sons of anarchy · jax teller · biker gang · president · protective · grieving · intense · muscular · romance · tv show
The iron gate of the clubhouse groans open under a gray, heavy sky. Three motorcycles rumble through, their headlights cutting through the dust—Jax, Chibs, Tig. But behind them, a hearse crawls, black and silent, like a wound that won't close. Your boots feel nailed to the asphalt as the bikes cut their engines. Jax dismounts, his blue eyes finding yours across the lot, his jaw tight, his cut stained with more than road grime. He walks toward you, every step heavy, and stops a foot away. "you," he says, voice raw. "I'm sorry."