A/N: I had this story up before but I scrapped it and decided to rewrite it. The first chapter showed a lot of promise, so I'm keeping it and fixing it so it actually isn't rushed.
Disclaimer: If you recognize anyone, I don't own them.
Summary: Grace Faraday has been hiding in Charming for the past three years. She's made a decent life for herself, but when her dark past catches up with her, she's in danger. Triggers for domestic violence.
When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse
Coldplay — Fix You
Savannah could feel her lungs burning with exertion as she pulled herself out of the water bucket. The ice water felt like fire down her throat and her wet, dark hair hung in her pale face.
"Please," she begged, struggling against the grip on the back of her head pressing her down further into the torture chamber. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Are you going to leave me again?" he snarled before shoving her head back into the basin. Savannah struggled against his grip before pulling herself back up. "Are you going to disobey me again?" He gripped her sopping wet hair and she sputtered, coughing up water as she was thrown onto the cold concrete floor of the basement. "Answer me, bitch."
"No," she sputtered, shivering. The cigarette burns stung from earlier in the night after she'd been late with dinner. Jasper gripped her jaw hard, forcing her to look into his cold, steely grey eyes and Savannah whimpered. "No, baby, I promise." She could smell the acrid stench of whiskey on his breath as he shoved her head away.
She woke up to someone shaking her. Grace looked around wildly and realized she'd fallen asleep at the desk in Teller-Morrow. She wasn't Savannah anymore...she was now Grace. Her golden gaze rested on Gemma.
"Did you at least get the invoicing done?" she asked. Grace ran her hands through her dark hair and rubbed her tired face. "This is the second time you've fallen asleep on the job this week, Gracie. At least try drinking coffee next time."
"Lowell can't make coffee without it tasting like it's been brewed with old socks," she commented and checked her watch. Fuck, she'd have to get some sort of caffeine that didn't smell burnt and tasting like teenage boy laundry.
The older woman studied her thoughtfully. "You've been here three years, baby. You've lasted the longest out of all my office girls. You keep to yourself, don't spread your legs for the guys, you don't take my shit, and I don't think this place has been any more organized. I'm gonna ignore this because of that, but you've gotta get your house together," she commented after a moment of pause. She was a queen in every definition of the word and Grace had always tried her hardest to respect her, even when she had her sardonic moments where hell broke loose. She simply let her rage, then moved on. Unlike the majority of the 'girls' who'd come to work in the office, Grace had zero sexual or romantic interest in Gemma's son Jax, which amused Gemma.
"I probably just need to quit watching horror movies before bed," she joked weakly. "I'm fine. Promise."
Gemma's hazel gaze met Grace's brown gaze and seemed to let it go, albeit unconvinced. "Alright. Get some sleep. I'll see you at eight tomorrow. Awake."
"Might be a bit of a tall order, but I'll bring in some decent coffee to make it up to you. Won't let Lowell anywhere near it," Grace said as she gathered her phone and her bag. She pulled it over her shoulder, giving her boss a quick smile and disappeared out the door. The warm Northern California night air was a nice change from the chill of the air conditioning in the office and she tucked her bag closer to her petite body as she crossed the parking lot towards her truck. She took a moment to admire the clear night sky and the bright stars.
"Heard you called boats in the office," a male voice commented a few feet away and she flinched, spinning on the heel of her boot. Her slim fingers wrapped around the purple pocketknife she kept hooked on to the belt loop of her jeans and spotted the glowing end of a cigarette. Dim streetlights barely illuminated Jax Teller and Grace felt a little silly for her overreaction.
"Yeah, I think I must be narcoleptic." She accepted the teasing with a mock-sheepish dip of her head. Discomfort curled in her belly at the sight of the cigarette, the reminder of the pain they could cause permanently seared into her porcelain skin. "No more horror movies before bed."
"You doin' alright, short-stack?" he asked, tossing the butt on the ground. He put it out with the toe of his shoe. It'd been his nickname for her since her first day at the office and instead of annoying her, Grace found it endearing.
