Jax pounded on the impenetrable glass, screaming in protest. His heart was in his throat. Flanking his sides were Chibs and Tig, but they were equally inconsolable, yelling and begging for mercy and choking back sobs. Opie stood on the other side of the glass, his head held high. Surrounding him were a half dozen of San Joaquin County Correctional Facility's most vicious inmates, all taking swings at him and trying to snatch the lead pipe he held from his hands.

There was blood pouring from Opie's nose and mouth. He'd already laid one guy out, but he had several more to go, and it was evident that he was running out of strength. He wasn't going to make it. There was no way out of this. Looking on were two prison guards, both on Damon Pope's payroll. This was part of Pope's deal. The only way SAMCRO would get out from under the weight of the mess Tig and Clay had created was by meeting all of Pope's conditions, one of which was that a club member had to pay for the death of Pope's daughter with his own life.

Following his meeting with Pope at the jail, Jax tried like hell to think of a way out of it. The rest of Pope's demands, he could meet. But not this one. Finally, he came to the only decision he could. He would sacrifice himself. It's what his father would have done, and it was his duty as club president.

Jax had always treasured his and Opie's friendship, and the fact that each of them always knew what the other was thinking without saying a word. In this case, though, it worked against him in the worst way. Opie saw it in Jax's eyes the moment Jax returned from his meeting with Pope- he was going to sacrifice himself. So Opie beat him to it.

"I got this." Those were the last words Opie would ever say. He dropped to his knees, his face bloodied and battered, his eyes on Jax. The biggest of his attackers had wrestled the pipe away from him. This was it. Opie raised his arms and tilted his head to the sky, ready to make the ultimate sacrifice. It was almost like a scene from a movie, so beautifully tragic. Opie's murderer raised the pipe above his head, ready to strike. Jax looked away at the last second.

When Tig and Chibs failed to cry out at the moment of Opie's death, Jax looked up. Opie hadn't moved. He was still alive. The door to the holding room was open, and a guard Jax hadn't seen before was talking quietly with the other two, while the would-be assassin looked from Opie, to the guards, then back- the murder weapon still in his hand.

The guard whose nose Opie had shattered motioned to the other prisoners in the room to exit. Bewildered and frustrated, their thirst for blood unquenched, they filed out the door, leaving the lead pipe on the floor, and Opie on his knees.

Jax's eyes were wide and his head was pounding so hard, he could barely hear the questions Tig and Chibs were trying to ask him. It didn't matter. He had the same ones. What the hell was going on? How was Opie still alive? What was going to happen now?

Two of the guards pulled Opie to his feet. He was barely conscious. His body was limp as the guards shuffled him back toward the cramped room where Tig, Chibs and Jax were watching.

"Opie!" Jax yelled as the door opened. The guards shoved him toward Jax, who struggled to support his weight. He'd never been so happy to have his heavy, sweaty, smelly friend draped all over him. Tig and Chibs rushed to his side, helping to hold Opie up as the guards stared them down.

"What is this?" Tig asked, his voice weary.

"Change of plans," one of the guards said. I'm taking you back to your cell. Mr. Pope is on his way to meet with Mr. Teller. You'll find out more then."

The club members walked in silence back to their cell, Opie with one arm over Jax's shoulder, and the other over Tig's. He was almost lucid by the time they helped him onto his cot. He needed to go to the infirmary, but Jax didn't want to let him out of his sight. He'd been so close to losing him, he wasn't going to entrust his life to the crooked prison guards, or leave him alone and open for another attack.

"Can you bring me some towels and bandages?" Chibs asked the guards as nicely as possible.

"Sure thing," the bleeding guard sneered. "I'll get right on that. And Teller- I'll be back for you." Jax didn't bother looking up. His focus was on his friend.

"Ope. Opie, are you alright?"

