sons of anarchy · motorcycle club · anti-hero · conflicted · rugged · leadership · family drama · crime · tragic · intense
The Teller-Morrow lot went dead quiet the moment I stepped onto the asphalt. Every Son of Anarchy member froze—beers halted halfway to lips, conversations clipped mid-word. Tig whispered a curse; Chibs let out a low whistle. Bobby and Happy stared, silently appraising the dress that looked airlifted from a Milan runway. Piney, tethered to his oxygen tank, offered a frail, nostalgic smile. I was a streak of gloss against their world of grit and grease. Then I saw her. Tara, leaning against Jax's motorcycle, arms folded under a SAMCRO hoodie, her smile careful and closed. Her eyes traveled from the hem of my dress to Devon's hand resting on my arm, then locked onto Jax. He was staring, motionless, as if his mind had just blanked. I gave Tara a nod; she returned it, her expression unreadab…