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puffins-muffins · 2 months ago

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Control - The Tug-of-War

Pairing: Jax Teller (AU-ish) x FemaleLawyer!Reader Word Count: 7346 Summary: As tensions with a rival MC escalate, old feelings relent, complicating your fight to maintain professional boundaries. Torn between duty and desire, a dangerous conspiracy is uncovered, all while navigating the risks of your rekindled connection to Jax. Warnings: 18+ only please! (eventual smut) lots of innuendo, cursing, brief mentions of implied violence, angst, and feels. A/N: FINALLY! Part 4 is here. This took me waaaaay longer to finish than I ever anticipated, so a HUGE thank you to everyone still invested in Jax and Pepper's story. As always, feedback is encouraged and greatly appreciated - likes, comments, and reblogs fuel me. Beta'd by myself, all mistakes are my own. Without further ado...

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Days had passed since your ride with Jax and the almost-kiss—the memory replayed endlessly, torturous and consuming every crevice of your mind. The roughness of his fingers grazing your cheek, the piercing intensity of his eyes that seemed to strip away every barrier you had, and the warmth of his breath—teasing and familiar, carrying a blend of nicotine and mint that was undeniably him. He leaned in so close that the logical part of your brain seemed to disappear. You’d almost let it happen, almost let him claim the space between you. And the truth? You wanted to.

So bad.

It was the way he drew you in, no matter how hard you tried to resist, because Jax had always been like that—dangerously magnetic, a force you could never escape. You knew, without a single doubt, that once you crossed that line, there’d be no going back to the safe distance you’d convinced yourself you could maintain.

Since you came back to Charming, Jax had been careful, almost restrained—testing your boundaries. But now, there was no mistaking his intent. His touches lingered, his words carried too much weight, and his eyes promised everything you’d ever wanted together.

He wasn’t holding back anymore and the feelings he stirred were overwhelming—a mix of longing, frustration and, yet, something dangerous and powerful. It was never just physical with Jax, he had a way of getting under your skin, making you feel seen in a way that was as thrilling as it was unsettling. Your pulse quickened, thoughts tumbling over one another, all drowned out by the agonizing truth: being close to him felt effortless, like slipping into a perfectly worn, familiar T-shirt that fit just right.

You told yourself you needed space, that putting distance between you two was the only way to clear your head. After hashing out strategies with Liz over the new evidence—you decided heading back to your office and home felt like the best option.

You had an early motion hearing Thursday, and after that, you’d head out, giving yourself a long weekend to regroup with your team. A few consecutive days away from Charming would help you regain perspective, give you the distance you needed to pull your thoughts from the relentless tug of him.

It made sense.

But even as you planned your escape, the decision felt heavier than it should have, like you were leaving behind way more than just a case.

You sighed deeply as you parked in the TM lot, the neatly lined bikes confirming everyone was already inside. Jax’s earlier text had been brief—Juice had uncovered something about the rival MC, and whatever it was, felt big.

Bracing yourself, you stepped inside the clubhouse, the all too familiar mix of cigarettes and stale beer, greeting you like an old habit you couldn’t break. Tension simmered as you walked in, the low hum of conversation buzzed from the Chapel, where the brothers were scattered, their faces grim and tight with unspoken worry.

Jax stood at the head of the table as he surveyed the room with the same intensity as always. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the fresh cut slicing through his brow, the faint shadow of a bruise spreading around his eye. Concern flashed across your face before you could stop it, but when your eyes met, he gave you a slight nod. His expression stayed hard, and the moment passed with nothing more than a look exchanged between you.

Still, you didn’t miss the subtle shift in his stance as you walked in, the way his shoulders straightened just enough to betray his awareness of you. It wasn’t intentional, but it was undeniable—a quiet reaction only you seemed to notice.

Jax was never unaware of you.

"Alright," he spoke, his voice cutting through the room and drawing everyone’s attention as the men settled into their respective seats, while you stood to the side, your eyes never leaving Jax. "We’ve been digging into the Warlords, and they’re in this deeper than we thought." His gaze flicked toward you briefly before continuing. "Had a close call with their guys on the highway last night. Almost turned into a showdown, but we pulled back."

The Warlords had once been allies of the Sons, but everything changed the day Clay killed their president during a botched gun deal and then covered it up. Damon Reyes had taken over, severing ties with SAMCRO and escalating the tension into years of animosity.

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the cut again, a dozen questions swirling in your mind already. You crossed your arms, waiting for him to elaborate.

“We think they’re the ones framing me for murder,” Jax declared, his jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours.

Your mind spun, connecting the dots from everything you and your defense team had uncovered. The anonymous payments, the conveniently surfaced witness, the doctored phone records—it all pointed back to the Warlords. They were manipulating evidence from afar, keeping their hands clean while setting Jax up.

“This might be the link we’ve been missing,” you realized, a mix of anger and relief washing over you.

“If I go down for this, Reyes thinks it’ll cripple the club. He’s been plotting ever since Clay killed Mendoza.” Jax affirmed, his tone sharp.

His words lingered in the air, Reyes’ long-standing vendetta casting a shadow over the room. The Sons had been fighting to stay one step ahead for years, but now the stakes had never been higher.

The room buzzed with unease; the brothers’ faces reflected the seriousness of the situation. Chibs piped in. “Aye, and it’s not just Reyes, Jacky Boy. That bastard’s got cops in his back pocket too.”

Your stomach knotted, and your brow furrowed slightly as you turned to Chibs. “Anything solid tying Reyes to any specific cops?” Your mind remembering Connelly.

Chibs shook his head. “Nothin’ yet, lass. We’ve got whispers and cash movin’ around, but not the kind of evidence that’ll hold up in court.”

Your thoughts reeled as the gravity of the situation sunk in. “If we can make that connection, we could file a motion to dismiss,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. Taking a steadying breath, you stepped forward, your tone growing stronger as you addressed the club. “We have to be smarter than him. Reyes isn’t just after you, Jax—he’s coming for everything.”

The room grew silent, tension settling over everyone as the full weight of the threat sank in. This wasn’t just about clearing Jax’s name; it was about survival. The Sons were in deeper than ever, fighting to keep the club from being torn apart by the Warlords.

As you stood there, you began to grasp the true depth of your loyalty. This wasn’t just a connection to your father’s club; it ran through your veins, binding you to a legacy you never wanted, but couldn’t deny.

And your feelings for Jax—still growing, still impossible to suppress—made the idea of walking away unthinkable. No matter how tangled and complicated everything had become, the thought of leaving him—or the club—was something you couldn’t do now.

The meeting wrapped up soon after, and you barely had a second before you were on the phone with your office, more determined than ever. “—yeah, let’s have the investigator follow up on those two key pieces ASAP,” you instructed, glancing up as Jax approached. “And have them on my desk for Thursday. I should be back in town in the afternoon. Thanks Liz.”

Jax’s face tightened as he caught that last part. His brows drew together, eyes narrowing with a flash of suspicion as he tilted his head. Before you could react, he reached out, his grip on your arm firm and lingering. “Come with me for a minute,” he urged, his voice insistent.

Your heart pounded in your ears as he guided you down the long hallway, knowing exactly where he was leading you—the same place you’d avoided since being back, because the last time you’d been there, everything imploded.

He opened the door, stepping inside first, and you lingered at the threshold, uncertainty prickling at your skin. The room looked just as it always had—dimly lit, the smell of dust mingling with faint traces of his cologne. Your eyes landed on the bed, and a familiar ache surfaced, as if no time had passed. The pain, the shock, it all swept over you again.

But with it, the good memories came too—the nights spent tangled in each other’s arms, laughter spilling into the darkness, and the quiet moments dreaming of a future that never came to be.

“I didn’t think you’d ever step foot in here again.” Jax’s voice cut through the silence, rough and low. His words drawing your attention to him.

You swallowed, folding your arms across your chest as if that could shield you from the past. “Neither did I.”

A flicker of regret shifted in his eyes before his jaw set hard. “So… you’re leaving, huh?”

You didn’t answer, letting the silence stretch as you took a step into the room. He was reading you, you could feel it, but you didn’t owe him an explanation.

He took a step closer, his gaze hardening. “If it’s because of the other night—I’m not going to apologize.”

Frustration flared within you, a sharp scoff escaping your lips before you could stop it. Typical Jax—always so sure of himself, so unwilling to back down. His confidence grated on you, but it also pulled at a part of you that didn’t want him to apologize, even though he should. As his words echoed in the room, your mind betrayed you, drifting back to that moment.

How alive you’d felt during the ride, how safe yet electrified you were by his presence. It left you raw, exposed, teetering on the edge of something you weren’t sure you could control. You felt your resolve waver, torn between his stubborn cockiness and the dizzying effect he still had on you. His words, his stance, everything about him challenged you.

And yet, here you were, standing your ground, even as every part of you wanted him.

“Jax,” you started, your voice tight, trying to rein in the whirlwind inside you. His name hung in the air, because you weren’t sure what you wanted to say. Confront him? Brush it off? All you knew was that his refusal to apologize only fanned the flames of everything you’d been trying to put out of your mind since the almost-kiss.

He stepped closer, the heat between you intensifying. “I’m not sorry for what happened… or almost happened,” he added, his eyes never leaving yours. “You felt it, same as I did.”

He had you mesmerized, not even noticing when he closed the gap between you. His warmth surrounded you, the passion in his eyes undeniable as his hand cupped your cheek. You leaned into his palm without thinking, the briefest moment of surrender, eyes locked, both of you searching for something in the other.

Your heart raced as his fingers brushed lightly against your skin, his lips—full and slightly weathered, hovering just a breath away. The curve of his mouth was captivating, a subtle contrast to the roughness of his jawline. Everything about him pulled you in, every part of you screaming to let go. Without thinking, your hand moved, gently brushing over the cut above his eyebrow. His eyes briefly closing and his body nearly relaxing at your touch.

“Does it hurt?” you asked softly.

“Not as much as this,” he rasped, his voice thick with vulnerability. His grip on your cheek tightened slightly, his eyes focusing on you again. “Why do you keep pulling away?”

His question lingered, cutting through your haze. The connection, so vivid moments ago, now felt fragile and uncertain. You pulled back, your heart aching as you did. “Jax, I can’t,” you protested. “Not now. Not like this.”

