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witchthewriter · 7 months

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𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑮𝒚𝒗𝒆𝒓 & 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒚: 𝑨 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍

Paid story for @alohomorasomnium. Word Count: 3k Warnings: swears, implied past domestic violence/abuse (slight details), stalking

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

DALTON.

*Last Night*

It was easy getting them drunk. The key was looking as if you were keeping up, as if you were drinking just as much. Brad was easier to fool, even though he was bigger than Riley; both taller and muscular. But Riley had a lot more going on in his head, he just wanted to prove himself – which always brought a man’s self-confidence down. No matter what.

I knew these two would be the perfect lackies. One with no brains, and the other so desperate to fit in that he would do anything… But I’d have to work my way up to that first.

Because first, I needed to make Riley feel as though he had a friend, a true friend.

“How you going?” Dalton said, leaning against the bar, Riley was awkwardly bopping his head to the music, beer in hand.

“Huh? Oh, yeah yeah, really good-“ Riley gave a tight-lipped smile and took another sip of his beer. It was lukewarm now.

“Wanna get outta here?” Dalton asked, bumping his shoulder against the smaller man.

“And go where?” Riley asked, eyes glued to the dancefloor, to where Brad was dancing with two women. The only two women who were attractive. The rest of the bar was half-full of twenty-somethings who had finished work.

It was the closest bar, an hour out of Charming. They’d have to drive at least another hour to find a proper club.

When one of the girls grabbed onto Brad’s hand and started leading him off the dancefloor, Riley sculled the last of his beer and nodded his head.

“Yeah, lets go-“

KAELIE.

After an hour and a half of riding, Opie’s phone started to buzz. You knew, because you could feel the vibrations from his back pocket against your thigh.

You knew you couldn’t pull it out, because even if either of you could press the phone against your ear, you wouldn’’t be able to hear the person on the other end.

So, you let it ring out, the vibrating becoming more and more awkward as it continued on. And god, it wouldn’t let up. It made your stomach clench; it must be important. Very important.

It had to be about Dalton.

He’d done something, he had to have, for the phone to still be ringing, every ten minutes.

You had no idea how much longer you were going to be on the road for, but you knew next time you’d have to get Opie to keep his phone somewhere else. Because you were trying to daydream, and this was making it impossible to do so.

You weren’t going to sit here and let anxiety take hold of you. You’d had enough of Dalton and his shit. So, you decided to actively change what your mind was thinking of.

You could feel the sweat forming on your scalp, sliding down your temple, over your forehead and it started dripping from your nose. Ew, ew, ew, you thought. Just wanting to get in the shower. You needed to stay in there and scrub yourself. God, you wished you could’ve brought all of your toiletries, but only a toothbrush, toothpaste and some make up would fit.

JAX.

The gavel banged and the Sons left the meeting.

Half-sack was behind the bar, wiping down the bench and nodded at each of the men as they walked past.

“You’re with us,” Clay barked at the Prospect, and he practically dropped the cloth.

Outside, Jax walked past Clay, and climbed onto his bike. He watched as Clay got onto his own, clipped on his helmet, revved his bike, and rode off. Tig, Bobby, Juice and Half-sack followed him, Tig blowing them kisses as he went.

They were going to meet with Zobelle, see what he was about. What he had to say.

Jax and Chibs had other orders.

“Ye right Jackie?” Chibs called out, sliding on his sunglasses and leather gloves. The sun beat down on them, hot and unyielding.

“Yeah, all good,” Jax replied back, turning on his bike and kicking the little stand into place. He waited until Chibs’ bike was rumbling to leave, and off they went.

By the time they reached Opie’s place, both of them were soaked through. Though neither would take off their kutte. They hadn’t even thought about it. And yet, Jax still wore his long jeans, as Chibs wore long pants as well.

This was the first-time any of the Sons had visited Opie’s house without him there. It felt weird, or maybe it just felt weird not to have Opie in town. He had grown up there, hadn’t vacationed in another country, or even another state. Even his honeymoon with Donna wasn’t too far from town.

So, it was very odd to see that the windows had been closed, the shutters down, curtains blocking anyone’s view from the outside. Even when Opie left the house, everything was open. He even left the door unlocked. (Which had freaked you out when you first started staying with him. But he explained that everyone knew it was his place. And then you explained Dalton and … he started locking everything.)

As the two men walked up the front steps, Jax with Opie’s mail in his back pocket, had found the spare key underneath a withered pot plant, and opened the door. Opie had told him where the key was hidden – a new one that was cut only days before you both left.

Opening the door, Jax’s attention was drawn instantly to the floor, to an envelope.

It didn’t say who it was from, but both already knew.

The yellow A3 envelope contained photos of Kaelie and Opie leaving, but more annoyingly, of the Prospect who had been trailing Dalton as well.

