AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have no rights or ownership of any Sons of Anarchy plots or characters. I'm just an admirer of Kurt Sutter's work. The character Kyra James, however, does belong to me!

Kyra

"Who in the eff knows how to be successful? Need a personal Jesus. I'm in Depeche Mode…" Kyra James mumbled along with the Jay-Z lyrics that bounced around the Mercedes Benz. It was another one of many beautiful days in Charming and Kyra smiled at the early summer breeze as she whipped her boss's car into the Teller-Morrow Automotive lot. There were a few duties she hated to perform as Elliot Oswald's executive assistant, but driving his Benz through town was not one of them. As she pulled up to the garage, she turned the volume down on the radio and removed her iPod from the AUX port. Not that any of the TM mechanics would have cared if greeted with loud rap music when they turned the ignition, but Kyra preferred to keep her image professional when acting on Elliot's behalf. She checked the mirror to make sure that no strands of her dark brown hair had broken from the neat bun on the nape of her neck, pulled down the hem of her pencil skirt, and climbed out of the Benz.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. She counted her steps as her heels clicked across the concrete. Counting was a trick she used to hide her nerves. A native of one of Oakland's rougher neighborhoods, Kyra wasn't easily rattled but the TM lot, which doubled as the clubhouse of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Redwood Original or SAMCRO as they were called in town, put her on edge. A black woman walking through Niner territory in office attire was one thing, but a black woman in office attire walking across a lot populated with hairy, tattooed white outlaw bikers was something totally different. Not scary, but slightly uncomfortable. She'd learned, however, to never let people see her sweat, so the counting in her head continued until she reached the garage's front office. There sat Gemma Teller, the wife and mother of SAMCRO's President and Vice President, at her desk surrounded by invoices. Kyra greeted her, "Good afternoon, Gemma."

"Hey Kyra," she said, looking over the rims of her glasses. "What can we do for Elliot today?"

"Oil change and a tune up."

"Ok. Drop the keys. Should be an hour or so," Gemma said. She noticed the laptop bag on Kyra's shoulder. "You plan on staying?"

"If it's not a problem," replied Kyra. "I've got some work to finish before close of business. Anywhere I can plug in?"

Gemma stood. "Yeah, you can work from here. Elliot's our last order and your Aunt is dropping Abel off soon so I'll be in the clubhouse. You need internet?"

"Please," Kyra answered.

"I'll send somebody in to hook it up for you in a few minutes. Try not to move anything around. I've gotta go through those invoices later."

"Yes ma'am." Kyra mumbled as she opened her bag and settled behind the desk.

Juice

It was as if nothing had changed in the last year. Juice was at his post at the bar in the SAMCRO clubhouse; surveillance screen above his head, his fingers poised over the keyboard of his laptop. He'd taken moments like these for granted before going inside. He and his brothers were released from Stockton about a week ago and were still readjusting to freedom. Browsing Google, he relaxed in his seat with a happy ease. He was home.

From the corner of his eye, Juice noticed activity from the surveillance camera. A black Mercedes Benz had parked in the TM lot and he was immediately on alert. Since that night almost two years ago when Ethan Zobelle pulled his Benz into TM and declared war on SAMCRO, he was suspicious of foreign luxury cars on the property. He kept his eye on the footage, attempting to get a make on the plates and saw a pair of black stilettos exit the vehicle. His eyes went upward, taking in slender shapely legs that looked like they'd been dipped in milk chocolate. "Well aren't those lovely?" Chibs chimed in next to him as the owner of the legs stepped out of the car. Juice felt a twinge of disappointment when he saw her attire. Office wear. She was one of those stuck up professional types. "Who's the suit?" he finally asked Chibs.

"Think she works for Oswald. Brings in his cars for maintenance every now and then."

Bobby joined them at the bar, his eyes glued to the screen. "Think Oswald's tappin that?"

"Aye," Chibs replied. "If he's smart."

Juice continued to watch as she made her way across the lot. He couldn't get a good look at her face, so he let his eyes travel the length of her body. He guessed she was about 5'6" without the stilettos. She was slender and toned, but well curved where it counted. Decent rack. Small Waist. Her strut made her hips sway back and forth, emphasizing a round, high-sitting ass that bounced under her skirt. Not so much that it was sloppy, like many of the worn out asses on the Crow Eaters that frequented the lot, but just enough to be soft to the touch. They don't make asses like that in Charming, Juice thought before she disappeared into Gemma's office.

"Show's over boys," Bobby announced and he and Chibs returned to their game of pool. Juice went back to browsing the web. A few minutes later, Gemma walked into the clubhouse and called his name.

"Wassup Gem?"

"Neeta's niece is in the office and needs to get hooked up to our wireless."

Juice was confused. "Neeta has a niece?"

"Yeah. She works for Elliot. Moved here about a month ago." Gemma studied his face, picking up on his curiosity. "You want her sign and a list of her favorite things too?"

Juice chuckled and shook his head. "Wireless. I'm on it."

When he reached the office, he hesitated at the door. He hadn't expected her to be this pretty. She was a tad lighter than the black and white security camera portrayed; closer to dark caramel than milk chocolate. Her features were gentle: hooded, dark brown eyes; her nose prominent, but not too wide; and full lips that boasted a hint of tinted gloss. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, making it clear that she was indeed all business as she balanced a laptop on her thighs. Juice broke the silence. "Somebody called for wireless?"