Frustration flashed across his face, his jaw tightening as he fought against his emotions. “Why not?” he wondered, his tone rough but quiet. “We keep ending up here.” He let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair, pushing the loose strands back. “We’ve been dancing around this for a while now, Pep. Every damn time I think we’re getting somewhere; you push me away.”

His gaze was unnerving, searching for answers you weren’t ready to give. You swallowed hard. “I’m trying to keep my head straight. You’re my client, first and foremost. And there’s too much at stake right now.” A plea edging into your words. “After everything we just went over out there, everything I’m up against now!” your voice rising slightly, “I need to focus.”

He clenched his fists, tension clear in the lines of his face. He knew you were right, but Jax Teller wasn’t someone who let things go easily, especially when it came to you. Pulling away from him bruised his pride, and you could see the fight in him, the struggle between understanding your words and his own wants and desires.

“I get it,” he muttered darkly, bitterness threading through his voice. He glanced away for a moment, his expression hardening before locking back onto you. “You need space from me.”

Here we go, you thought, biting back the urge to roll your eyes as you took a step back, letting out an exasperated sigh. You remembered this side of him all too well—the simmering agitation when he didn’t get exactly what he wanted.

“You know what, Jax? Yeah, some of it is about needing space from you,” you snapped, your eyes locking onto his, unflinching. “From Charming. From all the ghosts that won’t let me breathe here.” The words came out sharp and cutting—words you’d swallowed for too long.

You watched his jaw flex, his face hardening even more, but his eyes—they were burning now, fierce and determined. For every step you took back, he took a step closer, the intensity in his gaze cutting through the distance you tried to put between you.

“I’m not a ghost,” he growled, his voice barely controlled. “I’m right here, Pep. You can run, put up all the walls you want, but don’t act like you don’t feel it too. Don’t act like I don’t know you, like I don’t see every part of you.”

His words were a challenge, a confession, and a promise all at once. Your heart hammered, the weight of them settling heavy and inescapable.

“You’re asking me to back off,” he muttered. “But you really think that’s gonna change how we feel? You put ten goddamn years of space between us, and the second we were back in the same room, it was still there!”

Another step closer, and he was right in front of you again, staring you down, eyes pleading with frustration and vulnerability. “You can keep pushing me away, but you know it as well as I do—there’s no escaping this. No amount of space is ever gonna bury what’s between us. And you know damn well that no one’s ever gonna know you like I do. Make you feel the way I do.”

His hands framed your face again, the heat of his touch sparking through you. “So tell me,” he whispered, his tone low and rough, leaning in just close enough for his breath to ghost across your skin. “Is running really what you want, or are you just scared of what happens if you stay?”

Your stomach did somersaults as you felt yourself drawn in, torn between the instinct to keep running and the undeniable truth of what he was saying. The weight of his conviction, the way he saw you so completely, sent a thrill through you. As much as it unnerved you, it tempted you, making it even harder to hold your ground.

You drew in a shaky breath, desperate to steady yourself, desperate for a break from all the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “I’m not running,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, tinged with a rawness you couldn’t hide. “And I know a few days away probably won’t change anything. But I need it.”

You hesitated, the helplessness in your chest rising to the surface as you forced yourself to keep going. “This isn’t just about us. It’s everything—the past, the club, this trial…” Your voice wavered, a thread of desperation lacing your tone as your eyes met his with unflinching intensity. You needed him to let you breathe. “Just, please, Jax. Can you give me that?”

His eyes met your intensity, a storm of emotions churning behind the blue depths. Love, history, and defiance all wrestled for control, torn between the pull that kept drawing you back together and the distance you were now pleading for. The battle was written all over his face.

But for once, he didn’t fight.

Instead, he stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. His jaw tense as if the distance itself physically pained him. It wasn’t surrender—it never would be with Jax. But this time, he gave you what you asked for, even though every part of him fought against it.

“Fine,” he uttered quietly, voice strained, the weight of his disappointment evident. It radiated off him in waves, lingering like an open wound.

You only nodded in response, grateful for the reprieve, but painfully aware of the strain it left behind. The silence that followed was suffocating, louder than any argument, filled with all the words you weren’t able to say.

Because the real battle wasn’t about the trial, or the club, or even Jax himself. It was about fighting the part of you that longed to fall into him completely, no matter the cost. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week had dragged on, each day a slow reminder of the unease put between you and Jax for your unwillingness to admit your feelings. By the time the final hearing of the week wrapped up, you had a small victory—a win for the defense and a step closer to untangling this mess of a case. You needed the win, but more than that, you needed to get out of Charming.

As you stepped out of the courthouse, the adrenaline from the morning’s success still buzzing in your veins, you practically skipped toward your car, eager to escape. But then you saw him—Jax, parked beside you, arms crossed and waiting. A sigh slipped from your lips. So much for an easy exit.

You could feel his sunglass-covered eyes tracking your approach. There was a weight in his stance, a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. You tightened your grip on your keys, twisting them in your hand as you drew closer. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.” you quipped, your tone laced with subtle sarcasm.

Jax’s lips tugged into a smirk, your sharp wit cutting through the tension like it always did. A flicker of amusement flashed in his expression. “Figured you’d try to sneak off without saying goodbye,” he replied, slipping off his sunglasses and hooking them onto his collar.

You mustered a lighthearted tone, forcing a smile despite the knot forming in your chest. “It’s only a few days, Jax. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

A shadow crossed his face, his jaw ticking slightly. “Don’t count on it,” he muttered. Then he took a breath, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Listen… about the other day. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that, trying to get you to say things you didn’t want to.”

Before you could respond, his hand reached out, his fingers brushing against yours—a light touch that sent a jolt through you, his way of bridging the distance.

He glanced away, swallowing hard before adding. “I was an asshole.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Your words, not mine,” you muttered, not quite hiding the surprise his apology caught you by.

Still, the unexpected admission eased some of the strain between you. You gave a small nod, your voice softening. “I just… need to focus on what matters right now, which is winning this case and keeping you out of prison. Otherwise…” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “All the things I do want to say, won’t matter.”

His hand shifted, thumb grazing over your knuckles in a slow caress, his touch radiating more emotion than any words could. His gaze dipped downward, softening, and for the first time in days, a faint spark of hope replaced the tension that had lingered there.

He lifted his other hand, his fingertips ghosting over your cheek, the contact achingly tender. His lips parted as if to speak, but he hesitated, letting the moment speak for itself. That flicker of hope, however faint, was enough to steady him. A small, almost bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if your raw honesty struck a chord that both stung and soothed him.

“Alright,” he acknowledged after a long pause, his eyes still fixed on yours. “I can live with that—for now.” He added his signature Jax Teller wink, a touch of levity that was so uniquely him.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at him, settling for a playful glare instead. Even so, a small smile tugged at your lips. It wasn’t the resolution either of you had wanted, but it felt like something close to peace—a fragile, unspoken truce. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your drive home felt long, sunlight streaming through the tinted windows as your thoughts swirled. Exhaustion weighed on you, but adrenaline kept you on edge. Leaving Charming hadn’t delivered the escape you’d hoped for; despite the promises you’d made to yourself, the truth hit you with unsettling clarity—you’d fallen for him all over again.

The more painful realization, though, was that you’d never really stopped loving him. No matter the years or the distance, he’d always been there, some part of you that refused to let go.

Things were definitely more complicated now—so much heavier. You’d spent your whole life trying to separate yourself from the MC world. Growing up as the daughter of a former member had left its mark, a constant reminder of the risks, the violence, and the sacrifices tied to that life. And then, despite your best efforts, you’d fallen for Jax Teller.

Twice.

You groaned at the thought. Being back in his life now had forced you to confront a truth you’d spent years avoiding: no matter how far you ran, this was your legacy—your life—and it had taken root.

As soon as you entered the office, the haze in your mind cleared, and the emotions you’d been wrestling with were buried. Compartmentalizing had always been a strength, and now it allowed you to focus entirely on the task at hand. Liz and the defense team were already gathered, ready to dive into the next phase of the case.

The shadow of the Warlords’ involvement loomed over every detail, fueling the urgency that drove you forward. You slipped into your role effortlessly, issuing directives and delegating tasks with the precision of someone who thrived under pressure.

Time blurred as the day unfolded in a stream of legal strategy. The conference room thrummed with quiet intensity, the sound of rustling papers and focused voices filling the air. You and your team pored over documents, dissected evidence, and mapped out timelines.

Every small breakthrough ignited a spark of hope, a flicker of progress in the uphill battle to shield Jax. It wasn’t just about the case anymore; it was about ensuring the survival of everything he fought to protect. The weight of responsibility settled on your shoulders and you felt more determined than ever.

You were doing this for the club, for the family that had claimed you, and for the man who had a way of carving out space in your mind, leaving an ache that seemed to reach straight into your soul.

Finally, as the clock pushed past evening into the depths of the night, you packed up your notes and left the office, exhaustion seeping into your bones. When you finally stepped into the quiet of your house, the familiar stillness comforted you. You set your bag down, along with your favorite pizza and the six-pack you’d picked up on the drive home. Kicking off your shoes, you leaned against the counter and cracked open a beer. The restlessness inside you refused to quiet, buzzing under your skin, even in the calm of your home.

Without thinking, your hand reached for your phone, fingers grazing the screen. The urge to hear his voice, to make sure he was okay, tugged at you. But reason quickly cut through, reminding you of the promises you’d made to yourself. You set the phone back down with a sigh, taking another long swig of beer, hoping it would dull the ache.

What were you doing? You’d sworn you wouldn’t let your heart get tangled up in him, not when so much was at risk. Losing wasn’t an option—not when failure would mean more than just a professional defeat. Jax facing life in prison, being torn from his life and the future you now found yourself hoping for. The thought of losing him, of having to walk away again while everything was torn apart, was unbearable. You couldn’t let that happen.

Your mind wandered to your gradual reconnection with Jax, a slow pull back toward the man who once held your heart. He could still make you laugh, the kind of deep, unguarded laugh that felt like home. His rare, fleeting smiles—the ones he reserved for moments when his guard slipped—still struck you the same way they had back then.

There was a quieter strength in him now, one that made you feel both safe and exposed all at once. That fierce protectiveness you’d always admired was still there, but now it carried a heavier weight—shadows of stories he’d probably never tell.

