I was setting the bar up for the day, stocking shelves and putting the glass on its racks. I did everything a little more slowly since my apparent defeat in convincing the club president to let me in. It was arrogant, I knew, but I'm not the kind of girl who sits on the sides. I never have been. I don't run in face-first or anything, but I can't just let things happen. I need some control. So, without control, my zeal at the bar suffered. And yet, on this Californian day, Clay appeared in the doorway to the bar, sunlight streaming in from behind him and turning his figure into a silhouette. I was on my own in there so I knew he was addressing me when he said,

"Come on."

I was worried to start, but my head filled up with fantasies of being handed some kind of ledger or journal of events that could straighten out the weightless feathers of knowledge blowing around in my memory. I was conjuring a hundred happy little scenarios as I followed across the yard to the auto shop. He patted a busted bike and slowed, turning to me,

"You fix her up, learn her ins and outs and you can have her."

I was stunned, "M-me?"

"There's nobody else here."

I looked around and then cringed. I walked carefully to crouch at the bike, staring at the mysterious mechanics and… stuff, inside. I wanted to ask a million childish questions but I was alone with Clay and he was offering me my own bike - girls generally don't get bikes, they saddle up behind a Brother. What did he want in return? I stood and put my hands in my pockets, hunching over to suppress the gravity defying nature of my chest, altering my posture to match his better and asked casually,

"How much?" hiding the suspicion the price went beyond dollar.

"Free." My heart sped to a girlish flutter of desire for approval and praise. "The labour's all you though. Prospect will give you a hand so you don't completely screw it up but I better not see him doing any of the work on your bike."

I was doing a very uncool dance inside. I felt like I was in. I felt like Clay wanted me to stay where I was and to stay separate from the norm. I fell like he had heard me and not only that, answered me. Sure it wasn't exactly what I had asked for, but it was close. I was giddy and I managed to smile cooly and shake his hand without jumping into his arms.

"A bike?" Chibs asked as he approached me in the garage. I was sweating in the heat, covered in grease and other bike-necessary ingredients. I had rolled up my short-sleeves over my shoulders, tied my t-shirt into a knot behind my back, tamed my mane of dreads in a black bandana and thanked god I'd worn lighter, looser jeans than all the others.

"I know." I gushed, stepping away to see my handy work. I was just cleaning but I was following Half-Sack's instructions very carefully.

"You'll kill yourself on that." he said with humour.

I punched his arm, "If I do I want that on my epitaph: Death by pretty motorbike."

He laughed. "I should have known you'd be on one of these soon enough. Mind you, I expected it to be a theft I'd have to run you down on."

"Did I spoil the fun?" I teased.

"Now you have to get it running first."

"That's the plan."

"Do you know anything about motors?"

"Not a thing." I grinned, shaking my head. I expected him to be all uncle-y - or fatherly - and provide me with some wisdom and help but instead, he laughed and departed. It wasn't wholly derisive when he did laugh, so I didn't take it to heart like I could have. Instead, I looked at the rusty old thing and promised it I'd get it to run. I set to work and kept working into the night, cleaning and cleaning, and shocked by how much this thing needed cleaning.

I should have went home early. I'd have seen it coming then; the set up. Juice and Tig grabbed me by each arm and dragged me - heels dragging on the floor and all - as Clay held down the button on the shutters. The auto shop has one of those car-elevators for really seeing under the cars. I was chained to that, arms splayed so Clay could let me hang and make clear a few things.

"We're not sexist in the club." he said taking a seat on a chair he'd dragged from his office. "We're protective. Brothers protect the family from the outside, and the old ladies keep it strong from the inside. CROeaters, they're like Prospects: you've gotta prove your worth to the family."

I lifted my chin in answer.

"How are your arms holding up?"

They were aching and inching their way closer to outright pain holding up my weight. I thought about acting tough about it but I wanted Clay to see I was no enemy. "Sore."

"Sore," he repeated, "That's good. We don't usually treat our guests like this, in fact we reserve this kind of treatment for outright enemies and traitors."

"What makes me so special?"

"Well you seem to think you're special. Wanting a bike… wanting to know things… You're just a little girl. A naive little girl."

"Enlighten me." I smiled.

"With a big mouth."

"Do I fuck." I spat, my accent thickening with rage and discomfort.

"Clay!" it was Chibs. I tried to ignore him. "What is this bullshit?" He demanded, as Juice moved to keep him at bay for the next part. He shouted for my freedom. Tig looked to Clay as he slapped my exposed flesh with his ringed fingers. I seethed but I didn't shout out.

When he drew blood he paused and regarded me, rubbing his fingers, "She's tough."

Clay met his eyes and nodded. Ting produced a knife and Chibs went nuts. Juice struck him so hard in the solar plexus he went down. Having done nothing to merit this torture I decided - so that I didn't panic and lose my shit completely - that this was a test. I was not about to get hurt badly. Nothing would be as bad as I imagined it could be. I knew these people. Perhaps not intimately well, but I didn't get any real blood-lust vibes from any of them. A willingness to kill, sure, that was frightening, but they were not barbarians.

Tig threatened me a few times, held the knife different places and talked through some suggestions he had in mind. He even nicked me on the leg. It was nothing - even though I imagined the jeans being caked in dirty oil and soaking deadly poison into my skin…

I just seethed some more.

I yelled out when he held the hot pokers over my skin. He never pressed the iron to my skin but it was so close I squirmed and yelped. By this point I had a bigger audience. Jax and Piney stood to the side, arms folded, bewildered expressions on their faces.

As I started to consider voicing some protest that I knew I couldn't say anything. I knew something they didn't and if I wanted to be anyone's confident I couldn't break there, in front of them. I found peace with the truth quickly as they watched. I knew the truth and I knew the lie and the peace for me lay in the fact that the line was drawn. I don't cross lines I draw. One day it will probably get me killed but I'm stubbornly proud of being trustworthy.

Tig's zip came down and at last I felt I was free to do something about it. I pooled all of my strength into my stomach, into my abdomen, coiled to lift my legs and kicked him across the head so hard I hurt my leg doing it. He tumbled to the ground and Chibs started really losing the rag.

"A'right, a'right," Clay agreed to everyone, "None of that shit." he regarded me for a beat. "Let her down."

Clay himself caught me when Tig unchained me.

"Do you still want this?" he said quietly in my ear. I nodded because what were my other options? Flee and pray I could find my feet somewhere else? I practically sold my body to get where I was. Stay and stick my tail between my legs to ultimately go insane with the worry of not-knowing? I didn't just want this. I needed it.

Chibs shoved Clay before he helped me to my room where I lay down and dragged the covers around me.

"What did you do?" he begged of me.

I lie quick when I have to, "I think I said something wrong today."

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"I dismissed it; forgot about it."

"Something that bad? I don't believe it."

"Believe it."

"I should take you to hospital."

"For what?"

"Internal bleeding. Fucking brain damage."

"Can I sleep first?"

He jerked my head back to look at him and open my eyes, "You might not wake up after."

"And how do I explain this mess?" I indicated my general body.

He sighed.

"There's one option, and we're taking it."

I trudged through the doors of A & E alone after he dropped me off. I held my wrists to the administrating nurse and said,

"I was hung and tortured. Help me out?"

She set about sorting me out quickly. I was seen to fast, even kept in over night for observation and test - head scans, police report and all.

I still didn't know the full story but I was confident I'd soon know so I played along.