“Well, that fucker is pretty good,” Chibs said as he closed the door and took a look at the photos. “Hell, Opie looks the most happy since Donna …” The Scotsman raised his brows and blinked slowly, and then looked at Jax, who just nodded.

“That’s why I want to nail this guy. When he’s gone, Opie and Kaelie can come back. It’s what Ope deserves, after everything.”

OPIE.

All this shit with Kaelie had to stop at some point, and they would return to Charming. But for now, Opie wanted to give her some good experiences. Make a few great memories.

It was why they arrived at one of the nicest places he had stayed. With Donna. But he wasn’t going to tell Kaelie that.

Opie could hear your voice, the awe at the large cottage. It was a bed and breakfast, a nice one too. Opie didn’t mind spending a bit more for the night, unbeknownst to him that you would pay for this one as soon as you had the chance to.

The driveway was large and had a parking lot beside the house. This time of year it wouldn’t be too busy, with people wanting to visit the beach rather than a cottage not too far from the city.

You practically leapt from the bike, almost hurting yourself as you unclipped the stupid helmet and quickly fixed your damp hair. Once you had slung your back over your back and tied up your hair, you were glad to follow Ope into the cosy house.

There was a large porch, with a swinging chair, and vines that seemingly wrapped and grew around every part of the house. There were bushes with flowers and gnomes that stood proudly in front of the lush garden.

“It’s beautiful,” you said as you stood beside Opie, there was a large bell mounted beside the front door, which said ‘open,’ in pretty dainty script across the glass.

Opie opened the door and let you walk in first, and you groaned in appreciation. The air conditioner was on and stood in the middle of the room, letting the air blast you. Minutes passed as Opie checked the both of you in and asked for one bed.

There was one flight of stairs and the lovely lady from the desk, who must also be the owner, unlocked the room and handed over the key.

Inside was breathtaking. There was a four-poster bed, with a large window overlooking the forest (luckily not the parking lot), the sunlight filtered through the window. But it didn’t heat up the room, there was a thermostat on the wall next to the door. You smiled. A giddy feeling in your stomach, and then you walked past the desk that had a mirror and you frowned.

“I’m taking a shower,” you announced and Opie nodded, a small smile forming.

You walked into the ensuite and nearly gasped. There was actual shampoo and conditioner, proper body wash and fresh towels. In a flash, you shut the door, kicked off your shoes and undressed.

While you were in the bathroom, Opie pulled out his phone and pressed a few buttons. Within three rings, the other person answered it.

“Hey,” Jax answered, “where are you guys? How are you guys.”

“We’re just past Lodi now, a few hours from town. I can tell Kaelie’s getting restless.”

Opie kicked off his large boots and sat on the bed as he listened to Jax talk.

“You guys are gonna have to come home at some point, and I have an idea-“ Off came Opie’s socks and kutte. He leaned back on the bed.

“So, you’re gonna need some leverage. And don’t worry Ope, this guy is majorly fucked up. Unser’s found some shit on him. But I thought you could find something, especially with Kaelie’s help. You’ll be able to come home.”

“Yeah, we can do that. And I’m not surprised he’s done some fucked up shit. Any way Unser can use his actual badge and arrest this guy?” Stifling a yawn, Opie rubbed at one of his eyes.

“He needs evidence, but the right kind, and Dalton might be locked up for a while.”

Opie’s eyebrows rose, but eyes felt heavy, “shit, that’s some good news.”

“Yeah it is, but you need to start looking. Get to a computer and look him up, maybe there’s an old report on him.”

“Got it,” Opie said and yawned.

“I’m gonna have to go,” Jax said, another voice coming from his end, “look, I love you Ope, be safe.” And he hung up.

That’s all Opie registered before he fell asleep.

GEMMA.

The day was hot and yet Gemma still wore her usual black. It was gonna be somebody’s funeral, she swore as she walked up the steps to the local library.

She shifted her large handbag as she walked into the airconned building. Sweat slid down her chest, and her irritability rose.

“Hey,” she said at the empty front desk. Not caring that there were other people in the building. She fucking hated libraries. It wasn’t the books, no, she liked reading. It was the fucking audacity of the librarians coming to press their fingers against their lips and shoosh her. It happened from her childhood to the day she didn’t have to go to the fucking library anymore.

A middle-aged woman with greying hair came out from the back. A stack of books in her hands, she hurried to the desk and smiled. “How can I help you?”

“You got a computer?”

“Oh, yes we have a few. It’s five dollars for twenty minutes.” The woman didn’t look like a normal librarian, no pursed lips or narrowed eyes.

“Ugh thought libraries were supposed to be free or somethin’,” Gemma scoffed, rifling through her bag to find her purse. But she hadn’t noticed how her voice had quietened.

“I know, I hate having to say that. The library is the only place you’re not expected to buy anything. But the computers are new and I don’t know I have to charge you honey,” she shrugged her shoulders empathetically.