The feelings he brought back to life within you were real and vibrant, not just echoes of young love—Jax had always known just how to unravel you, and somehow, he was doing it all over again.

Shaking off the weight of your thoughts, you gathered your things—the remaining beer, pizza box, and of course, the stack of work that never seemed to diminish—and headed to your bedroom. Routine steadied you as you washed your face and changed into your pajamas.

Once ready, you spread your work across the bed, the soft glow of your bedside lamp spilling over the neatly organized files. You sank onto the mattress, the hum of determination replacing the restless buzz of your emotions.

Among the documents, you spotted the original case files from years ago—Clay's murder of the Warlords president. You’d requested them for context, hoping they’d provide insight into how this mess had snowballed into Jax’s current predicament. As you scanned the pages, a name began to surface over and over: Reed Daniels.

First as a lead investigator. Then in a follow-up report. And then again in a list of interviews and testimonies from that case, your pulse quickening with each mention. Daniels hadn’t just been involved; he’d been deeply embedded.

“This doesn’t feel right…” you murmured, flipping through more documents. You grabbed a notepad, jotting down dates and cross-referencing them with the current case. Your suspicions mounted when you spotted Daniels’ signature on a report from a Warlords botched weapons bust—the same one you’d uncovered during prep.

The same missing evidence, the same key players, and now, the same investigator.

It was nearing midnight when your phone lit up, vibrating on the nightstand. Jax's name appeared across the screen. Your heart fluttered, a flicker of warmth piercing through your concentration. You reached for the phone with a small, involuntary smile.

"I haven’t even been gone a day, ya know," you teased, your voice light as a giggle escaped your lips.

Jax chuckled on the other end, the sound low and warm. “What can I say? Guess I’m needier than I thought. You make it home alright?”

Leaning back against the headboard, you couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. “You worried about me, Teller? That’s sweet.”

“Sweet?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Nah, just trying to make sure you didn’t wreck your car fantasizing about me on the drive back.”

“Oh, you caught me,” your tone heavy with sarcasm. “It’s a miracle I didn’t veer off the road, completely blinded by your endless charm and cocky ass smirk.”

“This smirk’s got a fan club, babe.” Jax drawled, his voice oozing with confidence.

You scoffed, though the warmth spreading in your chest betrayed you. “Well, I’ll send in my resignation then. I don’t think I’m interested in being a card-carrying member.”

“Liar,” he fired back, his tone slipping into that low, cocky rasp that always made your pulse jump. “You’ve always been my number one fan, Pep. Just don’t wanna admit it. But it’s cool—I’ve got plenty of ways to convince you to renew. And the perks? You know they’re unforgettable.”

That rasp in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, heat sparking low in your belly. But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction. “I’m sure you’ve got the whole pitch rehearsed,” you shot back, keeping your tone light even as your heart fluttered. “But you should know—I’ve raised my standards since then.”

“That so?” his voice dipping lower, now almost a purr that curled through the phone and into your ear. “Good thing I’ve always been good at exceeding expectations.”

Your breath caught, desire simmering as the memory of his touch—his mouth—flashed unbidden in your mind. You gripped the phone tighter, determined to keep your tone even. “Bold of you to assume I’m that easy to impress these days.”

Jax chuckled softly, the sound dark and full of promise. “Oh, I remember exactly what it took to impress you. All those pretty little noises you used to make…” His voice trailed off, his seduction hanging in the air.

Your body betrayed you, a flush creeping over your skin as the unspoken memories lingered.

This motherfucker.

You exhaled a soft laugh, shaking your head as you twirled a pen between your fingers, grasping at the sliver of composure you still had. “Is there a point to this call, or was it just to inflate your ego?”

“Can’t it be both?” he countered, his tone teasing but softer, almost boyish. Then, after a brief pause, his voice dipped, speaking with a sincerity that made your stomach flip-flop. “Maybe I just needed to hear your voice.”

You sighed—his tone tender, carrying that quiet care he always reserved just for you. He softened in ways anyone rarely saw, his sharp edges smoothing as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting the harsher parts of himself touch you.

To everyone else, Jax was a force to be reckoned with—a volatile leader who thrived on controlled chaos. But with you, he wasn’t the ruthless protector of SAMCRO, he was simply Jax. The grit and intensity he showed to the rest of the world faded, leaving behind just the man beneath the weight of the patch.

The playful edge lingered in your reply, an attempt to keep the moment light, but you needed to steer this conversation out of its current territory. “For your information, I made it home in one piece. Happy now?”

“Getting there,” he said softly, the smirk you could hear in his tone tinged with care. “Now tell me you aren’t still working.”

“I plead the fifth.” You responded sheepishly.

He groaned, dragging the sound out with exaggerated frustration that made you roll your eyes. “Pep, it’s after midnight. Get some sleep.”

“Not until I’m done,” you replied firmly, flipping through the stack of papers in front of you. But as a beat of silence stretched on, your tone shifted, the weight of your discovery creeping in. “Hey… does the name Reed Daniels mean anything to you?”

The easy banter vanished, replaced by a charged stillness. When Jax finally spoke, suspicion edged his voice. “Daniels? The DA’s investigator?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, rising to stretch your stiff muscles. “He’s been popping up in a few places—his names on some old case files connected to the Warlords. And now he’s the lead investigator on your case. Doesn’t that seem… off?” you asked, beginning to pace.

“Definitely off,” Jax confirmed, his tone sharp, the playfulness gone. “A couple years back, Chibs and I had a run-in with the Warlords, and one of their guys mentioned someone feeding them intel, keeping things clean when the heat got close. Daniels wasn’t named outright, but it fits.”

Your pulse quickened. “So he really is working with them?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Jax muttered. “He’s probably covering his own ass. Ties to the Warlords and keeping the DA happy? That’s power—and protection.”

“If Daniels is tied to this, it changes everything. I wonder if I can prove he’s manipulating evidence,” you said, your thoughts spilling into the open as the weight of the revelation settled over you, the implications unraveling in your mind

“Damn right it changes everything,” Jax said, his voice laced with a restrained anger. “But it also makes this mess even riskier. If Daniels is playing both sides, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep his hands clean. That includes burying us—and you.”

The warning in his voice sent a chill down your spine, but your determination flared. “Then we need to find the proof before he knows we’re onto him. There must be something tying him to the Warlords.”

“I’ll get the club digging,” Jax said, his tone resolute. “Reyes and his boys don’t move without a plan, and Daniels might’ve left something behind. If there’s dirt to find, we’ll uncover it.”

You hesitated, sitting back down against the headboard. “Jax, just… be careful, okay? If anyone connected gets wind of this, they won’t think twice about escalating things. I can’t have you, or any of the guys, getting dragged into something worse right now.”

His voice softened, but the resolve remained. “I hear you. But I’m not gonna sit back while this asshole tries to take me down.”

You knew better, Jax was methodical when it came to handling threats, calculating even when his emotions ran high. He didn’t rush in blindly, but once his sights were set on a target, he was relentless. And when it came to protecting the club, he operated with a precision that was both impressive and terrifying. That same drive was what made him such a formidable leader—and what made you so worried about what might come next.

“Jax,” you warned, your tone firm but tinged with unease, “don’t make a move until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

There was a moment of silence before he exhaled, a quiet concession. “I won’t do anything stupid.”

Even as he said it, you could hear the tension in his voice, the barely restrained need to act. It was Jax, after all—waiting had never been his strong suit. The faint flick of a lighter followed, then the soft sound of him exhaling smoke. The familiar, intimate noise sent a pang through you, a reminder of just how much space he still occupied in your mind.

“Can you do me a favor, though?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the rough edges softened with concern.

“What’s that?” you asked, stretching your back and legs, trying to ease the knot of tension his words had tied there.

“Get some rest, okay?” His voice held a disarming gentleness, the kind that always seemed to soothe you. “You’re no good to anyone if you burn yourself out.”

His words made your heart swell, the weight of his care slipping effortlessly past the walls you’d worked so hard to construct. No matter how much time passed, Jax knew how you operated. He could see the way you poured yourself into your work, how you pushed yourself too far, even when you thought no one else noticed.

You hesitated, torn between brushing him off and letting his concern linger. “I’ll try,” you said softly, though you weren’t entirely sure you believed yourself. “Goodnight, Jax.”

“Night, Pep,” he murmured, his voice carrying tenderness that lingered even after the line clicked dead.

You sighed, your fingers brushing the corner of the closest stack of case files. But Jax’s voice lingered, stubborn as ever, urging you to rest. For a moment, you just sat there, his words replaying in your mind, that unexpected softness swirling inside you.

Slowly, you stood, brushing your hands against your thighs as you moved around the room, shoving the files to the empty side of the bed. A fleeting thought crossed your mind—wishing Jax was the one filling that space instead. The warmth that crept up your neck made you shake your head, a quiet blush heating your skin.

When you finally crawled into bed, you flicked off the bedside lamp, leaving the room bathed in faint moonlight. Sleep wouldn’t come easily—you knew that much—but you closed your eyes, letting out a long, measured breath.

Your thoughts drifted back to the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he cared even when you tried to keep him at arm’s length. It was infuriating how easily he could reach you, how his concern could consume you.

You turned onto your side, staring at the wall as the minutes ticked by. You’d done this so many times before—compartmentalized, boxed up your emotions, shoved them somewhere unreachable. But tonight was different.

Because it was Jax.

So for now, just for a moment, you let yourself feel the full weight of his care—and the ache that came with it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days had blurred together, your time at home quickly dwindling as the work piled up. You’d thrown yourself into your part of the case, chasing leads and piecing together evidence, while Jax and SAMCRO handled things on their end. Or so you assumed. He’d been unusually quiet, the texts and calls that once punctuated your days now conspicuously absent.

It wasn’t like him.

Jax didn’t do quiet, not with you.

The thought nagged at you as you sat at your desk, flipping through notes you’d scrawled earlier. Witness statements, timelines, and inconsistencies in the DA’s case were scattered across your desk, the disarray a reflection of how you felt inside.

You glanced at the clock—nearly 10 p.m.—and let out a long breath. You’d spent the day tracking down a lead that fizzled into nothing and reviewing an expert’s deposition that could poke holes in the prosecution’s timeline. The latest developments with the Warlords were troubling, their reach deeper and more calculated than you’d expected.

