Chapter 3 : Wolves at the Door
[Teller-Morrow Automotive — February 15, 2008, 9:47 AM]
The morning started with oil changes. Three in a row, standard sedans, owners who barely glanced at the garage before retreating to the waiting room with their coffees and newspapers. Normal work. Normal customers.
Nothing about this place looked like a front for arms trafficking.
I was elbow-deep in a Ford Taurus when the bikes rolled in.
Six Harleys, custom builds, exhausts rumbling like thunder. They swept into the lot in formation, parked in a neat line near the clubhouse. The riders dismounted with practiced ease—men who'd done this a thousand times.
I kept my head down. Watched through peripheral vision.
Jax Teller led the group. VP patch on his cut, blonde hair catching sunlight. He moved with that loose-limbed confidence I remembered from the show—a prince surveying his kingdom.
Behind him, the others. Chibs Telford with his Glasgow smile scars, dark eyes scanning the lot. Bobby Munson, heavyset, beard like a biblical prophet. Tig Trager, twitchy and unpredictable, gaze flicking everywhere at once.
And Clay Morrow, bringing up the rear.
President patch. Gray hair, boxer's build, hands that had done terrible things. He walked like a man who owned everything he saw—and he mostly did.
I turned back to the Taurus. The oil plug needed replacing. Focus on the job.
Footsteps crunched on gravel behind me.
"You the new guy?"
I straightened, wiped my hands. Half-Sack stood there, another man beside him—young, Latino, nervous energy practically vibrating off him.
Juice Ortiz. Tech guy. Future rat.
No. Not yet. He hasn't done anything wrong yet.
"Cole." I offered a nod. "Started yesterday."
"I'm Juice." He had that eager-to-please energy, same as Half-Sack but more desperate. "You need anything, computer stuff, research, whatever—I'm your guy."
"Appreciate it."
Half-Sack bounced on his heels. "Gemma says you're fast. Finished that transmission in under two hours."
"Just did the job."
"Yeah, well." He grinned. "Fast is good around here. Makes people notice."
The clubhouse door banged open. Jax walked out, scanning the lot. His gaze landed on our little group.
"Half-Sack. Church in twenty. Get the coffee going."
"On it." Half-Sack was moving before Jax finished speaking. Juice followed, leaving me alone with the Taurus and the VP watching from thirty feet away.
Jax approached. Up close, he looked younger than I expected—late twenties, maybe, with those blue eyes carrying weight beyond his years. The ghost of his father's legacy. The burden of a club tearing itself apart.
"You're Cole."
"Yes sir."
The "sir" surprised him. A flicker in his expression—amusement? Approval?
"Gemma says you know your way around an engine."
"I get by."
He leaned against the Taurus, arms crossed. "Where'd you learn?"
"Here and there. Had a uncle who ran a shop when I was a kid. Picked things up." The lie flowed smooth. "After that, just practice."
"What brought you to Charming?"
To save your mother from being gang-raped. To keep your best friend's wife alive. To stop your stepfather from destroying everything you love.
"Heard it was quiet. Needed quiet for a while."
Jax studied me. I held his gaze—not challenging, just steady.
"Oakland can get loud," he said finally. "People looking for quiet usually have reasons."
"Usually."
"And those reasons follow them."
"Not mine."
He didn't believe me. I could see it in the slight tilt of his head, the way his eyes traced my face for tells. But he let it go.
"That bike you ride. Softail?"
"Yeah. Older model, but she runs clean."
"Good choice." He pushed off the Taurus. "Welcome to Charming, Cole. Keep your head down, do good work, and you'll fit in fine."
He walked back toward the clubhouse. At the door, he paused.
"Church in fifteen," he called to someone inside. "Bobby, get Piney on the phone."
The door swung shut.
---
[TM Garage — 12:30 PM]
Lunch was sandwiches from the deli down the street. Half-Sack made the run, came back with bags of food that he distributed to the mechanics like a waiter at a diner.
I ate sitting on an overturned crate behind the garage. The bread was stale, the meat questionable, but my stomach didn't care.
Half-Sack found me there, his own sandwich half-finished.
"Mind if I...?"
I gestured at the concrete beside me. He sat.
For a while, neither of us spoke. He ate. I ate. The sun beat down on the lot, heat shimmering off the asphalt.
"How'd you end up here?" I asked finally.
He chewed, swallowed. "Iraq, like I said. Lost my..." He made a vague gesture. "You know. IED."
"That why they call you Half-Sack?"
A bitter laugh. "Yeah. Real creative, right?" He took another bite. "Anyway, I came home, couldn't find my place. Everyone wanted to treat me like I was broken. The VA was a joke. My family didn't know what to say."
"And the club?"
"They don't care what you lost. They care what you can do." He looked at me, something fierce in his eyes. "These guys, they've got my back. For real. Not because they have to, not because someone told them to. Because that's what brothers do."
Brothers who'll forget you the moment you're dead. The show barely mourned him—a few sad looks, then on to the next crisis.