Handing over the money, the librarian beckoned her to follow as she walked to the other end of the building. There were rows and rows of books, and then they came to an area with five computers, two of them were occupied.

“Thanks,” Gemma said as the lady pulled out the chair, nodded and walked off.

Gemma sat down on the plastic chair and took out her glasses and a piece of folded paper with Dalton’s full name, date of birth and old childhood address. She typed it into the search bar and clicked enter.

KAELIE.

The shower was more than pleasant. The pressure was perfect; you were in there for forty-five minutes.

Stepping out and wrapping the towel around yourself, you squeezed the excess water from your hair, dried yourself and re-dressed. Wiping a hand over the fogged mirror, you stared at yourself for a few moments. There seemed to be a sunkissed glow from your face and neck, and you spotted a few more freckles. Those hours riding in the sun did more than just make you sweaty and give you a sore back.

You french-braided your hair and walked into the bedroom. Even the carpet felt nicer than the motel’s. It felt … plusher. Wiggling your toes, you opened your mouth and then heard a very small snore coming from the bed.

Tilting your head to the side, you put your glasses on and took a few steps. The giant form of Opie lay half on the bed, his feet still on the ground. But he was too far into dreamland to bother to move.

“Hmm,” you said and walked over to him.

Opie Winston looked so much younger when he was asleep. Even with the beard. There was an innate serenity that seemed to emanate from him, especially when he was asleep. Like it was radiating from him.

You noticed his kutte and picked it up. It had some weight to it, unexpectedly. You moved it to the chair, displaying it, giving it its own seat.

Then you moved his boots and tucked his socks inside them. You hadn’t thought of how exhausted he must be, and chastised yourself for it.

“Hey,” you said lightly. You thought about moving his legs around but decided against it, thinking of possible injury.

He didn’t move, so you lightly shook him.

“Yea-huh?” Opie said groggily, and blinked slowly.

“You fell asleep like this, do you want to get into a more comfortable position?” You whispered, trying to keep Opie as …sleepy as possible.

“What? Oh, I fell asleep?” He said starting to sit up.

“No no, lay back down, everything’s okay. Just move up,” you leant down and gently grasped his legs, and he understood.

“Thanks,” he said with a yawn and did as you said.

Smiling as he nestled on his side, you went over to your bag to get out a book.

DALTON.

It had to be apart of the plot for me to look hungover, so I didn’t comb my hair as usual and rubbed my eyes before walking into the break room. It was empty except for Riley, who looked green and was slumped over in his chair.

“I feel fucking terrible,” I announced as I walked in and plunked down on the seat closest to Riley. His eyes shot to me and the movement seemed to upset him more.

“You don’t look that bad,” he remarked, and I heard his stomach gurgle. Lightweight, I wanted to bark at him. They had left the bar well before one am, and Riley had been babbling about how much he hated Brad, hated his mother and … his life. God, he was going to be an easy target.

It was then that Brad walked in, a swagger in his steps, “morning gentlemen,” he said with a smirk. His blonde hair was as windsept as always, and as loaded with hairspray as always.

I heard Riley make a slight noise, almost like a whimper, and he ran out of the room, clutching his stomach.

“Oh shit,” Brad said, and took Riley’s seat, “he doesn’t look good.” The words were said without concern and with slight amusement.

“He said he drank,” I murmured, squinting. Brad only grunted, and sat back, that smirk still on his face. Okay, I’ll bite.

“Where’d you end up?” I asked, taking a sip out of my water bottle.

“Those two chicks I left with? Yeah, went back to one of their places and we fucked,” he said shamelessly.

This fucking guy.

“No shit, wow, I’m impressed,” I put as much pep as I could muster into my reply. What a fucking liar, he saw him get back in his car and leave from the window.

“Yeah, I think one was a virgin,” he coughed, and nodded. As soon as Peter walked in he sat up straight.

“Morning ho- where’s Riley?” Peter started then stopped, his eyes flickering between Brad and I.

GEMMA.

‘This kid is fucking insane,’ Gemma mumbled, scrolling through the article she’d found.

It had taken a half-hour to find something solid, but she had found it, nonetheless. Unser had given her the dates and names of people, places, and towns – and she nearly jumped from her chair when she everything corroborated.

After reading that article, it didn’t take long for another one to stand out. One had truly horrified Gemma.

It was a fire. A deadly one.

Three people had perished in the fire. Well, two people and a baby.

The source of the fire couldn’t be found, but police say it had been purposefully lit. The whole house had burned, utterly and completely, to the ground. The sole survivor was the foster teen who was unnamed for safety reasons.

“Could he be in the Juvenile records?,” Gemma asked herself, taking off her glasses and leaning back in the chair.

She crossed her arms and closed her eyes. There was a dirty feeling, like oil in the pit of her stomach, or like a thousand eyes were staring at her bare body.

‘God, a baby,’ Gemma thought, and her mouth went dry.

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