You leaned back in your chair, tilting your head to stretch your neck and rolling your shoulders in a futile attempt to shake off the tension that clung to you, frustration simmering beneath your exhaustion. Something wasn’t adding up. The silence from Jax, the Warlords’ calculated precision—it all felt off.

Your phone rang then, piercing through the quiet. Jax’s name flashing across the screen making your heart skip. You didn’t hesitate, your finger swiping to answer.

“Jax,” you answered cautiously, trying to keep your voice even.

“Hey,” he replied, his tone sharp, cutting straight to the point. “We need to talk.”

You sat up in your chair, the clipped edge of his voice immediately setting you on alert. “What’s going on?”

“Warlords,” he said flatly. “They know we’ve been digging. They sent a message.”

Your grip on the phone tightened, dread creeping in. “What kind of message?”

“They’re watching us,” he bit out, his voice thick with restrained anger. “They sent pictures—of our guys, their families.” His voice dropped into a deep growl. “Club property’s been hit. They’re making it crystal fucking clear they’re coming for us.”

You closed your eyes, his words landing like a punch. “Fuck,” you cursed. “This is exactly what we didn’t need. Do you have proof? Something we can use?”

“No,” he admitted, his frustration bleeding through. “But this isn’t about proof. It’s about sending a message. They're seeing how far they can push.”

“And what do you plan to do?” you asked warily, already dreading the answer. “You know they’re baiting you.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. “They crossed a big fucking line.”

Your jaw tightened as the knot in your stomach grew. “If you retaliate—”

“They threatened my family!” he cut in, his voice rising with barely contained fury. “You think I’m just going to sit back and let them get away with that?”

His words struck deeper than you expected, and for a moment, the intensity of his anger made your breath catch. But you pushed it aside, forcing yourself to stay clear headed. “You don’t get to make that call, Jax. Not with this trial hanging over your head. If you move on this, you’re playing right into their hands. The DA’s watching your every move, waiting for any excuse to bury you—and the club.”

The line went quiet except for his uneven breathing. “You think I don’t know that?” he said finally, his voice strained. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake?” he asked sharply.

“Then act like it!” you snapped, your frustration at him flaring. “This isn’t just about the club, Jax! It’s about your freedom. You need to stand down.”

His laugh was low, bitter, and laced with sharp defiance. “I don’t need you to tell me how to run my club,” he hissed, the words cutting through the phone like a blade.

The harshness of his tone caught you off guard. His frustration, his temper, they were familiar, but this cutting, biting edge in his voice? It wasn’t something he directed at you. You couldn’t recall ever experiencing this version of him.

But you weren’t one to back down. Not with him.

You straightened in your chair, your voice biting back with just as much force. “And I don’t need you to blow up your entire defense because you can’t keep your temper in check,” you shot. “You want to protect the club? Fine. But if you want to still be here to lead it when this is over, you’re going to have to be smarter than this.”

Silence followed, but you could feel the tension radiating through the line. When he finally spoke, his voice was clipped and cold. “I’ll handle it,” his words leaving no room for argument.

You frowned, gripping the phone tighter. “Handle it how?” you pressed, the suspicion clear in your voice.

“Just trust me,” he bit out, and before you could respond, the line went dead

“Son of a bitch,” you growled, lowering the phone with a frustrated sigh. Your knuckles turned white as you set it down, the tension coursing through your body. You knew better than to trust him in a moment like this. Jax was ruled by instinct, by loyalty, and by that maddening need to protect everyone he cared about, no matter the cost.

He didn’t wait for permission and certainly didn’t stop to consider consequences when the people he loved were threatened. It was what made him the leader he was, but it was also what made him dangerous—to himself and to everyone around him.

At this point, all you could do was hope that, for once, he’d set aside his impulses and think about what was truly at stake. The knot in your stomach tightened, and all you could do was brace yourself for whatever came next. Silently praying that the fallout was minimal.

#jax teller #jax teller x you #jax teller x reader #jax teller au #jax and pepper #jax teller fic #jax teller fanfiction #soa au #control #charlie hunnam characters #sons of anarchy #charlie hunnam

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puffins-muffins · 5 months ago

Text

Control - The Attraction

Pairing: Jax Teller (AU-ish) x FemaleLawyer!Reader Word Count: ~10,370 Summary: Back in Charming, your return to TM and SAMCRO leaves you feeling a complex mix of nostalgia and anxiety. As Jax's trial approaches, you face mounting pressure from a relentless prosecution and your growing feelings for Jax complicate your focus. Warnings: 18+ only please, cursing, descriptions of anxiety/panic attack. Brief mention of character death(s), Jax (he's his own warning).

A/N: Ommmmgggg you guyyys!! I am blown away by all the love and support for this story! This one was an emotional rollercoaster. It kiiiinnd of got away from me, but with reader back in Charming now, there was a lot that needed to be explored. Feedback always appreciated. Beta'd by myself, all mistakes are my own. Please enjoy it as much as I do!! Part 3, here we go! 💜

Part 1 | Part 2

Sitting at the old diner, the one you and your dad used to frequent for dinners, you stared down at your untouched coffee, the bitter scent rising into the air, tightening the knot that had taken residence in your stomach. You had sworn to yourself years ago that you wouldn’t get pulled back into this world, into the familiar emotional storms. Yet, here you were, back in Charming, with Jax only a few miles away—and that ironclad resolve you once had was starting to fracture.

Your conversation from the interrogation room replayed relentlessly in your mind, Jax’s words as sharp now as when he first said them. “Maybe you’re afraid you’re not over me.” He looked right through you, cutting past your defenses. He had seen the truth in you, that you hadn’t really moved on. Not completely. With one look, he knew it.

You hated that he could still read you so easily, that after all these years apart, he still knew exactly which buttons to press. It was maddening, that sense of vulnerability. You were supposed to be stronger now. Smarter. But being around Jax, it felt like every wall you had built came crumbling down the moment you walked into that room. The way he looked at you—like no time had passed at all—made it impossible to pretend that you didn’t feel the same pull.

Seeing him again brought it all rushing back. The way he used to look at you, the way he made you feel like the world outside didn’t exist when you were together. How he’d made you feel seen and understood, in a way no one else ever had. You spent years trying to fill that void, tried to find that connection with others, but it had never been the same. No one had never been Jax.

You sighed, rubbing your temples, the weight of it all pressing down on you. What was it about him that made it so hard to let go? After everything, after all the pain, the heartbreak, why did being near him still make you feel like you were tethered to him in some unbreakable way?

A familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts, warm and gravelly with a hint of surprise. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You glanced up, finding Wayne Unser standing a few feet away, his worn face cracking into a smile. The knot in your stomach eased, replaced by a wave of nostalgia. You stood, offering a hug that he accepted warmly. “Chief! It’s so good to see you.”

He chuckled as he pulled back, shaking his head. “Ain’t the Chief anymore, darlin’. Haven’t been for some time now.”

You smiled, gesturing toward the empty seat at your table. “You’ll always be the Chief to me,” you said fondly.

He nodded, settling into the chair across from you. There was something comforting about having him here, someone who had always been in your corner and witnessed your life intersect with the club’s chaos.

“I was hoping we’d run into each other while I’m in town.” you said, your tone soft as you folded your hands on the table. “You really saved my ass with that character letter.”

Unser waved it off, his smile fading as he leaned back in the chair. “Would’ve done a lot more if I could’ve. Jax may be in deep, but I’ve known that boy since he was runnin’ around on his tricycle. He’s a good man, even if he’s gotten himself tangled in a mess.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the conversation shift. Unser had always seen the good in Jax, even when others didn’t. And that loyalty was something you admired, but it also made you wonder how much of Jax’s actions over the years Wayne had turned a blind eye to, how much he excused for the sake of it.

“Jax’s world has gotten a lot more complicated,” you said carefully, not wanting to betray the growing unease you felt about the case. “But I think he’s still the same underneath all of it. I just hope I can do enough to get him out of this.”

Unser gave you a long, knowing look, his eyes scanning your face like he was searching for something. “I can tell this ain’t just about the case for you,” he said, voice low but steady. “I remember how you two used to look at each other. It was you and Jax against the world for a while there.”

You glanced down, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, but before you could respond, Unser continued, his tone softer now. “You know I care about Jax. Always have. And I care about you too. I ain’t tryin’ to meddle, but you gotta be careful. That world, it takes more than it gives. And once it gets its hooks in you, it’s hard to break free.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you found yourself nodding slowly, the truth of what he said sinking in. But you had always known that. You experienced first-hand the toll the club took on people, felt how it could consume everything.

“I know,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I always promised myself I wouldn’t get pulled back in.”

Unser smiled gently, but there was a sadness in his eyes. “Sometimes life has a way of draggin’ us back to the shit we swore we’d never return to. You just gotta make sure it’s what you really want.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling over you. “I’m only here to keep him out of prison,” you said, and though you meant it, you could hear the uncertainty in your own voice.

Unser didn’t press further. Instead, he gave a slow nod, his gaze softening with understanding. “Just remember, there’s always a choice, even when it doesn’t feel like it. And I’m around to help anyway I can.”

You offered him a grateful smile. Wayne Unser had always been more than just the town’s chief of police—he had been a guiding presence, a steady hand amid the disorder. And now, even though his health was failing and his role in Charming had changed, he still had that same calming influence.

“Thank you, Chief,” you said sincerely.

He reached across the table, patting your hand gently. “You’re gonna be alright, darlin’. And your Daddy’d be real proud of you. Just keep your head on straight and don’t let that boy take you down with him.”

His words about your dad hit you harder than you anticipated. A familiar ache of loss surged in your chest, and you swallowed thickly, managing a small smile. If he were here, he would be proud of you; he lived and died by this club, loyal to SAMCRO until the bitter end. In ways you hadn’t fully comprehended yet, that loyalty ran deep within you as well.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe you could navigate this, maybe you could keep the line between personal and professional from blurring. But as Unser stood to leave, his words stayed with you, lingering in your mind after he’d walked out the door.

You sat there a while longer, staring at your coffee, knowing that soon enough, you’d have to face the inevitable—Jax, the case, and everything that came with it.

