Chapter 18 : The Rat Trap Begins
[Teller-Morrow Automotive — May 15, 2008, 11:15 AM]
The black SUVs returned without warning.
One moment the lot was quiet—mechanics working, Half-Sack sweeping, Opie's truck parked near the clubhouse. The next, federal vehicles rolled in like sharks scenting blood.
My stomach dropped.
Stahl.
She emerged from the lead SUV, blonde hair catching sunlight, that practiced smile already in place. Two agents flanked her, suits dark against Charming's bright morning.
I was under a Chevy, changing oil. I stayed there, watching through the gap between tires.
Gemma intercepted them at the office door—familiar dance, hostile stance. Words exchanged, too far to hear. Stahl's smile never flickered.
They went inside. Five minutes. Ten. Then emerged and started walking the garage.
Not toward the office. Toward the workers.
I slid out from under the Chevy, wiped my hands on a rag. Act normal. Be invisible.
Stahl approached Lowell first. Brief conversation—where he worked, how long, standard questions. He answered nervously, eyes darting toward the clubhouse.
Then she moved to me.
"New face." Her voice was pleasant, conversational. "How long have you been around?"
"Few months."
"Prospecting?" She nodded at my kutte.
"Yes ma'am."
"Interesting." She tilted her head, studying me like a specimen. "What brings a young man to SAMCRO in this day and age?"
"Looking for work. Found it."
"Just work?"
"That's all I'm here for."
Her smile widened—teeth showing, predator through and through.
"Everyone's new at some point." She handed me a card. "If you ever want to talk about what you see around here, give me a call. Sometimes new eyes see things old ones miss."
I took the card. Didn't look at it.
"Have a nice day, prospect."
She walked away.
I waited until she was out of sight, then tore the card in half and dropped it in the garbage.
[HEAT LEVEL: +5]
The notification flickered. I pushed it aside.
She's fishing. Seeing who bites.
But I knew who she really wanted.
---
[TM Parking Lot — 11:45 AM]
Stahl found Opie near his truck.
I watched from the garage, pretending to work on an engine that didn't need attention. They stood maybe twenty feet away—close enough to see expressions, too far to hear words.
Opie's face started stone. Careful neutral, the expression of a man who'd learned in prison not to show weakness.
But Stahl was good. Whatever she said, whatever angle she worked, something shifted in his posture. His shoulders tightened. His hands clenched at his sides.
The conversation lasted seven minutes. I counted.
When Stahl walked away, Opie stood frozen for a long moment. Then he turned toward his truck, and I caught his expression.
Barely controlled rage. And beneath it, something worse.
Fear.
He climbed in and drove off without talking to anyone. Didn't tell the other members he was leaving, didn't check in with Clay. Just gone.
She's starting the frame. Planting seeds, creating doubt.
I remembered how this played out in the show. Stahl would manufacture evidence—surveillance photos, fabricated meetings, whatever it took to make Opie look like an informant. Clay would believe it because he wanted to believe it. And Tig would pull the trigger on Donna, thinking he was killing a rat's wife.
Three months, maybe four. Unless I stop it.
---
[TM Garage — 2:30 PM]
Jax was alone in the garage, working on his bike.
I'd been waiting for this moment all day. Needed to plant the seed without seeming like I was planting it. Needed to be careful.
I walked over, grabbed a wrench, started working on the adjacent lift.
"Club seems tense today." Keep it casual. Observation, not accusation.
Jax grunted. "Feds have that effect."
"That agent spent a long time with Opie."
His hands stopped moving. Just for a second, barely noticeable.
"You watching?"
"Hard not to. They were right there."
Jax went back to work, but slower now. Thinking.
"What'd you see?"
"Long conversation. Opie looked pissed when she left." I paused, chose my next words carefully. "Rode off without telling anyone."
"Opie does that."
