Strays

The Shot Caller

Chapter One

I hate Stockton.

Every time I roll up to this place, it feels like someone shoving a fist straight through my ribs. Doesn't matter how many times I've made this ride. The barbed wire. The sour rot in the air. The way my lungs never quite fill right when I step through those gates.

All for family. Right?

My cousin's rotting in this concrete coffin for something he didn't even do. Because he's SAMCRO's golden boy. And me? I'm the lucky one. The messenger pigeon. Once a month, I ride up here with updates from TM like some jacked-up prison newsletter.

I swing off my bike and stretch the road out of my spine. Hand slides over my pockets. Phone. Wallet. Keys.

Clean. My twin Berettas sit snug in the secret compartment of the saddlebag. Right where it belongs. Paranoia ain't a weakness where I come from.

Inside, it's the same tired circus. Metal detector. Arms out. Pat down. Visitor badge clipped on like a scarlet letter. The guards know me by now, but they still make a show of it.

Little theater piece for the room. Visitors scattered around like ghosts waiting for permission to breathe. I'm not here for friends. I'm here for Jax. He walks in looking like hell in orange.

Eyes sunk deep. Bruise blooming under one eye like a storm cloud. He nods to the guard and drops into the seat across from me. Cigarette between his fingers. Smoke rolling out slow like it's the only thing he's got left to spend.

"What the hell happened, Jax?" My eyes flick to the shiner.

He shrugs like it's nothing. "Just a scrape."

"Uh huh." I lean back, arms crossing tight.

"No flags on the port run. Chibs kept everything clean." He nods once.

Drag. "TM?"

"Busy as hell. Booked solid. Guys are doing good. All things considered."

His jaw tightens at that. His boys. Tara.

"I know it's shit in here," I say. "But Abel and Thomas are good. Safe."

That earns me a look.

"It's reason enough to keep your fists down."

His expression hardens. "Easy for you to say. You got your whole life ahead of you."

I lean forward across the table. "You think I've forgiven you?"

His eyes flick up.

"You didn't just burn bridges, Jax. You lit up the only good thing I had left. So don't get preachy on me."

The guilt flashes fast. Gone just as quick.

"It was never supposed to happen," he mutters. "Clay shouldn't have made that exception."

No kidding. Rule number one. Never fall for someone patched. I broke that rule like a damn idiot.

"Whatever," I say, waving it off. "No point rehashing it."

Silence stretches between us. Then he asks it. "The boys?"

And that's the real reason I'm here. So I tell him. Everything. Abel's latest obsession. Thomas' milestones. The dumb little stuff that makes up a kid's life. The things he doesn't get to see anymore. The only tether he's got left to the world outside these walls.

Tully

"Teller! Visitation!"

My eyes shift from the mess hall. Blondie stands up slow while the guard waits.

Interesting. Teller's got a visitor.

Norman catches my look. He's been greased since '06. Good man. Knows the signal. Cuffs go on. I take my time heading to visitation.

Eyes open. Always keep an eye on anyone tied to business partners. Especially Jackson Teller. Then I see her.

Well hell. Raven hair. Storm-blue eyes. Walks like she grew up around bikes and blood oaths. That ain't some club bunny chasing a prison fantasy. This one's different.

Back to the wall. Eyes scanning the room. Taking stock. Smart. Dangerous. I watch her study the exits without even moving her head. Yeah. Definitely not stupid.

Who the hell is she?

Norman follows my gaze. Good man. He moves. "Excuse me, miss?"

Her head snaps toward him sharp. "Yes?"

"Tully wants a word."

He gestures toward me. Her eyes land on mine. Everything in the room goes quiet for a second. Damn. Not just pretty.

Predatory.

Norman walks her over, and she slides into the seat across from me. Posture loose. But not relaxed. Calculated. Just like me.

"That's some stare, Peaches," I say slowly.

Deep enough to crawl under her skin.

Her eyes narrow just a fraction. "Why the nod, Mr. Tully?"

"Ronald."

My accent drips out soft and sweet over broken glass. Cuffed hands slide across the table. She hesitates. Then places hers in them.

I lift it to my lips. Feel the pulse jump under her skin.

"A woman like you," I murmur, "oughta have a name that tastes as good as it sounds."

No blush. No fluster. She's done this dance before.

"Jaycee."

"Mmm."

I lean back in the chair.

"Jaycee." I roll it slowly across my tongue. "Got his jawline. Bet you bite harder."

Her mouth twitches. Elegant little fuck-you.

"Whatever you have with my cousin and the club," she says coolly, "leave me out of it."

I grin. "Wouldn't dream of bringing you into our business, Peaches."

Truth is? This ain't business. This is a complete failure of impulse control.

She lets out a small laugh. Sounds like it surprised even her. "Bid talk."

"Fifteen years in here, sweetheart," I say. "Bid talks plenty." I tilt my head. "You though?" I watch her eyes. "You make me wanna listen."

A second passes. Just long enough to feel the crack in her armor.

"Not what I expected when I heard about Jayce," I admit.

She smiles like she's been running circles around men like me her whole life. "Good thing?"

I study her another moment. "Still deciding."

Norman's voice cuts in. "Time's up, Tully."

Shame. I stand slowly. "It's been a pleasure, Jaycee Teller."

Lay the southern charm on thick. "You make it a habit to come visit."

She walks away without looking back. I watch her go. Yeah. Things just got a whole lot more interesting.