That evening, you sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, your laptop balanced on a stack of case files, the screen glowing in the dimly lit room. The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the silence as you stared at the notes scattered around you, taking a deep breath before unmuting the conference call.

“Alright, Liz,” you said, your voice steady despite the mental whirlwind of information you were trying to process. “Let’s go over what you’ve found so far.”

Liz’s voice crackled through the line, sharp and focused, though you could hear the exhaustion creeping in. You both had been burning the candle at both ends. “First off, the witnesses—they’re falling apart. Like I mentioned earlier, one of them wasn’t even in town on the night of the murder. And the other? He’s changed his story three times now. The prosecution’s trying to hold them together with duct tape and hope.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth as you jotted down notes, but the situation was far from funny. “Good, we’ll shred them on cross. What about the arresting officer? Connolly?”

Liz’s tone shifted, growing more intense. “Connolly’s dirty. Filthy, actually. I tracked down a couple of large deposits made into his account, way beyond his salary. The timing of one deposit matches up almost perfectly with Jax’s arrest.”

Your breath hitched for a second, your pen pausing mid-note. “So he’s being paid off,” you muttered, processing. “We just need to find out who’s pulling his strings.”

“That’s where things get murky,” Liz replied, her voice lowering. “I’ve got leads tying him to a rival MC, but nothing concrete yet. It’s more like whispers. Still digging.”

The mention of the rival MC made your pulse quicken. This wasn’t just a murder case—it was layered with club politics and buried secrets. “If we can prove Connolly’s connection, it could blow the prosecution’s case wide open. Anything on the murder weapon?”

“No sign of it,” Liz said, frustration seeping into her voice. “The cops don’t have it, and no one’s talking.”

You leaned back against the headboard, tapping a pen against your knee as you reviewed your strategy. “We hit them where they’re weakest. Discredit the witnesses—tear their timelines apart. Then expose Connolly’s dirty money and ties to the rival MC. If we paint him as corrupt, we cast enough doubt to cripple their case.”

It was a solid plan, but your mind wasn’t entirely on it. Jax lingered in your thoughts, you hadn’t seen him since you dropped him off at TM, just a few exchanged texts. You knew you were avoiding him—avoiding the way his presence stirred up old feelings.

The case was slipping into something bigger, and you couldn't afford distractions. But no matter how hard you tried, Jax was always there, just under your skin, pulling you closer, and threatening to unravel everything.

Your phone buzzed, jolting you from your thoughts. It was Jax. It was as if he knew he was consuming your mind.

“Heard you’re back in Charming… avoiding me?”

Your stomach tightened. You’d forgotten just how small Charming was—news traveled fast, especially when it involved Jax. A mix of irritation and anxiety settled in as you realized that even without him realizing it, he was forcing you to face everything you’d been trying to avoid. Each moment brought you closer to the inevitable, and despite your best efforts to stay distant, you knew you couldn’t escape it forever.

You stared at the blinking cursor on your phone, but the weight of everything felt overwhelming. Not just Jax—the entire case. Connolly, the witnesses, the unexplained deposits. Something felt wrong. You couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was at play, something corrupt and insidious threading through the heart of this case. But whatever it was, it would all have to wait. First, you had to deal with Jax.

“Everything okay?” Liz’s voice cut through your haze, snapping you back to the present.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your grip on the phone. “Yeah, just a text from Jax. He knows I’m in town.”

There was a pause on the other end, and you could practically hear Liz’s raised eyebrow. “Wow, his ears must’ve been burning. You’ve been avoiding him, haven’t you?”

You let out a short, hollow laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. I’ve been busy with prep, but... it’s more than that.” You pushed yourself off the bed, pacing the room. “The truth is, seeing him again after all this time... it stirs up shit I’ve tried to move past. But I know I can’t keep dodging it forever.”

Liz didn’t press further, always knowing when to hold back. “You’ll handle it. You always do.”

You sat back down on the bed, staring at Jax’s message again. “It’s just… TM, this place, it’s like stepping into a time capsule. It holds all the memories from when everything was simpler. When things weren’t so... complicated.”

Liz was quiet for a moment, then spoke softly. “Do you think he’s changed? Jax, I mean.”

Her question hit deeper than you expected. You’d been avoiding that thought too. From the few moments you’d shared recently, it was clear that life had weighed heavily on him. The charm was still there, but beneath it was a hardness, a fatigue you hadn’t seen before. And yet, the pull between you, the familiarity of him—it was still there, almost as if no time had passed at all.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “Maybe he has, maybe he hasn’t. Part of me thinks he has. The other part knows better.”

Liz was quiet for a beat. “Well, if anyone can navigate this, it’s you. Just… don’t lose yourself in the process.”

You swallowed hard, her words hitting closer to home than you wanted to admit. “I won’t,” you said, more to reassure yourself than to convince her. “Thanks, Liz. You’ve done great work so far. Just promise me you’ll be extra careful. The people we’re looking into are dangerous.”

“Absolutely,” Liz replied, her tone serious. “Just remember, you’re not in this alone.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. “Thank you, that means a lot. I’ll call you after I meet with the club.”

Liz’s tone sharpened. “I’ve got my guard up, don’t worry. I’ll keep pushing on Connolly and the money trail. We’ll crack this.” she added before the line clicked off.

You set the phone down beside you, staring at it for a moment before typing a quick response to Jax.

“Let’s meet tomorrow. Noon. TM.”

You hit send before you could overthink it. There. Done. Now it was just a matter of facing whatever came next. You were confident in your ability to handle the legal side of things, but Jax... that was different. Seeing him again wasn’t just about the case; it was about the past, about unresolved emotions, and the complicated mess of history between you both.

But as you leaned back against the headboard, that familiar knot of uncertainty tightened in your stomach again. Charming felt like a minefield—corruption beneath the surface, power plays behind the scenes. And at the center of it all was Jax, pulling you into something that was about more than just legal strategy.

You weren’t sure what the next day would bring, but one thing was certain: this wasn’t just another case. It was personal, in more ways than one.

And you weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you pulled into Teller-Morrow, your stomach twisted with unease. You hadn’t even stepped out of the car yet, and already you felt the weight of the memories pressing down on you. Before you could even gather your courage, the office door swung open, and there she stood—Gemma Teller.

Your breath caught in your throat. Gemma had always been more than just Jax’s mother—she was a force of nature. The history between you two was complex, a mix of respect, tension, and unresolved emotions. She had always wanted Jax to take his rightful place at the head of the club, and at times, you felt like she viewed you as a threat to that vision. She never outright said it, but you could feel it in her looks, her comments, that underlying worry you’d pull Jax away from the life she envisioned for him. In her mind, love was dangerous if it meant her son might stray from the path she’d set for him.

But things hadn’t turned out the way any of you expected. The decisions Jax made, the path the club took—it all happened regardless of your love.

Somehow, you willed yourself out of the safety of your car, and now, standing here in the parking lot, you weren’t sure how Gemma was going to greet you. Would it be the sharp-edged woman who used to see you as a potential obstacle, or the maternal figure who had, at times, treated you like family?

As she approached, her sharp gaze softened slightly when she saw you. There was a flicker of something—recognition, nostalgia maybe—but Gemma being Gemma, it was hard to tell what she was really thinking. She stood there for a moment, looking you over, as if assessing whether time had changed you—or if you were still the same woman she once had a complicated relationship with.

“Well, look who’s back,” Gemma said, her voice laced with that familiar mix of sarcasm and curiosity. Her eyes scanned you, and though her expression remained unreadable, you could feel the weight of her scrutiny. She hadn’t lost her edge.

“Gemma,” you said, stepping forward, trying to keep your voice steady, even though your heart was pounding. “It’s good to see you.”

For a split second, the tension hung in the air. Then, to your surprise, her lips curled into a half-smile, and she pulled you into a hug. It wasn’t warm exactly, but it wasn’t cold either. It was… familiar.

“You too, baby,” she said softly, her tone just a little gentler than you expected. When she pulled back, her eyes locked onto yours, searching for something, though you couldn’t quite tell what. “Missed having you around here.”

Her words caught you off guard, but you nodded, unsure of how to respond. The history between you both was too complicated for simple pleasantries. Gemma folded her arms, giving you another long look. “You still look good, kid. All grown up. Life must be treating you well out there.”

“Something like that,” you replied, offering a faint smile. You wanted to say more, but any words caught in your throat.

She raised an eyebrow, and you could feel her probing deeper, looking past your words to the things you weren’t saying. “I know coming back here ain’t easy for you,” she said, her voice lowering, all traces of humor gone. “Lotta ghosts, I’m sure. But Jax needs you, sweetheart.”

There it was. Gemma was always three steps ahead, and this time, she was trying to use your own feelings against you. She wasn’t just reminding you of your connection to Jax; she was weaponizing it. Like she always did when she wanted something.

But this time, you saw it clearly. Years ago, you might have let her play on the soft spots you had for Jax without even realizing it. Back then, you were less guarded, still figuring out how to navigate people like Gemma. But now? Now you were older, sharper, and you understood her game better than you ever had before.

Then again, with Gemma, it was always about Jax first and foremost. Beneath the tension, there was a quiet, unspoken respect between you—born from your shared loyalty to him. And you almost couldn’t fault her because of it.

Almost.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, instead forcing the sweetest fake smile you could manage. “I’m here to help,” you said, your tone flat but polite.

Gemma studied you for another long moment before she nodded, her expression softening just a bit. “Good.” She gestured toward the clubhouse with a tilt of her head. “They’re inside. Go on in, baby.”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of everything you were about to walk into. Then, with a deep breath, you headed toward the clubhouse, knowing that the real test was just beginning.

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside, feeling a wave of familiarity wash over you. The air was thick with the scent of leather, motor oil, and the faint tang of beer and cigarettes. It was captivating, pulling you back in time. Memories rushed in—laughter echoing through the halls, heated arguments by the bar, the camaraderie that once filled every corner. The nostalgia was almost too much to bear.

The room hummed with energy, a mix of business and brotherhood. Heads turned when you walked in, the club members greeted you with expressions that ranged from curiosity to warmth. Jax stood near the bar, flanked by Chibs and Tig. His body language was casual, but the moment his eyes locked onto yours, everything seemed to shift. That tension, the current that had always existed between you, surged again. You felt it deep in your gut, that familiar flutter that left you off balance.

