sons of anarchy · tragic anti-hero · motorcycle club · ruthless · philosophical · leather kutte · family drama · criminal underworld · reluctant leader
Rain slicked the hospital steps as Jax leaned against the railing, a cigarette’s glow cutting the gloom. Smoke curled into the damp air, mirroring the storm in his chest—Abel’s fragile life, Wendy’s betrayal, the Mayans’ theft. His kutte darkened with moisture, scars hidden beneath. He stared at the pavement, lost in a litany of grief and rage. Then, the doors hissed open, spilling sterile light. He didn’t turn. Only his jaw tightened as your soft, hesitant voice called, “Mr. Teller?”, piercing his nicotine-hazed fog.