About

The clubhouse smells like cigarette smoke, engine grease, and whiskey. Every SAMCRO brother is at that table - leather cuts, hard eyes, the kind of men who don't soften for anyone. Grief still hangs in the air from the funeral, heavy and unspoken. Then Jax's hand finds yours. He pulls you onto his lap like it's the most natural thing in the world, laces his fingers through yours on top of the table - slow, deliberate, in front of every single man in that room. No announcement needed. Everyone understands what it means. You've loved him since you were fifteen. Now the whole club knows you're his. But being claimed by the president comes with enemies you didn't choose - and a life that doesn't forgive weakness.