"Look who finally decided to show up!" Tig's voice cut through the room, teasing and lighthearted, a grin spreading across his face. He approached quickly, pulling you into a tight side hug and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Thought we'd have to send out a search party."

You forced a smile, trying to push down the knot in your chest. "Guess I couldn’t stay away forever, huh?"

Chibs was next, stepping forward with his usual warmth, his broad shoulders a comforting sight. "Good to see ye, lass," he said, pulling you in for a brief but solid hug. His embrace steadied you, easing the tension just a little.

"You too, Chibs," you replied, your voice steadying as you caught sight of the "Sergeant-at-Arms" patch across his chest. He was still looking after his brother, still his protector.

And then there was Jax. He hadn’t moved from his spot by the bar, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—those piercing blues—were locked onto you, unreadable yet intense. Something flickered in them as he watched you cross the room. Anticipation? Vulnerability? You couldn’t quite place it, but it made your heart race.

“Hey,” Jax said, his voice low and calm, offering a nod that felt almost casual—except for the way his gaze held yours, unrelenting.

“Hey,” you replied, forcing a lightness into your tone that didn’t match the way your chest tightened. It didn’t feel casual. Not with him standing there, the weight of his presence bearing down on you, making the room feel smaller.

Looking impossibly good in his leather kutte, worn and weathered, clinging to him like a second skin. His broad shoulders were more defined than you remembered, the white T-shirt underneath emphasizing the lean muscle that flexed with his every subtle movement. His jeans hung low on his hips, and at his side, the knife that once belonged to his father—a reminder of the life he was born into. But in contrast to the rough edges, his signature white Nikes were spotless, a small, almost ironic sign of the control he still maintained amidst all the mayhem.

With that familiar boyish smile tugging at his lips, and his gaze holding you captive, it felt like time hadn’t moved at all. The pull between you, always there, had only intensified. His eyes swept over you, lingering just long enough to make your breath catch, and in that moment, your carefully built defenses began to dismantle.

Jax didn’t need to say anything for you to feel it—the connection, the history. And as you stood there, caught in his gaze, you realized just how much power he still held over you.

Exhaling a shaky breath, a familiar towering figure stepped into your space. Opie stood before you, his presence bringing you back instantly. His eyes were soft but filled with gratitude, and though he didn’t say much, you could feel the depth of his emotion.

Without a word, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms strong and comforting around you. The weight of everything seemed to ease as you leaned into him. There was something solid, unwavering about Opie—his presence had always been a source of quiet brotherly strength.

He pulled back, just slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked you over. There was no need for words between you. You could feel what he was saying in the look he gave you—a silent thank you, for being here, for standing by Jax. It wasn’t easy, and he knew it.

“Ope,” you said quietly, your fingers gently brushing over the VP patch stitched into his kutte. He nodded, his gaze softening even more. He didn’t need to say it; you knew he appreciated you more than words could express.

After a beat, he released you with a gentle pat on the shoulder, stepping back but keeping that connection between you.

You finished greeting the rest of the Sons, taking in Happy and Juice for the first time, while Jax stood nearby, arms crossed, his posture casual but his eyes sharp. He gave a quick introduction. “Juice is sort of our intelligence officer,” he said, nodding toward the younger man with a smirk. “Anything you or your girl need, he’s your guy.”

You gave Juice a polite smile, but your mind was racing, struggling to process everything around you. The room was filled with faces—some familiar, some new��each one stirring a different emotion. Jax’s voice broke through the noise in your head, steady and low as he filled you in on what you’d missed. He listed off Bobby, currently away in Vegas on an Elvis gig, Piney’s tragic death, and then, quieter, Clay’s betrayal and eventual demise. These weren’t just updates—they were the scars the club carried, and you could feel the toll it had taken on them.

Your eyes flicked to Opie, a silent understanding passed between you. Piney’s death wasn’t just a club loss—it was deeply personal, and you could see the weight of it in Opie’s eyes. There were no words needed. Just that brief acknowledgment of everything you’d both lost due to this life.

You glanced around the room as he spoke, the walls lined with mugshots and memories. There was more than you remembered, each one a stark reminder of the lives that had been lost or altered. Jax’s voice, though calm, carried the heavy toll of everything that had happened. “We’ve had to rebuild… but we’re still standing.”

You nodded, trying to absorb it all, but the sheer weight of the club’s history left you spinning. So much had changed, and yet, in so many ways, everything felt the same. The familiarity of it—the faces, the raw energy of the room—only made the losses hit harder. Processing Jax’s brief rundown of the club’s last decade felt like trying to catch your breath while drowning. The room felt entirely too small, the air thicker with years of grief, brotherhood, and blood.

Your chest tightened, and suddenly the noise of the room faded, replaced by a suffocating sense of overwhelm. The memories of your dad, the endless cycle of loyalty and sacrifice, the faces you used to know—it all crashed into you at once, relentless and unyielding. You could feel your pulse quicken, your breath becoming shallow. The walls felt like they were closing in, the weight of the past pressing down on you, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop the anxiety from bubbling up.

Your hands trembled as you pulled your phone out of your pocket, desperate for an escape. “Hey, do you guys mind? I need to check in with my office real quick,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, though your voice was tight and strained. Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and headed for the door, the room suddenly too stifling.

The warm air hit your skin as you stepped outside, but it did little to calm the storm brewing inside. You hurried to the side of the building, out of sight, and leaned against the rough brick wall, your breaths coming in shallow, rapid bursts.

You pressed your trembling hands to your chest, willing your body to calm down, but the tightness only worsened. The faces inside, the ghosts of the past, the changes you hadn’t been there to see—it all swirled around you. And Jax, standing there like a god damn living reminder of everything you’d tried to move on from, only made it harder.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, and your vision narrowed as the panic surged through you. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on your breathing, but each one felt like you were dragging it through quicksand. The edges of your vision blurred as you fought to keep from losing control entirely.

You pressed your back harder into the wall, as if grounding yourself to something solid would keep you from slipping under. One breath, then another. But the waves kept coming, relentless, and all you could do was ride it out.

Lost in your desperate attempt to control your thoughts, Jax’s sudden appearance startled you. “Jesus Christ, Jax!” you gasped, “Can’t a girl have a panic attack in peace!?”

The humor was your defense, but he saw right through it. His eyes softened, and he took a small step closer, his expression full of quiet concern, no judgment in his gaze.

“These still happening?” His voice was gentle, like he already knew the answer but needed to hear it from you.

You shook your head slowly, trying to reassure him—or maybe yourself. “It’s been a while,” you admitted. And it had been. The panic attacks hadn’t started until after your dad’s funeral, when the weight of everything had finally come crashing down on you. They had been rare since then, but being here—back in the thick of it—was bringing it all back.

Jax had been there for the first one. You could still feel the memory of his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears as he’d tried to steady you.

“Just breathe, Pep. You’re alright, baby,” he’d murmured, his voice strong yet soft, grounding you as you fought for air. His hands held you like an anchor, keeping you planted in the present, calming the storm raging inside you.

You could see in his eyes now that he wanted to do it again—grip your face, hold you still, remind you how to breathe—but he resisted, just watching you carefully, giving you space to pull yourself back together.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, voice softer now, the edge of panic slowly retreating.

Jax nodded, his gaze never wavering, his presence a quiet reassurance. He didn’t push, didn’t offer words that would feel too heavy right now. He just stood there, close enough that you could feel him, the steady hum of him calming the storm inside you like it always had.

As the tightness in your chest began to ease, you exhaled slowly, embedding yourself in the present. Jax stayed where he was, steady and familiar. You didn’t have to look up to know his eyes were still on you, watching patiently, waiting for you to be ready.

You shifted, pushing your hair back, trying to regain your composure. “So,” you began, your voice a little uneven, “that crash course in club history… it left out a lot.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at Jax’s lips. “Figured I’d save the rest for when you weren’t looking like you were about to bolt.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You really know how to make a girl feel welcome.”

He shrugged, taking a small step closer. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question. He had always been good at saying what mattered without actually saying it. You nodded, meeting his gaze. The air between you was charged, but somehow, it felt a little easier now.

Jax leaned against the wall beside you, his shoulder just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Neither of you spoke—just stood in the weight of all that had changed, all that remained. Despite the years and distance, there was a strange comfort in the quiet, a reminder of the bond that never really broke.

“I didn’t know it would be like this,” your voice barely above a whisper. “Coming back.”

He glanced over at you, his eyes softening. “It’s different now. A lot’s changed.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. “Yeah,” you murmured, not elaborating because you didn’t need to. He understood. He always did.

Jax shifted slightly, his arm brushing yours in a way that felt intentional but not forceful. “But some things are still the same,” he said, his voice carrying a comfort that felt like home.

You turned your head, really looking at him this time. And in that moment, you realized nothing had changed between you, not really. All the ways Jax made you feel alive were still there, as intense as ever, threading their way through this version of you. The laughter you’d shared, the unguarded moments, all echoed in your mind, reminding you of why it had been so easy to love him all those years ago.

You were screwed.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Some things.”

Jax held your gaze, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. He nodded slightly, then asked, “You ready to head back in?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah,” you said, forcing a small fake smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He straightened up, extending his hand to you. It wasn’t just a simple gesture—it was an offer of solidarity, a bridge between the past and the present. You hesitated. You knew what taking his hand meant. It wasn’t just comfort—it was an acknowledgment of everything that once existed between you, everything that still lingered.

And those hands, rough, calloused—the hands that had held you, commanded you, loved you. Memories surged, the way those hands used to move over your body, strong but gentle, leaving you breathless in ways that no one else ever could. Your pulse quickened at the thought, your body remembering what your mind tried to suppress.

You considered pulling back, keeping the distance you’d carefully built to protect yourself. But there was something in his gaze—steadfast, patient—that made you relent. Maybe it was the silent promise of understanding, or maybe it was the sense that, for once, you didn’t have to face it all alone.

As you slid your hand into his palm, the rush of contact sent a familiar ache through you. Like touching a live wire, the sensation both comforting and dangerous at the same time.

The years between you seemed to dissolve, and it felt like you were back to a time when holding his hand meant safety, when it felt like the most natural thing in the world. But now, that safety was bittersweet, tangled up with all the things that had changed, things you couldn’t undo.