"Sure." I set down the wrench. "But feds like easy targets. If I was trying to flip someone in this club, I'd pick the guy who just got out of prison. Financial pressure, family strain, five years of resentment."
Jax's jaw tightened. "Opie's solid."
"I know. I'm not saying he's not." I held up my hands. "But Stahl doesn't care about what's true. She cares about what she can make people believe."
The silence stretched between us.
"You're pretty observant for a prospect."
"Comes from watching my back."
"In the Army?"
In a past life. In seven seasons of television.
"Everywhere."
Jax studied me for a long moment. Whatever he was looking for, he didn't find suspicion. Maybe because there wasn't any—not directed at Opie, anyway.
"I appreciate the heads up." His voice was careful. "But Opie's my brother. I've known him since we were kids. Whatever game Stahl's playing, it won't work."
"Hope you're right."
I went back to work.
Seed planted. Now watch it grow.
---
[SAMCRO Clubhouse Bathroom — 6:30 PM]
My knuckles split against the tile.
I punched the wall three times before I stopped myself—stupid, reckless, exactly the kind of thing that drew attention.
But the frustration needed somewhere to go.
You can't tell them. You can't warn them properly. All you can do is drop hints and hope someone listens.
Stahl was out there building her case. Opie was spiraling. Clay was watching with suspicious eyes. And in a few months, Donna Winston would die in her car because nobody stopped the cascade of lies in time.
The blood dripped down my hand, red against white porcelain.
I ran cold water over the wounds. Minor damage—nothing that needed stitches, nothing that would raise questions if I wrapped it right.
Control what you can. Leave what you can't.
The face in the mirror looked tired. Older than Cole Ashford's twenty-eight years.
You got Jax thinking. That's something. Maybe he'll watch Stahl instead of watching Opie. Maybe he'll ask questions instead of accepting answers.
Maybe it'll be enough.
I dried my hands, wrapped the knuckles with gauze from the first aid kit, and walked back into the clubhouse.
---
[SAMCRO Clubhouse — 9:30 PM]
The night found its rhythm.
Members drifted in after work, settling at the bar, playing pool, doing the hundred small things that made the clubhouse feel like home. I worked the periphery—restocking, cleaning, being useful without being noticed.
But I was watching.
Jax sat at a corner table with Opie. The two of them talking quietly, beers in hand. At one point, Jax put his arm around Opie's shoulders—old gesture, deep friendship, the bond of men who'd grown up together.
He's checking on him. That's good.
Opie still looked haunted. The conversation with Stahl had left marks. But he was here, in the clubhouse, surrounded by brothers instead of isolated in his truck.
Small victories.
Clay watched from the bar. I caught his eyes tracking between Jax and Opie, calculating. Always calculating.
He's not convinced. Not yet. But Stahl will keep working, keep building her case, and eventually Clay will believe whatever she manufactures.
The question was whether I could build enough doubt about Stahl herself to counteract whatever evidence she produced.
You've got time. Not much, but some. Use it.
I finished restocking the cooler, accepted a beer from Bobby, and found a quiet corner to observe.
Opie laughed at something Jax said. First real laugh I'd heard from him in weeks.
The club wasn't perfect. These men weren't saints. But they were family—complicated, flawed, capable of terrible things.
And some of them were going to die if I couldn't change what was coming.
I drank my beer and watched the room breathe.
Tomorrow there would be more prospect work. More tests. More small battles in a war that nobody else knew was happening.
But tonight, Jax was checking on Opie. Tonight, the seed was planted.
Maybe that's enough for now.
The music played. The beer flowed. The reaper watched over all of it.
And somewhere in a federal office, June Stahl was planning her next move.
MORE POWER STONES And REVIEWS== MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
with exclusive access to more chapters (based on tiers more chapters for each tiers) on my Patreon, you get more chapters if you ask for more (in few days), plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $6/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [ In The Witcher With Avatar Powers,In The Vikings With Deja Vu System,Stranger Things Demogorgon Tamer ...].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!