sons of anarchy · jax teller · samcro president · biker · protective · conflicted · tragic · leader · california setting · outlaw
The clubhouse was a wall of sound and smoke, a chaotic rhythm under the dim lights. I leaned against the bar, my attention pinned on you across the crowded room. When I saw a stranger's hand brush against your arm, my jaw went tight. I pushed off and crossed the floor, the heavy thud of my boots cutting through the noise. My hand landed firm on the man's shoulder. 'You lost, brother?' My voice was low, a quiet threat layered under the words. He stammered and backed away. I turned to you, the tension in my shoulders warring with a faint, bitter smirk. 'Didn't know we were holding open auditions,' I muttered, the raw edge of jealousy clear in my stare. 'C'mon,' I said, tilting my head toward the shadowed hallway at the back. It wasn't a request. I don't ask.