"Just peachy," Opie slurred, coughing on the blood in his mouth. Jax made a noise that was half chuckle, half sob, and buried his face in his hands as he sat on the edge of Opie's cot. Tig patted Jax on the back, trying to comfort him, as Chibs inspected Opie's wounds.

"Good news," the quasi-doctor announced. "You're still ugly as hell, brotha." Opie tried to laugh, but it turned into a coughing fit.

Jax turned to Opie, resting a hand on his chest. "You're lucky you already got your ass kicked today, or I'd be beating the shit out of you right now. What the hell were you thinking, Ope?"

"Couldn't let you take that hit, bro," Opie mumbled. "The club needs you. Your family needs you."

"The club needs you, too, shit head. And so do your wife and kids. And so do I. That was my call to make. Don't you every pull some shit like that again."

"Yes, boss," Opie teased. Jax laughed, relieved.

"So what do you guys think's going on?" Tig asked nervously. Before anyone could answer, a guard interrupted them.

"Teller," he said, opening the cell door. "He's here."

It took every ounce of self control Jax had not to jump up from his seat across from Damon Pope and strangle him. Pope hadn't said a word since the guards delivered Jax to him, and it had been going on five minutes. The satisfied smirk on his face was begging for Jax to permanently remove it. But this was not a time for impulsive decisions and reckless actions.

Finally, Pope took in a deep, dramatic breath, and smiled at Jax. "Mr. Teller."

"Mr. Pope," Jax said through his teeth.

"You're a lucky man, Jax. You know that? You've got a lot of people willing to die for you."

Jax gripped the arms of his chair tightly in an effort to keep himself in his seat. "Is that so?"

Pope nodded. "I'm told one of your members, Opie Winston, sacrificed himself to save you. Tried to, at least. And then there's your father…"

"My father's dead," Jax interrupted. "You mean my piece of shit stepfather?"

"Doesn't matter," Pope mused. "He's dead, too."

Jax's blood turned to icicles in his veins. "What?"

Pope chuckled. "Crazy son of a bitch showed up at my office today, demanding a meeting. Wanted to know what it was going to take to settle the score and get you out of jail. Seems dear ol' dad doesn't have a whole lot of faith in your leadership skills. But I assured him we had it all under control, you and I. Told him the terms of our agreement. My guess is that Morrow knew you'd try to sacrifice yourself, because he started flipping out, begging me to reconsider. Even offered himself up in your place. I told him no dice, but then he told me about how he blamed the Niners for his shooting, how it was his fault my baby girl got killed. So I started to reconsider. And do you know what he did? That motherfucker grabbed my guy's gun and shot himself in the head! Bled all over my Persian rug. Such a shame. I loved that rug."

"You're lying," Jax managed to choke out through the lump in his throat.

Pope shook his head. "I'm not. Make a call. Seems the rest of the club knew about it before it happened, because not five minutes later, your VP, the rotund one…he called me and threatened to have the cops sent to my office to investigate a possible homicide if I didn't stop what was going down at the jail, and get you and your buddies released. Now normally I don't give in to blackmail, but the police station is just a block from my office, and the mess your stepfather's brain left on my walls and floor was quite extensive. Gonna require some deep cleaning. I didn't want to take my chances. I am a business man, after all."

"Clay's…"

"Dead, Mr. Teller. And you and your men will be free to go within the hour. Congratulations. I expect that the rest of our business arrangement will continue according to plan?" Jax nodded, with zero intention of following through. He just needed to get himself and his guys out of jail in one piece, and then they would regroup, with their primary objective being to bring down Damon Pope's empire. Jax reluctantly shook Pope's hand, then allowed the guard to escort him from the room.

His head was spinning and his hands were shaking as he walked down the corridor leading to his cell. His end game always included Clay in a body bag, but not like this. He'd spent so much time hating Clay in life, but how could he hate him now, when he'd lain down his life to protect Jax, and saved Opie in the process? Jax wasn't sure what to do with himself, didn't know what to think. Only one thing was certain. Clay's death changed everything.