Hell Has A New Name

1

Miami was hot, really fucking hot. Humid, and the air was still. Juice wasn't sure what the hell he was thinking coming here. Except it was furthest point on the map he could find away from Charming. He couldn't go back there. His brothers wanted his head on a plate and like a coward he'd ran. He'd been set up, Potter, that fucking piece of shit said if he didn't get what he wanted he'd ruin his life. Well he had. Chibs sat right across from him the day he went to Stockton and told him to swallow his gun. That hurt more than anything, more than any beating.
Jax offered him a way back, but Juice wasn't completely stupid, he knew it was just a means to an end. He did his time, he took out Lin and he'd been on the business end of Tully and a few now dead Asians. He knew he was supposed to die, he didn't want to die. He faked his death with the help of the bastard nazi, and got out.
In the middle of the night he made his way to Charming from Stockton with some redneck lowlife he never wanted to see again. The truck was old and surprisingly running. The seats were torn cloth and it smelled of motor oil and man. The truck was loud and blew diesel smoke into the air, it was obvious and horrid. He knew having the truck at his apartment would garner attention at some point, it was small town. Someone would notice them walking into his apartment, they would tattle. He and the man whose name he never got, wrecked his apartment, so it looked like a break in.
He grabbed only what he could carry on his bike and he left the rest. He was smart enough however to hire a moving company to pack all the rest of it and put into storage. He made the transaction under his sisters name in Queens. Juan Carlos was dead, she was his only living kin. They didn't ask any questions when he told them he was with Stockton State Prison and was releasing him to her. Of course he hadn't spoken to her in fifteen years, so it wouldn't matter. He'd have it shipped later under a new name. He just needed to get the fuck out of Charming before anyone became curious about the lack of remains he had in the morgue.

The last thing he had expected was to earn a favor from Tully of all people. However the man had been swooned by him. He gave him a new life, as much as Juice wanted to hate the man who abused him, he couldnt hate him in the end. Nothing Tully had done to hurt him was as bad as what any of his brothers had done to him. Tully wasn't personal, he was just doing what he was supposed to do. Primal, that was all there was too it. Except he'd sympathized with Juice towards the end of his stay. Once he'd managed to get him into his cell the rapes stopped, at most he just wanted Juice to listen to him talk or read.
For whatever crack pot reason he trusted the devil to get him away from the club. His only condition was that once he was free, he'd write. Preferably often, but Tully would accept one letter, letting him know he'd made it and was safe. Juice didn't know how he felt about it, he felt like he was literally selling his soul to Satan. He'd cross that bridge when he got to it. He had the address and inmate number on a paper wadded up inside of his pocket. He occasionally would touch it, and oddly found it comforting.

It had taken him a week to get to Miami, a week and five hundred dollars worth of Tully's money. He felt dirty for accepting it but he couldn't really access his own money. Again, one of Tully's men would withdraw his money from his accounts, as his sisters attorney and his part of the business would be sold. That money would also be collected by one of them. As it stood right now he basically felt like a kept lover, because he was accessing Tully's personal accounts. He only used what he had too for food and gas, the occasional sleezy motel that asked no questions or for ID. Once the dumb redneck foot soldier caught up with him in Miami he'd have his money, and documents he needed to start over. He felt like that was the catch, he would have to write Tully to let him know the transaction had been successful.
His plan, was to get what he needed and then hightail it out of the country, or to some other piss hole state where he could get another new identity and really start over.

He found a shitty motel near the beach and paid for three nights. This would be longest he'd stayed put so far but he knew it would take a day longer for whoever was coming to get there. They'd be taking a different route so as not to be obvious about it. The second day in this new Hell he felt like he was losing his mind.

The air was blasting into the putrid green room and he was still sweating. Why was it so fucking hot and humid? The floral scratchy comforter was sticking to his skin and he was certain he was going to melt to it and it would have to be surgically removed. He hated being sweaty unless he was working out or getting laid. Ugh... the thought of that currently made him sick. He could feel Tully sweating onto his back and he cringed. Every one of Lin's men breathing down his neck, cursing him whatever language. He was stuck here with himself and his thoughts. Trapped.

He couldn't leave the room, because he was waiting for the foot soldier, he was dying of boredom. His mind started messing with him, were they coming? Would Tully turn him over to the Sons? Surely not, the man had wiped out the entire Asian population known from Lins group just days after his "tune up." He didn't want to meet the reaper not after all of this. He was convinced Chibs or Tig would knock in the door any minute and if he were lucky they'd put a bullet in the back of his head. Despite his fear of the reaper and his men, he didn't want Chibs to be taken out by Tully's foot men. Surely because of the mutual benefit each group provided he'd leave the Sons alone.

The weight of Tully was killing a little inside. He knew nothing in life was free and he'd pay back every dime the man had let him use. He felt though that it wouldn't be enough. He wouldn't put it past the man to set up some sort of visit for him so he could take his ass one more time. His disgust with himself sat in his gut. Was living even worth it anymore? If he was just going to be someone's bitch.

Every scummy hotel he'd stayed at he'd given a different name, but he had been given instructions for when he made it to Miami to sign in as Justin Tully. As much as it made him cringe he knew the foot soldier would ask for that name and meet him there. He prayed his new identity wasn't going to be that. No one would think to find him under that name though so at least it was safe. He let the name roll around in his mind. He just couldn't let it settle on his tongue.

A loud banging on the door brought him from his thoughts and disgust. "Hang on." He mumbled trying to sound relaxed. He got up off the bed and stretched his stiff limbs. He looked through the peep hole to see who was there, it was in fact a guy with a fucking swastika on his neck. Not someone be wanted to be associated with typically. He hurriedly opened the door and pulled the man inside.

"So? Who am I now?" Juice joked with the man earning a fake smile. The man casually laid an envelope on the desk in the room and proceeded to sit.

"I have instructions for you. You might want to sit." He drawled out in a southern accent.
The anxiety rose in the pit of Juices stomach. He prayed this wasn't going to go badly.