"Sounds like family."
"Better than family." He crumpled his sandwich wrapper. "Family's blood. Brotherhood is choice."
We sat in silence again. I watched the mechanics drift back to their bays, coffee cups in hand. Normal day at a normal garage.
Except for the guns in the basement and the bodies buried in the desert.
"You ever think about prospecting?"
Half-Sack's question came out of nowhere. I turned to face him.
"Barely been here a day."
"I know, but—" He shrugged. "You've got that look. Like you're waiting for something. Watching everything."
Careful. He's smarter than people give him credit for.
"Old habit. Learned to pay attention."
"Military?"
"Something like that."
He nodded, accepting the non-answer. "Well, if you ever want in... I could put in a word. Jax likes you. I can tell."
"How?"
"He talked to you." Half-Sack grinned. "Jax doesn't waste words on people he doesn't think are worth it."
I filed that away. Useful information.
"Thanks. I'll think about it."
"No pressure." He stood, brushing crumbs off his jeans. "But between you and me? This life, it's not for everyone. The money, the danger, the shit that goes sideways at three in the morning. But if you find your place here..." He paused, searching for words. "There's nothing else like it."
He walked back toward the clubhouse, whistling something off-key.
I finished my sandwich. Threw the wrapper in the trash.
Half-Sack dies in eighteen months. Knife to the chest. His devotion to the club gets him killed.
The sun didn't care. It kept shining, indifferent to the futures I carried in my head.
---
[TM Garage — 5:15 PM]
End of shift. The mechanics drifted out in ones and twos, nodding at each other, climbing into trucks and heading home. I took my time cleaning tools, organizing the work station.
Gemma appeared at the bay door.
"You're still here."
"Finishing up."
She leaned against the frame, watching me work. I could feel her gaze like a weight on my back.
"Jax says you're quiet. Bobby says you're competent. Half-Sack says you're a good listener." She paused. "That's a lot of opinions for one day."
"I just do the job."
"Mmm." She pushed off the frame, walked closer. "My husband's the president of this club. My son's the vice president. Between them, there's not much that happens in Charming they don't know about."
I kept wiping down the wrench. "Sounds efficient."
"It means if you're hiding something, they'll find it." She stopped three feet away. "And if they find it, I'll know before they do."
"I'm not hiding anything that'll cause you problems."
"Everyone's hiding something, sweetheart." Her voice softened, almost maternal. "The question is whether your secrets are the kind that blow up or the kind that just smolder."
I set down the wrench. Faced her.
"I came here to work. Make some money, keep my head down, maybe build something. That's it."
"That's what you say."
"That's what's true."
She held my gaze for a long moment. Whatever she saw, she didn't share.
"There's a party tomorrow night. Club celebration, nothing formal. Mechanics are invited if they want to come." She turned to go. "Consider it a chance to meet people. Get comfortable."
"I'll think about it."
"Do that."
She left. I finished cleaning up.
Outside, the sun was setting. The clubhouse windows glowed warm, music drifting through the evening air. Laughter. Glasses clinking. The sounds of men who'd survived another day.
I walked to my bike, helmet in hand.
Three months until Donna dies. Eighteen months until Half-Sack. Gemma's assault comes in a year and change. The timeline unfolds like a highway stretching into darkness.
The Softail started on the first kick.
I still needed a permanent place to stay. The motel was temporary—Gemma's recommendation carried weight, but I couldn't live out of saddlebags forever. Oakland apartment was too far, and Cole Ashford needed to be in Charming full-time if this was going to work.
[QUEST COMPLETED: REACH CHARMING]
[+50 XP]
[FUNCTION UNLOCKED: RELATIONSHIP TRACKER]
The blue text flickered.
[RELATIONSHIP TRACKER INITIALIZED]
Gemma Teller-Morrow: Suspicious (10)
Jackson "Jax" Teller: Stranger (5)
Kip "Half-Sack" Epps: Friendly (25)
Lowell Harland Jr.: Acquaintance (15)
Numbers. Relationships reduced to statistics. It felt wrong—these were people, not NPCs in a game.
But the system didn't care about feelings. It cared about results.
I pulled out of the lot, heading for Third Street. The motel could wait one more night. First, I needed to think.
The highway stretched ahead, empty and dark. Stars emerging above, indifferent to the world below.
Donna. Half-Sack. Opie. Tara. Jax. Piney. All of them, marked for tragedy.
The engine hummed beneath me.
Not if I can help it.
I twisted the throttle, and the Harley carried me into the night.
[SIDE QUEST AVAILABLE: ESTABLISH LOCAL RESIDENCE]
Objective: Secure permanent housing in Charming
Reward: +25 XP, Local Reputation +5
The quest notification glowed at the edge of my vision.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'd find a place to live. Tomorrow I'd start building the relationships that might save lives.
Tonight, I had thirty miles of empty road and a head full of futures that hadn't happened yet.
The moon rose behind me as Charming disappeared in my mirrors.
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