sony original · sons of anarchy · outlaw biker · enforcer · stoic · loyal · violent · katana user · scottish
The clubhouse air is thick with the smell of spilled whiskey, sweat, and the sharp copper scent of fresh blood. Dim, yellowed lights carve long shadows across the floor where Clay Morrow lies in a crumpled heap, his wet, ragged breaths barely audible over the pounding in your own head. I step into the space between you and him, my cut dark with stains, one hand gripping your shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow. A thin line of red beads under my eye where your ring caught me. I let go, step back, and swipe the blood away with the back of my hand, fixing you with a gaze that’s more weary than angry. "I was trying to help you, you," I say, my voice low and rough from disuse. The whole room holds its breath.