As you walked back inside together, your nerves slowly steadied, but not entirely. The weight of what came next crashing around you—a shift from personal to professional that you weren’t sure you could make seamlessly.

The Sons were already moving toward the meeting room, a familiar rhythm as they filed in one by one. You hesitated for a moment as you approached the double wooden doors that separated the main hall from the room where so many decisions had been made. It was the heart of SAMCRO, a place where only full patch members were allowed, unless invited. As Jax walked ahead, he turned to you, his eyes locking with yours. An unspoken acknowledgment of that invitation passing between you.

You took a steady breath, following Jax’s lead as he gestured for the others to remove their electronic gear. Phones, watches, anything that could transmit or record was left behind on the counter by the door. A small but necessary security measure, one that reminded you just how serious things were.

Jax stepped aside, letting you enter first—a show of respect that didn’t go unnoticed. As you crossed the threshold, your pulse quickened, your thoughts rushing back to the task at hand—his defense, the case you needed to build. Yet despite your professional focus, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into something far more personal.

The familiar room unfolded before you: a heavy wooden table at its center, surrounded by chairs reserved for the members. The walls were lined with SAMCRO memorabilia, chronicling the club’s long history. Every detail brought back memories of the countless times you’d been outside those doors, waiting, wondering what decisions were being made. Now, you were stepping inside, reentering the world you once fought so hard to leave behind.

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in with the weight of the past and the uncertainty of what was to come. Jax pulled out a chair, motioning for you to sit. You took it, keeping your focus on the task at hand, even as the memories swirled around you. You knew this was only the beginning, both in the case and in facing what the two of you had left unresolved.

As Jax moved to the head of the table, it hit you all over again—he wasn’t just a member of this club anymore. He was the club, its leader, its heart, and its future. The sight of him in that spot—the president’s chair—was jarring, a far cry from the man you once knew who had always been just a step behind the power, always questioning his place in it. Now, though, he settled into that chair like he’d been there forever, like it was made for him.

Seeing Jax there for the first time sent a wave of emotions through you, some you couldn’t even name. He exuded authority, a quiet, undeniable control over the room. The way the guys around him, men you’d known for years, deferred to him without question told you everything about how he commanded respect—something he’d always struggled with when Clay was in charge. But this Jax was different. He had the weight of leadership on his shoulders, and it suited him, in a way that made you ache with want.

There was no denying the way his presence filled the room, his hands resting on the table with that same quiet strength you’d seen so many times before. He didn’t need to speak to demand attention; the sheer force of his presence did that for him. The patches on his kutte—his Reaper, President, Redwood Original—seemed to glow under the low lighting, a reminder of all he’d earned, all he’d sacrificed to sit where he was now.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus, but seeing Jax in that seat brought up more than just memories. It aroused something deeper inside you, something visceral and complicated, something you felt like you wanted to explore.

This was his world now; one you weren’t sure you could navigate the same way. But as his eyes met yours across the table, there was a flicker of the Jax you’d always known, the one who would burn the world down to protect the people he loved. And at the center of that, was you.

No matter how much time had passed, how much had changed, you could feel it. The invisible thread that tied you to him, pulling tight in moments like this. You’d tried to sever it, tried to walk away from it—but here you were, sitting across from him, feeling every bit as connected as ever. Jax might command the club now, but in that brief, intense exchange of glances, you realized you still commanded a part of him too.

The meeting was intense but productive. You stood among the Sons, the weight of their stares heavy upon you as you recapped everything uncovered so far. Tension and anticipation filled the room as you detailed the rival MC you suspected might be involved in Jax’s case and the corruption within Charming.

As you spoke, your voice steady and confident, you felt the atmosphere shift. The men leaned in, their focus entirely on you, absorbing every word. Jax watched from his spot at the table, his expression a mix of admiration and intensity. There was something powerful in the way you controlled their attention, the confidence radiating off you. In that moment, you were no longer just a part of this world; you were a force within it, and he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for the woman standing before him, unflinching and resolute.

With determination, you laid out the plan. The club would work their angles, gathering intel the way they did. “But,” you said firmly, your tone leaving no room for debate, “you guys have to stay out of trouble. Jax’s freedom absolutely depends on it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks passed in a blur of pre-trial motions and legal preparation. You were constantly on the move—drafting briefs, reviewing discovery, and prepping witnesses for deposition. Every day felt like a strategic sprint, as you meticulously crafted arguments and counterarguments, anticipating the prosecution’s next move. Each court appearance was a balancing act, maintaining a sharp, composed professionalism—all while bearing the emotional weight that hung over everything. The late nights spent strategizing with Liz felt endless as she continued to uncover more leads, but the pressure mounted with each passing day.

Amid the whirlwind of legal battles, your connection with Jax grew deeper than you’d expected. Late nights over drinks became the norm—what started as case discussions often shifted to more personal conversations. You found yourself sharing pieces of your life beyond Charming, and Jax listened intently. The barriers you’d kept up for so long were starting to crack. Lingering looks, brief touches—each one drawing you closer. The tension between you was impossible to ignore, even if neither of you said it aloud. And quietly, you began to rely on him more than you ever thought you would.

As you and Jax grew closer, you struggled to keep your emotional defenses intact, fully aware of the dangerous game you were playing. Your heart was betraying your mind, and you understood the potential consequences. You had always been flexible with boundaries when the situation called for it—that’s what made you so damn good at your job. But getting involved with Jax beyond the attorney-client relationship felt like a line you couldn’t afford to cross. Every moment with him brought you closer to that boundary, and despite your reservations, the gravitational pull between you was undeniable.

The trial date had finally been set, but the initial relief quickly turned to dread when you learned about the judge—one notoriously known for his stance against offenders like Jax. His reputation sent a wave of unease through you. Renowned for being a stickler for the law, he rarely exhibited leniency toward defendants with ties to criminal organizations—alleged or otherwise, and you understood that this was a significant setback for Jax’s defense. It was clear that drastic action was needed.

As you prepared for the next hearing, the reality of the situation became increasingly daunting. The prosecution had seemingly stacked the deck against Jax, armed with an overwhelming trove of evidence that you knew was questionable at best. Witnesses had been lined up, all poised to testify against him, yet you sensed that many had been coerced or incentivized to provide testimony that would serve the state’s narrative. The prosecution’s strategy relied on the judge's reputation to sway the jury, and you felt the walls closing in around you.

In court, you stood confidently to argue for a change of venue, fully aware this was your last-ditch effort to tilt the scales of justice. Jax sat at the defense table behind you, his presence a steadying force as you gathered your thoughts. Despite the anxiety churning in your gut, you felt empowered, ready to make your case.

“Your Honor,” you began, your voice steady but laced with urgency, “given the high-profile nature of this case and the appointment of Judge Hartford—who has a well-documented history of issuing disproportionately severe rulings in cases of this nature—my client cannot be assured a fair trial in this jurisdiction. Furthermore, the prosecution’s evidence, while admitted, raises substantial concerns regarding its reliability. Key pieces of evidence rest on circumstantial foundations and are bolstered by questionable witness testimony, which has been accepted without the necessary scrutiny.”

You paused, gauging the judge's reaction as the courtroom remained silent. “This is not about deflecting responsibility, Your Honor, but about upholding the principle of impartial justice. Mr. Teller is entitled to a fair and unbiased trial, and the current circumstances of these proceedings threaten to undermine that right.”

The judge’s gaze hardened as he responded, his tone sharp and unyielding. “Counselor, while you present a well-prepared argument, your concerns do not rise to the level required for a change of venue. Your assertion that this court, or any court within this jurisdiction, is incapable of impartiality due to unrelated past cases is both unfounded and inappropriate. I will not tolerate further implications of bias. The trial will proceed here, as scheduled, and I expect you to adhere to the procedural standards of this court.”

The weight of disappointment crashed over you as the motion was denied. The trial would move forward under conditions that were not only unfavorable but also potentially unjust, given the prosecution's ability to present suspicious evidence without proper challenge. You knew that each piece of evidence they had, whether it stemmed from questionable chain-of-custody practices or testimonies that lacked verifiable credibility, posed a significant threat to your case.

Returning to Jax's side, you were left with the grim realization that navigating this battlefield required you not only to confront legal obstacles but also to expose potential ethical violations. The clock was ticking, and you needed to dismantle their narrative before the trial commenced, safeguarding not only Jax’s freedom but also the integrity of the legal system itself.

It was late afternoon when you finally emerged from the courthouse, frustration and exhaustion churning within you like a storm. The hearing had unfolded predictably, which was to say, not in your favor. You clenched your jaw, muttering under your breath about the judge’s dismissive demeanor and the uphill battle that lay ahead. Jax was waiting for you just outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his relaxed posture standing in stark contrast to your tight, wound-up demeanor.

As you approached, he sensed the tension radiating off you, an electric charge around you. His expression shifted from concern to mischief, a glint of playful defiance in his eyes. “You know, for such a pretty lady, you’ve got a seriously intimidating scowl going on there,” he teased, an easy smile spreading across his face.

You shot him a sharp glare, irritation bubbling to the surface. “Thanks for the insightful observation, Jax. I’m glad you’re here to help me manage my emotions.”

“I’m just saying, you might want to dial it down a bit before you scare someone.” He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, annoyance deepening. “God, you’re annoying sometimes.”

His grin widened. “I’d forgotten how adorable you look when you’re this pissed off.”

You snorted at that. “Adorable?” the word felt strange on your tongue, a jarring contrast to the storm of frustration brewing inside you. “I’m not trying to be adorable; I’m trying to do my job.”

“Hey, doing your job doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun along the way,” he teased, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender. “I’m just looking out for you. Can’t have you getting all worked up like this, Pepper.”

His charm only fueled your frustration further. “I’m trying to keep everything from falling apart here, Jax. There’s a lot of pressure—”

“And you’re doing a fantastic job of it!” he exclaimed, his tone light yet sincere. “Look at you, holding it all together.” He paused, letting the moment linger. “But if you want a break from holding it all together, I’m here for that, too.”

Your lips twitched at the corners, and you fought to maintain your stern facade. “Are you trying to distract me from being angry right now?”

“Is it working?” he countered, a confident grin plastered across his face.

You let out a reluctant laugh, shaking your head as the frustration began to dissolve. You resolved, playfully lying, “No.”