She looked up, and in a matter of seconds her eyes went from nervous to surprised to curious. Whatever thoughts raced through her head were in check by the time she spoke. "Um yeah." She stood up and leaned against the desk. Their knees brushed when Juice moved around her to take her seat in front of the computer.

"So you're Neeta's niece?" he asked when he was settled at the desk.

"Yeah," she replied in a tone that was more than polite but not quite friendly. "Kyra."

Juice nodded as he clicked around on the laptop. He was surprised it was an HP. Most yuppies preferred Macs. "You from around here?"

"By around here, I'm assuming you mean the general area," she said, a hint of a smile in her voice. "I'm from Oakland."

Oakland? That was unexpected. Though he wasn't familiar with the parts of Oakland that weren't Niner or Mayan territories. "Well, Kyra from Oakland, your wireless is good to go." When Juice stood up, she took a generous step backward, probably trying to avoid another brush of contact. He smirked.

"Thank you…" Kyra searched his face for a name.

"Juice."

She raised a brow. He was used to that reaction when he introduced himself. "Thank you, Juice."

Juice tapped the doorframe. "No problem. I'll be around the lot if you need any more help."

Kyra

It was 6pm when Kyra dropped Elliot's car at Oswald Industries in exchange for her midnight blue Ford Mustang. From there, she drove to Neeta's to cook dinner. With Gemma's husband and son in jail for the last fourteen months, Neeta practically lived with Gemma and her son's girlfriend Tara, tending to Gemma's grandsons Abel and Tommy. She'd been able to breathe this week since the men had come home and Kyra wanted her to relax as much as possible. The great caretaker that she was, Neeta needed someone to take care of her as well.

It was hard for Kyra to believe that the gentle, God-fearing nanny was the same woman who'd helped raise her in Oakland all those years ago. Kyra's mother had encouraged her to be intelligent, independent, and ambitious, and left Neeta to instill the toughness necessary to survive their neighborhood. Kyra still remembered Neeta's advice on her first day of high school. She'd warned that the kids would "try" Kyra because she was smart and kept to herself. "You have to make them respect you. Don't let anybody talk to you crazy and if one of those lil heffas comes at you the wrong way, beat the brakes off her ass." Neeta may have been all Bible verses and gospel songs to some, but to Kyra she was still the no-nonsense woman who'd raised her not to take any shit. And she was the only family Kyra had.

"Home, sweet home," Kyra said when she walked into her two bedroom apartment. She shed her skirt suit for a wife beater and a pair of shorts and relaxed on her couch with a glass of Merlot. When she heard the growl of motorcycles outside her window, she thought of Juice. Everything about him had caught her off guard. She'd figured Gemma would send someone from the club to hook up the wireless, and had braced herself when she heard him speak. She was surprised to look up and find a jovial clean-shaven brown face. Save for the leather and tattoos, nothing about him said "dangerous biker." He was downright boyish. She could tell that dimples dotted his cheeks when he smiled. The Mohawk and tattoos on his head were a little on the goofy side, but the man was definitely a cutie. When she moved around to let him sit, she got an up close and personal view of his physique. He was built like an NFL wide receiver, buff but not bulging. His arms and shoulders filled out his T-shirt perfectly. Not bad, she'd thought. Juice's demeanor had been easy in their brief exchange. Not at all menacing or intimidating. Maybe all of SAMCRO isn't so bad, Kyra thought before she got ready for bed.

Juice

Juice watched the smoke from his joint dance in the air above him. His bed was still warm from the Crow Eater who'd left only a few minutes ago. He used to be known among the girls as the "sweet one." The one who let them spend the night after sex, but he was different since he'd been home. He remembered in Stockton, feeling jealous when Clay and Jax got letters and pictures from Gemma and Tara. He'd lost his first and last girlfriend, Emily, when she could no longer compete with his lifestyle as a SAMCRO prospect and in the years since he'd patched, Juice never wanted an old lady. Crow Eaters kept him fed and fucked and he didn't need much more than that, but those nights in his cell had proved him wrong. He needed comfort when shit hit the fan. Lying next to a woman who couldn't provide that felt pointless.

The women of SAMCRO were an interesting bunch. Gemma was badass. So much so that she scared the shit out of Juice. No way could he handle a woman like that. Lyla was damn near mute. Juice figured as a porn star, her mouth was better suited for things other than talking. Tara was the closest thing to a normal chick the club had. Smart. Pretty. Loyal. She was a worrier, though. He was too laid back to have a woman that anxious.

He could pluck a Crow Eater from the bunch and make her his old lady. Any one of them would jump at the opportunity, but that was part of the problem. On any given night, any girl on that lot would accept that offer from any SAMCRO patch. Juice wanted someone who loved the club, but loved him more. But where the hell do you find a woman like that, he wondered.

Kyra. The name sat in the front of his mind as he took another pull from his joint. She didn't react to him the way he expected. She came off a little guarded, but not stuck up. Juice was almost certain he'd sensed something from her. He couldn't tell if it was interest or just natural curiosity. Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just high. And lonely. Yeah, this is pretty gay. You need to sleep this shit off. He inhaled one last time and closed his eyes.