The Killer Bartender | sons of anarchy

seven

As I lay in the hospital bed, lost in a haze of conflicting emotions, the door to my room creaked open, and in walked Marcus Alvarez, the president of the Mayans Motorcycle Club. He held a bouquet of flowers in his rough, tattooed hands, a gesture from my father.

"Marisol," Marcus said, his voice gruff yet laced with a touch of warmth. "Your father sends his regards. He wanted me to bring you these flowers."

I mustered a weak smile, touched by the gesture. "Thank you, Marcus." My father would never risk coming here with ATF on our asses

Marcus pulled up a chair beside my bed, his presence exuding a sense of authority and reassurance. We were not close, but the tangled web of motorcycle clubs intertwined our lives in unexpected ways.

"You rest up now, Marisol," Marcus said, his tone paternal. "Your father is taking care of things. He won't let any harm come to you."

I nodded, grateful for the reassurance, yet a nagging doubt lingered in the back of my mind. The world I had been thrust into was filled with deceit and danger, and I couldn't help but wonder if my father's involvement would truly bring an end to the turmoil.

"Marcus," I began tentatively, my voice tinged with concern. "Do you think my father can truly resolve this situation? Everyone thinks I'm a rat."

He studied me for a moment, his gaze filled with a mix of understanding and caution. "Marisol, your father is a powerful man. He has connections and resources that can shift the tides. You need to be honest with them."

I nodded, my heart heavy with a cocktail of emotions. I wanted to believe in my father's ability to protect me, to bring order to the chaos that had engulfed my life. But I couldn't shake the fear that his involvement would only further complicate matters.

As Marcus rose from his seat, he placed a hand on my shoulder, his touch conveying both strength and solidarity. "You're stronger than you think, Marisol. Remember that. We'll get through this."

With those words, Marcus Alvarez left the hospital room, leaving me with a bouquet of flowers and a mix of hope and uncertainty.

As Marcus Alvarez exited the hospital room, carrying with him the weight of his conversation with Marisol, he found himself face to face with Happy and Jax, who had been waiting anxiously in the hallway. The tension between the two clubs hung heavily in the air, like an invisible barrier separating them.

Happy's expression was guarded, his eyes fixed on Marcus. "Why are you here man this isn't your territory "

Jax, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, echoed the sentiment. "Yeah, we need to know if she's a spy or if she's playing us."

Marcus let out a weary sigh, aware of the delicate balance he needed to strike between loyalty to his own club and the complicated dynamics of Marisol's involvement.

"Listen, Happy, Jax," Marcus began, his voice steady but tinged with caution. "I've known Marisol for years, and I can assure you she's not a spy. She's caught up in something bigger than herself."

Happy's brows furrowed, skepticism etching lines on his rugged face. "How can you be so sure, Marcus? We don't know anything about her background or her loyalties."

Jax stepped forward, his voice filled with determination. "If she's not a spy, then who is she? And who's her father? We deserve to know the truth."

Marcus's gaze flickered between the two men, the weight of secrecy pressing upon him. "I can't tell you who her father is. That's something she needs to reveal herself."

Happy's patience waned, a glint of frustration flashing in his eyes. "We're risking everything here, Marcus. Our club, our lives. We need to know if we can trust her."

Marcus nodded, his expression grave. "I understand your concerns, but right now, all I can offer you is my word. Marisol is not our enemy. She's entangled in a dangerous world, just like us."

Jax crossed his arms, a sense of determination replacing his initial skepticism. "Then we'll find out the truth ourselves. We'll keep a close eye on her and see if she proves herself."

The tension between the Mayans and the Sons remained palpable, the air thick with unspoken questions and the uncertainty of alliances. Marcus knew that trust was a fragile thread, easily frayed, but he also knew that the truth would eventually surface.

As the three men parted ways, each heading back to their respective clubs, the delicate dance of suspicion and vigilance continued. Marisol held the key to her own secrets, and the Sons of Anarchy were determined to unlock the truth, even if it meant unraveling the fragile bond between their clubs.

•••

As I stepped out of the hospital, the crisp air filled my lungs, a welcome change from the sterile environment I had been confined to for days. Lyla, had come to pick me up, offering me a comforting presence during my recovery.

"Thanks, Lyla," I said, my voice still weak from my injuries. "I appreciate you being here for me."

She smiled warmly, her vibrant personality shining through. "Of course, Marisol. We're family here, and family takes care of each other. How are you holding up?"

I let out a soft sigh, a mix of relief and trepidation. "Physically, I'm healing. Emotionally, it's been a rollercoaster. But I'm grateful to be alive."

Lyla nodded understandingly, her eyes filled with empathy. "Take your time, Marisol. If you need anything I'm here"

As Lyla drove me to the clubhouse, my mind buzzed with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The events of the past few days had been a whirlwind, and I hoped that picking up my laptop would offer some semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos.

As I stepped inside the clubhouse, the familiar scent of leather, cigarettes, and whiskey greeted me. I made my way towards the bar, eager to retrieve my laptop and regain a sense of control over my life. However, what I witnessed inside left me frozen in disbelief.

There on the couch I saw Happy engrossed in a passionate embrace with a crow eater. The sight struck me like a blow, shattering the fragile trust I had placed in him. My heart sank, anger and hurt mingling within me as I stood rooted to the spot.

Happy's eyes met mine, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. It was a fleeting moment, but it solidified the pain of his betrayal. Without a word, I snatched my laptop from the bar and stormed out of the clubhouse, my emotions swirling in a chaotic storm.

I walked back to Lyla's car,she was standing by the hood. I couldn't contain the anger that simmered within me any longer.

"You knew," I spat out, my voice laced with accusation. "You knew what he was doing, and you didn't say a word."

Lyla's eyes flicked towards me briefly before focusing back on the road. "Marisol, I... I didn't think it was my place to interfere."

ATF agents stormed into the Teller Morrow Auto shop, their presence sending shockwaves through the club. Confusion and panic rippled through the air as they approached me.

"Ms. Galindo," Agent Potter addressed me, his voice cold and calculated. "You're under arrest for murder of Sergei Orlov and Aleksandr Orlov."

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, the room frozen in disbelief. My true identity was laid bare for all to see, shattering the illusion I had carefully crafted. In that moment, the Sons of Anarchy realized the depth of my connection to the Galindo cartel, and the storm of consequences began to gather, threatening to consume us all.

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OH SHIT!!!