For a moment, he just stared at her, the fire in his eyes flickering between anger and something softer. Then, with a frustrated groan, he pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair, "Goddammit, Alu," he muttered. "Why can't you just let me go?"

"Because I love you, you idiot," she whispered, her voice breaking as she finally said those three little words she had struggled with for the last few months. "And it's gonna take a whole lot more to scare me off."

***

Alu sat in the waiting area of Stockton Prison, her legs crossed tightly, fingers drumming against her knee as she glanced up at the clock; the place reeking of disinfectant and hopelessness.

When the guard finally called her name, she stood, smoothing down her dress, her hands trembling. She wasn't nervous to see him. She'd known Jax Teller long enough to face him at his worst. No, the trembling was something else, a mix of anger and fear, worry and frustration.

Jax was already seated at the table in the visitation room when she walked in. His light blue jumpsuit hung loose on his frame, but his posture was rigid, like a man trying to hold onto the last threads of his pride. The moment his eyes landed on her, she saw his walls go up. 

As Alu sat across from Jax, the memory hit her like a freight train. He looked at her with the same stubbornness he'd had that night, but there was something else in his eyes now—regret, shame.

"You shouldn't be here, Alu," he said quietly, his voice rough.

She leaned forward, her hands flat on the table, "Don't start, Teller. Don't you dare try to push me away again."

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile, "Still as stubborn as ever, huh?"

"Damn right," she said, her voice steady. "And don't you forget it."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, Jax reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers, "I'm so sorry, babe," he said, his voice soft. "Sorry for putting you through this. For not telling you sooner." 

"You don't need to be," she replied, squeezing his hand. "I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere." 

Jax's cheeky smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, "Because you love me." 

Alu laugh, the same laugh that always brought a smile to the biker's face as she reached up to caress his cheek, "I do." 

Jax grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it, "I love you so much, baby girl." 

And as they simply just sat there, enjoying each other's company, Jax admired the girl's loyalty, the same loyalty he had running through his veins. A loyalty that was flawed, but it was what held them together—even in a place that was surrounded by iron steel bars. 

Piney nodded, a faint smirk playing on his lips, "Yeah, they're cut from the same cloth." His expression grew serious, his voice dropping, "You know what I want to know? Why my best friend was afraid when he died."

Alu's smile faded. She leaned in closer, her voice matching his somber tone, "Maureen Ashby gave me some of JT's old letters to give to Jax before we left Belfast," she began. "He was trying to get the club out of the gun business. He knew it was a risk. But Clay and the others were invested."

Piney's brow furrowed, "Trying to get them out how?"

Alu hesitated, then sighed, "From what I read, he set up a meeting in Belfast with some IRA members and the Father, Kellan Ashby. John wanted to end the relationship with the Irish, stop the club from selling guns. He was killed before that meeting happened."

Before Piney could respond, the door opened, and Gemma strode in, her presence commanding as always. She carried herself with a practiced ease, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, "Hey, how we doing?" she asked. 

Alu stood, glancing between Gemma and Piney, "I'm gonna see how those tests are coming along," she said. "See if I can't get you out earlier."

Gemma smirked, "They should just give him some tequila. That'll do it."

Alu chuckled softly but didn't respond as she left the room, the door clicking shut behind her. As soon as she was gone, Gemma's demeanour shifted. The lightness in her tone vanished, replaced by something colder—sharper, "What you doing, old man? What do you want with Alu?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing.

Piney stared back at her, unflinching, "Nothing," he said simply.

Gemma snorted, crossing her arms, "Bullshit. I know you're bumping up against Clay. That bullshit you fed me the other day."

"It wasn't bullshit," Piney replied evenly. "It was the truth. You all just refuse to look at it."

Gemma's voice turned sharp, "Well, whatever truth you think Alu can tell you, it's only gonna make things worse."

Piney's gaze hardened, "It can't get any worse," he shot back.

Gemma leaned forward, her voice dropping to a dangerous growl, "Whatever you're cooking, leave that girl out of it...because if anything happens to her...I'll kill you myself."

Piney's expression didn't waver. His voice was steady, almost resigned as he said, "She's already in it, Gemma. The moment she opened that first letter. She decided her fate."

Gemma's jaw tightened, but she didn't respond. The tension between them was thick, the air almost suffocating as they stared each other down. 

Finally, Gemma straightened up, her expression unreadable as she turned toward the door. The only sound in the room was the rhythmic beeping of the medical machines as Piney's words lingered in the air. 