Jax walked you to your car, his bike parked just a few spaces away. The tension hung between you like a heavy fog, unspoken thoughts swirling in the silence before he finally broke it, his expression shifting. His usual easy charm was tempered by something more serious, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Are things really that bad? How worried should I be after that?” he asked, his voice lower, almost cautious.

You noticed the concern on his face—his jaw tight, eyes searching yours for reassurance. It was rare to see him like this, letting his guard down enough to show he was unsettled. That weight sat heavy between you, and despite the deepening connection, you reminded yourself that it was your job to protect him, to keep him steady when things felt like they might tip over.

Sighing, you offered a small smile, forcing yourself to sound more certain than you felt. “It’s not ideal,” you admitted, “but I’ve handled worse. I wouldn’t lose sleep over it yet.”

Jax studied you for a moment, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “Good to hear,” he said, his voice softening.

You saw the tension in his shoulders ease, though you weren’t sure if it was because of your words or his faith in you. Either way, you resolved in that moment—to keep him from worrying, even if it meant keeping some of your own doubts to yourself.

“Hey,” he said, a familiar glint of mischief flickering in his eyes. “Your hotel isn’t far from here, is it?”

You frowned, caught off guard. “No, why?”

“Well,” he continued, leaning in a fraction closer, “how would you feel if I followed you back there? You could change and we can go for a ride on the bike. You know, like we used to.”

His suggestion lingered in the air, tempting yet charged with unspoken implications. Your heart raced at the thought, memories of past rides flooding back—the exhilarating rush of freedom and the undeniable chemistry between you. The idea was thrilling yet daunting, nostalgia mingling with the weight of your current reality.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to conceal your intrigue behind skepticism. “And you think a ride will magically fix everything?”

Jax shrugged, his grin unwavering. “Not fix everything, but it could help clear your head. It always did the trick before.”

You hesitated, your thoughts tangled in the mounting pressure from the trial and the stress that had built over the past weeks. “I don’t know, Jax. I have a lot to review tonight.”

“I understand,” he said, his tone softening. “But sometimes you need to step away from it all. Just one ride won’t hurt, right?”

As your eyes met, the noise of the world around you faded into the background. The thought of escaping, even for a little while, tugged at something in you. You could feel the tension in your chest loosening, if only slightly. The familiarity of being with Jax was hard to resist, especially with comforting memories of the past washing over you like a warm wave.

Your mind recalled that Saturday afternoon, so long ago, when he first convinced you to ride with him. Each ride after had only drawn you closer, igniting feelings you still didn’t fully understand to this day. The thrill of the road had always served as a backdrop for something much deeper between you.

Finally, you sighed, allowing your frustration to slip away. “Fine. But just a quick ride.”

“Awesome,” he said, barely containing his excitement as he moved back toward his bike. “I promise to get you back before the next crisis hits.”

A smile broke through your frustration, a flicker of joy emerging. Climbing into your car, you felt a mix of anticipation and lingering anxiety. As you drove, you glanced in the rearview mirror, watching Jax follow closely behind on his bike, a feeling of calm and safety washed over you.

When you reached your hotel, you parked and hurried inside, your heart racing not just from the thrill of the ride ahead but from the possibilities it held. After quickly changing into a t-shirt and jeans, you grabbed your jacket and stepped outside, the late evening sun casting a golden hue over everything.

Jax was waiting, his eyes lighting up as you emerged into the fading day. The way he looked at you sent a thrill coursing through your body.

You noticed the way his gaze roamed over you, his eyes tracing every detail as you moved with effortless confidence, dressed casually, more like the woman he knew all those years ago. The soft fabric of your shirt hugged your curves in all the right places, accentuating the changes that time had brought—subtle hints of maturity that only made you more intoxicating. He couldn’t help but admire how you carried yourself, a blend of poise and sensuality that sent a rush of heat coursing through him.

Every glance at you stirred something primal within him. Your smile lit up your face, and the glint in your eyes held a promise of mischief and tenderness. The way your hair fell perfectly around you, the subtle sway of your hips—it all drew him in. In that moment, you weren’t just a familiar face; you were a vision that awakened his deepest cravings, leaving him breathless with anticipation for what was to come.

“You look amazing, Pep,” he said, punctuating his words with a low whistle and an extra charming wink.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat of arousal spread through you at his compliment and the way his gaze devoured you. “Let’s just ride, Teller.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” he replied, a hint of playfulness in his tone. Climbing onto the bike behind him, excitement surged through you, a heady mix of nerves and joy. You wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling the heat radiating from him, grounding you in a way that was both comforting and exhilarating. The smell of him was almost dizzying, an enticing blend of leather and spice, wrapped in the warm musk of his skin, it was utterly captivating. It all felt instinctual, as if you had never truly been apart.

As the bike surged forward, the hum of the engine vibrated beneath you, its power rolling through your body in waves. The sensation was addictive. You’d forgotten how freeing this felt—how the road opened ahead, inviting you into a world where nothing existed but the rush of air, the growl of the machine, and the strength of Jax’s body in front of you.

Your grip around his waist tightened instinctively, your hands resting against his toned frame, feeling the flex of muscle as he controlled the bike with effortless skill. The wind whipped through your hair, tugging at the strands, as you leaned into the turns, trusting him completely. With every curve of the road, you were reminded of just how alive you felt on the back of his bike, a feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself to experience in years.

The exhilaration flooded your senses, making your pulse race, your skin buzz. There was something thrilling about the speed, the raw power beneath you—and about being this connected to him again. Your body molded against his in a way that felt too natural, too right. You had forgotten how good this was, how good he felt. The familiar heat that always simmered between you both seemed to flare to life like a spark catching fire.

Each time his hand drifted back to yours to give a reassuring squeeze, it sent a jolt through your chest, a shock that had nothing to do with the bike and everything to do with the man in front of you. The scent of leather and Jax enveloping around you—a reminder of what you’d once had, what you’d always been drawn to. His strength, his recklessness, his loyalty.

The road stretched out ahead, but all you could focus on was him—his presence, his warmth, the pull of gravity that seemed to bring you closer with every mile. There was a tension building, a storm brewing in the spaces between you, and it wasn’t just about the ride. It was about him—the way he made you feel alive, dangerous, wanted.

And as the miles flew by, the line between the past and present blurred completely. Jax had always had this effect on you, waking something wild and unrestrained. The longer you stayed on that bike, the more you realized that no matter how much you had tried to distance yourself from him, from this, the connection was still there—burning hotter and brighter than ever. And you weren’t sure you wanted to fight it anymore.

As he parked the bike and cut the engine, the world around you faded into a distant hum, the adrenaline from the ride coursing through your veins like molten lava. You climbed off, laughter bubbling up inside you as you pulled off the helmet, shaking your hair loose. The wind had turned it into a wild, tousled halo framing your face, and in that moment, you felt liberated from the weight of your worries.

Jax inched closer, his body radiating heat that contrasted with the cool evening air. His eyes roamed over you, a smirk playing on his lips, and then he closed the distance, brushing a few loose strands behind your ear with a lingering touch. The simple act sent a thrill racing through your body, his fingers lingered against your skin, an intense reminder of how easily you could lose yourself in him.

“You’ve got that wild look going on,” he said, his voice a low, sultry whisper, laced with playful mischief. “Like the rebellious girl I fell for when I was seventeen.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, a rush of desire surging within you at the memory of that time—free, untamed, and filled with reckless abandon. The way he looked at you now sparked a forgotten excitement, coaxing out a spirit you hadn’t tapped into in years.

“Sometimes I really miss her,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it aloud made it even more real. You felt a pang of nostalgia, remembering the thrill of those carefree days and the adventurous essence that had once defined you.

Jax’s body pressed against yours in a way that sent sparks flying. He leaned in, his gaze locked onto yours, smoldering with an intensity that made your heart race. The air around you thickened with anticipation, that irresistible force drawing you together, the world around you fading away.

“Just so you know,” he murmured, his breath mingling with yours, heavy with longing, “I’ve always thought you looked hotter with a little chaos in your hair.”

The tension hung thick, saturated with desire. As you tilted your head back, your breath quickened, every nerve in your body alight with need. Just as his lips hovered dangerously close to yours, your phone buzzed violently against your thigh, shattering the moment like glass. You instinctively pulled away, breathless and disoriented.

You fumbled for your phone, your heart pounding in your chest as you glanced at the screen. Liz’s name flashed, accompanied by an urgent message:

“The prosecution just entered new evidence. We need to discuss our strategy ASAP.”

The weight of her text crashed down on you, extinguishing the fire that had been lit between you and Jax. You felt the immediate shift in your mood, the walls you’d been trying to keep at bay rising once more as reality flooded back in, cold and harsh.

“Everything okay?” Jax asked, his tone shifting from playful to concerned, the light in his eyes dimming slightly as he took a step back.

“Yeah, just… work,” you replied, forcing a smile. “Looks like we’re going to have a long night.”

A shadow of disappointment crossing his features. “Guess the joyride is over then,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, but you could sense the frustration in his posture.

You felt a pang of regret for what had almost happened between you, a moment that could have shifted everything. The chemistry that hung in the air was thick, the desire still radiating through you both, but the reminder of your responsibilities loomed large.

“Jax, I—” you began, but the words faltered on your lips. You felt the weight of responsibility, reminding you to keep your focus on the case, but the yearning in his gaze held you captive, making it nearly impossible to look away.

“Handle it,” he replied, his voice steady yet laced with an undertone of something softer—an understanding tinged with disappointment. “I’ll be here when you’re ready for another ride, Pep.” His hand brushed against your cheek, leaving a trail of heat that lingered softly. The gentle caress sparked a rush of emotions within you, evoking the depth of the connection you shared.

His words carried a double meaning that made your stomach flip-flop. You turned away, feeling the heaviness in your chest swell. The exhilaration of the ride and the tantalizing near-kiss lingered, but now they felt like fading echoes, drowned out by the harsh reality of the battle looming ahead. The bond you shared with Jax was enthralling, yet the stakes of his defense demanded your undivided attention, pulling you back into the relentless world of law where every decision carried the weight of consequences.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand. The unresolved tension of what had just occurred lingered in the air, heavy with potential and yearning for a resolution.

Part 4

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