Blue Angel

Bad Moon Rising

'It's hard not to hate. People. Things. Institutions. When they break your spirit and take pleasure in watching you bleed. Hate... is the only feeling that makes sense. But, I know what hate does to a man. It tears him apart. Turns him into something he's not. Something he'd promised himself he'd never become. That's what I need to tell you. To let you know how hard I'm trying not to cave under the weight of all the awful things I feel in my heart. Sometimes my life feels like a deadly balancing act. What I feel slamming up against what I should do. Impulsive reactions racing to solutions miles ahead of my brain. When I look at my day, I realize that most of it was spent cleaning up the damage of the day before. In that life, I have no future. All I have is distraction. And remorse. I buried my best friend three days ago. As cliché as this sounds, I left a part of me in that box. A part I barely knew. A part I'll never see again. Every day is a new box, boys. You open it, you take a look at what's inside. You're the one who determines if it's a gift... or a coffin.'

Jax's eyes scan over the ivory parchment of his notebook where he had previously scribbled his thoughts after laying Opie to rest.

Hate.

It was now eating away at him more than it had back then. Ripping him apart slowly from the inside and he had no way to stop the raging violence he knew would ensue. Part of him didn't want to stop it. He wanted someone to feel his wrath, the kind of torture he endured daily because of the loss of his son. He wanted someone to truly feel it like he had. Yet there was no one that could. Except one.

With a heavy sigh Jax closed the notebook and tucked it and his pencil into the inner pocket of his kutte where he usually kept them until they were full. Rows and rows of the same writing pads lined the top drawer of his dresser. All for Abel when he was old enough to hear the truth of the life of the man he knew as his father. The paper had no judgement, he could write freely without ridicule or guilt. The page just accepted the words in a way to free his mind of all the thoughts and feelings he needed to keep to himself. Someday his son would want to know about his old man and the decisions he made and why, just as Jax himself had learned about the man JT truly was.

Jackson leaned back in the old office chair in the apartment that was still heavily decorated with pin ups and SAMCRO paraphernalia, even the red, white and blue hanging above the bed that he was sure his father probably hung there himself. His rough, calloused hands scrubbed down over his face, trying to release the tension that hadn't left since the day Scarlet had been shot in the parking lot of TM. It was useless, Jax knew this, yet he hoped that getting a little bit of the information he sought would help soon release it.

"Jax?"

A light knock came from the other side of the wooden door, hearing Juice's voice from the other side. Lowering his hand he drew a deep breath in and pushed himself up from the chair. Crossing the room with heavy steps he opened the door, finding the young brother leaning against the doorframe.

"I..I got that info you wanted, Jax. Dude's name is Joey O'Keary but they call him 'Taz'. Notorious Angels, Montebello. Don't hold a rank Jax, just a member. Did some time... Weapons charges, arsen, nothing serious. Kind of a pussy to be a biker." Juice snorted a laugh as the MC President continue to listen, keeping his expression serious while logging all the info in his head. Clearing his throat Juice continued. "Got an address too." He extends his arm, passing Jax the piece of paper with the info scribbled barely legible on the surface. Unfolding it Jackson memorized the place in an instant.

"Thanks brotha. Appreciate it. I'll see ya later." Jax gave his chin an upward nod before stepping back to close the door once again. He now had the information he wanted despite the objection from his VP. Jax assumed Chibs knew what he was planning and he didn't like it but at this point in Jackson's life he really didn't give a fuck who liked what he did or what he didn't. All he knew was someone was going to hurt like he did.

There was really only so many options to give Jax the gratification he was seeking. Scarlet's ex Chris Aver, the man that started this fuckin' fiasco, was dead. Andy Avery met his fate the day after the shooting that took Cain's life. They were the only two that Jax would have appreciated still having alive so he could do all the dreadful things his mind was churning out. But he now had limited options. And he was willing to act on them.

There was a moment Jax doubted his plan as he stared at the reflection looking back at him from the antique mirror above the desk. His hands rested on the fabric of the hoodie he normally wore under his kutte. Was he willing to do this? Take the life of the woman he once considered his ol' lady? As hard as Jackson tried he could not get the idea out of his mind. Maybe he'd be doing her a favor, taking her out of the life that smothered them both under the weight of death and sorrow. His anger though was the one thing gripping onto him, the devil on his shoulder calling out his name to do what he thought he needed for some kind of release from the dreadful place he was held captive in. Grabbing his navy blue hoodie from the bed Jax shrugged it on, the metal teeth connecting as he zippered it up, refusing to question his motives any longer. He debated wearing his kutte for a few reasons but ultimately he opted against it. This was person vengeance, not club business. No need to draw any unwanted attention to himself. Leaving the leather he proudly wore hanging on the back of the old desk chair Jax grabbed his Heckler & Koch and stuffed it in the back of his baggy jeans behind the waist of the belt holding his denin in place. A full clip wasn't going to be needed, there was only one bullet Jax planned on releasing from the barrel of his pistol.

With one more long, hard look at himself he pushed away from the desk he could be found at writing and pondering all decisions that he made as leader of the MC and ultimately the decisions as a man. With wide strides and an angered expression Jackson left the apartment he had been accustomed to staying in night after night. His eyes landed on the Knucklehead that his old man rode when he sat at the head of the table. JT wanted more for Jax in the life he found as a brotherhood yet Jax knew he failed him. You cannot sit in that seat without becoming a savage and Jackson Teller was about to become as savage as a man could ever become.