***

The bell above the door of Rita's flower shop jingled softly as Elliot stepped inside, the scent of roses, daisies, and lavender mingling in the warm air. Rita was at the counter, her hands stained with soil as she gently potted a vibrant orange marigold. The stress etched across her face softened when she saw him.

"Elliot!" she greeted, setting the pot down and wiping her hands on her apron. "What brings you here?"

He offered a small smile and reached into his suit pocket, pulling out an envelope, "I wanted to help—save the garden." 

Rita took the envelope hesitantly, her brow furrowing, "Elliot, I appreciate it, but—" She opened it and froze, her eyes widening at the sight of the crisp stack of bills. "This...this is..."

"Ten thousand," Elliot said, shoving his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "Lucas and I went halves. We figured it might cover at least some of what you need to keep the garden alive. And there's more where that came from."

Tears welled in Rita's eyes as she stared at him, her voice trembling, "Elliot, I don't even know what to say. This means everything to me—to all of us." She stepped around the counter and pulled him into a hug, catching him off guard.

He patted her back awkwardly, "Just keep the garden alive. That's all the thanks I need."

When she pulled back, her smile was radiant, "You're a good man, Elliot Bailey. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Elliot ducked his head, clearly uncomfortable with the praise, "I should get going. Just...let us know if you need anything else."

As he left the shop, he didn't notice the blacked-out van parked across the street. Inside, Grizzly sat behind the wheel, chewing on the end of an unlit cigar, while Goose slouched in the passenger seat, a bag of chips in hand.

"Man," Goose said, crunching loudly. "Why does he always walk like that? Like he's got a stick up his ass or something."

Grizzly shot him a glare, "Maybe because he's got a lot on his mind. Unlike you, who's only concerned about where your next bag of junk food's coming from."

"Hey!" Goose protested, holding up the chips defensively. "These are brain food. Keeps me sharp."

Grizzly snorted, "Sharp as a marble."

Goose stared at Elliot's retreating figure, then nudged Grizzly, "Think he knows we're watching him?"

Grizzly sighed, exasperated, "If he did, he wouldn't be walking out so calm, now would he?"

"Right, right," Goose said, nodding sagely. Then after a beat, he spoke again, "You think he knows about the van? I mean, it's kinda obvious, right? Blacked-out windows, sitting here all creepy-like..."

Grizzly turned to him, his expression a mix of disbelief and irritation, "Goose, do me a favour."

"Yeah?"

Grizzly smacked him on the back of the head, sending the chips flying, "Shut up."

"Hey!" Goose yelped, rubbing his head. "What was that for?"

"For being an idiot," Grizzly growled. "Now keep quiet before you blow our cover. We're supposed to be watching, not making a damn spectacle."

Goose muttered something under his breath but stayed quiet, sulking as he picked up the spilled chips. 

Meanwhile, Grizzly kept his eyes on Elliot, his expression hardening as the man disappeared down the street, "That's right, Elliot, lead us straight to your precious girlfriend," he muttered to himself, starting the van up. 

***

The roar of motorcycles echoed through the desolate industrial park as the Sons of Anarchy escorted the eighteen-wheeler to the drop-off point. The location was discreet—an abandoned warehouse surrounded by towering chain-link fences topped with razor wire. As the convoy approached, floodlights snapped on, illuminating a crew of heavily armed men standing in formation.

The New York Mafia didn't do subtle.

Jax slowed his bike, signalling the others to follow suit. Clay, at the front of the pack, stopped near the truck, his face set in its usual stoic mask. Vinny appeared from the shadows, flanked by two men wielding automatic rifles, their expressions as cold as their weapons.

"Clay," Vinny greeted, flashing a wide grin. "Right on time."

Clay dismounted, nodding, "Always are."

Vinny gestured to his men, who moved toward the truck, "Let's see the goods."

Tig hopped out of the cab, swinging the back doors of the trailer open. Inside, crates of guns were neatly packed and ready for inspection. Vinny's men climbed in, checking the inventory with military precision. 

Meanwhile, the Sons stood their ground, hands near their weapons, scanning the scene for any sign of trouble.

After a few tense minutes, one of Vinny's men called out, "Looks good."

Vinny clapped his hands, "Beautiful. Let's unload it."

The Sons and Vinny's crew worked in sync, unloading crate after crate of guns and stacking them under the floodlights. Rifles, shotguns, and handguns gleamed under the harsh glow, their lethal promise unspoken but understood.

When the last crate hit the ground, Vinny snapped his fingers, and one of his men stepped forward with a black duffel bag, tossed it to Clay, who caught it and unzipped it, revealing stacks of neatly wrapped bills.