"I'm fine, Jax. Honest," she assured him, holding up her free hand in a defensive stance. She knew he didn't believe her.
"That why you have one hand on your knife like you're about to stick someone?"
Immediately, she pulled her hand away and rubbed both hands along the thighs of her jeans. "Sorry." Her dark gaze rested on her truck and her hands slid into her back pockets. "It's been a weird day."
"Don't gotta apologize to me, doll. Just be careful and don't make SAMCRO have to clean up your mess if you stab someone." The humor was there and she knew he was kidding, but she had to force her own amusement.
"No worries," she said, yanking on her door handle and blushing in embarrassment at remembering she needed to get her key out of her pocket. "Okay, maybe a small one." She finally fished out her key and unlocked the truck.
"Try not to get stuck in a paper bag, Faraday," Jax said as she climbed into her truck.
"Kiss my ass, Teller," she snarked back as she slammed the door and started it up. The air conditioning began blasting hot air and she rolled down her windows to see Jax's wolfish grin as he leaned against his bike. "Not another word." With that, she backed out of her parking spot and peeled out of there. She wasn't sure what all Gemma had heard (Grace had a tendency to talk in her sleep) and she wasn't sure what all had happened, but she just knew she needed to simmer down. A glass of wine and a sleeping pill later, she was down for the count on her couch.
The last thing before she heard before she fell asleep was Family Guy theme music in the background.
Normally, the office was a nice place for her. She was allowed Pandora on low and she was allowed to annoy the guys with country music, or "the music of my people", as she liked to tease them. If she wanted to get bold, she played Broadway. Normally, Grace was given her administrative duties and that was that. With Neo-Nazis on the rise, she was kept with a closer leash. Their "old ladies" were kept under protection.
"I'm not anyone's old lady, this is bullshit," she muttered under her breath as she entered in invoices. Not even Billy Currington's "Must Be Doin' Something Right" could calm her down.
"Clay's orders," Half-Sack commented as he handed her another stack of papers. Gemma was suspiciously absent and had been for the past morning.
"Any news on Bobby?" Grace asked as she leafed through them. She had to order more parts, find the best alternatives for things...it would take all afternoon.
"He should be gettin' out soon," he replied. She hummed thoughtfully and winced as she felt a slice into her fingertip. Her finger slipped into her mouth to suck off the blood, frowning deeply.
"Goddammit," she muttered under her breath and reached down to rub the joint of her aching knee. It was a lifetime injury that acted up when the weather changed and she hated it. Bad weather was afoot, she'd ordinarily joke. No one knew how she'd gotten injured; it'd taken carefully avoiding the hospital to avoid X-rays and requests for medical records. She avoided showing off her shoulders or her back so no one could see the cigarette burns. Granted, if she wanted to stay low-key, being an administrative assistant to a garage run by gun-running bikers was probably not the best idea. Grace enjoyed SAMCRO, if she was honest. They were decent people. "Where the hell is that damn first-aid kit?" she hissed as she rifled through the desk drawers for a bandage. She glanced up to see him gone and she shook her head before tearing the wrapper off with her teeth. After spitting it off into the trash, she looked up to see a young blonde woman with the keys to a van.
"They told me to drop it off to you?" she said. Something about her wasn't setting right. Grace accepted the keys and set them by the computer. There was something off about this girl. Very, very off.
"We'll give you a call when it's ready," she replied slowly and the girl immediately turned around and walked away. Grace stood up and poked her head around for one of the guys. Her gaze rested on Piney. "Hey, Piney, you know anything 'bout her?" she asked, nodding to the retreating Scion pulling out of the parking lot.
"Some cigar bunny. Her daddy's taking up shop downtown," he replied. Grace's brow furrowed and she shook her head. "Why?"
"Something's not right. For once, I hope I'm wrong about something," she replied. She scanned the repo list and printed it off to hand to him. "I'm gonna take off for lunch. You want anything?" she offered. The older man shook his head and she closed up the office for her lunch hour. Nerves gnawed in her belly for the first time today and she kept glancing over both shoulders.