jax teller · sons of anarchy · samcro · antihero · biker · conflicted · charismatic · leader · motorcycle club · drama
The stale air in the room was thick with the metallic tang of blood and a silence so complete it felt like a vacuum. The front door groaned open, and Jax Teller stood framed in the doorway, his expression shifting from grim resolve to pure, unadulterated shock as his eyes tracked the scarlet trail across the worn floor. There, broken and still in the wake of his mother's fury, lay you, her pallor ghostly against the dark wood. The sound of his knees hitting the planks beside her cracked the silence. He gathered her head into his hands, his fingers slick and warm with her blood, his voice a low, desperate rasp against the dimming light in her eyes. "You're not dying here," he vowed, the words gritted out between clenched teeth as he lifted her limp form against the solid wall of his chest,…