"Seven-fifty," Vinny said, a hint of pride in his voice. "That settles the balance for this batch. And this..."

Vinny waved a hand, and two of his men brought forward a heavy metal case. They set it down with a thud, stepping back to let it speak for itself.

"Thirty kilos of uncut Colombian magic," Vinny continued. "You boys know the route, you know the drop-off points. You're professionals—I don't need to tell you how to do your job."

Clay nodded, his face unreadable, "We'll get it to where it needs to be."

Vinny chuckled, "Of course you will. That's why I like working with you, Clay—reliable as hell."

The Sons loaded the cocaine into the truck without a word. The guns-for-coke deal had been the topic of many heated arguments, but now that the decision was made, there was no turning back. This was business, and business didn't wait for second thoughts.

Once everything was secured, Vinny stepped closer, extending his hand to Clay, "Looking forward to a long and profitable relationship."

Clay shook his hand firmly, "You and me both."

As the Sons mounted their bikes and the truck's engine rumbled back to life, the tension in the air dissipated, replaced by a sharp sense of focus. The convoy roared out of the warehouse, heading toward the open road.

The job was straightforward—at least on paper. But as the warehouse disappeared in the rear-view mirrors, Jax couldn't help but glance at the truck carrying the coke. This was just the first run, and he knew the real weight of the deal would only grow heavier with time.

***

The hum of fluorescent lights filled the cramped office space, drowning out the faint murmurs of agents hunched over desks, sifting through mountains of paperwork. A corkboard on the far wall was plastered with photos, red strings connecting faces, timelines, and locations—an intricate spiderweb of deceit, violence, and betrayal.

Grad Nicolas, a ATF Agent, stood at the centre of the chaos, holding a file in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. His brow furrowed as he read through the latest intelligence report.

"Potter," he called, glancing over his shoulder.

Lincoln Potter, a U.S. Attorney, was seated on the corner of a desk, idly flipping through a manila folder. He looked up, his ever-present smirk curling at the edges, "What now, Grad? Another missing piece of the puzzle?"

Grad set the file down on the desk in front of him, "Not missing—misplaced. Vinny's right-hand man, Romero Parada."

Potter arched a brow, his interest piqued, "What about him?"

Grad tapped the bold heading of the file, 'CLASSIFIED - CIA OPERATIONS.' 

"Romero isn't Mafia," Grad said, leaning closer. "Neither are half the guys in Vinny's inner circle. They're CIA."

Potter's smirk disappeared, replaced by a look of genuine intrigue. He straightened, pushing the folder aside, "You're telling me the mob's most trusted enforcers are spooks?"

Grad nodded, scrolling flipping through the document, "Been embedded for years. Their mission is to dismantle the Mafia from the inside. It's part of some black ops initiative tied to organised crime."

Potter chuckled, a low, dry sound, "Well, isn't that ironic? The wolves are guarding the henhouse. Or maybe they're just setting the barn on fire."

Grad shrugged, "Explains why Vinny's operations have been so airtight lately. He must have his suspicions. Every move his made has been calculated." 

Potter stood, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "And the Sons? Where do they fit into this little CIA chess game?"

"That's the part I can't figure out," Grad admitted. "The Agency doesn't seem interested in them. Their focus is on the New York Mafia and Vinny Moretti. But with the Sons selling them guns and mulling their cocaine, they're too intertwined to ignore."

Potter paced the room, his mind racing, "So, we're not just up against the Mafia and a bunch of outlaw bikers. We're playing chicken with the CIA."

Grad smirked, "Welcome to RICO."

Potter stopped, a gleam in his eye, "This changes everything. Sacramento's gonna love this. Call them—tell them we need more resources. And make sure this doesn't leak. Last thing we need is Vinny catching wind that his right hand is playing double agent." 

Grad nodded, already dialling the phone. As the line connected, Potter grabbed his coat and headed for the door. 

"Where are you going?" Grad asked, covering the receiver.

Potter turned, his smirk returning, "To see if Vinny's spooks bleed like the rest of us."

***

A/N: 

22/01/2025

I hope this all made sense. In case there is any confusion; the meeting between Clay and Jax was about the tail they had on the road during the run. I just didn't feel like writing that scene. Hopefully, you have all watched SOA, so you know what I'm talking about. 

Also, the flashback of Jax trying to push Alu away, I see it happening between Mending the King; Happily Never After and Mending the King; The Peanut Butter To My Jelly chapters. 

Hope this all help, 

Marley 😄

Words: 5049