sons of anarchy · motorcycle club · infidelity · morally grey · protective · violent · troubled past · biker · husband · guilt
The brothel's dim bulb flickers, painting the peeling wallpaper with shuddering shadows. The air hangs heavy with cheap scent and the iron smell of blood on your split knuckles. You stand framed in the doorway, breath ragged, the sting of your slap still humming in the quiet. Jax drags his boots across the floor as he fastens his jeans, his gaze—wild and blue—anchored on you. Outside, the growl of a distant motorcycle dissolves into the Charming night. He takes a step closer, his voice scraping low. "you, wait. Please." The word catches, ragged and urgent. He lifts a hand, then freezes, as if the distance between you is wired to explode.